Steal My Sunshine (11 page)

I'd arranged to meet Chloe at ten o'clock in a cafe five minutes away from Essie's place. By ten-fifteen I'd almost finished my coffee. I scraped the milk froth in tiny portions so I could make the rest last and look like I still had a reason to be there.

More than anything I wanted to skip this part of the day. The thought of Chloe and Essie in the same room felt as bad as a parent-teacher meeting that you had to sit in on. Two separate worlds were going to collide, and that meant the different versions of myself – the different ways Chloe and Essie saw me – would collide too. That wasn't going to be an easy mix.

Chloe came in, smiling – a genuine beam that charged straight into me. She kissed me and sat down opposite, then licked her finger before smearing it around the leftover cocoa on the rim of my cup. ‘Sorry I'm late. Had to kick Dad's arse before I left. He mucked up the last order and I had to push spirits all night because we were out of beer. Can you believe it?'

Chloe's make-up was heavy but flawless – black eyeliner thick like icing, baby-pink blusher, shiny lip gloss and ivory skin. She was wearing her nose-ring and a thick bangle on each wrist, black jeans as tight as she could squeeze into and a simple black vest. She was beautiful and Essie was going to love her. Was that why I'd been so worried? Chloe was Essie's kind of girl and there was no version of me that could compete. I wondered for the first time why Chloe had wanted to do this. She didn't have to come and meet Essie – she'd have had a million better things to do. Saturdays at her house were lazy breakfasts, friends of Evan's and her dad rolling joints and playing old records.

‘What did you get up to last night?' Chloe boldly took a can of Coke from her bag and put it on the table, eyeing the waitress and enjoying the loud fizz as she pulled back the ring and put her mouth over the hole. She slurped and smiled.

‘Nothing.'

‘Was everyone out or something?'

‘Something like that.'

‘Very cryptic.'

‘So did you tell your lot what you were doing today? I bet they thought it was weird.' I was almost wincing, wondering if it was obvious that I was fishing for information about Evan.

‘No one was even up when I left. Shall we go then?'

‘I guess.'

Chloe smiled and wiggled her eyebrows. I felt like she was treating this whole thing like a theatre show. She stood up and slung her bag over her shoulder, gulping the rest of her Coke. Then she burped and narrowed her eyes. ‘There's something different about you today, Han.'

 

I rang Essie's bell and fiddled with the black teardrop ring.

‘Does she usually take this long to answer the door?' Chloe said. She spat her gum into the wrapper and chucked it into a hedge.

‘She's old.'

‘Newsflash!'

‘Sshh, I can hear her.' I put my ear to the glass panel at the side of the door. The noises were coming from down the hall. ‘Essie? Are you okay? It's Hannah.'

‘And Chloe!'

Nothing.

I got the spare key from the letterbox and, in my head, repeated the mantra:
stay calm, stay calm, stay calm
. I opened the door and led the way down the hall. When I was almost at the kitchen, I spotted the toilet door slightly ajar and Essie's black Mary Jane shoes with the little buttons I used to like to turn as a child. Then I caught a glimpse of Essie's hands grabbing at the beige stockings bunched at her ankles. I quickly gripped Chloe's shoulders and pushed her past me, into the sitting room. Oh, god! She'd been trying to get up from the toilet.

‘Wait here, Chlo. Please just wait here.'

‘Um, okay.' Chloe gave me a confused look but I was pretty sure she hadn't seen anything. She looked around the room and sat down in Essie's chair. I'd have to sort that out once I'd dealt with Essie in the toilet. This was going even worse than I'd imagined.

I stepped towards the toilet but didn't look in. ‘Essie, are you okay?'

She came out steaming mad. ‘You could have waited. I wouldn't have been long.'

‘But I thought . . . I'm
so
sorry, Essie.'

She nodded once, her mouth in a firm line. ‘Is your friend here?'

‘Yes, Chloe's in there.'

‘All right.' She smiled and I was forgiven. We started over. ‘Hello, darling.' She squeezed my arm and held on as she passed by me, wincing as she walked.

‘Well . . .' Essie looked Chloe up and down. ‘I like your nose-ring, but I think you'll find that's my chair.'

Chloe smiled and got up like it was just a normal mistake to make, nothing to feel ashamed of. I suppose it wasn't, but I'd have died.

‘Hannah, darling, why don't you make some tea or coffee or whatever you girls fancy.' Essie looked at Chloe the whole time she spoke to me, and Chloe didn't seem to mind.

As the kettle boiled I tried to formulate a plan. There was no detail to the plan but the main point of it seemed to be: don't get pushed out. Essie belonged to me.

‘Essie says there are more ashtrays in here,' said Chloe, walking into the kitchen as if she already felt at home.

