Tickled Pink

I’m sitting at the kitchen table struggling over my science homework when I hear the back door open.

‘Hi, Finn,’ says Mum, without turning round from the stove.

‘Hi,’ Finn replies, flopping down into a chair. He’s wearing a grey sweatshirt that’s perfect for him; grey people are reliable people and I’d trust Finn with anything. ‘What you working on, Izzy?’

‘The rock cycle,’ I tell him.

‘That’s cool! You get way better homework than we did in Year 7. If you want any CDs, just let me know. I’ve got all the classics and loads of examples – garage rock, indie rock, punk rock, soft rock, hard rock, grunge.’ Finn stops to take a breath. ‘And then I’ve got blues rock, psychedelic rock and, obviously, progressive rock.’

‘Not that kind of rock,’ I say. ‘I’ve got to look at how different rocks are made, like sedimentary rocks and igneous rocks.’

Finn looks disappointed so I rush to reassure him.

‘Your kinds of rock are much more interesting than mine,’ I tell him. ‘I wish my homework was about them!’

‘Well, I’m not going to be much use to you then – I was rubbish at science. Gave it up the first chance I had.’

I sense Mum turning round behind me.

‘But wouldn’t you agree, Finn, that science is a very useful subject and Izzy should do her absolute best to finish her homework?’ Her voice is friendly, but I know she’s raising her eyebrows at Finn in a ‘get the hint and agree with me’ way.

‘Oh yes. I totally agree. Science is very important. I really wish I’d worked a bit harder when I was in Year 7. And just wait till you’re in Year 13 – we have so much work to do it isn’t funny!’

Mum is satisfied with his answer and turns back to the stove. Finn grins at me and I stifle a groan. Why does Mum have to make me look like such a baby in front of him? I always do my homework; it’s not like she has to nag me to do it.

‘Here you go, Finn – try one of these.’ Mum puts down a plate of biscuits on the table in front of us. ‘Careful, they only came out of the oven a few minutes ago so they’re piping hot!’

‘Thanks, I thought I could smell something good.’ Finn grabs a biscuit and then quickly drops it, yelping and shoving his fingers in his mouth.

‘I did warn you,’ says Mum.

I laugh at the face Finn is pulling and carefully take a biscuit for myself, gently pulling pieces off the sides and blowing on them before I risk eating one.

Today must be a no-reason visit from Finn because there’s no band practice. I know this because Alex spends hours and hours getting ready on band nights and I can’t ever get anywhere near the bathroom. Not until she’s gone out at least. Alex is quiet today – suspiciously quiet actually. Now that I think about it, she’s not making any noise whatsoever, which is very unusual. There’s no radio blaring from her room, or the sound of her hairdryer at full hair-destroying throttle. Very strange indeed.

Finn has obviously recovered from his burns because he reaches for another biscuit and stuffs it into his mouth, whole.

‘Ooobledook Aldrgghhh ergghhh?’ he splutters through the crumbs. I really, really like Finn, but I wish that he wasn’t such a boy sometimes. There are crumbs all over the table and somebody will have to clear them up and you can bet that it won’t be him.

‘What?’ I ask him. ‘I don’t speak biscuit language.’

Finn swallows and wipes his mouth.

‘That was lush – thanks! I said, is Alex about?’

I look towards the ceiling, which is daft because I don’t have X-ray vision.

‘Well, I thought she was in her room,’ I tell him. ‘But now I’m not so sure. It’s very quiet up there.’

Finn stands up.

‘I’ll go and have a look,’ he says, and saunters off towards the stairs. Mum doesn’t say a word, just keeps stirring her pan on the stove. If it was any other boy, she’d have a fit – there’s no way that Alex would be allowed to have a boy in her room – but Finn is different. I don’t know why, but he just is. It’s silly really because he actually still is a boy, even if he’s just Finn.

I keep going with my homework, labelling a diagram with erosion and weathering and other confusing things. After a few minutes, I hear heavy footsteps clomping down the stairs and then Finn appears in the kitchen doorway.

