First published in Great Britain in 2016 by Electric Monkey,

an imprint of Egmont UK Limited

The Yellow Building, 1 Nicholas Road, London W11 4AN

Text copyright © 2016 Lisa Heathfield

The moral rights of the author have been asserted

First e-book edition 2016

ISBN 978 1 4052 7539 2

eISBN 978 1 7803 1675 8

www.egmont.co.uk

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library

Typeset by Avon DataSet Ltd, Bidford on Avon, Warwickshire

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For Miles –

for making my heart beat that little bit faster.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

BEFORE: ten years old

BEFORE: four days later

AFTER

BEFORE: eleven years old

AFTER

BEFORE: twelve years old

AFTER

BEFORE: thirteen years old

AFTER

BEFORE: fourteen years old

AFTER

BEFORE: fifteen years old

BEFORE: two months later

AFTER

BEFORE: two months later

BEFORE: one week later

AFTER

AFTER: five weeks later

AFTER: one week later

AFTER: six weeks later

AFTER: four months later

AFTER: eighteen years old

AFTER: six months later

AFTER: nineteen years old

AFTER: two days later

AFTER: twenty-four years old

AFTER: one month later

A NOTE FROM BLISTER

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

BACK SERIES PROMOTIONAL PAGE

Praise for Lisa Heathfield’s SEED

BEFORE
ten years old

‘Drink it.’ She’s holding the glass out to me. It’s so full that if she tipped her hand just a bit the water would trickle down the side. ‘Now.’

‘But I’m not thirsty.’ I want my voice to be big, but it’s just a whisper.

Kathleen bends so low that her eyes are level with mine. Her eyelashes are black. The blusher on her cheeks is too red, like two little apples sitting in puddles of cream.

‘Drink it,’ she says again.

My bladder is full. She hasn’t let me use the toilet since I got up this morning and I’ve already had my glass of warm milk.

I reach out my hand. I wish I didn’t touch her cold fingers as she passes it to me.

She watches as I bring the glass to my mouth, as I tilt it against my lips and begin to drink. My throat tries to squeeze shut. My body doesn’t want it. But the water flows down and into my stomach.

‘All of it.’ She’s smiling at me, the way she does. The way no one else ever sees. As though I’m a mouse caught in her trap and she is the cat and she’s got me.

I finish the glass and my bladder is stinging.

‘I need the toilet,’ I say. I know she’s heard me, but she’s walking towards the sink and turning the faucet on. The glass is filling up. Maybe it’s for her. Maybe she’s thirsty.

My stomach hurts as she comes towards me. She holds out her cold hand once again and I know what I must do.

I try to drink it quickly, but it’s so hard. It makes me ache and it burns my bladder. I step from side to side. She takes the empty glass.

‘I really need the toilet,’ I say.

‘Come on, you’ll be late for school.’ Her voice is almost sing-song. ‘I’ll do your hair quickly.’

I shake my head. The pain in my tummy is hurting my eyes.

Kathleen walks quickly out of the kitchen.

‘Megan,’ she calls up the stairs. ‘It’s time to go.’

Then she’s back, a red ribbon in her hands. She pulls my hair until my scalp stings. I can’t hold my bladder much longer.

‘Please, Momma,’ I say, trying to make my voice so sweet. Trying to sound just like Megan. ‘I’ll be quick. Please let me.’

She turns me to look into those eyes.

‘I’m not your momma,’ she says.

Megan is at the bottom of the stairs. She’s one year younger than me, but taller already. Her skin is as white as mine is black.

‘Quick, you’ll miss the bus.’ Kathleen bends to kiss her. ‘Have a good day.’

I take my coat from its peg and push my arms in. I try not to think of the hot ache in my bladder. If I concentrate on doing up my buttons, picking up my bag, then I can hold it in.

But it’s difficult to walk. Every step along the path to the pavement, I think it’ll be too late. I look up at the clouds. There’s one like an elephant. I trace the shape of its trunk with my finger. It’ll help me to forget. I can hear Megan walking beside me, but I won’t look at her. I’ll look at my elephant.

I’m ten tomorrow, I tell it. It moves slightly and its trunk begins to separate into tiny little pieces.

At the bus stop, there are other children. Megan goes to stand with them. She glances at me quickly.

I move from one foot to the other. I can’t hold it in.

The bus is coming. It turns the corner and pulls up alongside us. It’s as yellow as the sun. The sun, I tell myself, in the sky, with my elephant. Think of anything, anything but the need to go.

I let them all push each other up the steps. The boy called Greg with the broken nose is laughing so much that I can see his tongue moving. His mouth looks wet, so I look away.

I try to squeeze the muscles between my legs as I walk up the steps. Each movement makes my head pound.

The bus is almost full. I have to take my bag from my shoulder and hold it by my side. There’s a seat and I must sit down, but it squashes my stomach and I know I can’t hold it.

I scratch my arm, over and over. One two three one two three.

