Violet Ink

There’s only one lesson left after citizenship and it’s PE. Since that disastrous day when I humiliated myself in basketball, I have tried to keep a very low profile in PE lessons. Today I’m going to exceed my previous attempts by not even turning up. There’s forty-five minutes until the end of school and hardly anybody will even notice that I’m not there. Even if they do notice they’ll probably think I’m ill and have just gone home.

Which is exactly where I’m going. I know that Alex didn’t come to school again today so I’m going to go home and give her one more chance to tell Mum. And if she won’t tell her then I will. This has gone on long enough: Mum needs to know. Alex will thank me when all the drama is done, when she can talk to Mum properly and know that Mum still loves her. Because there’s nothing that Alex could do that would make Mum stop loving her – I know that a hundred per cent for sure.

I creep out of the school gates feeling like I’m on some sort of mission and I run as much of the way home as I can. Now though I’m having to walk up our road. I really do want to get home as quickly as possible, but my bag is ridiculously heavy and my legs are aching and my lungs feel like they’re about to burst. Also, I’m a little bit scared about what I’m about to do. I’m not sure Alex is going to particularly appreciate my ultimatum and I don’t want to make her angry. It’s probably not good for the baby if she starts screaming and shouting, especially as it can hear things now.

I can see our front door and I slow down even more. Alex is in there somewhere, making plans and decisions that she thinks have nothing to do with us. My mood ring is turquoise again: yet more secrets and deception. Well, I’ve had enough of all this sneaking around; it’s time Family Stone dealt with this situation like a proper team. Alex needs to understand that we’re all a part of this. It’s not just about her.

As I walk down the path, I look up at the house. It’s the same, but something about it seems not quite right. I feel a sudden tingle of fear run down my spine and I quicken my steps, reaching in my pocket for my key at the same time. I reach the front door and fumble with the key, dropping it on the step. I’m being completely useless and I haven’t even spoken to Alex yet. How on earth am I going to persuade her to listen to me if I can’t even get into the house like a normal person?

I pick up the key, turn it in the lock and push the door open. Taking a deep breath, I step inside, noticing that the post is still lying on the doormat. I step over it and put my bag on the floor, kicking my shoes off into the corner. Then I go looking for Alex.

I creep into the living room, but she isn’t in there. A glance through the kitchen door shows me that the room is empty so I walk quietly upstairs and check the bathroom. Empty. Her bedroom door is wide open and I can tell straight away that something is horribly wrong.

‘Alex!’ I shout, turning round on the landing, all attempts at taking her by surprise forgotten.

There’s no reply and I shout her name again, louder this time. Maybe she’s gone out for a walk. Except that’s a ludicrous suggestion; Alex has never voluntarily gone for a walk in her entire life, unless it’s walking from the car to the shops.

Maybe she’s outside, on her swing? I laugh at myself for getting so wound up about nothing, but the sound of my laughter in the empty house is odd and makes me feel even more worried about where Alex might be. I run downstairs, swinging round the stair post at the bottom, and race across the kitchen. I can see through the window that she’s not on her swing, but that doesn’t stop me from yanking open the latch that locks the back door, ramming my feet into wellies and running outside into the sunshine.

I check the whole area around her swing, but there’s no evidence at all that Alex has even been out here today. I look on the path that leads to the front of the house, but she’s not there. I even search behind the shed and in our den, just in case she’s gone in there for old times’ sake. But Alex is nowhere to be found and miserably I walk back to the house, all the time telling myself that there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for why she’s not here.

By the time I’ve taken off the wellies and poured myself a glass of orange juice from the fridge, I’m starting to calm down. Alex probably went into school after I did. She’ll be back later and I won’t tell her how worried I was about her. I’m probably going to end up with a detention for skiving off PE and all for nothing. I’ll just have to find a good time to talk to Alex later, before Mum gets home from work.

I’m feeling a bit daft now, like I let myself get all stressed out about nothing. I was just so ready to talk to Alex – I suppose I’m a bit disappointed that I’ll have to psych myself up all over again.

I pull out a chair and sit down at the kitchen table, plonking my glass of juice down in front of me. And that’s when I see it. An envelope, leaning against a jar of peanut butter. An envelope with my name written on the front in violet ink.

I slowly reach across and look at it, carefully turning it over and over in my hands. It feels like everything is in slow motion, and all I can think about is that Alex obviously had peanut butter on her toast for breakfast and didn’t bother to clear her things away. I don’t feel like I really want to open this letter; the last envelope I opened that looked like this had nothing good to tell me. But it’s from Alex and she’s not here and she’s written to me, so there’s no way I can ignore this.

