Dark Ride (2 page)

C
HAPTER
3

 

A Taste of the Med

 

I know Mum hates to leave me on my own when she goes to work, and never did it in London, but at fourteen I was too old for a childminder and the only other option was to sit next door with Mrs Longmeadow. If I said I’d rather poke needles into my eyes, you’d get the picture. Luckily, Mum didn’t force me.

Often I’d just go back to bed and read, or watch daytime telly until she got back. There wasn’t anything else to do. We were waiting to get our broadband sorted so I couldn’t even go online. But as I looked round the poky kitchen that morning, a horrible feeling of panic pressed in all around me.

I had to get out.

I grabbed the list of shopping from the board and shoved it into my pocket. This time I made sure I put on my warmest jacket and pulled my favourite blue hat down over my disobedient hair, before grabbing my keys.

I felt a bit better as soon as I was outside and slowed my steps as I walked down the road.

I like to look through windows of houses as I pass them. Most have net curtains up, but there was one at the end of the street where you could see right in and it looked really cosy. A fat orange cat slept on the table and there was a piano and a big squashy sofa with red tasselled cushions. It didn’t actually have a roaring fire in a fireplace, but looked like it should, and I always imagined there would be yummy cake-baking smells inside.

I stopped to have my usual nosy and a girl’s face appeared right in front of me. She just popped up like a jack-in-the-box. I sort of went, ‘Wah!’ and we stared at each other for a moment with circle mouths.

She was about my age, with long blond hair and trendy glasses with black rectangular frames. I blushed and scurried down the street, feeling really silly. She’d probably think I was some sort of stalker-nutter.

It was only when I got down to the seafront again that I realised I had no idea where I was going. I stood there for a minute, not sure what to do with myself. A dirty great seagull swooped down in front of me and looked at me with its beady little eyes. It opened its beak and screeched. It sounded like it was saying, ‘Alone!
Crark!
Alone!’

I mumbled, ‘Get lost’ and kicked out, making it flap away.

I stared out to sea. The water was choppy today. Rough green waves rolled over and over and sucked at the tiny strip of beach. I say ‘beach’ but to me that’s something with rippling golden sand, where you stretch out your towel or build sandcastles, but this one was covered in little sharp stones that stuck to your shoes and seemed to pull at your feet as though they wanted to drag you down and choke you.

Everything was grey – the sea, the sky, the buildings. You could see that some of the buildings on the seafront had been painted yellow once, but really they were just a different kind of grey now. The wind felt like bony fingers raking my cheeks. I bowed my head into it and started to go in the usual direction, but, glancing up, I thought I could see the blob-shape of Mrs Longmeadow ahead with her tartan shopping trolley. I spun round and hurried in the other direction, away from the town centre.

There weren’t many people about. A man and a woman huddled in big puffa jackets passed and the woman glanced at me. She had panda circles under her eyes and it was impossible to tell if she was twenty or fifty. I wondered if she was a druggie. I wouldn’t have been surprised. It was that kind of a place. I’d gone for a wee in the Morrison’s toilets the week before while Mum was shopping. The light in there was this weird neon purple. For a minute I thought aliens were going to start experimenting on my brain or something. Mum told me later that it was a special light that stopped smackheads from being able to see their veins. Nice. I bet they don’t put
that
on the tourist information.

I knew Dad would hate it here. He grew up in the country, unlike Mum. She had often talked about us ‘getting away from it all’ and moving out of London and he’d always say, ‘Getting away isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, hon.’

I wondered where he was at that exact moment. Probably sleeping off the gig the night before with the other guys and wishing he could come home. I hadn’t heard from him for over a week and the thought made me shiver, even though I knew he was on tour.

But I’d heard the shouting before he went. I knew she didn’t want him around.

I gave myself a shake. Dad wouldn’t want me to be moping all over the place. He’d probably start tickling me or say something silly. I had to stay strong for him, even though my life was ruined.

The houses were thinning out now. A bit further up on the seafront there was a huge building site, surrounded by hoardings.

I stood back to look at the giant poster stuck up there.
A Taste of the Med
was in massive letters across the top, and underneath there were pictures of couples clinking glasses in restaurants and a smiling girl running on the sand with a big red kite. Her good-looking mum and dad were holding hands behind her and laughing. A carrier bag had somehow got stuck up there, flapping about madly like it was attached to the dad’s head and there was a big glop of bird poo dripping down the girl’s face.