My arm stings, as I feel the wet between my legs. I can’t stop it. It soaks my skin and the seat underneath me. I feel it slide its warm path towards my shoes. If I looked down, I know I’d see it on the floor.

I sit still. I don’t move even the slightest bit. Just my eyes, which I close and wish that I was anywhere but here. That the seat I’m on would float off through the roof of the bus and take me away forever.

Paula is next to me. She doesn’t say a word. Maybe she hasn’t noticed. Her face is still pressed tight to the window. The pain in my bladder has gone. But soon I’ll have to stand up and everyone will know.

I could pretend that I’m sick. The bus driver would let all the other children off and he’d have to drive me home. He’d ask me why I did it. Why I didn’t use the toilet at home and I’d tell him. Everything. And he’d take me away from Kathleen and I’d never have to see her again. His wife would cry with happiness when she saw me and they’d lead me up to my own pink room, with my own desk, with colouring pencils sitting on the top.

The bus stops.

The children are getting out. The seats are emptying and Paula has picked up her bag and she’s ready to move.

‘All out,’ the bus driver calls.

‘Move,’ Paula says.

She knows, as soon as I stand up. I look back at the seat and the material is soaked through.

‘Ugh,’ she says, loud enough for others to turn and look. I put my bag on my shoulder and walk down the aisle. The wet sticks my skirt to my legs. I know that there’ll be a big dark patch. The smell is sharp and sits on my tongue.

I want to hold my head up, but I can’t.

‘Ugh. Stinks of piss,’ Ryan says. ‘Was it you, Lauren?’

‘No!’ she laughs, and swings her bag towards his head.

‘Well, someone’s pissed themselves.’ He ducks again, just in time. And he must see, because there’s a prod on my shoulder and although I don’t turn round I know it’s him.

‘Oi, Juniper. You’ve wet yourself.’

‘My name’s not Juniper,’ I say quietly as I keep walking.

‘You stink.’ And the girls with him laugh.

My wet legs rub against each other as I walk. With every step, my ankles can feel the stickiness. The canvas of my shoes rubs against my skin.

‘Do you need a diaper?’ Ryan says. I won’t look at him. I can’t let him see that I want to run far away from here.

We go through the school doorway and the corridor is swirling with people. I think I might cry, but I won’t let myself.

‘Ugh!’ the girls from the bus shout loudly. They squeeze their noses with their fingers. ‘Someone’s wet themselves.’ And they’re pointing at me and everyone is laughing as the bell rings.

‘You’ll have to come to class now,’ Ryan says. ‘You don’t want to get into trouble, do you?’

Somehow, I get to the classroom. Miss Hawthorne is already here. She’s sitting on her chair, talking to the children on the carpet in front of her. I go to my peg, take off my coat and hang it up. I hang up my bag too. When I turn round, all I can see is them pointing and sniggering and waving their fingers under their noses, their voices screwed up in disgust.

‘What is it?’ Miss Hawthorne asks. Her smile is warm, but she looks confused. My feet won’t move. I don’t know what to do, where to go.

‘June had an accident,’ Cherry says. They’re all laughing and looking at me. The smell of what I’ve done stings my skin.

Miss Hawthorne comes towards me. She knows, as soon as she comes close, that it’s true.

‘Come with me, June.’ We step outside the classroom, all eyes watching. Miss Hawthorne closes the door so they can’t hear us. And so I can’t hear them laughing. I look down at the floor. I feel myself blushing violently, but she will barely see it through my skin. I wish I could sink into the ground and never come back.

‘What happened?’ she asks kindly.

‘I couldn’t hold it in.’

‘You should have gone before you left home.’

‘Sorry.’ I won’t cry.

‘You’ll have to go to the nurse. She’ll sort you out with clean clothes. Then you can come back to class,’ she says. I look up at her. ‘I know it’ll be hard, but you have to come back. They’ll all have forgotten about it, you’ll see.’ Her hand is on my shoulder and she’s smiling, but I know she’s lying.

It’s quiet in the corridor. It’s just the sound of my feet, soft on the floor. I could walk along here, turn the corner, push open the door and never come back. I would survive – I know I would. I would hitchhike all the way to the coast and I’d meet a family on the beach. They would love me and they would be mine.

The nurse’s door is slightly open and I barely knock before I go in. She’s standing by the chair, shaking a thermometer. A girl sits with a bowl on her lap. Her skin is so white she looks dead, and I know I shouldn’t stare.

‘I’ll get the office to phone your mother,’ the nurse says briskly. ‘She’ll have to come and pick you up.’

‘She’s at work,’ the girl says.

‘Well, she’ll have to come back.’

The girl nods and hunches further over the bowl. The nurse squeezes past me, heads out of the door and is gone.

‘Are you OK?’ I ask the girl. She looks up at me briefly and turns away.

The window is pushed halfway up. Somewhere, someone is mowing a lawn. The hum stretches into the room.

