Nine

Treasure

WELL, THE REALLY, truly GREAT thing in my life is that I have a best friend, India. She came calling for me. We went indoors and played with little Britney until Loretta took her round to her friend’s flat. Then India and I mucked around with crayons and stickers and glitter, making pictures with Patsy. We didn’t really want to play with her but we couldn’t leave her out.

Patsy drew a little house with three curtained windows and a door with a knocker and a letterbox. She coloured them in very carefully with a bright yellow sun shining above them. She did a strip of blue at the top of her picture for sky and a strip of green grass at the bottom, patterned with a neat row of pink daisies. She stuck a sticker bunny in the grass and a sticker bluebird flying past her sun. She inked MY HOME in silver gel pen at the top and then sat back with a big smile.

‘But our home isn’t a bit like that,’ I said.

‘All right,’ said Patsy, unfazed. ‘It can be the bunny’s home.’

‘Ah, bless her,’ said Nan, throwing chips in the pan with a sizzle.

I made sick noises. Patsy’s OK, but I can’t stick it when she goes all twee and babyish. Bunny’s home, indeed!

‘Now, now,’ said Nan, putting her hand over my mouth. ‘If you’re going to be sick go and do it down the toilet, Miss Treasure.’ She rested her chin on my head. ‘Oh darling,’ she said, seeing my picture. Her arms wrapped round me properly.

I’d drawn a dark, horrible home, down at the bottom of my paper, all scribbly black lines, with a tiny woman and some kids like little beetles and a much bigger cartoon ape man going stamp-stamp-stamp all over them. Then I’d drawn a ladybird girl in a red fleecy coat flying up, up, up to a new brightly coloured home at the top of a multi-storey block of flats. I’d emptied practically the whole of Patsy’s glitter on the fourth flat of the fourteenth floor.

‘That’s lovely, Treasure,’ said Nan, giving me another hug.

Then she had a peer at India’s picture. She’d drawn a very tall thin house that took up the whole of her paper.

‘You live in a big house, darling,’ said Nan, trying to act like she wasn’t dead impressed.

I peered at it too, wondering why she’d drawn some kind of sinister army marching along outside. There was a river too, though we’re nowhere near the Thames.

‘It’s not my home,’ said India. ‘It’s Anne Frank’s house.’

‘Who’s Anne, sweetheart?’ said Nan.

India looked astonished. ‘Don’t you know who Anne Frank is?’ she said.

She didn’t mean to be rude but it came out that way. Her posh little voice didn’t help.

‘Sorry, dear, I don’t,’ said Nan, going pink. She didn’t sound sorry, she sounded dead snippy.

My tummy went tight. I couldn’t stand it if Nan took against India. But it was OK. India had gone pink too. She said quickly and humbly, ‘Oh, I’m ever so sorry, Mrs Mitchell.’

‘Rita,’ said Nan, nice again.

‘It’s just that Anne Frank is my all-time heroine. She was this Jewish girl who hid from the Nazis in Holland during the war—’

And then I got it – the long thin Dutch house and the canal and the scary soldiers. I peered more closely at India’s picture and saw the top of the house was turned into a hidey hole. You could just see Anne through the window, writing in a little red notebook.

‘Her diary,’ said India reverently.

‘I keep a diary,’ I said, and then I blushed in case it sounded stupid. I hope Willie didn’t hear. I’d hate it if he leafed through this and had a right laugh at me. Patsy was too busy shaking glitter over her picture to take in what I was saying. Her bunny was rapidly turning into Rhinestone Rabbit.

‘I keep a diary too!’ said India, and then she blushed.

‘You girls!’ said Nan. ‘Well, I don’t keep a diary. I’m not confiding my secrets to anyone!’

India went on telling us about Anne Frank for ages, until to be honest we were all a little bit sick of her. It got more interesting when India started going on about Anne and her parents and this boy Peter who hid in the secret annexe with them. Anne falls in love with him at the end of the book and he’s her boyfriend. India sighed heavily when she said this.

‘He doesn’t seem worthy of her,’ she said. ‘Still, it wasn’t as if she really had any choice stuck in the annexe.’

‘Yes she did. She could choose not to have a boyfriend at all,’ I said.

‘Do you have a boyfriend, Treasure?’

‘No way! I can’t stick boys.’

Well, Willie’s OK, I suppose. He does let me borrow his bike. And he lets me wear his Tommy Hilfiger sweatshirt. It’s not even an old one, it’s one he often wears himself, but when I said I thought it looked great he just took it off and shoved it over my head.

‘Looks great on you too, little Treas,’ he said.

It looks literally great, way down to my knees, but I kind of like the baggy look. I kind of like Willie too. But that’s OK because he’s family. I’m never ever going to get a boyfriend.

My mum would be great if it wasn’t for her blankety blankety blank boyfriends. Especially Terry.