‘Top cupboard, over there.'

She took a couple out, looked from one to the other and decided on a green glass one, shaped like a scooped-out avocado. ‘Mmm, coffee. Great!' She kissed my cheek, grinned at me and left. I was sulking already and I knew it; I didn't even want to go back in there. But then I heard them laughing and thought again:
No way, I'm not losing this time.

For ages we talked and Essie listened. Chloe and I took turns to do impressions of all the girls in our class; teachers, too. Essie loved it. I felt like I was on the edge of something; excited, hot in the cheeks from laughing and performing. The room was thick with smoke.

Essie was sitting back, tiny in her chair. She held her fist to her mouth and her eyes were wide in anticipation of the next thing we'd say. She seemed to be taking pleasure in the energy of us. She winked at me a few times when Chloe wasn't looking.

It took my breath away when Chloe suddenly turned the focus onto Essie. ‘What was your life like, Essie, when you were our age?'

It was as if she'd broken a spell. The life in the room seemed to settle like a sigh. Essie looked grave for a moment and then sat forward. ‘I'll tell you.' She looked from Chloe to me. ‘I'll tell you both.' And by the twinkle in her eyes I knew she was talking about the secret she'd promised.

‘Maybe another day, Essie,' I said, panicking. ‘Chloe has to work today.' I glanced at the clock, hoping it would say it was nearly two but it wasn't even close.

‘I've got plenty of time,' said Chloe. ‘I'll just empty this and make us some more coffees.' She took the green ashtray and headed for the kitchen but stopped to say, ‘Oh, is that okay with you, Essie?'

‘I should think so,' said Essie, looking at Chloe as if she were seriously impressed.

Once it was just us I knelt by her chair. ‘Um . . . Essie, were you going to tell both of us that secret you mentioned? It's just that . . .'

‘It's just what, darling?' She was mimicking my whisper in a way that seemed to mock me.

‘It's just that you said you were going to tell
me
, and I was worried about Chloe knowing . . . stuff. Whatever it is.'

‘Isn't she to be trusted? I thought she was your best friend. My best friend knows everything about me.'

She's my
only
friend, I thought, and then wondered if the friend Essie was talking about was the one who still sent her tea from London.

Chloe came in with our mugs, the ashtray balancing on one of them. ‘Essie, did you want coffee?'

‘Not for me, darling. I'll have a real drink in a minute.'

Chloe sat on the sofa, so close that our legs were touching. ‘I like that painting,' she said, looking at the one of Essie at Sydney Harbour Bridge, which was leaning in a space between the mantelpiece and a low cabinet. ‘Are you from Sydney, Essie?'

‘I was born in London.'

‘Right, the accent. Funny how you never lost it.'

‘Some things are hard to shake.'

Chloe nodded and took a drag. ‘What's London like?'

‘Sometimes I'm not sure I remember properly. Then I'll get a picture of it or a smell that makes me feel that the whole of my life here has been a dream and my life in London is the one I'm going to wake up in. And I'll still be fifteen.' She smiled for a second, in a way that showed me how important it was for her to hold onto that dream.

‘We lived in the middle of a terrace that curved around a green. The houses were so tall you could hardly see the sky. That's what I first noticed about coming here – spoilt for sky. London was often in thick fog but not like here where it covers the tops of buildings first thing in the morning and lifts off cleanly after an hour or two. It was fog mixed with smoke from all the houses and factories. Sometimes you couldn't see a thing for days on end. After I left, there was a time when lots of people died.'

‘From fog?' said Chloe. ‘How many people?'

‘Thousands.'

‘You're kidding me! That's crazy.'

‘People couldn't even see their own feet walking along the pavement, or their hand in front of their face.'

I made myself step in before I became a useless extra in my own family history.

‘Did anyone you know die, Essie?' I said.

‘Someone did, yes.'

‘Who?' said Chloe. I elbowed her. ‘What?'

I gave her a warning look even though I wanted to know just as much.

‘How old were you when you left?' I said, turning back to Essie.

‘I didn't leave,' Essie replied. ‘I was sent.'

‘Harsh. What did you do?' said Chloe. Essie looked like she was deciding how to put it, but Chloe was impatient. ‘Tell us what you were like. I bet you were trouble.'

‘I'd like to, darling, but I think Hannah would rather I kept my silly stories to myself.'

They both looked at me.

‘I didn't say that.' I felt trapped. I wanted Essie's secret so much but I didn't want to share it. Now there was no choice. ‘It's fine – tell us, Essie.'

The room felt smaller, and smokier.

‘If you're sure . . .?'

‘I'm sure. Of course I am.' I sat forward, shifted away from Chloe and scratched the place where our legs had been touching. I just wanted to forget she was here, to get drawn deep into Essie's world and forget this one for the moment.

