It’s already three o’clock and I have to catch the seven o’clock bus from Sandy Point to meet Kim at seven thirty. I haven’t even washed my hair yet. Trudy starts to scamper up and down the corridor, skidding to a halt each time at the front door and looking up at me expectantly, her tongue lolling, ears flopping back. I can’t help laughing; she looks so sweet and funny. I bend down to kiss her on my special white bit of fur over her nose. “We have a secret, Trudy. Shall we tell Kim?”
I so badly want to. We’ve been best friends since nursery and we do everything together. Kim stuck by me when Dad disappeared and Grandpa died and I lost my place on the basketball team because I went insane and screamed at the PE teacher. And Kevin, Kim’s dad, came over when the drains blocked up and the toilet overflowed the week after Grandpa died and Kevin wouldn’t take any money from Mum. “That’s what neighbors do, Sheila,” he’d said, and we live miles away from them. Kevin even brought her a CD of her fave punk band, The Clash, when she was in the hospital and I had to stay over with Kim.
But Kim has said some weird things this week about Samir and she didn’t seem to notice what was happening in class yesterday, all the horrible comments and Lindy saying that even two percent of refugees getting to our country was too many. But look what’s happened since then. Even I’m not sure if I should be helping Samir to hide someone from the police. If I tell Kim, what will she do? These days she always seems to be somewhere else inside her head, usually with Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. She showed me his picture once. He isn’t even that gorgeous.
Samir said I shouldn’t tell anyone and I don’t want to make things worse, do I?
I race upstairs and start grabbing some of Grandpa’s old clothes. I pull out his dear, holey, blue sailing sweater. It still has a faint smell of his pipe, which I absolutely loved but Mum couldn’t stand. She wouldn’t ever let him smoke in the cottage, even when it snowed. I can’t help wondering what he would say about hiding our man from the police. There’s no time to think about that now.
I pull out two thick sweaters, warm trousers, a woolly hat, two shirts and some thick socks. I also find an old pair of boots Grandpa used to wear on the boat.
I push everything into a sleeping bag I keep for Kim when she sleeps over and then haul it downstairs.
In the kitchen I boil the kettle twice, first filling a hot water bottle and then a flask with coffee. Somehow we have to get our man warm and we can’t exactly build a fire in the hut.
Trudy’s beginning to whimper as I stuff bread, cheese, a packet of sliced ham, apples and a six-pack of chocolate bars into my school backpack. Then Mum calls out and I freeze.
“Alexandra?” Her voice is all wobbly and weak.
I dump the food by the front door, glaring at Trudy, who just ignores me and gives a little “whuff.” I know she’s building up to one of her excited barking fits as she senses we’re going out. “Coming, Mum,” I say.
If Trudy makes too much noise Mum will come stomping out on her crutches and see all the stuff.
I go into the living room. “I think Trudy needs another walk,” I say.
“It’s getting late,” grumbles Mum, and then as Trudy lets out one short sharp bark, she relents. “All right, but make sure you’re home by five, before it starts to get dark.”
I look at the digital display on the video: 16:04. Talk about pushing it. “No worries,” I call out cheerfully, realizing I sound like the surfers on her Aussie soaps.
Before she can say anything else I’m out in the corridor heaving on my backpack. It’s going to be really awkward running like this, with the bulging sleeping bag in my arms. A bit like the waiter who runs the London Marathon with a drinks tray. I can’t put Trudy on the leash but I’m pretty sure she’ll just follow me.
As I sprint down the road and past the Lifeboat Station onto the main stretch of beach, the wind is reaching storm level and black clouds are piling up over the Solent. The sea is rolling up and down enough to make anyone feel sick. There’s a really bad night brewing and I have to fight my way against the rising gale up to the hole in the fence. My arms are aching fit to drop off and the pack’s dragging painfully on my neck. I just about get to the hut before I totally collapse and bang on the wall.
Samir’s frightened voice calls out, “Who’s that?”