Drawing with Light (10 page)

Moat House now has a roof and doors and windows, and half a staircase!

Why don't you bring Dan HERE for Christmas? Safe from clutches of old girlfriend, and I get to meet him and see if he is good enough for you.

(I know, million reasons why NOT: caravan too small. Cold. No privacy. Dad being embarrassing. Etc., etc.) BUT he could bring a tent and thermal underwear (ha! very sexy!). What is he like? Send photo.

Would you prefer 1. earrings? Or 2. silk scarf? (For Christmas.) I can get a discount.

xxx Em

I wait. No reply pops up. She's gone to make the mince pies or whatever.

I have another look at the photos of Mattie. She looks so cute with her sweet face, sad eyes, her soft ears that fold down at the top. If I print one off, Cassy can take it with her when she goes to see Bob in hospital after work tomorrow. He must be worrying about her.

Today is our first day at work at the Christmas market, after school.

‘You watch the bags and scarves at the front, to make sure no one nicks anything,' Rachel says, ‘and I'll keep an eye on the jewellery.'

The market's packed. We've had loads of people buying stuff already: earrings and the big bright baskets, mostly, and one guy who bought three identical pink silk scarves for
the three different ladies in my life.
Yuck. Rachel pulls a face and it's all I can do to stop myself throwing up.

‘Arrogant git,' Rachel says, once she's taken the money off him. ‘He's not even good-looking.'

‘Perhaps he's very wealthy,' I say. ‘More likely, he's got three aunties, not three girlfriends!'

It's a bit quieter while people go off to watch the lady mayor switch on the lights. The Salvation Army band starts playing Christmas carols round the huge Christmas tree in front of the church.

Rachel and I mess about, trying on the expensive hand-embroidered silk scarves. Polly said we could wear one each, to model them. It makes more people buy them, apparently. Rachel chooses a turquoise silk one. She makes me try something bright:
not your usual black
. So I end up looking like a Christmas parcel, wrapped in orange and shocking pink.

‘Wow! Didn't recognise you two gorgeous girls!' Cassy suddenly appears, smiling at us. She hands us each a plastic cup of hot spiced apple juice. ‘To warm you up!' she says.

‘What are you doing here?' I say.

‘Rob and I thought we'd come out for the evening,' she says. ‘We'll be at the Jazz cafe later, if you want a lift home?'

‘Aw!' Rachel says, when Cassy's disappeared through the crowds again. ‘Isn't she nice to you?'

‘Suppose,' I say. ‘I could easily have got the bus.'

‘Isn't your mystery man coming to collect you, then?'

My cheeks go hot. ‘Seb? No.'

‘You haven't fallen out already?'

‘No.'

Have we? He was really pissed off with me, for saying that stuff. I just didn't think. But he shouldn't be so sensitive. I don't tell Rachel what happened. I'm still keeping Seb to myself. Don't want her analysing everything the way she does.

‘How do these look?' Rachel preens in front of the mirror hanging at the side of the stall, checking out a necklace of chunky green beads.

‘Good. Very fetching,' I say. ‘Put on the matching earrings too.'

It's more like dressing up and playing, than work. We're getting paid seven pounds an hour each for having fun! And Polly's right: whatever Rachel and I are wearing, we sell more of. So we sell lots of orange scarves, and bright pink ones, and turquoise ones, and chunky necklaces. Mostly to middle-aged men. How weird is that?

At closing time, we count up the money. We've taken over two hundred and sixty pounds.

‘Blimey!' Rachel says. ‘Who'd have thought it!'

We have a laugh with the security men, who seem to find the idea of
roast chestnuts
very amusing.

‘Don't ask,' Rachel says to me.

People begin to drift off. The street cleaners arrive to sweep up the piles of litter. We pack up all the scarves and stuff into boxes, like Polly showed us, and close the wooden doors at the front of the stall and padlock them.

Rachel's supposed to be taking the money home with her for safe-keeping, so I walk with her back to her house, in case she gets mugged or something.

‘Coming in?'

‘Nah. Going to meet Cassy and Dad and get my lift.'

‘See you at school tomorrow, then.'

