Disappearing Home (20 page)

I lift the lid, reach inside and grab the first one. My back to everyone, bag against my belly, I drop the shoe inside. I can feel my face burn, breath stuck in my throat. A quick look behind: all clear. I slip the second shoe into the bag and close the lid on the box. Bag zipped, my eyes fix on the door. The walk from the boxes to the door seems to take for ever.

Outside, I breathe out. Walk fast steps towards the supermarket, pull the list out. It takes me ages, but I get everything. I can't stand still at the bus stop, can't stop looking behind. I leg it back all the way along County Road and Walton Road. By the time I reach the bottom of St Domingo Road I'm breathless. The number 25 bus pulls up behind me. I put out my hand, the bus stops and I step on board. ‘One stop, please,' I say.

The driver laughs. ‘I could spit further. Go on, get on.' He doesn't take my money. Nellie is sitting on the front seat. I sit next to her, push the penny back into my pocket.

‘Your face'll get you the parish,' she says. ‘Where've you been?'

‘On a message for Sylvia, Bernie's mum.'

She looks at the blue bag on the floor. ‘Well, I don't know who Sylvia is, but I do know you're a good girl, Robyn,' she says. ‘Your mum's lucky to have you.' She taps my knee, taps my sins away.

I look at the bag on the floor. No, I'm not a good girl, I think. I'm a thief, a rotten sly bastard thief.

Sylvia is taking washing in off the line. Her face brightens when she sees me. ‘How did you do?' she says. I open the bag and show her. ‘Soap powder, shampoo, juice, coffee and the shoes?' She lifts one out. ‘You got the shoes.' She gives me a hug. ‘You clever, clever girl.'

‘Is Bernie in?'

‘No, love, his dad's taken him to join a boxing club.'

I was looking forward to going to the park with Bernie. I've knocked up a couple of times now and he's always out boxing.

‘Ahh, look at that face, it's not the end of the world. He'll be back soon. Call back in a couple of hours.'

I remember the bus fare; hold out the coins to Sylvia.

‘Keep that, Robyn. You've saved me a fortune.'

I go back to my square. There's a gang of girls sitting on the bottom of our block having a sly smoke. I recognize one of them, Mandy, the monitor from my school. Mum stands on the landing with Nellie. I go inside and get a drink of water. Dad's not in. Me and Mum have cheese sandwiches and lemonade, watch television for a bit. I can't be bothered now knocking back for Bernie; he'll probably be out anyway. After a couple of hours Mum tells me
it's time for bed. I cover myself up with the blanket, hear the front door open. ‘Won't be a minute, Robyn,' Mum says. ‘Just running to the offy for a bottle of cider and some fags.'

I listen for ages but Mum doesn't come back in. I get up, go out onto the landing. Mum is there chatting and smoking with Mandy and her mob. Mum turns around. ‘You all right, Robyn? I'll be in now, love.'

‘Oh, I know her,' Mandy says. ‘She's one of the new kids in our school.'

‘She's my daughter, Robyn. Keep an eye on her for me.'

Mandy smiles at me. ‘I will.' I smile back, then go inside to bed and fall fast asleep.

Next day on the playground, I walk around with Rose. From behind the wall, Mandy sees me, calls me over. Rose looks behind us, then back at me. ‘Do you know her?'

‘Robyn,' Mandy shouts. ‘Over here.'

The way Rose looks at me makes me feel like I'm somebody important. We walk over. They are just about to light up. ‘Her mum's brilliant,' Mandy says. ‘Dead funny, isn't she?'

I stand next to Mandy and think about how we look the same with our feather cuts.

‘Keep dixie for us, Robyn, you and your mate. We'll let you have last drag on it.' Mrs O'Connor is on playground duty. She's right over on the other side of the yard; steam rises from a blue cup in her hand.

‘It's all clear,' I say.

They huddle into a circle, one, two, three pulls and pass. The fag burns down fast, it's nearly down to the brown tip by the time they pass it to me. ‘Here,' Mandy says. ‘Take the last pull.' She clamps it between my fingers. I put it to my lips; the tip is soggy. I
push my breath out. The end lights up. ‘You're not taking it back. Taking it back is what matters.'

One of the other girls holds out her hand. ‘Give it here. She's wasting it.'

