Vintage (10 page)

“You seem so much brighter this last day or so…” she looked away then, as if she'd said something wrong. “Is Kyle still here?”

“He went a while ago. His dad wanted him back.”

“Poor Kyle. He was so young when his mum died. Can't work it out – with two boys and a man who didn't know how to boil an egg.”

“He's all right. Really.”

“Anyway, if you're okay to help, maybe you could wipe the dust off this stuff and put it in some carriers. I should have done that in the first place.”

Marilyn fetched a cloth from the sink, ran it under the tap and squeezed it dry. So the mum had noticed a difference in her. What was Holly like? This mum was so nice and chatty, like a big sister. Wasn't Holly happy here? Was she as fed up as Marilyn had been in her own time? How could she be?

She began to go through the tins and packets. It gave her a chance to look at what they were – strange mixtures of things, not flour and sugar and rice like her kitchen at home, but mixtures to stir into water that made soup, or even whole meals.

She wondered when anyone ate all this stuff. Maybe it was there in case of shortages, like dried milk and some old powdered egg her mother still kept ‘in case', in the pantry. That seemed to have been turned into a toilet now. Why would anyone need two toilets?

“Could you look at the sell-by dates? I should think half of this is out of date. Chuck it if it's gone.”

Marilyn sighed, worked out what she meant, and got on with the job. It was strange seeing 2010, even 2011 on the stuff.

Eventually Marilyn got towards the back of the pile. On top was a yellowing sheet of paper, folded into four, covered in dust with a string of cobweb across it.

Not knowing why, she pushed it into her pocket for later and carried on wiping the tins and checking the dates.

Sheila leaves. Her mum wants her back home by three. Can't believe she does everything her mum wants. Seems happy to. Go downstairs with her to the front door. She seems to expect it. Marilyn's dad is groaning in the kitchen. Loads of crashing about. I'm not going in there, he scares me. He's not really there, somehow. And he talks in a clipped-up way. Like some robot.

I head for the front room. Door's open. The boy's in there. Watching football on TV. Only you can hardly tell the ball from the black and white dots on the screen.

I'm feeling braver after the cry. And after rescuing myself from the mix-up with Sheila.

“Hi, bro,” I say, like I might if I had a little brother. I always wanted a little brother. But not like this one.

“Shut up, Maz,” he says. Swinging his legs on the sofa. Must be about eight, but he's got grey shorts on. Even though it's cold.

“What's on?” I settle myself next to him. He looks at me. Moves away.

“You wouldn't be interested. It's the football.”

“Who's playing?”

“Since when did you care?”

I give up trying to be nice to him. “Do you know any science fiction stories? You know, about aliens, and time travel and that?”

I look at him carefully. Eyes don't leave the screen.

“Course. I read comics, stupid.”

“I've got something to tell you.” I need to tell someone. Or I'll explode. But not sure this is a good idea.

“I know, you're an alien. I knew it. You don't belong in this family at all.” He still doesn't sound very interested.

“It's not quite like that. I'm not Marilyn.”

His eyes swivel over to me. Take a look. Then go back to the TV.

“I used to be – I am – called Holly, and I come from the twenty-first century.”

He folds his arms.

“You're always telling fibs. I'll tell Mum.”

I give up. Nobody listens. But nobody.

“That's better. Have you had any lunch?”

Holly's mum stood back and looked at the kitchen. It didn't look much better to Marilyn. It still looked like her own life was exposed behind this life, Holly's life. She wanted to cover everything up again, forget it had ever existed.

“I had something at the caff – I mean, at the coffee shop.”

She hadn't, but looking at all this food put her off.

“I might have one of these soups,” Holly's mum said, picking one out of the rubbish bin. “It's only a few months out of date. You go off now, thanks for your help. It's like old times when you were little, you always helped me in the kitchen. It's been lovely doing this job with you, chatting away.” She suddenly looked a little suspicious. “Is there anything you want?”

Marilyn knew she had to ask the question, but didn't know what kind of reaction she would get. “I'm out tonight.”

Holly's mother straightened up. “Where are you going? Who with?”

“Kyle. We're going to the club.”

“What time will you be back?”

Marilyn took a deep breath, but Holly's mother talked on. “I don't want you out all night. And you'll have to watch your drink. Don't let anyone get near it. You know about the things they can slip into drinks. One of my clients, she got pregnant after she'd been drugged. Only seventeen. Terrible mess.”

