Eva's Journey (15 page)

One day I came home from school to see Mum and Dad standing in the hallway giggling like teenagers.

‘What's up?' I asked.

‘Nothing,' they said, giggling even more.

‘Whatever,' I said. ‘
Be
totally embarrassing. Don't let me stop you. I'm going upstairs to do my homework.'

They followed me upstairs and when I opened my bedroom door they were there to catch my bag as I dropped it to the floor.

‘Omigod!' I gasped.

The walls of my room were no longer muddy brown. They were painted in wide stripes of bright pink and white.

‘I got the paint cheaply,' said Dad proudly. ‘It was left over after a big job.'

The ugly carpet was gone, and the floorboards underneath had been polished until they shone. Next to the bed was a beautiful bright pink and white rug.

‘I made it myself,' said Mum. ‘Out of scraps of
fabric. My friend Deirdre showed me how.'

I hugged them both until they begged for mercy.

‘We love you, Princess,' said Dad.

‘I love you too,' I said. ‘But, Dad …'

‘But what?'

‘You can call me Eva.'

Chapter Twenty-Five

F
or my thirteenth birthday, I didn't have a pamper day in a big fancy hotel near my house. (For one thing, the big fancy hotel closed down months ago.)

Instead, some of my friends came over to my place and we ate pizza (topped with the first of Mum's homegrown tomatoes) and watched a DVD. Victoria was there of course, and Ella, and Amy and Chloe and a few other girls from my class. I invited Ruby, but she couldn't come. She was taking part in a long-distance swimming competition.

I didn't get my hair highlighted for my party. I haven't been able to afford highlights for ages and
ages, and my old highlights grew out a long time ago. I didn't have to go to my party looking like a swamp monster, though. Ruby's sister Jenny, who's a trainee hairdresser, came over in the morning and cut my hair for me, and tied it up so it looked really nice.

I didn't have a manicure either, but Victoria lent me some really nice nail varnish instead. We had fun painting our nails all kind of crazy colours.

Mum made me a double-chocolate birthday cake, and even though it was a little bit lop-sided, it was totally delicious. When I blew out the candles, Dad kept making stupid jokes that weren't even funny.

In the end I pretended to be cross.

‘Make one more pathetic embarrassing joke and I'll start to wish that you were away on a business trip,' I said.

Dad hugged me and pretended to be hurt.

He kissed my cheek and I pretended that I thought that was gross.

We were both very glad that he was there.

Victoria slept over that night. It was a bit of a squash in my tiny bedroom, but we didn't mind.

When we put the lights out, we were quiet for a long time.

‘What are you thinking about?' I asked after a while.

‘Nothing. What about you?'

‘Nothing.'

I lay for another while, picturing our heads empty of thoughts – full instead of cotton wool or swirling grey smoke.

Then Victoria gave a big sigh.

‘OK, I admit it. That was a lie. I was thinking about your party last year.'

I joined her in an even bigger sigh.

‘Me too,' I said.

‘An awful lot has happened to you since then.'

‘Tell me about it,' I said.

‘It hasn't been all bad, has it?' she asked.

‘Hasn't it?' I asked, not really sure of the answer.

‘Of course not,' said Victoria. ‘Think of all the
interesting people you met this year.'

‘Like?'

If Victoria wanted to be the optimist in this friendship, maybe I should make her work hard for the honour.

She giggled.

‘Like Madam Margarita for starters. How is she anyway?'

‘Great. She seems really happy. She's making heaps of jewellery.'

‘And you met Ruby this year.'

‘That's true. And I forgot to tell you, she texted me earlier. She came second in her swimming competition. She says she might even join a swimming club if she keeps winning.'

Victoria laughed.

‘She'd better be careful. If she goes on like this, soon she won't be weird any more.'

‘And I got a postcard from Dawn yesterday. Remember the assistant in my class?'

Victoria giggled again.

‘How could I forget? Did she ever find out how
you helped her to escape?'