I peel the envelope apart very carefully and pull out the piece of paper inside. Then I sit at the kitchen table with sun streaming through the window and read what my big sister has decided to share with me.

Dear Izzy,

I want to start by saying sorry. I’ve made a complete mess of all of this and you’ve been caught up in the middle. I never meant for that to happen. I never meant to make you have to choose.

It’s been really hard to know what to do over the last few months. I think I thought I could make it go away if I pretended it wasn’t happening. That didn’t work out too well for me though. Because it is happening. This baby is happening and I’m starting to think that I’m glad.

Charlie and I have talked for hours and hours and we’ve decided that we can do this. It isn’t what we chose, but it’s what we’ve got so we need to make it work. We think that we can be a family – him, me and our baby. Like Granny always tells us – you don’t get to choose and then moan. I guess, by doing what we did, we kind of chose this baby.

We don’t want to hurt anyone though and we want to give ourselves a good chance – that’s why we have to leave. If we stay then Mum will always have to see how much I messed up. If I go then maybe she can start to forget. And if we stay at home then I’ll always just be yet another stupid teenager that got pregnant. And I don’t want my baby to have a mum who is looked at like that.

That’s why we’re going to start a whole new life. It’s going to be a new everything, Izzy! New home, new sensible me, new country. Charlie’s Uncle Robert owns a hotel in Switzerland, right in the Alps. He’s told Charlie that he’ll give him a job. I’m going to have to improve my French cos that’s mostly what they speak where we’re going (wish I’d concentrated a bit more in lessons!) but Charlie’s really good and he says I’ll get better really quickly. Well, I’ll have to, won’t I! By the time you read this letter, we’ll be on the train – the 3.45 to London first, then another train that will take us to Dover and finally the night ferry to France. It doesn’t leave until late so we’ll be sailing in the dark! Then we’ll get a train all the way to Switzerland. It’s so exciting!

I really hope you and Mum will come and visit us when we get settled. And of course I want the baby to know its awesome Aunty Izzy.

Don’t be mad at me. I know that this isn’t what you want to happen, but I truly can’t stay and face what everyone will think of me. It’ll be different when the baby’s born. Everyone will love it and they’ll forget all about this time when things seem difficult and a mess.

You’re a fab little sister. I’m really, really sorry for dragging you into this.

Love you forever,

Alex xxxxx

PS Mum still doesn’t know. I think it’s best if you tell her at suppertime when we’re well on our way. A xxxxx

She’s gone. Run away. Abandoned us. However I say it, I can’t make it sound any better. I sit for a moment, stunned by Alex’s letter. I never thought she’d do this, not for a second. And she’s leaving me to tell Mum? That’s not fair.

I roll my head round on my shoulders, trying to think and make sense of everything. My eyes catch sight of the clock and I sit up straight, calculating times desperately. It’s only five past three now. Alex wasn’t expecting me to come home for ages, but because of my skiving I’ve got some time. Her train hasn’t even left yet – I can still stop her!

I stand up and start pacing round the kitchen. The train station is about twenty minutes in the car from here. I could phone for a taxi, but it might take a while to arrive. There’s no way I can get the bus; I’d have to walk into town first which would take too long. For a second I debate running, but then sink back down at the table when I realize that, even if I could make it there, I can’t stop Alex from leaving. She’s utterly determined and me asking her to stay is not going to change the slightest thing.

Defeated, I pick up her letter and read it again, feeling sadder and more frightened than I’ve ever felt. The PS at the end makes me feel something different though. It makes me feel furious. How dare Alex get me to do her dirty work? Has she given any thought whatsoever to how it’s going to make Mum feel? The very least she could have done was leave Mum a note – that’s if she was too cowardly to tell her and give Mum the chance to say goodbye properly.

And there it is: the answer to my dilemma. The same answer that it’s always been – I just let Alex convince me otherwise. Mum. She can stop Alex doing this and Alex knows it. If Mum can get to the train station before Alex leaves then she can talk to her, let her know that it’s OK to stay – that running away is only going to make it worse.

I look at the clock again. Ten past three. Mum will still be teaching and she’s always told us that she can only leave school for complete and utter emergencies. The time I felt a bit sick because I used a dodgy pooter in science and sucked up a woodlouse did NOT, apparently, constitute an emergency. But this totally does. It’s a desperate time and I need to be brave and make the right decisions.

Running over to the phone, I check the list of important numbers written on the noticeboard next to it. I ring Mum’s school, my hands shaking, but knowing that I need to make Mum come home NOW.

