Secrets (17 page)

I ran nearly the whole way to the Latimer Estate, rehearsing what I was going to say to Treasure's nan. But I didn't get the chance.

There were two big television vans parked in the courtyard of Elm block and over by the dustbin shelter there was a crowd clustered in front of the television camera. Kids were running towards it, desperate to be on television too. I grabbed one little boy by his bony elbow.

‘What's going on?'

‘Leave off! It's the telly, innit. They've got the bloke.'

‘Which bloke?'

‘The one that murdered the girl, Treasure.'

‘She's not murdered!'

‘Well, they haven't found her body yet, but my mum says it's only a matter of time. She says they
should
torture him until he says what he's done with her.'

‘
Who?
'

‘That nutter Michael Watkins. He's the one that did it.'

‘Michael Watkins?'

‘You are
thick
. He lives next door to Treasure and her gran, Rita, and all that crowd.'

Mumbly Michael!

‘He hasn't done anything to Treasure!'

‘Yes, he has. The coppers came and arrested him. They did a search of his mum's flat and all. There's no trace of Treasure –
yet
. My mum reckons they should search the dustbins. She'll be found soon, you wait.'

He jerked his elbow free and ran towards the television crew. I ran after him, though my legs were so wobbly I nearly fell down.

They
couldn't
have arrested poor Mumbly Michael.

They could.

A journalist was talking solemnly straight to camera.

‘We understand that the police are still questioning this man, who is believed to be the next-door neighbour of Treasure Mitchell's grandmother. There's still no sign of the little girl herself but her family haven't given up hope.'

I wondered if this
family
were still staying with Nan in her flat. I skirted the crowd and dodged up the stairs, but when I got to the right landing I saw
there
were two police officers outside Nan's flat, and two more outside Mumbly Michael's.

I felt so frightened I just bobbed back down the stairs, rushing too quickly in the dark. I missed my footing and went hurtling down four or five steps at once, landing with a terrible thump on my hands and knees, my schoolbag giving me another bash in the back for good measure. I knelt there, whispering all the swear words I know to try to stop myself crying. Then I picked myself up and limped down the rest of the stairs.

The television crew was still filming, the camera panning the crowd. I kept my head well down and backed away. I ran until I was out of the Latimer Estate altogether, and then I hobbled along to the parade of shops. I went to the chemist's. I had ten pounds in my school purse. I hoped it would be enough. I smiled at the lady behind the counter.

‘Can I have one of those asthma inhaler things, please?'

‘Have you got your prescription, dear?'

Oh-oh.

‘No, I've been very stupid. I've lost it. Couldn't you just give me the inhaler? I can pay, I've got my money.'

‘No dear, you have to have the prescription. You'll have to go back to your doctor.'

‘I can't. I haven't got an appointment. I need the inhaler now. I'm going off to stay at a friend's, you see, and I'm starting to go all wheezy.'

I started to imitate Treasure having an attack. It was quite easy because I was still out of breath from all the running.

‘I'm sorry, we're not allowed to sell any asthma products over the counter without a prescription,' she said.

‘Look, can't you give the inhaler to me now, and I'll use it and calm down and go and see the doctor and get another prescription and bring it straight back to you, I promise.'

‘No, I'm afraid that's just not possible.' She was staring at me, starting to get suspicious. ‘Are you on your own? Is your mother outside in the car?'

‘Oh, never mind,' I said, giving up and running out of the shop. I hoped the television and newspapers hadn't said anything about Treasure being asthmatic. I decided to trail all the way into town to see if I could buy anything for asthma at the big Boots in the shopping centre. I thought I'd seem much less conspicuous in a crowded shop. I just hoped they had a different policy.

They didn't. They wouldn't sell me an inhaler. They went through the whole we-need-a-prescription rigmarole. So I gave up and spent the ten pounds on treats for Treasure instead: blue sparkly nail varnish and cherry-flavoured lip gloss and butterfly slides and some chocolate – and I bought room freshener too and more tissues.

It was getting horribly late now. I knew Treasure would be wondering where on earth I'd got to. I
ran
some of the way home but I was tired out and my knees were hurting badly so I wasn't very fast.

I wanted to rush straight up to Treasure but Wanda was waiting in the hall.

‘This isn't good enough, India! Why didn't you ring me from Tiffany's house? I've been so worried.'

‘There's no
need
to worry, Wanda.'

Wanda was still looking at me strangely. ‘There's something going on, India. You're acting very oddly all of a sudden.' She paused. ‘You didn't slip back here at lunchtime, did you?'

I felt my heart thump. I tried not to look anxious. ‘No. Why?'

‘Mrs Winslow seemed sure someone had been in the kitchen.'

‘Oh?' I said, as if I wasn't that interested. ‘Anyway, Wanda, I'd better go and get started on my homework, I've got heaps.'

I raced upstairs and made a great show of slamming my bedroom door – and then I opened it again very cautiously, scooted along the landing, and up the stairs.

I poked my head up into the attic. It was pitch black!

‘Treasure? What is it? What's happened?'

I felt for the light switch. I found it but the light didn't come on.

‘Treasure?'

Why wasn't she answering me?

I pulled myself up and felt my way in the darkness.

‘Treasure, please! It's me, India. Where are you?'

I found the armchair but it was empty. Then I nudged into something on the floor. I bent and felt clothes, a limp body, arms, legs. I shook her gently – and to my horror her arm came right off, dangling there in my hands!

Fifteen

Treasure

IT'S BEEN THE
longest day ever, ever, ever.

