Glitter (7 page)

H
anna is amazing. I wish she were my mum. She’s filled her sitting room with streamers and balloons and pulled a table into the middle of the room and laid it with special birthday napkins and party poppers. And she didn’t even know it was my birthday until Cali got home from school!

“Thank you so much,” I whisper to Cali. “I was about to fall into a pit of despair being left down there with my dad on my own all evening. I mean it’s OK usually, there’s nothing wrong with it, but…you know…it is my birthday.”

“Cool,” smiles Cali. “I’m glad you’re happy. I love giving people surprises, it’s fun.”

“I thought you’d forgotten,” I say, “what with
Bugsy Malone
and everything.”

“Duh,” she says. “When will you get it into your dumb head that I’m your friend, Libs? And friends don’t forget each others’ birthdays, not ever.”

My birthday dinner is delicious. Hanna’s made a spicy chicken thing with rice and sweet potato. My dad’s lapping it up and
almost
smiling, but not quite. He actually looks quite awkward, like he’s not sure what to do with his arms and legs. My dad’s more used to smart restaurant dinners with limousines and champagne than cosy sitting room celebrations with apple juice. He changed into a fresh shirt and trousers before we came up and even managed to brush his hair and shave off his stubble. It’s the first time in ages there’s been a waft of his aftershave in the air. Apart from having lost some weight in the past few weeks he almost looks like my dad again.

“I really appreciate this, Hanna,” he says, “thank you. Things have been a bit difficult lately and you know…”

“You’re very welcome,” smiles Hanna, spooning more chicken on to his plate. “Think nothing of it, there’s no need to explain.”

When we’ve finished our main course there’s a knock at the door.

“Party time,” squeals Cali opening the door to Dylan, Len, Ivor, Jean and Joyce.

“Happy Birthday, Liberty,” they all say, tottering into the room and crowding on the sofa.

Then it’s cups of tea all round. And Hanna gets my dad busy with clearing the table and putting it away so there’s space in the room for everyone to party. I’m amazed that he’s not huffing and puffing and moaning like usual. He actually seems almost happy at having a job to do and he’s behaving like an obedient and helpful little boy. He looks softer and less scary and I’d quite like to reach out and touch him or catch his eye and send a little parcel of love. But I’m too scared because I never know when he’ll explode.

Dylan’s made me a crazy card with cartoon aliens drawn all over them and gives me a half empty packet of chewing gum for a present. Len hands me a white handkerchief with little pink roses and the initial L embroidered in the corner.

“My late wife made it,” he smiles. “Her name was Lily and she was a redhead too.”

Ivor gives me a book all about bird watching, Jean gives me a box of yummy-looking chocolates and Joyce gives me a beautiful china teacup and saucer that’s totally covered in a swirl of pink roses. Hanna hands me a bracelet made from beautiful green beads.

“Everybody ready?” she asks, turning off the lights.

Cali disappears into the kitchen. I know what’s about to happen and I can’t believe my luck. After a minute Cali appears holding an enormous chocolate cake that has eleven flickering candles on top and one sparkler in the middle to make twelve. The sparkler is showering the room with thousand glittering stars that light up my smile.

“I made it,” she smiles, “for my new best friend.”

My heart bursts wide open with love and joy and if you could see what’s going on inside you would definitely see a million flowers with their heads stretching up to the sun and a thousand butterflies fluttering with joy and a million swirls of happiness writing relief across my heart. Making a wish is easy. There’s only one thing to wish for that would make my world more perfect than it is right now. I close my eyes and imagine my wish flying out into the universe, on its way to the great wish reader
in the sky. I’d like to tell you what it is but I can’t because told wishes don’t come true.

Playing charades is a bit trickier than wish making. Some of the old folk are quite deaf so things get a bit confusing and not very successful at times. But I don’t mind because to see my dad chuckling away with Hanna, like I’ve never seen him do before, is the best present I could ever have in the whole wide world. And he even joins in and does a charade and can’t stop chuckling and chuckling when it all goes wrong. My dad is not the kind of dad to do a full-blown laugh; he’d be too shy for that. His laughter is let out in little chuckly spurts, like someone keeps shutting a door on it, afraid to let it all out at once, but still he’s chuckling and that’s new. It’s like someone has opened a can full of fizzy life and given him a big drink of it and I feel all warm inside and safe. This is the strangest but most wonderful birthday party I’ve ever had in my whole entire life.

After charades the old folk start chatting away about the wonderful work Hanna does with the Community Action Scheme.

“She’s a marvel,” says Ivor to my dad. “Before she set it
up, us old folk could have rotted away and died in our flats for all anyone cared.”