I can hear the nurse coming back before I see her. Her shoes click on the polished floor.

‘Right. That’s sorted,’ she says.

And then she turns to me.

I could tell her, tell her the truth, tell her everything.

‘I need some clean clothes,’ I whisper. And now I know that she can smell my damp ones.

‘Right,’ is all she mutters as she reaches into a cupboard. She holds up some underpants and chooses a pair. ‘A little bit small, but they’ll have to do.’ She passes them to me. ‘Come over here and I’ll draw the curtain.’

I do as she says. I pull my wet underpants down. I don’t know what to do with them and she looks like she doesn’t want to touch them, so I put them on the floor.

I step out of my skirt. The material is damp to touch. I don’t want to look at the size of the wet patch that everyone has been laughing at. My shoes feel sticky. And the smell is glued to my skin.

‘Let’s wipe you down a bit,’ the nurse says. She’s at the sink, squeezing out a cloth and then using its warmth to clean me.

When she’s dried me, she helps me into another skirt. It’s tight over my legs and on my belly. I know what she thinks. It’s what everyone thinks.

The nurse picks up my clothes and puts them into a plastic bag. She ties a knot in the end of it and passes it to me. I’ll have to walk through the corridors holding it, but I can’t throw it away. I can’t go home without it.

‘Thank you,’ I say, and I look hard into her eyes. Please ask me, I beg her. Ask me now and I’ll tell you everything.

‘You’re really a bit old for this,’ she says. ‘Try not to let it happen again.’

And I’m gone, walking back to the class of circling sharks, my bag of clothes waiting to be hung like bait on my peg.

I wake up early the next morning, because it’s my special day. I imagine plucking the butterflies out of my belly and putting them in a box by my bed – I’d like to watch their colours, to see their wings beating against the glass.

The door opens and they’re all here. Kathleen, Megan and Dad. He promised he’d go into work late this morning.

‘Here’s the birthday girl,’ Kathleen says. Her hug is tight and smells of soap. She kisses me on the top of my head.

‘Ten years old today!’ my dad says ‘Here, hold this.’ His smile takes over his whole face as he passes me the end of some string.

‘That’s all you’re getting!’ Kathleen laughs, and my dad puts his hand in hers.

‘Follow it,’ he says. So I get out of bed and I pull on the string and I twist it into my palm as it leads me from my room.

It goes into Megan’s room and over her bed. They watch me from the doorway as I step over the mattress, pulling my nightdress over my knees. They all laugh excitedly as I follow the string around the chair and back out again.

‘So it’s not in there,’ my dad laughs. I don’t look at Kathleen and Megan. I don’t want them to spoil this.

The string goes down the stairs, into the kitchen. I gather it clumsily in my fist as I crawl under the table. Back across the hallway, into the living room.

And there it is.

Attached on the end is a shining new bike. It’s painted pink, with yellow handlebars. For a moment, I think my heart stops. I look up at my dad and try to speak. He puts his arm round my shoulders.

‘It’s all yours, pumpkin. You deserve it.’

‘You sure do,’ Kathleen says as she takes my hand and we go towards it. ‘Do you like it?’

‘Yes.’ I nod my head, over and over. ‘Can I touch it?’

My dad laughs. ‘Of course you can – it’s yours.’

It’s mine. It’s really mine.

I trace my fingers over the handlebars, down its cold frame and across the seat.

‘It’s got a bell,’ Megan says excitedly.

‘Yes,’ I say.

‘Well, you haven’t got time to try it now,’ my dad says. ‘But I promise I’ll take you out on it tomorrow.’ He leans over to kiss Kathleen. ‘I’ve got to go.’

I follow him to the front door and try to hold on to his hand as he puts on his coat.

‘Save me some cake from your birthday tea,’ he smiles. He picks me up and holds me, my feet hanging not far from the ground. ‘Your mom’d be so proud of you,’ he whispers into my hair.

Then he puts me down, quickly picks up his bag and is out of the door before he can hear my reply.

‘Thank you for my bike,’ I say quietly, and I imagine him smiling back.

‘Was it you?’ the bus driver asks when I step on. I look around and pretend that he’s not talking to me. ‘You decided to use my bus as a toilet?’

I shake my head.

You were going to save me. You were going to drive me away and I’d live with you and your wife.

‘It was you.’ Lauren pokes me as I carry on walking. ‘You’ve got underpants as stinky and wet as a fish.’ All around me, people pop their mouths open and closed like a million stranded fishes.

When I sit down, the boy next to me gets up, pushes past me and is gone.

I try to think of my new bike, sitting waiting for me at home. In my mind, it glows. And my dad is going to take me out on it tomorrow, just me and him.

‘No one likes you,’ the voice hisses from the gap in the seats behind me. I recognise it straight away. It’s Megan. I hear Anne giggle next to her.

I move along, so that I’m sitting next to the window. Outside, I look at the fields, blurring by in a patchwork. I’ll get on my bike and ride so far until I get so lost that I can’t find my way home.