I zigzag back through the narrow streets at the bottom of town to the Jazz cafe. The streets are still buzzing with late-night shoppers. I go past the crowd of homeless people huddled on the steps waiting for the night shelter to open. Most of them have got dogs: quiet, well-behaved ones, like Mattie. I wonder about that, the way the dogs always seem contented. Perhaps they like the company. Or the freedom, being outside all day. Perhaps their owners give them lots of love and attention.

I spot Dad and Cassy through the cafe window before they see me. It's strange just catching sight of them like that, framed in the lit window, their heads bent towards each other, engrossed in talking. It's as if I see them properly, as they are, instead of through the normal filter of my own relationship with them. He's holding both her hands across the table, and then he leans over and kisses her. They look happy.

I feel almost awkward, going in to join them. It's a strange feeling.

‘Ah! There you are!' Dad looks up and grins. ‘I hear you were doing a roaring trade.'

‘Yes.'

‘Want something to eat? Or a drink or something?' He pulls over a chair, so I can join them at the table for two.

‘I'd rather get home. Unless you two want to stay longer?'

‘I'll just go to the loo,' Cassy says. ‘Won't be long.'

Dad shifts round to face me. ‘Tired?'

I nod.

‘Cassy's been a bit upset. She went up to the hospital after work. To visit the homeless bloke.'

‘Bob.'

‘Him. Yes. But they wouldn't let her see him. He has some infection or something. He's pretty sick. They've put him in a room by himself. So Cassy and I had a long chat about the dog, and we decided we really can't keep her, Em. I'm sorry . . .'

‘And?'

‘So we dropped her off at the dogs' home. On the way over here, tonight. I know you'll be disappointed. But it's the best thing, in the circumstances.'

How dare he say that?

I hate you
, I want to shout.
You tell me here, in a crowded cafe, so I can't make a fuss. Coward.

Dad waits for me to say something. But I won't.

‘I'm sorry, Em, but please don't go upsetting Cassy even more.'

It's a horrible betrayal. I'm furious with them both. And the fact that Cassy was being all nice when she came over to the stall, when in reality she'd just got rid of Mattie . . . it's unbearable.

‘We can visit her,' Cassy says in the car on the way home. ‘Take her for walks whenever we want. I've registered us, so we can just turn up there and take her out.'

I don't say a word all the way back. I don't speak to them at the caravan either. I go to bed without saying goodnight.

I send Seb a text.

Dad is so mean. Has put Mattie in the dogs' home. I am so sad. Didn't even say goodbye to her.

I wait, but he doesn't reply.

I cry into the pillow.

I hate everyone. Living here is shit.

12

Kat got back from university tonight.

She came via London, with Dan, and then caught another train here, and Dad picked her up from the station. We had supper together late, all together, even though I am still not talking to Cassy and Dad.

Now Kat and me are in bed. Talking in the dark, like the old days.

It's just as well we're used to sharing a room. You can hear every sniff and sigh and creak as one or other of us turns over in the bunk beds or reaches out for a drink of water.

‘The thing is,' Kat says, ‘Dan's bound to see her. She's back from her university, and they live, like, only minutes away from each other. They'll be getting together with old school friends. There will be parties.'

‘That doesn't mean that they'll get back together again,' I say. ‘They might see each other, but so what? They split up for a reason. Now he's going out with you. So I don't see why you're so worried.'

‘You don't understand,' Kat says. ‘He might just be tempted. You know, after a few drinks, feeling all happy and Christmassy . . . just sort of slip back into it . . . seeing as I'm not around. Out of sight, out of mind.'

‘If he really likes you, he's not going to treat you like that, is he? And if he does, if he's that fickle and unfaithful, he's not worth it. You'd be better off without him.'

Kat sighs dramatically. ‘It's not that simple, Em.'

‘Isn't it? Why not?'

‘If you don't know, how can I explain? You can't just turn feelings on and off, because of how someone else behaves! He's probably with her right this minute. It's too awful!'

‘That's a rubbish way to think, Kat!'

‘You don't have a clue, do you? You're too young, I guess.'

‘Oh, for heaven's sake!' I turn over, in a huff.