The line starts ringing and I force myself to focus.

‘Good afternoon. Darnfield Primary School. How can I help you?’ says the nice lady in the office. I think her name is Margaret, but I’m not completely sure and now is not the time for trying to be polite.

‘Er – hi, it’s Izzy Stone. Mrs Stone’s daughter,’ I stutter.

‘Oh, hello, Izzy,’ says Possibly-Called-Margaret. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I need my mum,’ I blurt out. ‘At home. Now. It’s definitely an emergency. Can she come?’

‘Oh my goodness!’ She sounds worried, which is a good thing because I need her to tell Mum straight away. ‘Is everything OK, Izzy?’

‘No!’ I tell her. ‘It really isn’t. And it’s going to get even worse if Mum isn’t home very soon. Please! Can you tell her I need her right now?’

‘Of course I will, dear.’ Possibly-Called-Margaret has swung into brisk, school-office mode. ‘Don’t worry – I’ll go and get her now.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, and hang up the phone. I really hope Mum isn’t going to be cross with me for calling her out of school, but she’s our only hope if we’re going to get to Alex before it’s too late.

I grab Alex’s letter and put it in my pocket and then I go into the hall and find my shoes. It’ll be quickest if I wait for Mum outside, I think, so I find my key and slam the front door behind me, walking down the path to wait for Mum at the kerb.

Her school is less than a ten-minute drive away, but I know it’ll take her a few minutes to find someone else to look after her class and gather up all her bags. The day of the pooter incident, it took her about twenty minutes to get to my school; I really hope she’s a bit quicker today. A glance at my watch shows me that there’s absolutely no time to lose. It’s already 3.15 p.m.

The next ten minutes are the longest minutes of my whole life. Every time I hear a car turn down our road my heart does a triple somersault, but it’s always someone else. And a weird thing is happening. You know the saying that a watched pot never boils? Well, normally it’s true: when you’re desperately waiting for something to happen then time seems to move really slowly. Today, when I want the clock to slow down and give us time to get to Alex, the opposite is happening. Every time I look at my watch it seems to have leapt on another two or three minutes. I feel like I’ve entered an alternate universe where the space-time continuum has totally different rules to our world.

By the time Mum comes screeching round the corner, virtually on two wheels, it’s 3.25 p.m. If she steps on it, there’s just a chance that we can get to the station before the train leaves. She pulls over next to me and I yank open the door and leap into the passenger seat.

‘Go!’ I shout at her, but she pulls on the handbrake and just looks at me. ‘Come ON!’ I yell. ‘We’ve got to hurry!’

‘What’s going on, Izzy?’ Mum asks, leaning across and holding on to my arm. ‘Are you OK? What’s happening?’

I look at her and my heart stops its mad somersaults and thuds heavily into my stomach. With all of the stress that we won’t make it to Alex on time, I had somehow forgotten two very important facts. Mum doesn’t know that Alex is running away. And Mum doesn’t know that Alex is pregnant.

I look at the car clock – 3.27 p.m. There’s no time.

‘Mum, I promise I’ll tell you, but you need to start driving. We’ve got to get to the train station,’ I say, begging her with my eyes to listen to me.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she turns off the ignition and looks at me hard.

‘I want to know NOW, Izzy,’ she says. ‘You rang school, scared poor Margaret half to death with your frantic phone call and made me leave the classroom before the end of school. Now I need to know what’s going on, please.’

I take a deep breath and grab hold of Mum’s hand.

‘If we sit here any longer then it’ll be too late. Please, Mum – just trust me this one time!’

Mum strokes my hand and looks at me thoughtfully.

‘Are you hurt?’ she asks. I shake my head, trying to stop myself from screaming at her. ‘Are you in trouble?’ I shake my head again: 3.28 p.m.

I have no idea what Mum is going to do and I can feel Alex drifting further and further away. I flop back against the car seat and imagine the train pulling out of the station, taking Alex away forever. I close my eyes in an attempt to blot out the image, but open them quickly when I feel the car rumble to life beneath me.

‘The train station?’ asks Mum, checking her mirrors and pulling out into the traffic.

‘Yes!’ I say, sitting up straight. ‘If we really hurry, we might get to her in time.’

‘Get to who?’ asks Mum, turning on to the main road and starting to pick up speed.

‘Alex,’ I tell her, hoping that the rest of her questions can wait until we get there.

Mum turns to me in surprise. ‘Why is Alex at the station?’ she asks. I’m quiet and she reaches over for my hand again, giving it a squeeze. ‘Izzy, I’m prepared to trust you, but I need to know what’s happening here.’