‘Everyone hates you.’

But I won’t be scared. I’ll be happy. And then my dad, who’s been looking for me, will drive past me and stop.

I’ve changed my mind, he’ll say. Three years is enough time to live with Kathleen and Megan and now I want it to be just you and me. I’ve bought a new house. It’ll be just us. He’ll put my new bike in the back and we’ll drive and drive until no one else can find us.

‘You’d be better off dead,’ Megan says.

We all sit cross-legged on the carpet.

‘So,’ Miss Hawthorne says, ‘we have a birthday today.’

I feel the blood rushing up my cheeks as she smiles at me. I wish she didn’t know. She thinks that she’s being nice, but I don’t want to do this.

‘Come up to the front, June.’ She pats the empty chair beside her.

She doesn’t hear the air-popping noises that have started again. I stand up awkwardly, step over the knees of those sitting in front of me.

‘Now, remember, don’t sit down on it,’ Miss Hawthorne says. ‘This is the one day that you’re allowed to stand on a school chair. Make the most of it.’

I step on to the wooden seat. I’m worried that the people in the front can see up my skirt, so I smooth it down with my hands and keep them clasped there.

‘Fishy,’ I hear someone hiss.

‘Right. On three,’ Miss Hawthorne says. ‘One, two, three.’

And they’re singing, all their faces tipped up towards me. Ryan moves his hand, as though it’s swimming through water, so subtly that Miss Hawthorne would never know. Stuart looks like he’s singing, but he’s not. His wet lips are just smacking open and closed in a circle, like a dying fish. But all Miss Hawthorne can hear is the sound of their voices, making my day special.

I don’t want them looking at me. I don’t want any of them looking at me.

As soon as they finish, I get down from the chair and hurry back to my place on the carpet, willing a tornado to suddenly break through the sky and whisk us all away.

‘What did you get for your birthday?’ Jennifer asks. We’re sitting on a wall, safely away in the corner of the playground. Our legs swing down, sandwiches balanced on our laps.

‘A bike,’ I tell her. I’m so proud. I just want to get home so I can see it. Even if Kathleen will be waiting.

‘Lucky you.’ Her red eyes widen, as she pushes a strand of her snow-white hair from her lips. ‘What’s it like?’

‘It’s pink.’ I take a bite from my sandwich. The tuna paste is sticky on the bread. ‘It’s beautiful,’ I say, my mouth full.

‘I only got a watch when I was ten.’

‘That’s nice too,’ I tell her, but she just shrugs.

There are two of them, working their way over towards us. Two girls from the year below, their hair in identical bunches on their heads. They look behind them briefly, but keep walking.

Jennifer stares at them as they stand in front of us. I’ve never spoken to them before and I don’t know what they want. I pick at a piece of bread that’s stuck at the top of my mouth.

‘We’ve got you a birthday present,’ the blonde one says. She’s smiling, as though she means it. But this feels wrong.

The smaller one thrusts a paper napkin towards me. There’s something wrapped inside.

‘Thank you,’ I say, although my breath feels heavy. I don’t want to look up to see who’s watching. I’m going to just play along with their game, so they can’t beat me.

I hold my head high as I peel back the napkin. One of the girls screams and they both run away.

The goldfish is lying dead. The perfect circle of its eye stares up towards the sky. Its tiny mouth is open in a desperate pout.

They killed it, just for me.

‘Fishy!’ The shout stumbles across the playground. I knew Ryan had been behind it. I won’t look up. Instead, I wrap the dead fish back up and put it gently in my bag.

Miss Hawthorne is standing by the door and she stops me when I go in.

‘June, I need a quick word.’ I wait outside the classroom as she settles everyone down. The walls of the corridor are very white, as if I’m in a tube of light.

‘Right,’ she says, clicking the door shut. ‘I need to look in your bag.’

‘Why?’ I ask.

‘Some of the children have told me that you’ve done something you shouldn’t have.’

My stomach feels heavy. I had only kept the fish because I’d wanted to bury it. It hadn’t felt right to throw it in the bin. Not when it’s died for me.

Miss Hawthorne doesn’t have to look for long. She picks out the paper napkin with the soft fish inside.

‘Why?’ she asks me. Her voice is gentle. She’s not angry.

‘It wasn’t me,’ I tell her. But she just shakes her head.

‘A lot of the children saw you do it. They’re very upset.’

‘It wasn’t me,’ I whisper.

‘Lying will only make it worse.’ There’s such disappointment in her voice that it almost makes me cry.

‘I’m not lying,’ I say, but I can tell by her eyes that she doesn’t believe me.

‘I’ve got no choice. I’ve got to take you to Mr Cleadon.’

I nod at her. It’s easier this way.

I feel so alone, even though Miss Hawthorne walks beside me. I thought I could trust her. I thought one day I’d even tell her about Kathleen and she’d save me. But now I know she never will.