Essie leaned back and closed her eyes.

 

 

 

My brother looks so serious.

‘Would you please stop looking at me like that, George?' I tell him. ‘It's going to be all right.'

He doesn't believe me. Even as he's yawning he won't take his eyes off me.

‘George, go to bed.'

‘I want to stay.'

‘Mother will send you out the minute she comes up, you know that.'

‘I'll go when she comes, but I want to stay for now.'

Poor George, always caught in the middle. He can't choose between Mother and me and he doesn't realise that she's the only one who wants him to.

I lie back on my bed. I'm tired but I can't let myself fall asleep. I know Mother will come tonight to give me her verdict and I can't be half-asleep or even in my nightdress when she does. Whatever punishment she chooses I'm going to take it with a bit of dignity.

I thought she was going to faint when she found James on top of me. I didn't mean to laugh but it seemed too ridiculous to be true to have her catch us out. Mother only ever has two expressions on her face when she looks at me – the tense smile she has to put on when someone says something nice about me in front of her, or the disapproving frown she wears the rest of the time. Actually, I can't always tell the difference. Well, now I've seen horror.

Being Mother, she managed to compose herself eventually. She even stood in the doorway while he struggled to pull his trousers up. It took everything I've got not to laugh. How unbelievable! Caught out with James, of all people. Not that I've been with anyone else, but he's so much older – and married. Essie, I thought to myself, you've really done it now. But I
still
wanted to laugh.

‘What do you think she'll do?' says George.

‘What can she do? I'll be back to boarding school as usual next week.'

‘But why did you do it, Essie?'

‘You don't understand love yet, Georgie. It's complicated.'

 

She's here. I sit up and cross my legs, finding I'm more nervous than I thought. I steal a look at George as she holds the door open for him to leave. It's nearly one o'clock in the morning, my mouth is bone dry and I suddenly get the feeling that George was right to be worried, because Mother looks triumphant.

It feels too late now to explain that my father's so-called friend James has been circling me for months. And I know it wouldn't make a difference if I told her I'd ended up loving him. She closes the door and comes closer and I try to swallow but I can't.

‘We've talked it through and have decided what's best.'

Saying anything at this point will only make things worse.

‘We're sending you to your aunt's for a while.'

Aunt Di's. Oh, thank god. I breathe out slowly and remain perfectly still so she won't notice how relieved I am.

‘The arrangements have been made so I don't want to hear a single word about it.'

I bow my head solemnly to make her think the punishment is serious enough. Maybe Mother's losing her touch. I need to tell George, poor thing, to stop him worrying. Aunt Di lives in Somerset. I can handle a few weeks in the country, boring as it may be.

‘We'll take a taxi to the docks first thing on Thursday.'

I look up. She sees the confusion on my face and I swear she's found a new expression. She looks smug.

‘I'm not going to Aunt Di's, am I?' It can't be true.

‘No, not Aunt Di's.'

I scramble my way off the bed and lift the window frame to put my head out, thinking I'm going to be sick. She means Australia. The other aunt – Aunt Caro – went out there to be a schoolteacher last year. I try to breathe but the air scratches the back of my throat. I don't even know which part of Australia it is, but it doesn't matter – it's the other side of the world!

I turn my back to the window and the freezing wind makes my whole body turn to gooseflesh.

‘Close that now,' Mother says. I do it quickly; I'll do anything now. She can't mean it. She's only trying to frighten me. ‘It's for the best.'

‘But . . . I'm sorry, Mother, I'm really sorry.' I have to sit down. I take a handful of bedcovers and grip them tightly because I know I'm going to cry myself into a mess. ‘Please, it was a mistake. I'll be good – I'll be perfect. Don't send me away.' I slide off the bed, sobbing, and put my arms around her legs. I press one side of my face into the rough material of her skirt. ‘Please don't make me go. Please. I'll do anything.'

She grabs my shoulders and eases me off. I lose myself then, my head is a thick cloud of regret and dread, and I cry loudly.
No, you can't make me. You can't send me away. I'm sorry.

I spend the next week in my room being completely ignored – even George isn't allowed to visit me – but I let myself think that Australia was just a wild threat. They never would.

One morning Mother comes up with breakfast on a tray. Her face has softened and I let myself think that she was just trying to frighten me. ‘You need to pack,' she says. She could mean school. I don't want to know what she means, I want to hang on to this new shred of hope.

‘Is Georgie awake?'

‘He's gone out for the day. Father, too, and he's left you a note. One suitcase, Essie.'

I see the note on the tray. She leaves and I get off the bed, still in yesterday's clothes, to reach for it.

I'll always love you, my darling Essie. Pop.