‘Was she not there?’ asks Mum, looking worried for a moment. She likes to keep very close tabs on me and Alex, which is not a problem for me as I have nowhere else to be but home or school, but Alex hates Mum ‘constantly going on’ about where she’ll be and what time she’ll be home. They had a whopping argument about it the other night and Alex yelled at Mum that maybe she should just be done with it and make Alex wear a tag like a prisoner – then she could track her location at all times. Mum shouted back that she thought that was a great idea and that when Alex showed she was worthy of trust then she, Mum, would be more than happy to give it to her.

I pretended that I couldn’t hear them, which was quite difficult as I was watching TV in the living room and they were standing in the hallway right outside the door. I turned the volume up on the TV to drown them out, but then Alex stormed off and slammed the front door, and Mum marched into the living room and yelled at me for having the sound too loud. So unfair – it was Alex who wound her up, not me.

‘She’s there,’ Finn tells Mum. His voice is quieter than normal and I look up to see what’s wrong. ‘She’s busy. I’ll catch up with her another time.’ He walks quickly across the kitchen and opens the back door. ‘Thanks for the grub. Good luck with the homework, Izzy.’

‘Finn –’ starts Mum, but the door has closed and he’s gone. Mum looks at me and shrugs. I shrug back. I have no idea what just happened. Finn and Alex are inseparable. It makes me feel a bit left out actually – the way they can spend hours lounging around with each other, totally relaxed and laughing at jokes that only they understand. She’s never been too busy for him before. Not ever.

‘Maybe she’s finally starting to understand the importance of her A levels,’ Mum says, drying her hands on a tea towel. She looks quietly pleased, but I don’t buy it. Alex is never that predictable.

‘Supper’s in the oven. You’ve got about half an hour,’ Mum warns me and then she heads towards her study and the mountain of marking that’s balanced on her desk. She teaches for three days every week and the rest of the time she’s always really busy looking after us and Granny and Grandpa. She doesn’t ever really go out with friends, even though Alex has been going on at her to get a social life. She does talk to Granny on the phone for ages every day though, and she pops in to see them virtually every day too, so it’s not like she hasn’t got anyone to talk to.

I keep going with my rocks for a few minutes, but curiosity overwhelms me and I can’t think about sediments and magma until I know what Alex is doing. I creep out of the kitchen, past the closed study door and up the stairs. Alex’s room is at the top on the right and her door is slightly open – Finn can’t have closed it properly when he left. I’m not an eavesdropper, but surely if I just happen to hear something then that’s OK? And if I’m crouched on the floor by Alex’s door when I happen to hear something then that’s totally explainable and fine. I could be looking for a contact lens or something. Except I don’t wear contact lenses so I’d probably be looking for something else small and hard to find. Like a pin. Or a needle. Or maybe a pencil sharpener – I can never find one of those when I need it.

I sink on to the carpet and press my face up against the door. I can hear Alex, but she’s not talking in her normal voice. She’s speaking really quietly and giggling. Alex doesn’t giggle. She laughs – a loud, rumbling laugh that makes everyone who hears it join in. It’s totally contagious, Alex’s laugh; even if you’re completely miserable it makes you start sniggering. But that’s not the laugh she’s doing now. Now she’s making a sweet, tinkling sound, like sleigh bells. It’s not a bad laugh – it’s just not her laugh. It sounds like a pink laugh, fluffy and sweet. I wonder if she’s thinking about choosing a new laugh like she chooses new handwriting styles. I hope not. It wouldn’t sound like her.

It’s hard to hear what she’s saying in this new fairy-princess voice that she’s using, but if I press my face against the wall and squint I can see her through one eye. She’s lying on her bed and talking on her mobile. I have no idea who she’s talking to, but I don’t think it’s her best friend, Sara, and I know it can’t be Finn. Whoever it is must be extremely important for Alex to send Finn away.

I glance down at my mood ring. It’s red, which means danger, and I feel a tingle of fear run down my spine.