I ate my breakfast. By ten o'clock I'd eaten my lunch too, just for something to do. Then I felt sick and started to worry what I would do if I
was
sick. I wasn't sure how much that horrible wastebin would hold. And how could I be sick without making a noise? Wanda might hear, unless she was too busy being sick herself. Fancy India not guessing she's pregnant. India seems so grown-up and she uses all these la-di-da long words but she's like a little kid really. Our Patsy knows more than she does.

I mustn't think about Patsy. Or any of the family. I might start fussing and have an asthma attack. I'm still a bit wheezy. I'm trying to breathe slowly and calmly
but
when you
think
about breathing you forget how to do it properly. I can't help wondering what will happen if I have a really
bad
asthma attack, like the time Mum had that terrible row with the neighbours when she lived with Big Bill. They set their dog on her and I screamed and then I couldn't stop, I couldn't catch my breath, I was just
gasp gasp gasp
. Mum had to get me to hospital quick. I always needed my inhaler after that.

I need it now.

I do so, so, so hope India goes to see Nan.

I
mustn't
think about Nan. I'll think about . . . Anne Frank. I've read her whole diary now. It gets harder towards the end but you keep on reading because you care about her so much. You wonder what she's going to do with Peter too, though he's far too dull and boring for Anne.

She never got the chance to meet anyone else. The diary doesn't finish the way you want it to, with the war ending and Holland liberated and Anne and her family and all the other Jews free to come out of hiding and all the concentration camps opened up and everyone nursed back to full health. The diary stops and then there are a couple of pages telling you what happens next, if you can bear to read it.

I wonder what it felt like to be stuck in that awful camp?

I wonder if Anne knew she was going to die?

I wonder what it was like to be one of the guards, maybe with his own teenage daughters at home?

I don't get why people
want
to hurt other people. I don't get why Terry wants to hurt me. I don't get why my mum loves Terry even though he hurts her. If I ever win the Lottery I'm going to buy a great big house – maybe one like this – and it'll just be for really
special
people. Nan. India, if she wants. Patsy. Loretta and little Britney. Maybe Willie can hang out with us too. My mum can come, but only if she promises not to bring any blokes with her. Especially not Terry.

It'll be my house and my rules and the minute anyone hits or hurts or gets drunk or shoots up they're
out
, no arguments, immediate eviction.

I'll draw the house . . .

OK, I've done the house and I've given everyone their own room. There are
no
attics, secret or otherwise. I have seen enough attics to last me a lifetime.

I got so fed up by one o'clock and so
hungry
too, wishing I hadn't gobbled up all my lunch long ago. I wondered about risking slipping downstairs. I lay down and put my ear to the trapdoor and listened. I couldn't hear a thing.

I'd heard Wanda come in once, and then she'd gone out again about quarter to one. I was sure she couldn't have crept back. So I opened up the trapdoor and slipped down the stairs, trembling. I listened on the landing. I felt like I had great flappy elephant ears I was listening so hard.

The house was silent. Well, a tap dripped, a clock ticked, the radiators gurgled, but there was no human
noise.
I ran along the landing to the bathroom. It was bliss, bliss, bliss to use a proper toilet. I had a wash and cleaned my teeth too. I hoped India wouldn't mind me using her things.

I went and had another peep in her bedroom, marvelling. I'd wondered if I'd made half of it up, but it was even better than I'd remembered. I stroked the quilt on the fairytale bed and rubbed my cheek against the smooth silky pillow. I longed to climb into the bed and curl up and sleep.

I can't sleep properly all by myself up in that attic. I wriggled around all night on that tiny camp bed. Every time I started dozing Terry came stalking me, his green eyes gleaming as he undid his leather belt. I'd feel safe in India's soft bed but if I fell asleep I might not wake up in time. Wanda might come back and find me.

I checked on Wanda's bedroom. There were a lot of screwed-up tissues on her pillow. It looked like she'd been crying for hours. She was obviously very upset about the baby. Loretta was pleased she had Britney. She said a baby is someone of your very own to love. She certainly loves Britney lots. Maybe Wanda's worried what her mum and dad in Australia will think. Nan cried when Loretta told her she was going to have a baby. She said she wasn't mad, she was sad, because Loretta was still such a kid herself. Nan thought Loretta should have waited, finished school, done some training,
made
something of herself.

‘I've made a baby instead,' said Loretta.

‘You girls,' said Nan. ‘Maybe it's my fault. What's the matter with me, eh? First it's Tammy, expecting at seventeen, and now it's you.'

‘I'm not like Tammy,' said Loretta. ‘She never wanted hers.'

Nan shushed her, but I heard. It didn't come as any surprise. I know my mum never wanted me.

She didn't even want to hold me when I was born. She told me. I was all purple and slimy so she couldn't stand the sight of me. The nurse bathed me and powdered me and brushed my hair and popped me into a pink sleeping suit. I've seen a photo. I didn't look too bad. One of my eyes looks a bit wonky but I'm sort of cute otherwise, with this fluff all over my head like a dandelion.

‘Look at your little baby, your little treasure,' said this kind nurse. ‘Don't you want to give her a cuddle?'

‘I'd sooner give her a clip round the head for all the pain she caused me,' my mum moaned. ‘My little
treasure
?'

She said it as a joke. She used it as my nickname. So that's what I got called. I don't care if she didn't mean it in a nice way.

Well, I do care. But it's OK, my mum loves me now. She wants me back. She was
crying
on the television.

Oh, come off it. That doesn't mean anything.
Terry
was crying too.

I wish they'd shown my nan on the telly.