I look outside the windows as we walk. The clouds look like a pixie, but it’s hard to see, because soon we’re gone.

‘Close your eyes,’ Kathleen says. Megan and I have barely walked through the door when she’s fussing around us, taking our bags and coats and hanging them up.

She stands behind me and covers my eyes with her hands.

‘Walk forward,’ she says, so I shuffle in the direction of the kitchen. ‘Ta-da!’ She takes her hands away.

The table is covered in birthday food. There’s jelly and sandwiches and cookies. And, in the middle, an enormous, round chocolate cake, dotted with sweets.

Megan seems confused as she looks at Kathleen.

‘It’s her birthday, sweetie,’ she says. ‘Have a look at the cake. I made it myself,’ she smiles.

I step towards it. There’s a new tablecloth, and balloons tied to the chairs.

‘What do you say?’ Kathleen says.

‘Thank you,’ I reply.

‘Come on, let’s light these and take a photo.’

She holds a match to all ten candles. It’s my cake and it’s beautiful.

‘Blow them out and look at me and smile.’

I puff out my cheeks and my smile is real as I look at the candles and blow out the flames into little streaks of smoke.

‘Let’s tuck in, then.’

We all sit down.

‘There’s fizzy juice too.’ She smiles, pointing to my cup.

‘Thank you,’ I say.

‘Let’s start with the cake.’ She cuts a big slice and tips it on to the plate, then passes it to me. ‘Don’t wait for us.’

I hesitate with my fork, but it’s too tempting. Chocolate cream oozes out between the sponge. The taste makes the world feel better.

‘It’s a good one,’ Kathleen laughs as she eats a mouthful. And it is. Mouthful after mouthful is delicious, until my plate is empty.

Kathleen puts another slice on my plate. I look up at her and she nods at me. Maybe this is the day she changes. Maybe she’ll put her arms round me and say she really does love me and she’s sorry. I smile back. A little bit of the grit in my heart feels like it’s floating away.

I eat my cake, the chocolate filling my mouth. Megan stares at me, but I don’t care. Kathleen can love me too.

I run my fingers along the crumbs on my plate, smudging dropped bits of chocolate cream.

‘More?’ Kathleen asks.

I laugh slightly. ‘I need to leave space for a sandwich.’

‘But the cake isn’t finished.’ Just like that, the look is back. Her eyes burn into me.

She puts another slice on my plate. I look down at it. If I eat it, I’ll feel too sick to remember the special taste.

‘Eat it,’ she says. Megan looks at me. She has a glimmer of panic in her eyes.

I pick up the fork and push it into the cake. Slowly, I spoon every last bit into my mouth, until I’m sure I’ll be sick.

‘Have a drink,’ Kathleen says. I want liquid, but it’s too sweet.

‘Eat.’ There’s more chocolate cake on the plate in front of me.

‘I can’t,’ I whisper.

‘Eat,’ she says.

‘I’ll be sick.’

She’s beside me so quick that I jump back.

‘If you vomit, you’ll eat that too.’

I pick up the fork and force the cake into my mouth. I gag slightly on the sponge and I have to work hard to make it go down. My tummy is cramping – it doesn’t want it.

‘She’s disgusting, isn’t she?’ Kathleen says to Megan.

‘Yes,’ Megan agrees.

I don’t want to cry, but I can’t stop myself. I can feel the tears rolling uselessly down my cheeks.

I want to see my bike. I want my dad to come home and take me away from here.

The sweet smell sweeps through my nose. I gag again and am almost sick. The salt from my crying is in my mouth too.

‘More,’ I hear her say. My fork scrapes the plate and goes past my lips, again and again and again, until I have to stand up and run for the bathroom.

I won’t be sick, I can’t be sick. I lock the door before she can get to me and I curl up on the floor. Everything hurts. My head feels like it will crack open. My stomach is filled with a thousand burning bricks. My throat is sandpapered raw.

I lie on the floor and I cry and I cry.

I want my mom. I want her to come out of the water and come back to us. And my dad will love me enough and Kathleen would never exist.

There’s a tap at the door, so gentle.

‘June?’ It’s Kathleen’s voice trickling underneath it. ‘Happy birthday.’

My dad is keeping his promise. He has to get his bike from the back of the garage, but I don’t mind waiting. I’d wait all day if it means I can get on my bike.

Kathleen stands in the front doorway. She’s leaning on the frame, her arms crossed in front of her, a big smile on her face.

‘Do you need help, Brad?’ she calls out. He doesn’t reply. There’s clattering coming from the garage and I doubt he can hear her. She shrugs. ‘I guess not.’ She smiles at me.

But there’s something, just at the back of her eyes, that I can see. I look away. Out here, I’m safe. Just by being here, my dad protects me.

He appears from the garage. ‘Sorry, pumpkin. Took me ages to find the pump.’

‘That’s fine,’ I say. His front wheel looks a bit wonky.

