Vintage (19 page)

The word sounds strange in my head.

Holly.

I drift off back to sleep.

Dear Marilyn

Marilyn sat up in bed. This was a letter, addressed to her. How did it get behind the cupboard? How did it get covered in cobwebs, and look so old and tatty?

Nobody knew she was Marilyn here. Except Saleem, and this couldn't be from him.

Marilyn remembered Saleem, walking away last night, then saving them. She shivered, and pulled the duvet over her shoulders. It brushed on her arm, and she winced.

I'm Holly, and I'm living your life here since yesterday.

Holly? This was Holly, writing to her?

Holly was living Marilyn's life, in 1962, in her house, with her family? Why hadn't she guessed? She'd been so busy trying to work out what was going on – and enjoying herself.

Some of the time.

I'm guessing you're living mine.

Holly was right. How did she work it out? Marilyn felt embarrassed to think of Holly in her place, her shabby bedroom, her terrible clothes. What was she doing?

I mean, I know I wanted to be back here in 1962, but
that was only for my project. I didn't want to stay.

But Marilyn had wanted to stay here, in Holly's life. She'd badly wanted to stay. Until last night. Now she wasn't so sure.

No offence or anything, but I'd like my own life
back. I've got plans.

Marilyn had plans too, to go to university, get away from her family, live her own life.

Please get in touch with me, any way you can think
of.

What did she mean? What was Marilyn supposed to do, phone her? Drop in? This girl was really stupid.

Let's try and meet up, on Sunday at 4, at the bus stop. It's where we swapped in the first place.

It was only thirty-six hours since she'd arrived here, since she found herself sitting in Kyle's brother's car. It felt like days, weeks even.

Maybe we can get back then, I don't know how.

Did Holly think Marilyn had a time machine or something? She had no idea how to get out of this mess. A mother who was worse than any teenager Marilyn had ever known. A boyfriend who wasn't a boyfriend, who was in danger when he went out at night. Crazy people doing crazy things.

Marilyn slumped back down onto the pillows and read the end of the letter.

All the best

Holly.

She looked at the name, touched the ink on the page as if somehow she could reach out to Holly. Then she crumpled the letter and threw it across the room.

She couldn't leave Holly in her life, it wasn't fair. This was the most difficult decision she'd ever had to make. Could she let go of all this – the best parts, the wonderful parts – and go back to her boring life? And could she trust that it would work out – that she would go to university and have the life she dreamed about?

Then she knew.

“I'll meet you there,” she said out loud. “I'll be there. We've got to find a way back.”

She couldn't live a lie all her life.

She couldn't abandon Holly in the past.

She knew Holly couldn't hear her.

She didn't know how they would do it.

I wake up again. It's still only 5.30 on Marilyn's Noddy clock. The little red cap on the boy's head wags backwards and forwards. He's laughing at me. There's no way I can get back to sleep. Got this huge urge to get out of here.

I lie on my back. Look at the cobwebs on the ceiling. There's a specially gruesome one with two fly corpses hung in it. Like trophies. No sign of the spider. Expect it's under the bed. Only I'm not looking.

Last night was so weird. The youth club. The vicar. Alan. And Dave. Alan's made his choice, that's clear. He's interested in Sheila. But Dave. The loner. I wonder where he lives. Wonder if I could see him today.

Wonder how Kyle is. Miss him so much.

Kyle. I sit up. Heart racing. Kyle.

What is it about Kyle?

Then I remember the dream. Only a dream. That's what Mum used to say when I was little. Nightmares. But this dream was different. I was talking to Marilyn, in the dream. Making her help Kyle. He was hurt. Down on the ground. Being kicked.

Not that it hasn't happened before. He's been punched. Spat on. All sorts. But this was evil. He could have been killed. I could have been killed.

I get up and throw on some clothes. But there's nowhere I can go. I can't find him. He's in another world. I sit back down on the bed.

I communicated with Marilyn. I got through to her. I know I did. She was doing what I said. She heard. She said okay. Who are you when you're in someone's else's body? Am I her now? Is she me? What's the difference? Is this how it is when you get reincarnated?

I wonder if she's found the note. It's so long to wait till four. Then I'll know. At the bus stop. If we can change.

I go over to the window. The mobile is lying on the table. Switched off. I turn it on. Not expecting anything. The light goes on. It searches for a signal. Searches.

