That evening (after a strange meal of corned beef sandwiches, Rice Krispies and Mars Bars), I decided to phone Mum. I had no mobile – I’d have to use a public phone.
Just on the off chance I tried the phone in the house. Amazing! It seemed to be working. For a second or two I heard the ringing tone at the other end…
“Hey! What are you doing?” Emily shouted.
“Ringing Mum.”
She snatched the phone out of my hand and slammed it down.
I said, “What d’you do that for? I just want to let her know we’re OK, that we’ll be back soon. I wasn’t going to tell her anything…”
“You idiot! Don’t you know they can trace phone calls these days and find out where you rang from? I’ve seen it on the telly.”
“Oh.”
“And anyway, what was that about going back soon?”
“But I thought… when your mum gets out of hospital…”
“Oh well, you go back if you want to. But I’ve decided. I’m never going back – not ever.”
I stared at her. “But Emily! What will you live on when all the money’s gone? And what if the owner of the house comes back?”
“Then I’ll get a cardboard box and live in the streets. I’ve seen that on the telly too… Or else I’ll try and find my auntie.”
“Your auntie? Do you know where she lives?”
Emily unfolded a scrap of paper from her bag. “Gina White, 43 Sheppard House, Kensington Park Road. I copied it out of Mum’s address book. Mind you, I don’t know if she still lives there – I haven’t seen her since I was seven.”
“Yeah, you said. Your dad quarrelled with her and said she could never come back, right?”
“She was really nice. I bet she would help me, if I could find her.”
I looked in the A to Z. “It’s over Notting Hill way. We could go tomorrow. Want to?”
***
It was a long bus ride to Notting Hill. I knew how to get there because I’d been to the Carnival a couple of times. Using the A to Z we found Kensington Park Road, no trouble. But where was Sheppard House?
We walked up and down twice without finding it. At last we asked a postman who was emptying a letter box.
“Sheppard House? There’s no Sheppard House in Kensington Park Road. I should know, it was on my walk for years. Sure you got the right street?”
I checked the index of the A to Z. There was no other Kensington Park Road in the whole of London.
“Could you have copied it down wrong?” I said.
“Suppose so. Mum’s writing is a bit scribbly. Can’t go back and check it now though, can I?”
It was a hot, sticky day. I got some ice cream to try and cheer her up, but that only left us feeling stickier. All at once I found myself longing for a breath of cool wind from the moors.
“Is it always this hot in London?” Emily grumbled.
“Well, at least it isn’t raining. I bet it’s raining in Brilby right now.”
On the bus going back, she went on about how awful London was. Miles and miles of nothing but buildings… millions of cars… nothing green…
We were passing Hyde Park at the time. “If you think that’s not green, you need your eyes tested,” I said.
“But it’s tiny. I can see the buildings at the other side. And there are people all over it. Where do you go if you want to get away from people?”
Of course I felt I had to stick up for London. We almost had a quarrel. We were both fed up and my ankle was hurting again. But then, as we walked home from the bus stop, something happened to take our minds right off London versus Brilby.
We were passing an electrical shop in the High Road. I glanced at the window, where a TV set was switched on.
“Emily! That’s us!”
There we were, side by side on the screen. It was the photo that had been taken for the Caston News. Not a very good one: Emily trying to look heroic, me looking embarrassed. For a second or two we stood there, hypnotised.
Emily tugged my arm. “Come on! We’d better get indoors double quick.”
“Yes. We’ll go the back way, it’s quieter.”
I led her along the narrow alleyway that ran past the end of our garden. The back gate squealed nastily as if on purpose. But no one was there to hear.
Emily switched on the 24-hour news channel. We didn’t have long to wait before our faces filled the screen again.
“Police are trying to trace two schoolgirls who have been missing for the last 36 hours. They were last seen on the school bus in Caston, near Allenbury, but they never attended school that day. It’s thought they may have travelled to London, possibly by train.”
“That ticket collector,” said Emily. “I bet he remembered us.”
A policeman was talking now. “It may simply be that the girls have run away from home. But there have been two other recent cases of children going missing in the Allenbury area. These girls may be in danger – we’re making every effort to find them.”
The newsreader said, “The mother of one of the girls is in hospital recovering from a serious operation. She has not yet been told that her daughter is missing. The other mother made this appeal…”
Oh no! It was Mum! I could hardly bear to watch.
“Emily, if you’re watching this, please, please let us know you’re OK. I won’t be angry, I promise. Just ring me. I need to know if you’re all right…” I could tell she was trying not to cry.
“I’m going to ring her,” I said, standing up.
“No! Not from here! Do it from a public phone.”
“But that means going out again. That’s risky too.”
“Well don’t ring her. Didn’t you say you’d left her a letter, anyway?”
“She can’t have found it,” I said wretchedly.
We had a long argument. In the end we decided we would wait for dusk, and then go out to find a public phone. “Dusk – not dark,” I said. “You get some dodgy characters round here after dark. You know… kerb-crawlers.”
“What are kerb-crawlers?”
“Men that drive around in their cars trying to pick girls up. Denise and I got followed all the way from the swimming pool once – it was really creepy.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. But after that, her mum or my mum always came to meet us.”
Waiting for the time to pass, we had another peculiar meal – Rice Krispies again, crisps and peanut butter toast.
“I hate peanut butter,” I said.
“You do the shopping next time, then.”
At last, when the shadows had crept right across the street, we slipped out again. We had plenty of change for the phone, but the first one we came to only took cards and the second one was out of order. In the next one a fat woman was jabbering away. Now and then she gave us a funny look, as if we reminded her of someone.
“I don’t like the look of her,” said Emily suddenly. “Let’s go back.”
The fat lady was still watching us as we turned the corner.
It was nearly dark in our back alley. Suddenly I stopped – something was wrong.
“The house! We didn’t leave it like that, did we?”
Every light in the house was on, from kitchen to attic. Yellow light streamed out across the dark garden.
“Oh, no!”
“The owners have come back,” said Emily.
“Or else… I suppose Mum might have given the police this address. Told them to search the place. Come on, let’s get out of here!”
“But all our things…”
“We’ll have to leave them. At least we’ve got the money. Come on!”
We ran back down the alley. What were we going to do now? I had no idea.
“Homeless in London,” said Emily. “Where do we find a cardboard box?”