‘Are you sure you’re all right on that?’ Kathleen asks.

‘It’s straight out of the showroom, this beauty,’ my dad says, slapping the frayed seat and laughing loud enough for the birds to hear. ‘Ready, June?’

‘Yup.’ I begin to put my foot on the pedal, when I see her out of the corner of my eye, coming closer.

‘No going too fast,’ Kathleen says. She hugs me and kisses the top of my head. ‘Look after each other.’

‘We will,’ my dad calls as he wobbles off down the road. I go after him quickly and I don’t look back.

My bicycle makes me free. The wind pushes against my cheeks and arms. My legs pedal round and round and round and I’m so happy I could fly.

‘You’re all mine,’ I whisper to my bike. The whirr of its wheels calls back to me. It loves me too.

The road disappears beneath my feet, taking me further away from her. I want to call to the clouds, shout out to the sky.

I watch my dad not far ahead. He’s hunched over, looking forward. He’s my dad and he gave me this bike and I love him love him love him.

His T-shirt moves slightly in the wind.

Today, I’ll tell him. Today, I’ll tell him everything.

He turns off to the left, towards the towpath. My heart squeezes cold and I want to stop.

‘Not this way,’ I say, but I’m not loud enough for him to hear.

It’s bumpy under our wheels. I can see the river in the distance, a thick line of black. I never admit to him how much I don’t like coming here.

He looks back briefly and tries to put his thumb up, but it makes him wobble, so he carries on looking straight ahead.

The water is here and my dad follows the path, so that the river runs along the side of us. I won’t look at it. I won’t hear it. I’ll see only his wheels going round and round. If I go slightly to the side, I can see the spokes spinning so fast that they almost disappear.

I know we’re not far.

I see it in the distance and suddenly I can’t and won’t take my eyes away.

I love you, Mom.

I hadn’t meant to cry today. It’s difficult to see, but I can’t wipe my eyes without the bike toppling.

The little wooden statue of a heron, stuck tight into the grass, looks out, motionless, over the water. I can see the flowers that Dad and I tucked next to it.

My fingers pull the brakes and my bike slows until I’m right next to my mom’s heron.

Up ahead, I hear my dad stop. The path crunches louder as he makes his way back. I look up at him.

‘Our flowers are dying,’ I tell him. The petals are curling, their colours fading.

‘They’ve been here a week,’ he says.

‘I wanted them to last longer.’ They were for my mom, three different bunches, for each of the years without her.

My dad leans over to try to hug me, but our bikes make it awkward and his arms are heavy.

I won’t look at the water.

‘Shall we keep going?’ my dad asks. He’s sad and this was our happy day. I nod, even though I want to stay here, with my mom’s heron staring out, looking for her.

He begins to pedal slowly away and I stay close behind him.

‘Shall we go to the High Point?’ he calls over his shoulder.

‘Yes,’ I shout back.

It’s not far to bike and the bottom of the hill is close to the path.

‘There’s no way I’m biking up that,’ my dad laughs. It stretches green and steep, the war monument perched proudly on the top. ‘But I’ll race you!’ And he’s off, way ahead of me.

‘That’s cheating.’ I put my bike down gently next to his and I’m running like a leopard. I’m getting closer to him. My legs ache and my breathing burns, but I love it. I push myself faster, but he gets there first. He’s lying on his back, his tummy going up and down so quickly.

I fall down next to him.

‘You need to get fit,’ he laughs. ‘Less eating so much party food and more exercise.’

I hold my breath.

The thought of chocolate cake creeps up my throat.

‘I’m glad your friends came round though,’ my dad says. He stretches out on his side and leans his head on the triangle of his arm. ‘So it’s getting easier, is it?’

I look down at the grass. I pick a blade and another. Picking them and just throwing them away.

‘It’s not going to change overnight, honey, but having a few friends round for your birthday is a start.’

Tell him. There were no friends. It’s all a lie. But my head can’t seem to start the words.

‘Kath tried so hard to make it good for you.’ He sweeps his palm gently across the top of the grass. ‘We’re lucky to have her, aren’t we?’ When he looks at me, I know I can’t say it. He’s got a happiness in his eyes that was burnt out when Mom died. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without her.’

‘I wish I had skin your colour,’ I say. I don’t know why that suddenly comes out now. And it’s sort of not true. Not all the time, in any case. I got my skin from my mom and I want to keep it.

‘Oh, honey.’ He puts his arm out for me and I curl into him and suddenly I feel so safe. I want to stay lying like this forever, where no one can touch me, no one can hurt me. ‘Have other kids been saying things again?’ I don’t move. I don’t nod, or shake my head. Nothing. ‘I know it’s hard, but you’ve just got to ignore them. You’re a beautiful little girl. Every part of you – your brown skin, your big smile, your eyes like perfect chocolate buttons that I want to eat every time I look at you.’

He pretends to eat my cheek, but it tickles and I squirm away.