There is a signal. The name is in some other language, but it's clear.

There's a signal coming from somewhere.

There's still some battery left.

U ok? I send the text to Kyle's number.

Then: Meet me at 4 – remember? Holly. I send that to my own number. I can't think how that might work. But when I press send it goes. Somewhere.

I turn off the phone. The battery is showing less than half full. Doesn't last long. Crap phone. Need an upgrade. Must get round dad.

I wait for a few minutes. Nothing comes back. Of course, it's still only about six. No way they'll be awake. After the club.

I let myself out of the house quietly. I have to walk.

Anywhere away from here.

Marilyn went back to sleep, a light sleep with strange images flitting across the edge of her vision. She woke again, and the fear had gone. She could no longer pretend it was night-time. She swung her legs out of bed. Her head swam. She faced the puzzle of what to wear.

But nothing seemed as difficult as before. She had faced up to a man with a knife. She had saved Kyle.

It felt like a dream. Something that never could happen to her – something she could never do.

The clock said it was after ten. Did they go to church here? If so, it must be a late service. But Holly's mum talked about going out for breakfast earlier, so it didn't sound like church was part of Holly's life.

Holly. She remembered the voice in her head last night, the voice that told her what to do, told her to save Kyle. Holly's voice.

But it was Marilyn who did it all, Marilyn who saw the glint of the knife, Marilyn who put up her own arm to stop the man knifing Kyle.

There was no sign of Holly's voice in her head now.

She looked in Holly's chest of drawers for some underwear. At home she had two Marks and Spencers bras that used to be white, and four pairs of knickers, large and also whitish. Holly's underwear was different. Lacy bras in wonderful colours and patterns. She picked one out and tried it on. Somehow it still came as a surprise to find it fitted her perfectly. She looked for a matching pair of pants. But there was nothing except a strange object that looked like a suspender belt with a narrow gusset slung beneath it. She threaded her legs through it and pulled it up. It slipped between her buttocks. This felt disgusting. She looked in the mirror, turned to look at her back view as well as she could.

She smiled.

She found some tight trousers, like the ones Kyle was wearing, and slid them up her legs. How odd that boys and girls wore exactly the same things. She finished them off with the studded belt. Then a sloppy stretch top with a wide neck that showed the bra straps. She tried to hide them, but she couldn't and gave up.

She went over to the window to brush her hair, and saw the mobile on the table, with the note next to it. A blue light on the mobile was flashing. She picked it up. It showed there was a message.

It's Sunday morning. Six a.m. My mum would never believe I was out this early. Quiet. So quiet I can hear the birds. A flock of sparrows flies overhead. Getting rare in my world. Here they're all over the place.

I walk down the hill towards the coffee shop. Somewhere to go. Seems a year since I got here. But it's less than two days. I go on past the cafe that isn't the coffee shop. Where Sheila lives. Pink curtains closed.

I look at all the changes there have been. Nowhere's the same. No takeaways. No chains, except for the Co-op. That's still there. I see a man ahead of me. Familiar. Wish I'd remembered to put Marilyn's glasses on so I could see properly. He's walking really slowly, head down. I soon catch him up. When I'm just behind him I realise it's Dave.

“Hi,” I say. Feeling awkward.

He's looking thinner in the morning light. Stubble on his face. The leather jacket's worn.

He looks round.

“Little Marilyn. You're full of surprises. What are you doing up so early?”

“I couldn't sleep. What about you?”

“My dad kicked me out. Drunk. He was, I was, we both was.”

“What about your mum?”

“She cried. Always does. Makes no difference. Going down the park.”

I walk alongside him.

“Can I come?” I sound like an eight year old.

He doesn't answer. His hands are in his pockets. Shoulders hunched.

“If you like.”

We walk towards the park. Turn in at the gates. They look rusty and bent, but they're the same gates I know. Knew.

“Parkie's not about.”

“Who's that?”

“Park keeper. Sometimes lets me sleep in here. Known me for ever.”

We head towards the playground. Wooden swings and a slide, that's all, with concrete underneath. Totally dangerous. Haven't they heard of health and safety?

Dave sits astride a swing. I sit on the next one. Kick the swing into action. I can see his face. Doesn't look so fit this morning. But I don't feel like kissing anyone. Even for Marilyn's sake. Dead sure he hasn't brushed his teeth.