‘I don't think so. I know she suspects something, but she can't figure out exactly what happened. Anyway, she's having a brilliant time in Peru, and then she's going to Bolivia.'

‘That sounds so cool. And don't forget, you met Ella this year too. She's really nice. If you'd stayed in your old school you'd never have got to know her.'

I nodded, which was probably a bit stupid as Victoria couldn't see me in the dark.

‘You know her dad's my teacher?'

‘You only told me about a thousand times.'

I laughed.

‘Whatever. Anyway, guess what he wrote in my last report?'

‘What?'

‘He said “Eva is the most helpful girl I have ever had the pleasure to teach.”'

Then we both laughed until our faces hurt.

That's the end of my story – for now.

If this was a fable, this is the bit where I should be describing what I've learned during the last year.

I should be saying that I now know that money isn't everything – that even though I'm poorer than I used to be, I'm happier that I've ever been before.

But unfortunately, life isn't a fable, or at least my life isn't anyway.

Last week Victoria told me that soon she's going on a trip to Venice with the Pony Club. They're going to stay in a gorgeous hotel, have trips in gondolas, and eat yummy Italian ice-cream until it comes out their ears.

I smiled and hugged her.

I said that I hoped she had a totally fantastic time.

And then I went home and threw myself on my lumpy bed and cried until I ran out of tears.

One day recently I walked past my old house, Castleville. It was the first time I'd been there in ages. The electric gates were open, and I could see right inside.

I looked up at my old bedroom. The window was half-open and I could see my mauve curtains fluttering in the breeze. I could see a little girl sitting on the window seat, combing her hair.

She looked happy.

Was I happy for her?

No way!

I felt like running in through the gates, and up the stairs. I felt hauling her from the window seat and shaking her. I felt like telling her that the joke was over – that it was my house and it was time for her to leave.

How dare she steal my life and live my dreams?

But I really don't want to do time in a juvenile detention centre, so I turned my back on my beautiful old home. I walked up the road and after a minute I couldn't stand it any more. I clenched my fists and kicked a wall as hard as I possibly could.

It didn't make me feel any better, and a week later, I still had bruises on my toes.

So if this is a fable, it isn't a very good one – the
moral is that kicking walls when you're wearing flip-flops really isn't a very good idea.

So maybe my life isn't a fable, but could it be a fairy-tale?

If this was a fairy-tale, this is the bit where I should be saying how a miracle happened and I got my old life back.

If this was a fairy-tale, I should be once again living happily ever after in my old house, like the bad stuff had only been a terrible dream.

But life isn't a fairy-tale, or at least my life isn't anyway.

If this were a fairy-tale, the dad would be driving around in a golden carriage.

My dad drives around in a battered old van. He has converted heaps of attics. He says no one can afford to move house any more, so when they need more space they have to call on someone like him.

Dad doesn't dream of golden carriages or fancy cars any more, but if business continues like this, he
says he might be able to buy a better van next year.

If this were a fairy-tale, the mum would sit around on a throne, polishing her diamonds and rubies.

My mum sits around the kitchen a lot, chatting with the neighbours and swapping recipes and gardening tips. They're thinking of getting together to run an allotment.

Mum has more friends now than she had when she was living behind the high walls of Castleville.

Mum and her new friends don't wear gold-trimmed cloaks, but they laugh a lot.

So I think it's plain to see – my life is no fairy-tale any more.

But who wants to live in a fairy-tale anyway?

Those golden thrones look awfully uncomfortable.

Those handsome princes always look a bit skinny to me.

Those enchanted castles look cold and draughty.

And without electricity, how would I ever straighten my hair?

It's been a very long year.

I've cried a lot and laughed a lot and lived a lot.

And what have I learned during these last twelve months?

1. I'm never going to be good at maths.

2. Turnips are cheap and strawberries aren't.

3. Even if you're not a princess, you can live happily ever after.

And that's exactly what I plan to do.