We're both silent for ages. I kind of know she's lying on her back, staring up into the darkness, wide awake. I can feel how awake she is! And even though I'm pretending to be fed up and asleep, she knows I'm not really. That's how close we are, my sister and me.

‘Do you love him?' I ask her, eventually.

‘I don't know,' she says miserably. ‘I don't know how to tell if it's real love, or something else. I think I do, but then why am I so scared? Why can't I trust him?'

‘Is it because of how you are, or something to do with him?' I say. ‘Trusting people is sometimes hard if you're not sure of yourself . . . Or perhaps because you like him so much, you're scared of losing him.' I know I sound too much like Rachel. It's not going to help Kat.

I wish I could talk to her about Seb and me, but it's not the right moment. She hasn't asked me anything about him, yet. I know she's too sad and anxious and caught up in her own stuff. The weird thing is, I feel for the first time as if I'm older than her. Wiser, even.

Kat's voice comes again out of the dark silence. ‘And then there's Cassy.'

‘What do you mean? What about Cassy?' My heart starts beating extra fast. What has Cassy said? I shoot straight into mad overdrive thinking about serious illnesses –
leukaemia. Multiple sclerosis. Brain tumour
.

‘Don't tell me you haven't noticed? Honestly, Em!'

‘What? Noticed what? What did Cassy tell you?'

‘Nothing, yet. But it's obvious, stupid! She's pregnant!'

I almost fall off the top bunk.

It has really never crossed my mind. I feel totally stupid. Because it makes complete sense, now I start thinking back over things. Little bits of evidence that add up. How tired she is. Not eating breakfast. Getting upset about stuff. The appointment. Dad and her holding hands.

Instead of it being a relief, that she's not seriously ill and about to die or whatever, this huge weight comes crushing down on my chest, so I can hardly breathe.

Dad and Cassy and a new baby.

The new family, for the new house.

Kat and me: temporary loan.

Time's up.

‘Well? Say
something
,' Kat says.

‘Did Dad tell you?' My voice comes out small and pathetic.

‘No. But tomorrow I'm going to ask them both straight out.' Kat sounds so cross and so decisive it makes me feel a tiny bit better. ‘It's not that surprising, I suppose,' Kat goes on. ‘Cassy loves babies. She's the right age. It's a wonder they waited this long, in fact.'

She's talking as if they
planned
it! Discussed it, even. Whereas my first thought is that it must be an
accident
, and that's why they've both been so stressed out recently.

‘Dad's too old to have a baby!' I protest. ‘He's practically ancient. And why would he want one? He's got us.'

‘Cassy will have won him round,' Kat says. ‘How could he deny lovely Cassy her heart's desire? And men are never too old, anyway. It doesn't make any difference to them. They can have babies when they're pensioners!'

‘But what about us?'

‘We're grown-up! We're almost out of their hair. You'll be going to university soon. So they can start all over again, now, like a proper family.'

‘Kat! Don't say that!'

‘Why not? It's the truth, isn't it?' Her voice sounds bitter, and sad. ‘Time you faced facts, Emily Woodman.'

Kat's still asleep, or pretending to be, when I get up next morning. Dad's making porridge and has left his stuff all over the table so there's nowhere for me to make my sandwiches for lunch. Cassy sips a cup of tea and looks white and sick and of course now I know why. I don't speak to either of them. Dad switches on the radio just as I'm leaving, and Kat screeches from the bedroom for him to shut up. It's a relief to get out of the caravan.

All morning I'm tense, waiting for Kat to text. I keep imagining the showdown with Cassy and Dad. If Kat hadn't guessed, how long would they have left it before they told us? It proves how embarrassed Dad is about the whole thing. But Cassy? Maybe she's just scared.

Kat finally texts me after lunch, in Photography. I'm in the darkroom, so I have to wait till the end of the lesson to read it.

‘What's up?' Rachel and I are walking down to town at the end of school. ‘Did Mr Ives say something weird again?'

‘I got a message from Kat,' I say.

‘And?'

‘Cassy's having a baby.'

Reading the word
baby
makes it real. Saying the word out loud makes it even more so.