‘I wish I had long, blonde hair,’ I say. ‘And it’d be so straight.’

‘No, you don’t want that,’ my dad says.

But that’s what she’s got, I want to say. You love Kathleen because of her hair.

‘You see, hair like yours is special. You don’t want to be one of the crowd. It’s good to stand out. To be a bit unique.’

No. I want to sit on the bus with blonde hair. I don’t want Ryan sticking pencils in it, because he says they’ll get stuck. I want to walk down the corridor without them making bird noises at the bird’s nest of my hair.

‘You are so like your mom,’ my dad says. ‘She learnt to keep her head held high and that’s what you’re doing too. You’re worth something, June.’

I press my head into his chest until I find his heart, the steady beat of it. Yes no yes no.

I can’t imagine that my mom’s heart stopped. If it had just kept beating, she’d be here with us now.

I move on to my back and stretch my arm out. If I concentrate really hard, I can feel her fingers in mine. There they are. The warmth of her palm. She strokes my thumb with her own.

Oh, Mom, I miss you.

‘Come on.’ My dad jumps up suddenly. He tugs at my arm and I stand and we walk hand in hand to the monument at the very top. We step on to the stone base and turn to look down over the land. We’re giants and this is our kingdom.

The sun is so warm on my face, my arms, my bare legs. Below, there are tiny fields and houses that I could balance on my fingernails.

Somewhere, Kathleen is the size of an ant. I lift my foot and stretch it out. I see her raise her hands and I smile as I bring the sole of my shoe down hard on her face.

My dad laughs. ‘What are you doing?’

I close my eyes as he puts his strong arm round me. It’s just me and him now. Together we can conquer the world.

BEFORE
four days later

‘It’ll only be for one night.’

‘But I don’t want you to go.’ Fear grips me. Dad’s never gone and left me in the house with Kathleen and Megan overnight.

‘I have to. I have no choice.’ He’s tucking me up in bed and stroking back my hair. He’ll be gone by the time I wake up in the morning and he won’t be back until Friday.

‘Can’t I come with you?’ I ask. ‘I’ll be really quiet. They won’t know I’m there.’

‘You’ve got school to go to.’

‘I could miss it. It’s just two days. And I’ll work really hard to catch up.’

‘Pumpkin, you can’t. There’s no way round this. But it’s not for long. And you’ll have a lovely time. Kath has got lots of nice things planned.’

I go cold all over and turn towards the wall. My head starts to pound and I know I’m going to cry.

‘Come on, June, don’t be like this. Some dads have to go away quite a lot. This is the first time I’ve had to do it.’

But I pull the duvet high over my head.

I feel the mattress lighten and I know he’s got up. There’s a pressure on my back where he must have put his hand. Then it lifts and I can hear him walking gently across my bedroom floor. The door opens and it clicks closed.

He’s gone.

And I didn’t let him kiss me goodbye.

I know that it’s Ryan pulling my hair. On and on, while Miss Hawthorne sits talking to us. She doesn’t notice. She’s too intent on telling us about the angles of a triangle.

‘Oi, Juniper.’ He’s shuffled forward and is whispering in my ear. ‘Caught any fish today?’

I keep staring to the front. I watch Miss Hawthorne’s mouth move, but I don’t hear many of her words.

Kathleen didn’t do anything bad this morning. She woke me up and I got dressed. My heart had been knocking against my skin.

As usual, she’d put the big mound of food out for my breakfast. Muffins and bacon and thick white bread with chocolate spread. Megan had stared at me, as she always does, as she ate her normal bowl of cereal. Sometimes, she looks like she hates me, but at others she seems frightened to even breathe. I looked away from her and kept my eyes down for the whole meal. Waiting.

But nothing.

Kathleen had tied my red ribbon in my hair and she gave Megan her kiss goodbye. She told her she loved her, that she was the most special girl in the whole world, and then she’d shut the door behind us.

Maybe, maybe it’ll be OK.

We’ll eat our meal tonight and watch TV.

‘Your breath stinks of sewage,’ Ryan tells me.

Miss Hawthorne jumps up. ‘So, if you get into pairs, we can start,’ she says.

There’s a rush of movement, a frenzy of worry from the other children. Jennifer and I go to a table and sit together.

‘Haven’t found anyone, Ryan?’ Miss Hawthorne asks. ‘You can work with me.’ Jennifer pinches my arm and I smile at her. Pink pushes itself on to Ryan’s cheeks and happiness spreads slowly through my bones. He sees how much I’m smiling, but I don’t care.

Miss Hawthorne hands out the paper, so in our pairs we can begin.

I’m walking to the lunch hall when I’m grabbed from behind. A hand goes over my mouth and I’m dragged round the corner, my feet kicking on the ground. Other children see, but no one helps me, no one stops them.

The main restroom door bangs open and shut. Ryan and Cherry pull me to the ground and Lauren puts a hand over my mouth.