“I'm not going to get pregnant.” Marilyn didn't want to show how shocked she was that Holly's mum didn't want her out all night – which meant as long as she got home before morning it must be okay. This was unbelievable.

“And your phone, you must watch that. How are you getting there?”

“We'll go on the bus.” She didn't know, but Holly's mother seemed to need to know every move she made, even though she didn't mind how late Holly was home.

“And back? You can't be out on the streets till late, it's not safe. You'll have to get a taxi. I'll give you some money for the taxi, okay?”

She got some notes out of her purse and gave them to Marilyn. It looked like a huge amount of money, but Marilyn wasn't arguing.

“Tell Kyle to look after you. He's a lovely boy.”

“I'll be back – about two. Maybe.”

“Two? That's late. But I suppose if you promise Kyle will be with you the whole evening. And you'll text me every hour…”

“Every hour?” This mother was a strange mixture of wanting to protect her and letting her do things her own mother would never allow. There was no need to worry. It was only a club they were going to, even if it did start late. There would be adults there to make sure everyone behaved.

“Yes, or I'll spend the whole evening worrying.”

“Are you going out?”

“Yes,” the mother said, looking down at a broken nail on her hand. “I'll be going out for a meal, with Mike.”

“Who's Mike?”

“He's a new one – I've talked to him on the phone a few times, and he asked me out tonight. We're having an Indian.”

This brought up a strange image in Marilyn'smind of Holly's mother in a cowboy film.

“Then you'll have to be careful too.”

“I've got my panic alarm, you should have one of those, I'll get you one. We've got loads at work. And we're meeting in a neutral place. He doesn't know where I live. He's an architect, so he should be okay.”

What made architects safe and other men dangerous? What was this woman doing, going out with a complete stranger? Marilyn had only been out to eat twice, and she'd rather have her mother's cooking. She didn't like being fussed over by a waiter. “Hope you have a good time.”

She looked up. “Is there something wrong?”

Marilyn could feel the mum looking at her properly, for the first time. She was sure she was going to find out that she was an imposter, not Holly. Surely her own mother would see.

“Come on, I always know when you want something. You're being so nice to me.”

“No, no really. Everything's fine. I was just…”

“Trying to seem interested. I know. I was young once.” She laughed.

“I am interested – I mean, I…”

But the mother was off again on her own track.

“I wish it wasn't so dangerous out there for you girls. Not that it isn't dangerous for boys too. When I grew up you could go out anywhere, nobody abducted children and I'd never heard of sexual abuse, or trafficking, or date rape.”

Marilyn had never heard of sexual abuse either, or the other things. Holly had a great life, that was obvious, but why was it all so dangerous?

“It's a jungle out there. You look after yourself, Hol. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you and I was on my own.”

So it was all about Holly's mum. Marilyn wasn't so surprised. Her mother and Holly's weren't so different after all.

Marilyn went upstairs again, to Holly's room. She didn't know what else to do. She lay down on the bed and dozed off, dreaming of people attacking her and shutting her into cellars and sticking their tongues down her throat. She woke up at four with a bad headache and a desolate feeling in her stomach. Or was it Holly's stomach? She couldn't work any of this out. But then she thought of the evening ahead, and Kyle. And Saleem, only there was something about Saleem she wasn't sure of.

This was the adventure she'd been longing for all her life.

I've been trying to send mind messages to Marilyn. She has to find the note I left for her in the kitchen. I fiddle with my mobile. Turn it off. Not much battery left. No good here anyway.

Marilyn's mum is at the bedroom door again. I hide the mobile. She stands in the doorway.

“You'll have to have a sandwich for your tea, I'm not cooking tonight. And if you're going out, you'll need to eat early. I'll make you an egg one and leave it in the kitchen.”

No need for a sandwich. I won't be eating. Don't think that would go down well here.

“Your dad and I are going down town to do a bit of shopping. Not that he'll do anything but grumble. I need to get him some new shoes.”

How come you need to get him shoes? Doesn't he have the brains to buy them for himself?

“You're looking a bit peaky. Don't stay out late. You know you have to be back for ten.”

Ten? Ten? Who does she think I am? Ah yes.

“Right. See you.”

She turns and goes. Shuts the door hard behind her.

Marilyn, please, please, find the note. Please find it. Don't do anything that will blow it for me. With the guy across the road. Please. I can't believe this.

I have a good sob in Marilyn's pillow. Nobody comes in. I hear feet on the stairs. Whoever it is walks right past.