I’m almost dozing off in the bath when I hear a light knocking on the door and Samir’s voice calling out, “Alix? You okay?”
“Fine,” I say. But actually I feel all hot and bothered with him the other side of the door and me in the bath with nothing on. Did I remember to turn the key?
I get out of the bath and quickly dry myself and put on my nightie and bathrobe.
When I unlock the door Samir’s standing there in Grandpa’s tatty old trousers and fishing sweater. He’s hugging a hot-water bottle Mum must have made for him.
“You look cool,” I say, but I feel so weak and tired. I lean against the wall.
Samir grins and says, “Well, I look better than you. The cold really got to you this time. Get into bed with this.” He shoves the hot-water bottle into my arms and it feels so good.
Once I’m in bed and Samir’s sitting on the end I just don’t care about anything anymore. It’s pitch-black outside the window and the wind’s howling in the tall pines along our road. My bedside clock says 5:57 p.m.
“Why did he leave the hut?” I say in a weak voice. “He’s insane.”
“He said he felt trapped, like when he was captured and tortured,” says Samir. “He just had to go outside; he only meant to wander about for a few minutes. Then that dog arrived from nowhere and chased him into the water.”
“He’s crazy, he should’ve stayed in the hut,” I say.
I can’t help thinking, If he gets caught, we’re all in deep trouble. I can just imagine Bad Cop roaring like an express train in the living room and Good Cop taking out the handcuffs with that smile on his face. He probably has a spare set for Trudy.
“Mohammed said he should have stayed in Iraq, he’s sorry he’s given us so much trouble,” says Samir.
And that’s such an awful thought we both fall silent. Samir stands up to leave, clutching a pile of dry clothes for Mohammed, and then he looks down at me and says, “You were so brave going in the sea after Mohammed again. You never stop to think of yourself, you could have drowned, you know.”
“So could you,” I mutter, embarrassed.
“Well, it’s different, I mean Mohammed is my responsibility, I have to save him.”
“No way!” I almost yell, only it comes out like a big whisper because I’m so exhausted. “He’s our responsibility, we’re in this together, right?”
Samir’s face breaks into the full monty smile.
Then he’s gone and even though it’s only six o’clock in the evening, I fall into a deep sleep.
I wake up with a jerk. The room is very dark and the wind is wilder than ever around the cottage. The clock says ten past eight and I can hear voices downstairs. A man’s voice is speaking quite loudly. It’s Dad. Or am I dreaming again? My mouth feels dry from sleep and my legs don’t feel as though they have properly woken up.
I go to the top of the stairs and I’m just about to wander down when I hear Dad say, “You’re right, Sheel, I’ve made a mess of things, but I’ll make it up to you, both of you, I promise.”
I can’t hear everything Mum’s saying because she’s crying but I hear something about Grandpa, “. . . didn’t even come to my dad’s funeral . . .”
Dad says, “How could I? Gloria had booked Elton John at the Southampton Arena for my birthday. The tickets were a fortune. I couldn’t let her down, could I?”
What about letting us down? I want to yell out, but then Mum says in a louder voice, “I mean what I say, Johnnie. I’ll go to the authorities. Alexandra needs so many things and I’ve lost my job because of this stupid leg.”
I didn’t know that! What else are they hiding from me? “All we’ve got is benefits. You have to pay maintenance for her; I want it every week without fail and you have to see her on Saturdays. She misses you, you stupid idiot.”
“I will, I said I will, didn’t I? And I mean it this time . . .”
“You’d better, because God knows what she’s up to. What if she gets pregnant with that lad?” Pregnant?!
But I forget the silent button.
Dad comes out into the corridor and sees me at the top of the stairs and says, “You’d better come down.”
So I stomp downstairs with my thunderpants face on and yell at Mum, “What do you mean, pregnant . . . ?”
But Mum cuts in, “I don’t know where you are half the time or who you’re with and you come home soaking wet and you’ve got that boy with you, Sammy, and you’re in the bath and he’s upstairs all at the same time. I don’t even know his family and . . .”
“Samir is a friend, that’s all,” I yell back, even more furious if that’s possible, “and he has a very nice auntie and a sort-of-nice brother, well, he’s a bit mean, but he’s very strict and they’re Muslims so they’re not allowed girlfriends and anyway I’m too young for sex!”
I swear their jaws drop to their boots.
Even I’m a bit shocked I said that. Imagine if Lindy or the Jayne family heard me. I’d never live it down.
But I’m not in love with anyone right now. Not like Kim and Steven and I don’t think they’re doing it anyway. “What your mum means, doll,” says Dad in a calmer voice, “is that we love you and care about you, and me and your mum . . .”
“Since when?” I say. “Like, since when is it ‘you and Mum’? It’s been just me and Mum forever! We have to do everything by ourselves and now I’ve quit my job so we’ve got even less money . . .”
“Quit?” says Mum, eyeing me suspiciously again. “Or did Chaz sack you? What have you done wrong now?”
“He’s a racist, if you must know,” I yell. “He said he came down here to get away from foreigners in London!”
“He said that?” says Mum, and she’s looking quite shocked. “But he always seemed so nice.”
“You made the right decision, Alix,” says Dad firmly. “We don’t do racism.”
Well, he passed that test at least, I think with relief. “You’ve got to concentrate on your schoolwork and go to college and not worry about money anymore. That’s our job, right, Sheel?”
And Mum sighs and leans back in her armchair and says quietly, “You’d better stick to it, Johnnie, or you know what I’ll do.”
And I know it sounds like blackmail, but she doesn’t really have a choice, does she?
Dad gets up and zips his jacket and I walk to the front door with him. He puts his arms tight around me and it feels so good to be hugged by someone who is stronger than me for once.
“How’s about you and me mosey on down to the li’l ol’ bowling alley Saturday morning, doll?” he says in American, and I can’t help giving a bit of a smile.
“Wearing my pants?” I drawl back.
“Heck yeah! Nine sharp and don’t you give me no excuses.” He thrusts something into my hand and he’s gone. When I open my fingers I see it’s a twenty-pound note. Wow!
“Alix?” says Mum, and she’s not even using the full name. I go back into the living room and she’s close to tears again. “It’s okay, Mum, honest,” I say, feeling quite worried. Should I call the doctor?
But Mum says, “Your Dad and I have made such a mess of things. You’ve been doing everything for me and all I do is snap at you, but it’s because . . .” And she stops and gives me such a sad look. But then she goes on, “Your dad thought it was best to make a clean break when he went. He thought it would be easier for you. Anyway, the Gremlin doesn’t like kids,” and her tone is really nasty.
“And you didn’t want me to see him either, be honest,” I say with a frown.
“Can you blame me, the way he walked out on me? I was furious, I didn’t see why he should have you and not me.”
She sounds so whiny I feel the anger welling up inside me again. Why should I be punished because Mum and Dad can’t sort out their problems? But I manage to keep quiet. It’s just not worth it sometimes, is it?
Mum’s still going on, “And then your grandpa died and I think I got, you know, a bit miserable with everything . . .” A bit miserable.
“Breaking my leg was the last straw. I just gave up, I suppose. Neither of us were thinking about you. I’m so sorry, darling, I’ve been so selfish.”
That does it. I’m nearly crying now and I go over and put my arms around her and we sit like that for a few minutes, sniffing into each other’s sweaters, and then I say, “Shall I make us a cup of tea?”
We stay up until late watching a James Bond movie and making popcorn in the microwave and it’s the best evening we’ve had since Grandpa died.
Only there’s still Mohammed to sort out, isn’t there?