That's it. It's a goodbye. A weak, pathetic sort of goodbye. He can't be letting her do this, not Pop. Furiously, I scrunch up the note and look around the room as if there's some secret way out of this mess that I haven't noticed yet.

She really means it.

Well then, fine, I'll go and they'll hate themselves, and when I come back I'll punish them all even more. Why didn't Georgie fight for me? Why isn't
anyone
fighting for me? I'm shaking so much I can hardly get dressed. My insides are rolling as if I'm already on the waves. What do I take to Australia, anyway? One suitcase, Mother said. Maybe that means I'm not staying long, but there's still six weeks to get there and six weeks to get home and I can't even imagine the time in between.

James could turn up any minute. If he knew, he would. He'd divorce that snooty wife of his and marry me. It wouldn't be so bad, better than this.

While I'm packing I keep catching my breath, thinking I've heard a knock on the front door. But no one comes. Mother takes my one suitcase down the stairs all by herself as if it weighs nothing.

The front door is open wide and it's foggy out there. I watch as a driver loads my suitcase. Mother supervises, then beckons me out. I slide one foot forward and then the other. The warmth of our house is on my back and the icy March wind is in my face.

I check up and down the street. Maybe James has gone straight to the docks to stop this from happening. He said he'd look after me. He swore it. God, he practically begged me. Where is he? What if he doesn't know? That can't be true. He should make it his business to know what's happening to me. It's his fault!

Mother has barely said two words to me, but when I look at the driver, desperate for anyone at all to help me at this moment, she grabs my arm and shoves me in the taxi as if I'm about to lure him with my wicked eyes. She's rough with me now and it makes me so angry I lose my composure, feeling like a wild animal in a cage. ‘Take your hands off me,' I say, half in tears.

My heart is thumping as we set off. I'm resolved again to take this punishment with dignity and bide my time for revenge. I allow myself one look back at the house. I'll be back, house. Miss me, Georgie. I can't help crying again, but it's as if I'm already missing from the only world I've ever known, because Mother and the driver look straight ahead.

London, still half-asleep, is washed-out and grey. The streets seem unusually quiet as if a spell has been cast to sneak me away without anyone knowing.

When we get out of the car the smell of the sea makes me want to vomit. It's even colder here, and shapes pass in and out of the smog like illusions. The freezing drizzle is the kind that leaves silvery beads in your hair, like tiny fairy lights. I notice it on the neat bun at the nape of Mother's neck as she takes the suitcase out of the driver's hand and tells him to wait.

There are people everywhere and different layers of noise – clanging of metal and clanking of chains, dock worker voices calling out words I don't know, a Salvation Army band failing to pick up the beat of the place. There's the steady, frightening sound of people finding their way around each other, sharing meaningful looks because some of them are getting on a boat and some of them aren't. Everyone's lips are moving, but it doesn't matter if I can't make out what they're saying, because their eyes say more.

Mother leaves me to hand in my ration book and collect my pass. I panic – suddenly this feels like the beginning of something I hadn't expected. There's a thrill in the air but I can't be part of it. It's too frightening, and I'm alone. I just want to go home.

Grabbing Mother's sleeve when she returns with my pass, I try to show her that this isn't right. Everyone makes mistakes. I don't know the words for how I'm feeling but I pray she can read it on my face. I look at her, willing her to see that she can't really go through with this. She hands me my pass and suddenly there's a sound that stops us all for a second – the ship's horn. People cheer and sweep us further along and now every sound is louder. The band and the voices and the grinding of chains.

The ship is too big to take in from this close. It's like a floating city with one large funnel and a name that begins with ‘O' at the bow, but I can't see the rest. Up close it's a monster.

Mother's talking at me in a steady stream as if time is running out – she's caught the disease of this place. I'm the only one who can't say the single word whose meaning I feel on every inch of me. I listen hard in case she's coming to the point when she says, ‘All right, Essie, I won't send you this time, but if you ever, ever, ever . . .' But she's not saying that, she's reeling off names of places as if this is a Geography lesson – Bay of Biscay, Port Said, Aden, Colombo – the words skim off me – Fremantle, Melbourne, Sydney.

‘No,' my voice wobbles, and it's the only word in my head. ‘No,' I say again, but my voice is swallowed by the tide. Before I know it, Mother has pulled me close, told me to give her love to Aunt Caro and let go of me to disappear into the crowd.

I'm fifteen and at that moment I realise that I will never see her again.

 

We'd been in a trance, transported into the guts of Essie's past, and now we were back in her smoky lounge. Her hands had been clasped tight the whole time she'd been talking, and now she released them, smoothed her hair and reached for a cigarette. She smiled to break the spell, an old woman again. But more than ever I could see the child she would have been, waiting for our reaction.