Mandy knocks her hand away. ‘Let her have another go.' She looks at me. ‘Suck it back right down your throat,' she says. ‘Go on, it's easy.' Everybody gathers around me to watch. It's right down to the brown tip now. I put it to my lips, breathe it back hard. My lip burns. The smoke takes my breath away. I cough and choke, hold the cigarette away from me, eyes watering. Somebody takes it from my hand. When I stop coughing, I see Mrs O'Connor throw the tip to the floor and stamp on it.

Her face is in Mandy's face. ‘What do you think you're doing?' She looks at me and Rose. ‘These are first years.'

Mandy's face turns pink.

‘Wait for me outside Mrs Bullock's office.' She glares around the broken circle. ‘All of you.'

I walk behind Mandy. ‘Robyn Mason, Rose Mooney, not you. You go to my room.'

We stand in front of Mrs O'Connor's desk and wait. The taste of smoke in my mouth makes me feel sick. She comes into the room, throws her bag to the floor and leans back on her desk, arms folded. ‘What were you thinking of?'

We say nothing.

‘You don't have to do the same thing everybody else does, if you know it's wrong.'

‘Sorry, Mrs O'Connor,' Rose says.

Mrs O'Connor looks at me. ‘And next time?'

‘I'll say no.'

‘I hope that's true, Robyn, because next time you'll be sent to
Mrs Bullock.' She looks up at the clock on the wall. ‘Better get a move on. You're late for class.'

There's no sign of Mandy and her gang on the playground at dinner time. ‘They all got six of the best,' Rose says. ‘Mandy's had her monitor's badge taken away. None of them are allowed on the playground for a week.'

In English, I can't look at Mrs O'Connor. I feel like I've let her down. When it's my turn to read out loud, I say I need the toilet so I can get out of the room. I've read well past them all anyway. When the class is over Mrs O'Connor tells me to stay behind. ‘It's okay to make mistakes, Robyn. That's how we learn. You haven't killed anybody. The only one you've hurt is yourself. No more sulking.'

If I had stayed in bed last night Mandy would never have seen me. I would just be another nobody on the playground she could tell to piss off. It was a mistake to get up and find out what was going on. It was a mistake to go over to the wall and smoke.

On the way home I wonder who taught Lizzie to smoke. I wonder what happened to her. I wonder if she ever thinks about me. The more I think about it all, the more I convince myself I'm probably better off not knowing.

We've had a busy Saturday. Nearly all of the cakes in the glass cabinet have been sold. One chocolate éclair and one jam doughnut left. I think I'll ask Jimmy if I can have the éclair with my lunch. ‘Robyn, take table two's order.' Edna is in a good mood. She cracks big bubbles, sings along with every song on the radio. There's another hour before Liverpool kick off, before Jimmy switches the radio station over.

I walk over to table two; he's sitting there, blue denim jacket, blue jeans. He makes his eyes big for me to pretend I don't know him. ‘Cup of tea and a jam doughnut,' he says. I can see
my hands shake when I write the order, place it on the counter. I try to think why he's here. I can't get him money out of this till. I look over at Mum's stall; she has a queue. Why doesn't he join it?

I take him his tea and cake, look where he's looking. Jimmy counts out the notes from the till. Rolls them inside the blue cloth bag, puts the bag in the bread bin. Dad spoons two sugars in his tea, slow-stirs it. Breaks the cake in half and eats, jam dripping down the sides of his mouth like blood. My neck burns. I tell Jimmy I need the toilet. He nods. ‘You all right?'

‘Fine,' I say. ‘Back in a minute.'

I lock the cubicle, put the toilet seat down and sit. He's going to spoil everything. I try to think what to do. I need to let Jimmy know he's being watched, but how? When I get back to the café Dad's gone. ‘Have your break, Robyn, while it's eased off,' Jimmy says. I sit down with a glass of orange juice. ‘What are you having to eat?'

‘I'm not hungry.'

‘Have a cake then.'

‘No thanks.'

‘Are you feeling okay?'

‘I'm fine. Go on then, I'll have a cake.'

I eat half of the éclair so he'll stop asking questions.

In Mum's queue, blue denim jacket, blue jeans. I let out a big breath, pick up the rest of the éclair and eat.

‘Got your appetite back?'

I smile. ‘I'll have a cheese sandwich, if that's okay.'

‘One cheese sandwich coming up.'

After work, he's waiting for us outside. Mum goes into a sweet shop to buy fags. I wait outside with Dad. ‘Fat Jimmy,' he says, ‘he keep that cash there all day?'