A car brakes suddenly in front of us as a cat dashes across the road.

‘Mum!’ I shout and she looks back at the road just in time, slamming on the brakes and making the car behind us honk its horn. Mum pushes her hair off her face and breathes out a huge sigh.

‘Why is Alex at the train station, Izzy?’

I realize that if we’re to have the tiniest chance of getting there in time then Mum is going to need to know.

‘She’s running away with Charlie,’ I say quietly, trying not to spook Mum and cause a multiple pile-up.

‘What!’ says Mum. She doesn’t scream it like I thought she would. It sounds more like a long groan, the way the word comes out of her mouth. ‘For goodness’ sake, Izzy! Why didn’t you tell me?’ Her voice is getting louder with each word. ‘Silly, silly girl.’

‘I’m sorry, Mum,’ I say, trying not to cry.

‘Oh, not you!’ she says, indicating left and pulling off the main road on to a quieter street. ‘Alex! She’s behaving ridiculously. Where on earth do they think they’re going to go?’

I’m quiet now, not wanting to be the one to tell Mum about Alex’s plans to go to Switzerland. Maybe we’ll get there in time and Mum will never need to find out.

She puts her foot down and we weave round a cyclist. We drive in silence for a while and then Mum starts speaking.

‘I told her that they’re just exams – that I’ll be proud of her whatever her results,’ she says, but I think she’s talking to herself so I don’t say anything. We’re past the worst of the town traffic now, but it’s cost us ten whole minutes. I lean over to watch the speedometer creeping up, up, up. We’re driving fast now and I think we’ve got a chance.

‘And everyone gets nervous about university,’ Mum continues, shooting through the traffic lights as they turn amber. ‘She’s lucky to have the opportunities she’s got. I’d have loved the chance to do the things she’s going to be doing at her age.’

I stay silent and mentally will the clock to slow down. Surely we’ll make it? This happens all the time in films. Just when you think the hero can’t possibly get to the heroine in time to rescue her, he leaps in and saves the day. I imagine me and Mum sprinting down the platform, spotting Alex in the distance. I’ll call her name and she’ll turn and see us, and in that instant she’ll see how daft she’s been. She’ll drop her bags and run towards us, and Mum will hold her in a big hug, and then Alex will scoop me up and we’ll all be hugging and laughing and crying, and the train will leave and we’ll bring Alex home where she belongs.

The car suddenly swerves round a corner and I fall against the door, banging my shoulder. Pain shoots down my arm, but I don’t care because we’re here. We’ve made it! Mum doesn’t even bother to find a parking space; she just screeches to a halt in front of the main entrance and together we leap out of the car and race towards the station.

As we fly out on to platform 1, I see the station clock overhead: 3.44 p.m. One minute to find Alex and make this better. It’s totally possible. Then I see that platform 1 is empty. Mum has already started running towards the steps that go over the train tracks and down to platform 2. Platform 2, where a train is waiting.

I race after Mum and start up the steps. A train announcement is blaring all around me, but I can’t make any sense of what it’s actually announcing. I just know that I need to run faster than I’ve ever run before. As we reach the end of the bridge, I overtake Mum and hurl myself down the steps and on to the platform. Pushing through all the people who are trying to leave the station, I search desperately for Alex. There’s a flash of violet in the crowd up ahead and it looks to me like Alex’s favourite coat so I head towards it, not caring about how many people I shove and elbow to get past.

Then I’ve suddenly broken through the crowd and the platform ahead is empty. I start to run, casting my eyes to the right and looking into the carriages to check that she isn’t there. Then a whistle blows and the doors shut and Mum is behind me and we’re too late. I turn to Mum in disbelief. How can we have come so far only to fail at the last minute? Mum isn’t looking at me though. She’s gazing over my shoulder towards the train and as I turn I know what I’m going to see.

There is Alex, pressed up against the window of the train. Her face looks surprised or shocked or unhappy – I can’t work out which one – but it’s pretty obvious that she wasn’t expecting to see us standing here. I take a few steps forward until I’m standing right in front of her, close enough to see the tears that are streaming down her face.

‘Alex!’ shouts Mum from just behind me. ‘Get off the train!’ But Alex can’t hear her and she can’t get off anyway; the doors are closed and they won’t open until they get to the next station.

Alex looks at me and puts her hand against the window, her fingers spread apart. I copy her and match my smaller hand against hers and for one moment we’re together, separated only by a piece of dirty glass. I know that I’m crying and I can hear Mum calling to Alex, loud cries that carry her worry and fear all the way up the platform, but I ignore everything, looking only at my sister. She mouths something to me through the window and it looks like ‘Love you. Forever’.