Along the bottom of the billboard were the words,
Dolphin Marina. Open Soon.
Well, they were a bit behind on that one, because so far, all there was to show was a poster. I wished they’d hurry up with it. Maybe I could run along the beach with a red kite and my mum and dad would be holding hands and grinning their heads off behind me.

I swallowed hard and was just turning for home when I got a prickling sensation up my spine and over my scalp, like someone was watching me. I did a quick scan but nobody was around. I called out a shaky, ‘Hello?’ but my voice seemed to bounce back, mocking me. I turned a full circle one more time and that’s when I saw someone sitting on the sea wall a bit further up. I couldn’t understand why I missed them the first time.

The lean figure was strangely familiar and I realised it was the weird boy from the bus shelter the day before. Without turning round, he got up and started to walk along the wall, fast and easy, in that long-leggedy way some boys have. He leapt down and carried on walking, head down into the biting wind. Something was glinting on the ground near where he’d landed and I walked over to it, curious. It was catching the light and sending little sparkles towards me, even though the sun was swallowed up in grey winter cloud.

I bent down. It was a small bunch of keys. They were attached to a tiny wooden keyring in the shape of a Russian doll, painted blue with lots of white and red spots. It seemed a girly sort of a keyring for a boy to have.

I looked up and shouted, ‘Hey!’ but he didn’t hear me and carried on walking quickly away. I looked at the keys again. Better give them back. His front door key was probably on there. Not really knowing why I should care either way, I followed him.

I had to run a little bit because he was moving so fast, but he didn’t turn round, just kept marching on with his head bowed into the wind. My cheeks were stinging and my knuckles were raw, but I kept on going. I didn’t even know why I was following him. He was starting to annoy me now. I began to jog to catch up, past some horrible public toilets that were blasting their wee smell to the world.

I came to an old fairground with
Do Not Enter – Condemned Property
plastered all over it. The entrance was a big semicircle, painted like a sun shining, but worn away to a dirty yellow.
Sunshine Park
said the sign. There were two turnstiles with booths on either side, where people must have once sold tickets. The windows were broken and a delicate cobweb was stretched across one, as though holding the whole cabin together.

A shiver crawled up my spine. It felt like the most run-down, lonely place in the world. For a second, I thought I caught a musical snatch of voices in the air but it was just the wind whistling through cracks on the hoardings.

My instincts were practically holding up banners saying,
RUN AWAY, BEL! RUN AWAY AND NEVER RETURN!

But instead my fingers went into the pocket of my jeans and closed around the small piece of paper.

Admit One.

I looked at the faded blue ticket in my hand, the one I’d picked up the day before and slid it into the gap at the front of the turnstile as though by instinct.

Clunk.

The spiky bars of the gate whirled round, inviting me in, as I’d somehow known they would.

C
HAPTER
4

 

Scoody Doo,
Where Are You?

 

I regretted it precisely one second later.

I turned back, pushing the rusty metal turnstile, but it didn’t budge. I thought about clambering over it but I’m rubbish at things like that and knew I’d probably get stuck halfway or something hideous. Okay, Bel, I thought, let’s not freak here. Just think. It was probably like London Zoo. You came in one set of gates and had to go out through another.

I just had to find the exit.

And remember to breathe.

Moving slowly forwards, I looked around. There were boarded-up stalls everywhere and rubbish was blowing around on the muddy ground, which once must have been flattened by feet. Now there were lumps of grass breaking through, like nature wanted it back.

Up ahead was a long, low building with pictures of ghosts and bats painted on the outside.
GH ST TR IN
read a sign in red, the missing letters like gaps in teeth. The entrance was covered in long black sheets of plastic, which seemed to shiver a bit in the breeze.

It was just a cheesy old ghost train. So how come it was suddenly the scariest thing in the world? I scurried past, my teeth beginning to clack together in fright, wondering where Scooby and Shaggy were when you really needed them.

Looming over me were the metal tracks of an old rollercoaster, curving into the sky like the ribcage of a huge dinosaur. I could see a big wheel just beyond, with seats in faded yellows and greens that swayed gently and made ominous creaking sounds.