I’m so scared. It’s Saturday tomorrow. Mum phoned up again last night to say they really are coming to get me.

Nan took the phone and told Mum she was talking rubbish.

‘No I am not,’ said Mum. ‘I’ve consulted a solicitor, see. He says there’s no question, Treasure’s mine and she belongs here with me.’

‘But that animal you live with whipped her with his belt,’ Nan exploded.

‘No he never. And anyway, even if he did, which he didn’t, you’ve no proof. Now listen, if you don’t hand Treasure over when we come for her we’re getting a court order.’

‘You can get the Queen herself to command me. I don’t give a stuff,’ said Nan, tucking me tight under her arm. ‘No-one’s taking my Treasure away. Let’s just ask her what she wants.’

‘It’s what the courts say. We’ve got a foolproof case. I’m her mother,’ said Mum.

‘And I’m your mother, God help me, and I just want to do what’s best for your child,’ said Nan.

‘Now look, Rita—’ It was Terry suddenly speaking. I shrunk back, pressing my head into Nan’s soft chest so I couldn’t hear him.

I just heard the buzz of his voice. He wasn’t shouting. He didn’t sound drunk. He was using his wheedling I’m-a-really-nice-guy tone. But he’s often like that just before he pounces. Nan wasn’t fooled. Her nose wrinkled like there was a terrible smell as he whined and whinged into her ear.

‘I am being reasonable, Terry,’ she said. ‘You’re the guy who can’t keep his belt buckled.’

Terry’s voice buzzed louder, like he was threatening her. Nan stood firm. But she started to shiver, even though the heating’s always turned full up in the flat.

‘What? What’s he saying? Nan, what is it?’

She patted me on the shoulder to keep me quiet. Then she drew in her breath sharply.

‘It wasn’t murder. Even the cops knew that. It was an accident. Don’t you dare talk about my Pete like that,’ she said, and she slammed the phone down.

I waited. I was shivering too. Nan held me tight but she didn’t speak. When I looked up there were tears glistening on the end of her eyelashes.

‘Oh Nan!’

‘Now it’s OK, Treasure. I’m getting in a silly tizz over nothing. Don’t take any notice of silly old Nan.’

‘You promise promise promise I can still stay with you?’

‘I promise promise promise,’ she said – but she didn’t look me in the eyes.

I caught her by the cheeks and tilted her head.

‘Nan! Look, I’m not a little kid.’

‘You’re the littlest kid ever,’ said Nan. ‘Barely bigger than Britney.’ Tears were spilling down her cheeks now.

‘Did Terry say he’d get you, Nan?’

‘It’s not that, pet. I’d like to see him try. No, it’s just something he said about you living here with my Pete. . .’

I didn’t understand. ‘But he’s . . . not here,’ I said delicately.

‘Yes, I know, pet, but he’s only got another six months to go if he gets his good behaviour taken into consideration, and Pete’s no fool, he’s sweet as pie to everyone so he can get right back to his family as soon as possible. That’s what that wicked Terry is on about. He says these social worker busybodies won’t let you stay with me, not with a guy who’s got a lot of previous, and a five stretch for manslaughter. He was even saying they’ll think about taking Patsy into care, but that’s ludicrous, he’s her father.’

‘Well, he’s my grandfather.’

‘Not really, Treasure. Not by blood.’

I suddenly feel like I’ve been left one side of a mountain range and Nan and Pete and Loretta and baby Britney and Willie and Patsy are all on the other side. There’s no way I can leap over to be with them. I’m stuck all by myself . . . and Terry’s climbing up after me, my side of the mountain.

‘We’ll tell on him. We’ll show my scar,’ I said.

‘Yes, we can try, my love, but remember what we said up the hospital, that you got hurt after a game with your brother and sister? It would be hard to go back on that in court.’

‘So do you think they’ll really take us to court, Nan?’

‘No, darling, I’m sure Terry’s just trying to scare us,’ said Nan. ‘All this solicitor talk! I bet they’re bluffing.’

‘So are they still coming tomorrow or is that a bluff too?’ I asked, trying to stop my voice going squeaky.

‘I’m not sure, sweetheart,’ said Nan. ‘But never you mind. You don’t even have to be here. I’m not having you traumatized by that pig all over again. Yes, that’s it, my pet, you can have a day out. Maybe up to town, eh? You leave it to Nan. Don’t look so tragic. You’re not to worry.’

I can’t help it. It feels like I’ve swallowed a whole hive of bees and they’re all buzzing inside my stomach.

I can’t sleep.

I’m scared of sleeping, because every time I start dreaming Terry jumps out at me and he’s whirling that belt, going crack crack crack with it like a whip. I wake with such a start and each time I tell myself it’s OK, it’s just a bad dream, but then I remember Terry isn’t a dream, he’s real, and he’s coming to get me. He’s acting all soft and sweet like he really loves me and wants me back but I know just what will happen once he gets me behind closed doors.