‘I love you too,’ I tell her. And then the train is moving and I’m walking alongside, trying to keep my hand on Alex’s. I feel it pick up speed and I start to run, desperate to keep her, and then Mum is pulling me away to safety and holding on to me, and I watch as the train moves away, keeping my eyes focused on a tiny flash of violet until I can’t see it any more.

Even then we stand on the platform and wait until the train has disappeared from sight. Then Mum turns me round and looks me in the eye.

‘Izzy?’ she says. It’s all she needs to say. She knows there’s more to this than she’s been told and she knows that I know. She wants answers. ‘IZZY!’ She raises her voice and gives my shoulders a little shake. And I have no idea where to begin. I’m completely exhausted and I don’t want to have to be the one to shatter Mum’s dreams. It’s too much to ask of me.

Mum seems to realize that I’m incapable of speech at the moment and she suddenly takes off, racing back down the platform and over the bridge to the ticket office. I follow her and catch up just as she gets to the desk.

‘Where was that train going?’ she demands, startling the sleepy ticket man inside the office.

‘Which train?’ he asks her, looking up from his newspaper.

‘The one that left platform two about a minute ago!’ says Mum, the annoyance in her voice obvious.

I could tell her myself. I know exactly where that train is going. But Mum looks so angry and upset that she doesn’t seem like my normal mum right now. I’m a bit scared by Furious Mum and I don’t want to be the one who breaks the bad news to her.

‘Well now, let me see.’ He gets up and slowly walks over to the desk. ‘Platform two, you say? Leaving at three forty-five p.m?’

‘Yes,’ says Mum and it sounds like her teeth are clamped tightly together. ‘I can’t believe it’s nearly four o’clock already,’ says the ticket man, looking up at the clock and then back at us. ‘I’ve been rushed off my feet today – the time has flown by! It’s been so busy. I had a gentleman in earlier who wanted to buy a ticket to Edinburgh, but going via Norwich of all places!’ He raises his eyebrows at us in amazement, as if this is the daftest thing he’s ever heard. Maybe it is, if you spend all day stuck inside a ticket office. I can feel Mum tense beside me; it’s a good job there’s a thick glass screen between him and us because otherwise I think she might reach through and give him a good shaking.

‘The train?’ she asks him.

‘Oh yes – well, that train is headed to London, madam,’ he tells her. ‘Do you want to know all the stations it stops at?’

‘No,’ says Mum abruptly. ‘Just tell me the departure time for the next train to London.’

The man looks at the clock again and then back at Mum sadly.

‘That’s the last one for today, I’m afraid. Got here a bit late, did you? Just like my wife. She can never get anywhere on time either. I have to tell her we’re leaving the house at least ten minutes before we actually need to go – only way to get her to leave punctually. And I do think that punctuality is a good characteristic.’ He chuckles to himself and Mum explodes.

‘That is completely insane! It’s not even four p.m! How can that possibly be the last train to London TODAY?’

She’s shouting now, not caring who hears her, and I see the ticket man look sympathetically at me. He probably thinks I come from a broken home and I wonder for a second if he’s right: if Alex running away makes us a dysfunctional family.

‘I’m very sorry, madam, but there’s some works being done on the line so we’re running a limited service for the next few days. The next train to London leaves tomorrow at six forty-five a.m. Would you like me to book you a ticket?’

Mum looks at him blankly and I can tell that she suddenly doesn’t know what to do. She shakes her head and then takes my hand and together we walk out of the ticket office.

We walk back to the car and I give Mum the letter that Alex left for me. Alex can tell Mum herself, even if she didn’t intend to. I sit in the passenger seat and lean my head back on the headrest. I close my eyes and try not to listen as Mum reads the letter and sobs. Then she gets her mobile phone out of her bag and dials Alex’s number. Alex doesn’t answer on the first call, or the second call or the eighth call. After the eleventh call, Mum leaves a voicemail message, asking Alex to get off the train at the next station and to ring Mum straight away. And she tells Alex’s voicemail that she just wants to help and that she loves Alex very, very much.

And, after that, we sit for a really long time, waiting for Alex to ring back. Mum checks the time every thirty seconds and, after an hour, when the ticket man has knocked on the window and told Mum that she can’t park here, she wipes her eyes and we drive home very, very slowly. Mum stops the car on the drive and we sit in the car for a bit longer, not saying anything, but neither of us wanting to go into the empty house.