Over to the right, past a series of round stalls, I could see a splintery, faded sign in the shape of a finger marked,
Exit This Way.
I walked a bit quicker, desperate to run, but knowing that if I did, full-blown panic would kick in and I really would lose the plot.

Just at that moment, something happened that made every tiny hair on my body stand to attention.

I could hear music.

Plinky-plonky, old-fashioned music coming from just around the corner. Fear washed over me and I thought maybe I’d gone mad or was dreaming, but no such luck. This really was happening, right now. I sidled up to one of the round stalls, heart banging, and peeked around.

Light was blazing from an old-fashioned carousel, turning circles of gold and yellow, studded with red and blue light-bulbs. Tatty horses with mad, staring eyes gently swung around and up and down. My heart was beating so hard it hurt. I bit down on my trembling fingers. Some crazy axe murderer was about to leap out and finish me off, I knew it. Not a single soul in the world knew I was here, so they probably wouldn’t find my mangled body for ages. My killer would probably be known as The Fairground Butcher. (I knew about these things. I’d seen
CSI.)

Tears zigzagged my vision as I squinted hard into the harsh light.

Then I saw someone was on the carousel, looping around the horses like it was the easiest thing in the world. It was that boy again. I’d almost forgotten about him in the whole fearing-for-my-life business. He didn’t look like an axe murderer. Just a tall, thin boy in a hoodie. I came out from behind the stall just as the carousel swung him in front of me.

His mouth dropped open and he let rip. ‘What are you doing, sneaking up on me like that? How’d you even get in here?’

‘I’ve as much right as you! Which is none!’

We exchanged glass-hard stares and then a smile started to curl around his mouth. He was one of those people who completely changes when they smile. Like the sun had come out.

‘Stroppy, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘How did you get in here, anyway?’

‘I found a ticket,’ I said. ‘You left it. I saw you yesterday in that bus shelter. You left a ticket on the bench.’

His smile faded. ‘I didn’t leave any ticket,’ he said after a moment.

‘Okay, whatever, but that’s how I got in,’ I said.

He stared at me again. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Bel,’ I said.

‘Bel? What kind of a name is
Bel?’

‘It’s short for Annabelle, if you must know. But I’ll have to kill you if you call me that.’

His mouth twitched and he nodded his head but didn’t reply. Silence stretched between us like a giant piece of elastic.

‘The other person says their name now ...’ I said, exasperated. ‘That’s how it works!’

‘Luka,’ he said, smiling again. ‘It’s Luka.’

‘What kind of a name is Luka?’ I smiled as I said it, but his face hardened.

‘It’s a Croatian name. My mum’s from Croatia.’

Like I’d said something rude. What an annoying boy. I put my hand in my pocket.

‘Look, you dropped these.’ I held out the keys and his hand shot out to snatch them before I could blink.

‘Have you been through my pockets or something?’ he said and I was too insulted to answer.

I’d had enough of this nut-job. I was cold and hungry. And leaving. I started to walk towards the exit sign. Then all of a sudden he was right beside me, striding along in that loose-limbed way.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I expect I just dropped them.’

‘Yes, I expect you did,’ I said icily. ‘Bit of a girly keyring that, isn’t it?’

‘It’s my mum’s,’ he said, looking at me with the same expression as the day before. Like he was trying to see inside my head. It was very unnerving. ‘It’s a good luck charm, if you must know.’ He ran his hand across his face, gave a half-hearted wave and said, ‘Gotta go. Seeya.’

I shouted, ‘Hey!’ but within about ten seconds he had disappeared deeper into the fairground, leaving me standing there with leaves and rubbish all blowing around me.

I hadn’t even noticed the music had stopped until now. It was deathly quiet. I felt like the only person in the world. Something moved at the corner of my eye and I spun round, but there was nothing there.

I hurried towards the exit. To my relief, the turnstile gate swung open as I pushed against it and I was soon outside, trying to catch my breath.

