Invisible Girl Part 9

Henny slides her back down the huge door until she's sitting on the cold hard stone with her arms wrapped tightly round her knees. A single tear rolls down her cheek. She wipes it away with her sleeve and I wish I could run over and make her better.

"Come with me, Henny!" I say. "We'll hide somewhere until we find Beckett. Somewhere safe, far away from Kingdom."

She tucks her head under her arms, her shoulders shaking with tears. I run over and put my arm around her. I kiss the top of her head. She holds on to my hand, squeezing so hard, like if she lets go she'll slide off the edge of a cliff.

She sniffs and wipes her nose on her sleeve. She looks up at me, mascara smudged down her face. "S'OK," she laughs. "You go, kitten. I'll be all right. You go and find Beckett. But come back for me when you've found him, yeah?"

I nod. I squeeze her shoulders, kiss her again and run away faster than the wind.

The elastic band pulls me to Tia's, but once I'm there I feel weird.

I feel stupid. I don't even know if she's still there, if she'll let me in. I don't know if she'll want me. Her road is empty except for a man walking his dog, his shoulders hunched against the rain, the dog sniffing the puddles. I tuck myself behind a big bush outside her house and sit there for years, yawning. The lights in the flats blink at me, the rain twinkles like glitter, and I wonder if she'll ever look out.

"Quick," Tia whispers, peeping her nose out of her door.

I untangle myself from the bush and splash through the puddles that shine like mirrors in the road. Tia bundles me into her room. She flaps her arms around, shushing me, pressing her finger on my lips, mouthing for me to stay quiet as a mouse. She pulls a wet rat-tail of hair from my cheek, holds it up high and drops it down, smothering a giggle. She twists my jacket sleeve like a dishcloth, making a big grey puddle on the floor. Then she mimes for me to take off my clothes.

Tia hands me a thin yellow towel and pulls some clean, dry clothes from a drawer. We lie on her bed in silence, looking up at the cracks on the ceiling, feeling the sounds from the telly in the next room vibrating against the wall. My fingers slide across the bed, finding Tia's, and we plait them together like hair.

When the place goes quiet and she's sure everyone's sleeping, Tia creeps into the kitchen to get some food.

I lie on her bed with the minty numbness washing over me, thinking about that pink bath of hers and the hot water and the fruity shampoo. I close my eyes and imagine I'm back at home, with Dad in the next room sipping beers, with me making pictures of cosy houses from sc.r.a.ps.

Then a cold dark shadow falls on my face.

I think it's Dad coming in to say goodnight, but when I flick my eyes open my heart stops beating.

"What the blinking h.e.l.l have we got here?" says a deep, gruff voice.

This huge, hairy man wearing nothing but boxer shorts, with tattoos all over his arms, is leaning over me. Tia appears at the door, twitching nervously, panic lights flashing in her eyes.

"Tia!" the man hollers, turning to face her. "If you think you can smuggle your street trash into this house you've got another think coming! D'you hear me?"

Tia shrinks back against the wall, trembling as his huge tattooed hands grab my arm and yank me off the bed. He closes his fat fingers around my waist, picks me up like an insect, opens the front door and throws me back outside in the rain.

"And don't even think about coming back!" he growls, as I land on the ground with a thud. "Do you hear me?"

And it's not until I've run faster than the speed of light, away from Tia's, and back to the Cathedral, that I notice. My feet are bare.

I stand in front of the Cathedral with my eyes closed and the rain falling heavy on my face. I stretch my arms out wide like Jesus on the cross and pray.

Dear G.o.d, Please, please help me!

Amen.

"You all right, love?" says a voice.

When I open my eyes a young man is peering at me through the pearly raindrops on his lashes, the radio thing in his pocket crackling and buzzing. I stare at him, blinking.

"Are you G.o.d?" I whisper, reaching my hand up and touching his stubbly face.

He gently takes my arm. I flinch, remembering Tia's Dad's fat fists around my body. The policeman speaks into his radio, saying he's found a girl with no shoes on and I wonder who he's talking about.

"Where d'you live, sweetheart?" he says, leading me towards a police car. "What's your name?"

I snap myself together and my brain starts spinning.

I can't tell him. I'll get Dad into trouble.

And where exactly do I live?

I don't even know the right answer any more.

"I'm Gabriella," I say, "and I'm trying to find my big brother, Beckett Midwinter. Do you know him?"

He speaks into his radio thing and puts a search out for Beckett.

"Sorry, Gabriella," he says, shaking his head, "we've got nothing on him. Where's your mum? It's too late for you to be out alone. We need to get you home, you're soaking."