My dad’s ears prick up and he starts asking all sorts of questions about the scheme and if they have premises and computers and lawyers and things.

“You must be joking,” laughs Hanna. “This is a one-man band I’m running here,” she smiles. “Nothing fancy, but it’s essential in a place like this. People need help with all sorts of things and the council can only do so much.”

Then Len starts up about the difficulty he’s having with understanding how banking works these days and Jean says she can’t understand some forms she’s got to fill in and I can see my dad’s brain moving into gear. He’s plotting and planning and I wonder if he’s getting interested again about having his fingers in some pies.

And we’re all having the most perfect time until Dylan mentions
Bugsy Malone
. He’s cracking and cracking his knuckles and Hanna tells him to stop it because she says it will overstretch his tendons and make his joints weak and then she suddenly squeals.

“Of course, I get it now, you’re practicing for the school play, for
Bugsy Malone
. Are you in the play, Liberty?”

My tummy tightens and my second piece of chocolate
cake gets stuck in my throat. I need to stop them talking about
Bugsy
. I know I’m not actually going to be in it any more, but if my dad finds out that I’m getting involved in anyway at all that might distract me from my school work, I know he’ll go completely mad. I start coughing and coughing, like I’m really having trouble with my cake and everyone’s attention turns to me. And I think I’ve just about got everyone away from thinking about
Bugsy
when Joyce goes and makes things worse.

“Daaaarrrling,” she says, handing me a sip of tea, “drink it down, you don’t want to spoil that delightful singing voice of yours with all that coughing.”

“
I
s there no end to your deception, Liberty?” my dad storms when we get back to our flat. “I don’t believe it! If it’s not one thing, it’s another. You know how I feel about you getting involved with school plays and singing and time wasting activities like that, yet you persist in ignoring my wishes. And now you’ve gone and spoiled a perfectly pleasant evening, in fact the best evening I’ve had for years, believe it or not.”

“I’m not doing the play, Daddy,” I shout. “If you really want to know, I didn’t want to sing in it, singing is Cali’s and Joyce’s thing. What I wanted was to play the violin. And yes, for your information, I have lied to you, Daddy,
for years. Alice used to teach me the violin after her lessons. So I could do it, Daddy, it’s true! It’s only a little part, and I could manage it easily with a bit of help. But I know I’m not allowed, I know you hate it, I know you don’t care about what I want to do with my life. If you really want to know, I hate you, I hate you and I wish I wasn’t stuck in this stupid dump with you, and I never wanted Charles Dickens, not ever. I wish I could wash my hands of you too, because you’re ruining my life. And I wish it was you that had died instead of my mum.”

Before I know what I’m doing I’ve run out of our flat and slammed the door. I run down the stairs. It’s cold out here, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything any more; my life is rubbish, just like me. And now I’ve gone and said the worst thing ever to him. I saw him hold his cheek like my words had slapped him hard and now I can hear him calling after me, but I’m too scared to go back. I ignore him and just keep on running and running and running. I run past my school and towards the shops. My heart is beating fast in my ears; I’m out of breath and a stitch is sewing up my tummy so tight I can hardly breathe. I wish I could run for ever and ever and get far away from here.

The world is awake with evening sounds. Buses and taxis and cars are fighting for road space. The shops are fast asleep; they’re empty and dark and waiting for morning when they’ll burst into life and buzz with sales. The bars and restaurants are alive with fun, their windows glow yellow and warm and bright laughter is ringing from their doors. I’m hot, too hot, and my chest is about to explode with exhaustion. I can’t breathe, but I don’t care, I just keep on running and running and running until I nearly suffocate. I’m going to keep running and running until I can’t run any more, until I collapse in a puddle on the ground. I run away from the shops and along the road that leads to the park. I run past the park and on and on to a place I’ve never been before. I’m pounding along a dual carriageway, cars are zooming into the night and a huge winding footbridge stretches over the road. I’m far away now, far away from home. And that’s how I like it. There’s no one to tell me what to do. I can live here for ever and ever like tramps do and never have to listen to my stupid old dad and his stupid demands ever again. I run over the footbridge and follow a footpath that leads to a canal. Danger is flashing through me like sirens, but I don’t care; I don’t care about anything any more.