Mum wasn’t back when I got home. I put the radio on, loud. I felt jumpy and strange. So far I’d met two people in this town, one horrible (Mrs Longmeadow) and one weird. It didn’t bode well for the rest of my life here. I wondered again if Luka was homeless and had a sudden image of him bedding down in some doorway. On the other hand, maybe he was sitting down right now to a huge plate of bacon and eggs, his smiling mum and dad asking him all about his morning. I wondered what he’d say. (‘Oh, I met this ugly girl, hung around a creepy old fairground and completely freaked her out, just for the hell of it.’)

I sagged into a chair in the kitchen, suddenly missing Dad so much it made my teeth ache. We hadn’t spoken for about a week.

Mum told me he’d had his mobile nicked and was getting a new one. That was why he hadn’t rung, she said. We didn’t have another number for him – Dad’s band, Kasbah, was on tour somewhere up North and I knew they didn’t stay in one place long.

But I couldn’t stand not speaking to him for a moment longer. Even trying his old number was better than nothing, just for the feel of the familiar digits.

My fingers trembled as I dialled. Maybe the thief would pick up and I could give him a piece of my mind. It rang about four times and was about to go to voicemail. But just at that moment, someone picked up.

‘Look, I’ll call back when I get... Uh, hello?’

I almost dropped the phone. ‘Dad?’ I said. Happiness bloomed inside my chest.

‘Bel, sweetheart...’

‘You got your phone back! Dad, it’s so good to hear your voice! Where are you now?’

‘I’m just outside Leeds,’ he said. ‘Got my phone back this morning. Look, Bel, sweets, I’m in the middle of rehearsals. I’ll call you tonight, okay?’ And the line went dead. I put the phone down slowly.

I stood there for a moment, staring down at the telephone like it might still deliver something better.

Heaving a big sigh, I sat down on the bottom step of the stairs and tried not to feel hurt. Dad was just focused on the rehearsals.

He once told me that when you had a passion for something, like his music, you could lose yourself in it so completely that you’d forget about all the boring, mundane stuff in your life. It was a bit like flying, he said.

It made me feel funny when he said that, and envious too. Like I envied the music for having him, and envied him for having the music.

The phone rang late.

I could hear the low rumble of Mum’s voice and crept out of bed to hover on the landing.

‘You haven’t spoken to her for a week and then you decide to ring when she’s asleep. Honestly, Steve, do you ever think?’

There was a pause.

‘Well, you’ve only got yourself to blame for that...’

I started to come down the stairs, and Mum turned round, frowning. ‘Well, here she is, anyway. You might as well speak to her now you’ve got her out of bed.’

She handed me the phone. ‘Don’t stay on for long,’ she said and clomped back upstairs.

I was set to be cool and distant with Dad, in revenge for abandoning me and then being weird on the phone, but as soon as he spoke, I felt all my armour melt away.

‘How’s my Jelly-Belly then?’ His voice was warm and fuzzy.

‘Da-ad!’ I said. I always pretended to mind that silly name, but hearing it felt like a hug.

‘Sorry to call so late, sweetpea,’ he said, ‘but this is the first chance I’ve had. How you settling in on the Costa Del Kent?’

‘I hate it,’ I said with a big sigh. ‘It’ll be better when you get here though. When are you coming?’

He hesitated. I heard the pop of him sucking on his cigarette.

‘Things are a bit complicated right now, Bel. With me and Mum. And what with the tour and all, I can’t make any promises just yet.’

‘But you’re here for Christmas, right?’ I hated the babyish whine in my voice but couldn’t help it. The pause that followed made my heart sag into my stomach.

‘Well, I needed to talk to you about that. We’ve been offered a gig in Scotland on Christmas Eve. Glasgow. It’s good money and I can’t really turn it down right now. But I’ll try and get there on Christmas Day somehow. Or Boxing Day, okay? Bel?’

All I could do was make snuffly-snotty noises down the phone.

‘Oh honey, please don’t cry! I can’t stand it. Please! Look, baby girl... I miss you every minute of every day. Once all this is over, I promise to make it up to you. We’ll do something really good, just the two of us. It’ll be like old times. In the meantime, you’ve just got to stay strong. Now dry your tears and hop back into bed. You don’t want to look like Kermit the frog after a night on the tiles, do you?’

I gave a little hiccup and laugh all at once.

‘That’s a good girl. Got to stay strong for me. You get back into that bed now.’

A pause.

‘G’night, baby.’
Click.