Mum's face looms in my eyes as I reluctantly give him her address. Her evil shark teeth gnashing at me. I don't know what else to do. I've got nowhere else to go except to Henny and the police won't leave me with her.

I look up at the sky, through the glittering rain and wish a hand would come down and pluck me up and take me somewhere safe. The policeman bundles me into the car, my body moving like a puppet, hanging limply from a string.

"We'll have you home and dry in a flash," says a police lady with kind blue eyes, sliding in next to me.

I lean my head against the window and watch the raindrops dance through the sky as we drive up and down the streets. The car tyres swish through puddles, my breath makes steam on the gla.s.s. I see a big black car down a side road and Henny climbing inside. We pa.s.s the old warehouse building and I think about all the kids huddling on the rooftop, trying to stay dry. We pa.s.s Tia's and I wonder if she's sleeping.

"Where have you been, love?" says the police lady.

I turn to her. "I don't know," I say. "Everywhere, I'spose."

When we get to Mum's I try clinging on to the minty feeling, but it slips from my grasp and this monster shark of fear clamps me in its jaws. The radio in the policeman's pocket crackles and hisses. He knocks on the door. My knees buckle under me and I have to grab the police lady's jacket to keep myself from falling to the ground.

"Mrs Midwinter?" she says, when Mum opens the door.

"Not any more! Why?" says Mum, peering at me like I was a really bad painting, pulling her purple dressing gown tightly round her sharp, skinny hips. "What do you want?"

"Well," says the policeman, "we found Gabriella out in the rain. She seems disorientated. She's soaked right through, needs a hot bath and something substantial to eat by all accounts."

Mum's face fades whiter than the moon, her eyes scanning me, piecing together paper-thin memories. Suddenly her hand flies out, grabs my sleeve and drags me inside. "Right," she snaps. "She'd better come in."

The door slams and me and Mum stand silently in the hallway for ages, staring at each other, our hearts thumping loudly in our chests. Then Mum fl.u.s.ters through to the kitchen, flapping wildly like a flag in the wind, and she fills the kettle with water then kicks the kitchen door shut.

"Nice of you to turn up out of the blue!" she hisses, shuffling through a pile of stuff in a drawer, pulling out a letter with Dad's handwriting on and jabbing it in my face.

"I had this pathetic letter from your dad land on my doormat, saying he was sending me a nice little surprise! I don't know what's been more worrying, the fact that you might be on your way here or the fact that you hadn't turned up. I've got a life of my own now, Gabriella. I've got kids, and a husband who knows nothing about you!"

She drops teabags into two blue cups and pours boiling water on top. She pulls the milk from the fridge, sniffs it, swills the carton around and then adds it to the tea. She puts two sugars in each cup, hands one to me and offers me a biscuit from the tin. And I don't know why, but my eyes fill up like water balloons about to burst as I cram the biscuit in my mouth.

"Well?" she says. "Where have you been? What've you got to say for yourself?"

I blow on my tea and watch a spiral of steam twirl towards the yellowy light bulb swinging from the dusty ceiling.

"Where's Beckett?"

"What do you mean a where's Beckett?" she says, taking a cigarette from a packet and lighting it. "What's he got to do with anything?"

"I've been trying to find him," I say quietly. "I thought he'd know what to do."

She takes a quick sip of tea. "Beckett's dead!" she says. "Well, as far as I'm concerned he is, anyway. I washed my hands of him long ago."

My tummy drops to my knees; the water balloons burst and spill silently on to my cheeks. I hunt everywhere for that minty feeling, but it keeps on slipping away.

"Oh, don't start all that, Gabriella," Mum snaps, sucking hard on her cigarette, "for G.o.d's sake."

My lips tremble; I press the warm tea mug against them to try to keep them still. "Is he really..." I whisper, "is he really dead?"

Someone's feet thud down the stairs. The door flies open and Mum quickly shoves me behind it, squishing my face in the smelly towels hanging from a hook, slopping some of the scorching hot tea down my front.

"Who the crying out loud are you talking to at this time of night, woman?" says a voice.

"No one," says Mum, clattering her tea mug in the sink. "I can't sleep. I had the radio on."

The fridge opens; someone slurps and grunts, then slams it shut. The feet thud back up the stairs. Mum's hand drags me from behind the door; she pushes her face right up close to mine.

"You have no idea what kind of trouble you're going to get me into, do you?" she hisses. "Your dad agreed no contact and that was fine by me. He has a right cheek putting you on the train up here to barge back into my life uninvited, and I'll tell him so too when I get my hands on him!"