‘No,' I lie. ‘Some man tried to take it once. Jimmy cracked his skull open with a hammer, blood everywhere. An ambulance had to come.'

Dad looks me in the eye. ‘How do you know?'

‘I've seen the hammer. He still keeps it under the counter.'

‘You could get at it.'

‘There's no way. I'm not allowed behind the counter.'

‘You're a smart alec. Think of a way.'

Mum and Dad go to the Stanley. They won't be back for ages. I've taken Mum's key off the mantelpiece. I knock at Bernie's to see if he's coming out. Sylvia tells him to go on a message to his Auntie Jackie's. ‘Want to come?' Bernie says.

‘Where does she live?'

‘Ten minutes away. I'll show you.'

‘Who is she?'

‘Mum's sister.'

We walk up St Domingo Road, behind St George's church, to the top of the grass hill. ‘Where about?' I ask.

‘See that tower block over there?'

I nod.

‘Fourteenth floor, you can see the whole of Liverpool.'

Netherfield Road sits at the bottom of the hill. Cars speed by in both directions. Bernie looks at the hill then back at me. ‘Race you down.'

I shake my head. ‘What are you like?'

‘Wanna race or what?'

‘What do you think?'

We leg it towards the bottom, Bernie looks back, sees me beaten, starts to do a funny run. Legs wide, arms curled like an ape. ‘Come on, slow coach.'

‘I'm scared. There's a road. Slow down so you can stop.'

Bernie stops, toes on the edge of the pavement, arms out, drawing sideways circles in the air. We cross the road and head for the tower block. The lift is tiny and it smells of pee. Bernie sees me crinkle up my nose.

‘You'll stick like that,' he says.

‘I want to,' I say.

Jackie doesn't look like Sylvia, she looks young. She's tall with dark, little-girl hair that ends down her back. It nearly touches the hem of her short dress. ‘Come in, Bernie lad. Let me get you the money.'

I can't stop staring at how high her heels are; she has eyelids topped with blue glitter. Bernie pulls me inside. ‘You've got to see this,' he says. In the living room there are two armchairs with wooden handles, a television and a round, glass-top coffee table. The window has no nets or draw curtains. I look out through the glass. From here, everything looks like a toy town. A giant could lift up a car, a tree, a home from here and move it to another part of Liverpool.

‘Wow,' I say.

Bernie looks at my face. ‘See?'

Jackie hands Bernie a ten pound note. ‘Keep that safe for your mum.' Bernie stuffs it inside the front pocket of his jeans.

‘What's your name?' Jackie asks.

‘Robyn,' I say.

‘Love your hair. This your girlfriend, Bernie?'

‘No,' I say. ‘We're mates.'

I don't like the way she looks at us. Why doesn't Bernie tell her off? I don't want Bernie to think about me that way. Like the teenagers in Stanley Park, all kissy kissy behind the cocky watchman's hut. There's no way I want Bernie as a boyfriend. It would
mess things up. I've got enough to think about with other stuff, like my dad. He won't let me do anything. He'd probably murder Bernie if he knocked up for me at our flat. Right now Bernie's a good mate; not somebody I need to worry about.

‘I believe you,' Jackie says, in a sly voice.

Bernie turns back to the window.

Jackie checks her watch. ‘Come on, Bernie lad, shift yourself,' she says. ‘I've got someone coming over any minute. He's taking me dancin'. She takes a bottle of perfume out of her bag, sprays her neck and wrists. ‘Hold your wrists out,' she says to me. She sprays them both, puts the bottle back in her bag. ‘Tap them together, like this.' She nods at Bernie. ‘Drives the men crazy.' Jackie sees us to the door. When she closes it the bang echoes around the block. Bernie presses the button for the lift. The doors open and an older man in a suit steps out. He doesn't look at us. His eyes are on Jackie's door; he straightens his tie before knocking.

‘How old is Jackie?' I ask when the lift doors close.

‘Dunno, twenty something, why?'

‘Just wondered.'

When I get home there's nobody in. I put the key back on the mantelpiece, watch a bit of telly, check I've got
Anne of Green Gables
in my pocket for tomorrow. I'm in bed when I hear them come in. I can't stop thinking about Jackie, living up in the clouds just ten minutes away. I imagine her out in a fancy place, dancing. I want to go back and visit, try on her shoes and her make-up. I lift my wrists up to my face, press them to my nose.