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Chapter 4

It almost felt like Ben and Dawn had moved in. They had stayed last weekend, then on Monday night, then again for the funeral and now it was the weekend and they were here again. Kirsty stood outside her bedroom door, her palm resting on the wood. Dawn was inside unpacking, which just meant that she was moving all of Kirsty’s stuff and spreading her own stuff everywhere instead. Kirsty took a deep breath and then opened the door.

‘Out!’ Dawn yelled. She was sitting on the floor, surrounded by clothes and her sketchbook. Her mobile phone was clamped to her ear. Kirsty was sure that Dawn only spent so much time on her mobile to show off. Kirsty wasn’t allowed one, as her Mum didn’t like them.

‘It’s my room! I can come in if I want.’ Kirsty took a step forward.

Dawn’s eyes flashed devil red. She grabbed the nearest thing and threw it at Kirsty. Luckily, the nearest thing was a woolly jumper. Kirsty stepped back as a marker pen followed the jumper. She skipped out of the room and closed the door. This was unbelievable! Just yesterday she had been Queen Kirsty, ruler of her own kingdom. Today she’d been bullied out of her own bedroom. This wasn’t supposed to happen to royalty. They could do whatever they wanted to whoever they wanted. Oh for a cauldron of boiling oil over the door to stop Dawn getting in. Or catapults around the house to stop Dawn getting through the front gate. Or a band of loyal knights to stop Dawn ever coming down the street! Kirsty kicked the door with the back of her heel. Then she went to see what Ben was doing.

He was where he usually was, in the front garden, sitting behind the wheel of the red Ford Escort. The car had piles of bricks where its wheels were meant to be and no engine. The other car in the front garden had wheels, but it was painted grey and who’d ever heard of a grey racing car? So Ben always drove the red car. One day Dad was going to make one working car out of the two broken ones, but that hadn’t happened yet. Kirsty could hear other people playing in the street, the clatter and fall of boys on skateboards, but Ben was louder than any of them.

‘And he accelerates up past the pack, he overtakes the lead car, taking the turn on the inside – this is the fastest time this course has ever seen,’ Ben yelled. He pulled hard on the wheel, braking around the corner. He let out a piercing shriek as the car nearly spun out of control.

Kirsty opened the passenger door and got in.

‘The crowd is going wild. Surely this is the best performance they’ve seen since Schumacher retired. Jenkins is way ahead of the other drivers and still accelerating.’

‘Ben?’

Ben slammed on the brakes. The car skidded, then shuddered to a halt. The crowd fell silent. ‘What?’

‘What would you do if you wanted something really badly and everyone said you couldn’t have it?’

‘Dunno. Moan, whine? Why, what’s going on?’

‘Mum and the council say that I can’t look after Grandad’s allotment. But I can, I know I can. How do I make them change their mind?’

‘I dunno . . . Can you just pester them about it? You’re good at that.’

‘That might work on Mum and Dad, but it isn’t going to work on the council man, is it?’

‘I suppose not. I don’t get it. Why aren’t you allowed?’

‘I’m too young. It’s dangerous for me to be out by myself. I’ll put a spade through my foot and bleed to death with no one around to call an ambulance.’

‘Your Mum said that?’

‘Yes. Almost. And the council have a waiting list. People queuing for allotments! The stupid council man says Grandad’s bit has to go to the next person on the stupid waiting list. What Grandad said doesn’t matter to them.’ Kirsty took a deep breath, then said quietly, ‘Grandad asked me to look after it, see. When he was at the hospital. I promised him I would.’

‘Oh.’ Ben popped the gear stick into first gear and growled as he restarted the engine. Kirsty stared at him.

‘Ben? Aren’t you going to help me?’

‘I dunno. Don’t you think it’s weird that Dad hasn’t got out of bed today?’

‘You’re changing the subject.’

‘Yes, but don’t you think it’s weird?’

‘Mum said he was tired.’

‘He can’t stay in bed all day though.’

‘Perhaps he feels poorly. Ben, listen to me. It can’t go to strangers. I promised.’

‘What can’t?’

‘The allotment. Concentrate. They’ll paint his shed brown and plant boring stuff in neat rows. There won’t be marrows with names on, I bet!’

‘You don’t even like marrows.’

‘That’s not the point! If someone else takes over, they’ll make it all ordinary. And soon you won’t be able to tell which allotment was Grandad’s. He’ll be gone for good.’

‘Kirsty, he is gone.’

‘No he isn’t, not if we keep the garden alive. Keep it special. He won’t be properly gone. And it will be nice for Dad too, won’t it? When he feels better he can come and help us look after it.’

Ben was quiet for a minute, his hands resting on the the steering wheel, just like Dad’s did when he was driving. Then he looked at Kirsty. ‘OK, I’ll help. What do you want me to do?’

Kirsty smiled widely at him. Ben was brilliant! ‘How do grown-ups get what they want?’ she asked.

‘Demonstrations, petitions, they write to the prime minister, they picket and they go on telly. Like Grandad did about the war. Some people climb up trees and live there for ages. That might be fun, like being Robin Hood.’

‘That’s brilliant! Should we do all of those things?’

‘I wouldn’t mind doing the tree one.’

‘There aren’t any trees at the allotment, but there’s the shed. We could live in that for a bit?’

Ben pulled a face. ‘It’s got spiders in it. Anyway, before we try the other stuff perhaps you should go and talk to the council man first? You never know, he might be nice.’

Kirsty thought about Mr Thomas’s red face and shiny shoes. ‘I don’t think he will be,’ she said, ‘but I suppose we should try.’