"Don't worry," I say, pulling away from her, blinking the tears from my eyes. "I can take care of myself. I only came here because of the policeman. I didn't want to!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" she whispers. "Even I wouldn't send you out on the streets! I'll put you in with the kids tonight and we'll talk about it in the morning. Connor's the top bunk, Jayda's the bottom. Climb in with her and cross your fingers she doesn't wet the bed. Thank your lucky stars Kev'll be off out to work early in the morning, so don't go showing your face until then. OK?"

We creep quietly up the stairs and Mum points me towards the bathroom. She hovers on the landing while I do a wee then shows me into the kids' room and goes off to bed. I can't see a thing; I have to feel my way around the room with one hand, careful not to spill the rest of my tea.

When my eyes get used to the dark I peep at Connor, lying with his mouth open wide under his Superman duvet, one little fist clinging on to his yellow bunny, the other shoved firmly in his mouth. I pull my wet clothes off and kick them under the bunks. Jayda is snoring gently, her arms stretched above her head; her chubby hands open wide like starfish. I ease my way in next to her, gently nudging her warm little body closer to the wall. Then I lean against the wooden bed end, sipping my tea, wondering what's going to happen to me next.

When I wake up, Jayda's little body is wrapped around mine, her soft, warm baby breath tickling my ear.

"What you doing here?" says Connor, swinging his head down like a monkey and peering at me from the top bunk.

"Ssshhhh!" I say, opening my eyes. "We mustn't make a sound."

He snakes down, a yellow bunny ear clamped between his teeth, and wriggles in next to me.

"She'll need a wee soon," he says, pointing at Jayda and pinching his nose, "or she'll wet the bed."

"Let's make a tent," I whisper, sliding down the bed, pulling Jayda's rainbow duvet up over our heads.

"But what are you doing here?" he says.

"I'll tell you later," I say, tugging his yellow bunny out of his mouth and making it skateboard up and down our legs.

"Have you ever been camping, Connor?"

He shakes his head.

"My friend Grace goes with her dad, sometimes," I whisper. "They go to Devon, somewhere near the sea. Shall we go together one day and watch the stars and sleep in a tent like this?"

Connor shoves his thumb in his mouth and snuggles up close. "Know any good stories?" he says.

Jayda wriggles, wraps her arms around my neck, sighs and drifts off back to sleep.

"What kind of stories do you like?" I whisper.

"Any ones," says Connor.

"Well," I say, as an idea floats into my mind, "once upon a time there was this boy who thought he was really rubbish at football."

Connor shrinks down the bed, sucking harder on his thumb. "What happened to him?" he whispers.

"Well," I say, "every time he tried to score a goal everyone laughed at him for being so bad. He felt like his feet were made of rubber because they were so bendy and squishy and wouldn't kick the ball straight."

"A bit like me," says Connor, his eyes twinkling in an arrow of light piercing through the tunnel of duvet.

"Then one day," I say, "a fairy came along..."

Connor laughs. He jabs my leg gently with his hot little foot. "Not fairies, silly," he says. "Fairies are for girls."

"Well, this was a special kind of fairy," I say. "He was this warrior fairy with war paint on his cheeks and special super-mega powers."

"OK, good," he smiles, nuzzling closer.

"Anyway, this special warrior fairy came along and sprinkled magic warrior dust all over the boy," I say. "You see, because everyone kept saying he was rubbish at football, he'd started to believe them. And he'd get more and more nervous when he played."

Jayda wriggles and sighs. A warm wet patch spreads across the bed and the strong smell of wee fills our noses. Connor's eyes flash like emergency sirens, painting his face with fear.

"I told you!" he hisses. "I told you she'd wet the bed!"

"Ssshhhh," I say. "It's OK! We need to be quiet. We mustn't move."

"But Mum'll go mad at me," he says. "She'll go mental."

I inch my legs away from the damp patch and find a dry spot for Connor. Clunks and thuds come from the next room. The growly man's voice mumbles. Someone flushes the toilet. Something grabs hold of my heart and squeezes it hard.

"Let's just ignore it for now and finish the story," I say, making a little air hole so we can breathe. "Anyway, once the magic dust touched the boy's skin he started to sparkle and fizz all over and all his worries about being rubbish at football began to melt away."

"Then what?" Connor says, rubbing the bunny's silky label between his finger and thumb.

"Well," I say, "the next time he played football the boy was amazing! His teacher was so astounded she gave him two hundred gold stars and put him in the football team. Then they won every single match they played and the boy became the best child player in the world!"