Eventually I start to feel cold so I open my car door and get out. Mum copies me, almost like she’s glad that someone has suggested what she should do next. So I open the front door and put the kettle on, and Mum sits at the table in the kitchen while I make a cup of tea. I melt some cheese on toast and put it on a plate in front of her, and then we both sit, looking at the jar of peanut butter, letting our toast go cold.

After about ten minutes of sitting in silence, Mum suddenly leaps to her feet.

‘What time did Alex say they were catching the ferry?’ she asks me, her voice sounding frantic and something else, but I’m not sure what.

‘I can’t remember,’ I tell her. ‘I know Alex was excited about sailing in the dark so it must be quite late.’

Mum plunges her hand into her pocket and brings out Alex’s letter. When we were in the car, she spent ages folding it up really carefully, a bit like someone arranging a posh napkin for a wedding, although not in the shape of a swan. Now she unfolds it just as carefully and skim-reads through the letter until she finds what she’s looking for.

‘She doesn’t say a time!’ she says and I realize that the other sound in her voice is hope. ‘Quick, there’s a chance we can get to her before she leaves the country.’

Mum races out of the room and for the second time today I sprint after her. She rushes into the study and turns on the computer, bouncing from foot to foot and frowning as it takes ages to load.

‘Come on, come on,’ she mutters and then launches forward the second the screen is on. ‘Izzy, run and pack a bag and get ready to leave.’

‘Why?’ I ask her, a bit stupidly. I’m finding it hard to keep up with her and I’m tired. Today has been too much.

‘We’re going after Alex!’ Mum says, wriggling the computer mouse and clicking furiously.

‘What should I pack?’ I say.

‘Oh, I don’t know! Anything! We’ll need something to eat too. Grab some fruit and cereal bars.’

I walk into the kitchen slowly. I know I should be rushing, that every minute we delay is another minute where Alex has got further away from us, but I can’t help thinking that this isn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want to say goodbye to Mum because she didn’t want to give Mum the chance of doing this. Making a fuss and a drama. Alex only likes drama if she’s the one creating it.

Just as I’ve emptied out my school bag on to the table and repacked it with a couple of apples and some crisps, there’s a thud from the study and a few seconds later Mum comes hurtling through the door.

‘Right, I’ve looked at the route to Dover and I think we’ve got a chance of making it on time. You’ll have to read the map – can you do that, Izzy?’

She looks at me doubtfully and I nod my head, even though I’m terrible with directions. Last year I even got lost on our school orienteering course and they had to send a search party out to find me. It’s not just basketball I’m rubbish at.

‘I KNEW I should have bought that satnav when it was on offer,’ moans Mum. ‘Well, never mind – we’ll just have to do the best we can. OK, are you ready? Do you need to use the bathroom because I don’t want us to have to stop?’

I shake my head. I don’t know what to make of this new Manic Mum. She’s freaking me out a tiny bit. She picks my bag up off the table and starts walking towards the door. I go after her, starting to feel a tiny prickle of excitement in my stomach. Maybe we can still make this better. If we can just get to Alex before she boards the ferry, it’ll all be OK.

Mum opens the front door and I step outside. She’s just pulling it closed when the phone in the hall starts ringing. Mum stops, hesitating.

‘Leave it, Mum!’ I cry. ‘We’ve got to go!’

‘I can’t,’ Mum tells me, pushing the door open again and stepping back into the hall. ‘It might be Alex!’

She rushes over to the phone and picks it up.

‘Hello?’ she says. ‘Oh, Mum – I thought you were Alex.’

It’s not Alex at all, only Granny. I pick up the bag that Mum has dropped and walk over to the car. Mum will tell Granny that she can’t chat now and it’ll be best if I’m waiting in the car, all ready to leave the instant she comes outside. The car is unlocked so I stash my bag on the back seat and sit down in the front.

Mum takes ages. I’ve had a chance to look at our road atlas and work out which direction we need to go in to get to Dover. I’ve opened the glove compartment to check if there are any sweets hidden in there, but I think we must have eaten them all up because the only thing I can find is a disgusting Fisherman’s Friend. Those sweets are nasty. The first (and last) time I had one I thought it must be some kind of trick sweet: they taste disgusting and totally burn your mouth. Grandpa loves them though; this one must have been left over from the last time Mum took him out in our car.

Finally Mum comes outside. She closes the front door after her and gets into the driver’s seat. Then she rests her head on the steering wheel and makes strange shuddering sounds.

‘Mum!’ I cry, reaching across and patting her on the shoulder. ‘What’s wrong?’ Manic Mum was weird, but Sad Mum is truly awful.