I slow down. I’m thirsty and wish I had something to drink. It’s dark here, really dark, except for the little ripples of water that have captured the light of the moon. My legs have turned to jelly and I’m cold. A chilly sweat creeps over my skin like a thousand tiny soldiers on patrol, shivering through me to my bones. There’s no running left in me. I’m done, but I don’t stop. I keep walking and walking because there’s nothing else to do. I can’t go home. Not now. Not ever. I’ve said too much and I wouldn’t blame my dad for going crazy at me; I’d deserve it, I said the worst things ever and I hurt him. It’s not his fault that he was the one who got to stay alive and I’m sure I’ll get to like Charles Dickens in the end. And it was really kind of him to trust me with my great-grandmother’s precious books. Shame paints itself over my skin and sticks like glue.

Someone’s walking towards me. I can hear little bits of gravel crunching on the tarmac. I freeze and a moment later a big dog bounds towards me, nearly knocking me over. His owner whistles and the dog runs back. I hide in the shadows waiting for them to pass. I don’t like it here. I want to go home, but I can’t. I keep on walking. This is stupid; I can’t go on for ever, not really. I wonder if Forrest
Gump felt like this when he started running? I wonder if he got to a point where he’d run so far that there was no turning back, even if he’d wanted to? I’m so busy with my thoughts that I don’t see the gang in front of me. They’ve spread across the path so I can’t get past.

“Excuse me,” I say, trying to find a way through the crowd, “can I just get past, please.”

“Yeh, right. Nah,” says a big boy standing over me. “Why, what’s your name?”

“Liberty,” I say.

“You gotta pay, Liberty,” laughs a girl with pink hair and bubble gum in her mouth. “Or else.”

I move along the wall of kids, looking for a gap to squeeze through. But there’s no gap. I turn to run back the way I came, but the gang closes in around me.

“Yeh, right, you gotta pay, girl,” says a boy slurping beer from a can. “You got any money on you, right?”

‘No,” I say. I’m jangling with panic, “I’m sorry, really, if I had you’d be welcome to it.”

“What else you got then, girl?” says a girl with a bottle in her hand. “You got a phone, iPod?”

“No,” I say. “I don’t have anything on me, really.”

“You crack me up, Liberty,” says the big boy. “No one
just goes out these days without nuffing in their pockets.”

Then they start jostling and play fighting each other. I try to make a run for it, but bubblegum girl grabs hold of me. Fear prickles under my skin and freezes my brain. What should I do? What should I do? I’m numb and can’t move.

“You can’t escape that fast,” she slurs, “we haven’t finished with you yet. Fancy a quick dip in the canal, Liberty, or are you gonna empty those pockets of yours?”

“Please,” I say, starting to cry, “please don’t hurt me.”

Then someone grabs me from behind, pulls me away from the crowd and says, “Liberty Parfitt, I do believe?”

“
T
hanks for saving my life back there,” I say.

My teeth are chattering with the cold so I move closer to Tyler to steal some of his warmth.

“You’re crazy, you are,” says Tyler, putting his jacket around my shoulders. “What do you think you’re doing walking around dark places alone at this time of night? You’re way too young for that.”

“I had a fight with my dad,” I say, “and I ran off. I can’t go back home, though, not now.”

“What’s he gonna do, whip you or what?”

“No,” I giggle, “he won’t hit me. He’ll just get cross.”

“Then you got nuffing to worry about, have you? He’ll
get over it, they always do. Nuffing’s that bad.”

Then somehow the whole story of my life starts tumbling out. It’s raining and for a while we shelter in a late night café. Tyler gets us both a hot chocolate and we share some jellybeans from the machine.

“For your birthday,” he smiles.

It’s nice to have someone listen to me. And Tyler’s good at it. He seems interested in what I’m saying and he doesn’t try to tell me what to do, he just listens and listens and listens until there’s nothing much left to say.

“Sounds like your old man’s had a rough time of it,” he says. “You too by all accounts. Come on, let’s get you home.”

And while we’re walking Tyler tells me all about his life and about how he has to work at the tyre place after school just to help his mum take care of his younger brothers and sister, because there’s not enough money to go round.

“Why is everyone so scared of you?” I ask.

“’Cause, when your old man beats you to hell and back like mine used to when I was young, you learn to stand up for yourself. No one’s ever gonna touch me like that again, right, not ever. Day one at school I made my
mark on the playground and that’s how it’s gonna stay. No one’s getting to me.”

Tyler walks me safely to our front door and waits with me until my dad answers. My heart is beating fast and my mouth’s gone dry. My dad’s face is white with worry and his eyes are red with tears.

“She’s all right,” says Tyler, “she’s safe. Sounds like you two have got a lot of talking to do. Time to do it, I reckon, before it gets too late.”

And then he’s gone. For a while my dad and I stand just staring at each other. I think if we were in a film he’d hold his arms out and fold me into a warm, safe hug. But we’re not in a film so he just sighs, mumbles something I can’t hear, stuffs his hands deep into his jogging bottom pockets and slumps off back to the TV. We’re obviously not going to take Tyler’s advice and talk about things, so I slide into my room and take myself to bed.

I’m twelve years old and my life is ruined. If it hadn’t been for Tyler tonight I might even have been dead, floating somewhere at the bottom of the canal and nobody would have cared. My dad probably wouldn’t even have noticed if I’d never come home. I don’t care about anything any more either – not even the stupid
violin and stupid
Bugsy Malone.
There are more important things in the world to be worrying about. It’s time to listen to my dad for once and pull my socks up and get my head down. Life isn’t all about what I want and I need to get that firmly fixed in my head. Look at Tyler, he’s only sixteen and he has to help take care of his family already. I’ve been living in la-la land and it has to stop, right now. I’m going to forget that I ever liked the violin and find some more sensible things to do with my time.

At midnight my phone beeps. It’s a text from Alice.

Happy birthday to u, happy birthday to u, happy birthday dear Libby, happy birthday to u. Hope u had the best day ever. My mum’s invited you for half-term. Please say yes! Love you Jellyhead. xxx

I close my phone and chuck it on the floor. Alice is living in la-la land too and she doesn’t even know it and maybe she never will. Not until a truckload of rubbish gets dumped on her head and her dad’s fallen into a pit of credit-crunch despair and she’s turned into some sort of mad person that has fights and gets threatened by
gangs. And that’s never going to happen to Alice, because bad things never happen to her. Alice knows nothing, she’s living in a safe little bubble where everything’s happy and lovely and sparkly all the time. Sebastian’s just as bad. He has no idea what’s going on here and he never even bothers to call. If it hadn’t been for Cali and Hanna and the old people my birthday would have been totally one big, fat disaster. It’s about time Alice and Sebastian grew up, just like I’ve had to.

My dad is grateful for my half-term invitation to Alice’s house.

“I think it’s for the best,” he says, “give us both a bit of space.”

I’m not so sure. I’ve
changed,
I can’t be like Alice any more; I can’t pretend everything’s OK when it’s so blatantly not. Alice and her mum want to come and pick me up but I’m too embarrassed for them to see where I live now. And it’s not even that it’s so bad any more, because there are nice people here, real people, it’s just Alice wouldn’t understand, not in a million years.

When my dad and I arrive at Alice’s house I’m glad he made the effort to put on clean trousers, an ironed shirt
and one of his smart office jackets that he hasn’t worn in weeks.

“Henry,” Alice’s dad booms, shaking my dad’s hand. “Good to see you, come on in. Liz has made some lunch, you will join us, won’t you?”

My dad hesitates. I can tell that he’d like to just run away and hide in our crummy car and trundle back home, but he doesn’t, he puffs himself up a little, paints a smile on his face and nods. “Super,” he smiles, “really super.”

I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be a soft, warm house full of cream carpets and massive snugly sofas and rugs. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to have an icemaker in my fridge and to look inside and see it bursting full of food and to have an indoor heated swimming pool and a cinema room and my very own beach-themed en suite bathroom and glittering glasses and shiny silver cutlery and vases full of beautiful flowers. I can’t believe that I took all this stuff for granted and that I thought that everyone lived like this. Not in a million years would I have imagined that people really lived in a flat like ours. I mean I saw them on the telly and stuff, but not in real life. The sight of it all twists in my throat like a knife
and I have to swallow it down hard before it cuts me. My dad is holding himself taller, he’s speaking louder, getting used to the fine crystal glass that is cradling his wine.

I feel strange around Alice. She seems younger than me now, or is it that I feel older? She hands me a birthday present and my tummy tightens because I know I’ll never have enough money to buy her something back when it’s her birthday. I hold the pink glittery parcel, scared to open it and see what’s inside.

“A new phone, Alice!” I say, when I open the box. “You must be mad!”

“Well,” she says, “it was Mummy’s idea really, she thought it would be fun if we had matching phones, and she’s put loads of credit it on it for you, so you won’t run out for ages.”

All through lunch our dads go on about the credit crunch and business stuff and I think my dad’s enjoying getting his worries off his chest, just like me with Tyler. Dad also talks about Hanna and her Community Action Scheme and their lack of technology and all the old people who need help.

“Let’s have a dig around in my office,” says Alice’s dad
to mine, “I’m sure I have a couple of old laptops I could donate to the good cause.”

A few weeks ago my dad could have walked into a shop and bought ten brand new laptops without even thinking about it. But a few weeks ago he wouldn’t have cared enough to do it.