She cries for a bit and I try to hold on to her, feeling awkward. I love my Mum, but I’m not used to being the person who tries to make her feel better; she usually does that for me. After a little while, she lifts her head and wipes her eyes.

‘I’m sorry, Izzy. This is so difficult for you.’

‘No!’ I tell her, desperate to make her happy. ‘It’s not difficult. It’s fine!’

‘No, it isn’t fine,’ she says. ‘That was Granny on the phone. Grandpa has gone missing again. He’s been gone for ages. Granny thought he was pottering about in the garden shed, but when she went to tell him it was teatime he wasn’t there. There’s no telling how long he’s been gone. He could be anywhere. She’s already phoned the police.’

I look at her in horror. This can’t all be happening at the same time. Surely there’s a limit to the amount of bad stuff that can happen to a family in one day?

‘We have to help find Grandpa,’ I whisper.

‘But I can’t just let Alex run off!’ cries Mum. She looks at the clock and makes a weird moaning sound. ‘Look at the time! We’ve got no idea what ferry she’s leaving on. There’s no certainty that we’re even going to find them and, if we do, I can hardly drag Alex back here like she’s three years old, can I?’

I had been wondering about that. Alex is the same size as Mum and if she was determined to go with Charlie there’s no way that Mum could persuade her to stay.

‘And I can’t abandon Granny and Grandpa,’ Mum continues, looking over at me with exhausted eyes. ‘They need me here. There’s no knowing where Grandpa might be – he could have gone miles by now. There’s just nobody else to help.’

She starts crying properly now and I don’t know what to do.

‘There’s me!’ I tell her. ‘I’ll help, Mum.’

That just makes her cry even harder and I sit there, rubbing her shoulders, with tears running silently down my face. When I woke up this morning, I had absolutely no idea that a day could be so terrible.

Eventually Mum stops crying and sits up straighter.

‘I’m sorry, Izzy.’ She brushes the hair back off her face and smiles at me, although it isn’t a very happy smile. ‘What would I do without you, hey? You’re a fantastic, thoughtful, caring daughter.’

Well, you need one of your daughters to be, I think to myself, and the voice inside my head sounds mean and spiteful and not like me at all.

‘I’m going to send Alex a text,’ Mum says, picking up her phone. ‘Perhaps if she knows what’s going on she might change her mind and come home.’

I think Mum has completely lost the plot if she thinks Alex is going to just turn round and come back to us. That wouldn’t be very dramatic at all and Alex is all about the big entrance and exit; slinking back quietly after a few hours isn’t her style. I sit silently while Mum sends her text, wondering where Alex is now and hoping that Grandpa is somewhere safe. It’s starting to get dark and I hate the thought of him out there, all alone. I think about the aggro boys, prowling the streets and looking for trouble, and my skin starts to feel horrible, all itchy and tight. We need to stop worrying about Alex – she chose to leave when she didn’t have to – and start focusing on Grandpa who can’t help getting confused sometimes. It’s not his fault.

I’m just starting to wonder how long we’re going to sit here, helping nobody, when Mum’s phone rings. Her ringtone is the ‘Crazy Frog’ tune – Alex downloaded it for a laugh a few months ago and Mum has never got round to changing it. It sounds really wrong now, totally inappropriate. Mum snatches up the phone.

‘Alex!’ she cries. ‘Where are you?’

I can’t hear what Alex says in reply, but Mum listens for a second and then starts talking non-stop into the phone.

‘Don’t worry about that now, we can sort it all out. Alex? Alex – you need to listen to me, sweetheart. You need to get off the train. Running away is NOT the answer. Uh-huh. Yes. Yes, I understand you were scared. Right, yes, I realize that.’

Mum’s voice sounds worried and I can tell that she’s being really careful about what she says. I know she wants to persuade Alex to come home, but I’m not sure she needs to talk to Alex like she’s about to jump off a cliff. Alex will do what she wants to do, whatever Mum says to her. She always does.

Mum is still talking. ‘Yes, that’s right. Grandpa. I know, I know – it’s all happening at once. It’s OK, Alex, don’t cry. Just tell me the name of the last station you stopped at.’

She’s quiet for a moment and I imagine Alex sitting on the train, watching the fields and the houses whizz past as she moves further and further away from us.

‘OK, I understand. No, it’s all right – just get off the train at the next station and ring me. I’ll come and collect you.’

She’s quiet again and I can just make out the tinny sound of Alex’s voice coming through the phone, although I can’t hear the words.

‘Of course you do,’ Mum is telling Alex. ‘OK, OK, we’ll head over to Granny now and you ring me when you’re off the train. And Alex, I love you. Alex? Alex?’

Mum turns to me, looking scared. ‘I think she lost signal. Her phone just cut out.’

‘Is she coming home?’ I ask.

‘Yes!’ Mum breathes out, a great big whoosh that sounds like a steam train. ‘They’re getting off at the next station, although she’s got no idea where they are. They must be somewhere near London by now though. Thank goodness something has gone right today.’

Her phone makes a pinging sound and she looks down.

‘She’s sent me a text. Look.’ Mum shows me the phone and I read Alex’s text.

Next stop is in 30 mins. Charlie’s mum will collect us. Don’t worry. Find Grandpa. See u soon. LYF, Alex xxx

Mum starts the car.

‘Let’s go and find Grandpa. Hopefully Alex will be back by the time we get home.’

The next three hours are horrible. We get to Granny’s house and she’s really upset. The police have arrived. They tell Granny that they normally wouldn’t go looking for someone when they’ve been gone such a short time, but she tells them all about Grandpa and the way he gets so confused, and they say that they’ll send out a radio message telling other police officers to look out for him. Then they say they’ll have a drive around and they ask Granny what he was wearing, and would he have gone down to the river?

That just makes Granny cry even harder. When the police have gone, Mum tells me to stay with Granny and she’ll go looking for Grandpa. I sit with Granny for ages and listen to her saying that it’s all her fault and that she should never have left him alone for so long, but she thought he was happy in the garden. I try to tell her that she couldn’t have known he’d wander off, but it’s like she can’t hear me, so in the end I give up and make her a cup of tea instead.

By the time Mum walks back in the front door with Grandpa, we’re all exhausted. She found him outside the garden centre, waiting for it to open. When she asked him what he was doing, he told her that it was time to sort out his summer bedding and that he needed to buy some plants. Apparently, this couldn’t wait until the morning.

Mum phones the police to tell them that Grandpa’s home and then leaves him to Granny, with promises to return tomorrow. Then we race to the car and drive back to our house. Mum hasn’t heard anything else from Alex, even though she sent her a text to let her know that Grandpa was safe, and, as we approach our house, I can feel the atmosphere in the car get heavier and heavier.

‘Surely she must be home by now,’ mutters Mum as she pulls into our road. As we go round the corner, I lean forward to get a glimpse of our house; I can see straight away that it’s in darkness. There’s nobody inside.

We pull into the driveway and, right on cue, Mum’s phone beeps.

‘Quick, Izzy, get my phone out of my bag!’ she tells me, pulling on the handbrake and turning off the engine. I pass it to her and watch. It’s easy enough to tell what the text says by the way her face sags when she reads it, but I’m still shocked when Mum silently passes me the phone.

We r not coming. On ferry. Didn’t want to make u choose b/tween me & Grandpa. So glad u found him. Sorry. Will call u l8ter. LYF, Alex xxx

‘She lied to me,’ whispers Mum. ‘She never had any intention of coming home. She just wanted to stop me coming to get her.’

I don’t know what to say so I don’t say anything. It feels safer that way. Mum seems to have changed from sad to scared to really, really angry and I think it’s probably a good idea if I try to keep a low profile right now.

We get out of the car and Mum lets us into the dark house. She makes us both some hot chocolate and we sit together at the table, although I notice that she doesn’t drink any of hers. Our house doesn’t feel like home without Alex. I can’t help wondering if she has any idea what she’s done to us. If she cares about us at all.

When I’ve finished my drink, Mum sends me off to bed, telling me that she needs to make a few phone calls. I go upstairs and peer through the door at Alex’s room. It looks completely different. There are no clothes strewn across the floor and the bed is neatly made. The window is open and a summer breeze is floating through the room on the night air, blowing away any sign that Alex was ever here.

Completely miserable, I clean my teeth and head to my room. I’m too tired to put my clothes away properly so I just throw them in a pile on the floor – I can deal with them tomorrow. I pull on my pyjamas and get ready to flop into bed, beyond glad that today is finally finished.

But it’s not over quite yet. There, sitting on my pillow, is Mr Cuddles. He stares at me mournfully with his one eye, guarding a note that is propped in front of him.

Look after him for me. I don’t think I need him any more.

Love you forever,

Alex xxx

I pick up Mr Cuddles and sniff his head. He smells of patchouli incense sticks and vanilla candles and Alex. I snuggle down under the covers and try not to think about Alex’s face as the train pulled away. I try to believe that she’s doing the right thing. And I’m glad to have Mr Cuddles with me in bed; it feels like she left a little bit of herself here with me, that she hasn’t abandoned me completely.