‘If you scream, your life won’t be worth living,’ Lauren says. Ryan is getting something from his bag. It’s a small pot, and when he cracks the lid off it I can smell that it’s paint. Cherry passes him a brush and he dips it in. I thrash my head from side to side, but I can’t get away.

The white paint is wet and cold on my cheeks. Ryan brushes it over my forehead, across my chin and over my mouth. The chalky taste drips on to my tongue.

They hold my legs down as they brush the skin on my arms, painting me white.

When the pot is empty, Ryan drops it into the bin.

‘You look like your albino friend now.’

He turns his back on me and I hear the faucet turn on and the water splashing into the sink, as he cleans his hands. Lauren and Cherry get up and clean their hands too, while I lie motionless on the floor.

Ryan looks back at me before he goes.

‘A big improvement,’ he says.

They’re gone.

It’s totally quiet.

I look up at the ceiling, at the squares of foam bricks held together with strips of metal. I could lie here forever.

A noise outside makes me scramble to my feet. Two younger girls come in and they scream when they see me and run out giggling.

I won’t look in the mirror. I won’t see what they’ve done to me. I won’t see myself as their dream of white. I’m my mom’s colour and I always will be and that’s what I want to be.

I turn on the faucet that Ryan touched and let the water wash over my arms. My skin comes back. I scrub at my face and work the paint from strands of my hair. I rub some wet tissues over my legs, until every last speck of the stinking white has gone.

And, just like my mom, I hold my head high, push open the door and go to face them.

Megan and I go into the kitchen and Kathleen is here. She has her apron on, tied round her neck and her waist. She turns to us and her face lights up when she sees Megan.

‘Beautiful girl,’ she says as she hugs her. ‘Did you have a good day?’

‘I got chosen for the soccer team,’ Megan says proudly.

‘My clever girl.’ Kathleen takes Megan’s bag and coat from her and brushes past me as she goes to hang them in the hall.

I wait. I don’t know why. It’s the same every day. Every day, I wait and hope that it’ll change, that she’ll notice me. That I’ll be beautiful enough for her to say hello to. And clever enough to get a hug.

‘Tell me about it,’ she says to Megan, and she pulls out a chair so that her daughter can sit down. She pours her a glass of orange juice and passes her the bowl of yoghurt and apple she’s already prepared.

I walk back into the hallway and hang up my coat and bag. I take off my shoes and put them neatly on the shelves before I go up the stairs.

One day, I’ll shout and scream that I exist. One day, they’ll know I’m here.

In my bedroom, the two chocolate muffins sit on my desk, as usual. I sit and eat, because if I throw them away, she’ll know.

Maybe my dad will come back early. They’ll cancel his night away and he’ll be walking up our path in time for supper. I watch the gate through the window until my eyes start to blur. He’s not here. He doesn’t come.

So I curl up on my bed and wait.

‘It’s dinner time,’ Megan calls up the stairs.

I’m not hungry, but I know I have to go.

The smell of Kathleen’s cooking comes up towards me and I push through it as I walk down.

In the kitchen, they’re already sitting at the table. I look from one to the other, but they both ignore me as I sit down. Megan has an expression on her face that I can’t read. They have bowls of freshly made stew in front of them. In my place, there’s a plate of something different.

‘Eat up, June,’ Kathleen smiles at me. She has that look in her eyes and now I can smell that she’s given me dog food.

I look towards the door, but my dad is not there.

‘I can’t,’ I whisper.

‘You will,’ Kathleen says.

They pick up their forks and begin to eat.

I sit as still as a stone. Maybe if I don’t move, I’ll disappear.

I can hear the sounds of their mouths chewing their food. Their forks scrape to pick up more mouthfuls.

Suddenly, Kathleen stands up. She grabs my hair and forces open my mouth.

‘You will eat,’ she says, so quietly. ‘I’ve prepared this for you, so you will eat.’

She shovels some on to a spoon and pulls my head back. I want to scream with the pain, but I have to keep my mouth shut.

The lumps of wet meat are at my lips and she’s trying to force them in. No no no no no. I’m stronger than you. I won’t let you.

‘Megan, hold her nose.’ Kathleen sounds so calm, yet my head is ringing with terror.

Megan hesitates. It’s enough to make Kathleen turn on her.

‘Now,’ she says coldly.

Megan gets up. She squeezes my nostrils shut so tight that my eyes water.

And I have to breathe. I have no choice. The food meant for dogs is forced into my mouth. I gag at the feel of it. I don’t want to swallow it, but my throat jolts and it slips down.

Kathleen spoons more in again, until my mouth is full.

‘You need some water,’ Megan says, and she lets go of my nose and grabs for a glass and there’s water mixing with the dog food and spilling down my cheeks and squeezing down my throat. I’m thrashing out and Megan looks suddenly terrified. She knows I’m finding it hard to breathe.

‘Mom,’ she says weakly.

Kathleen lets me go. My eyes are burning. My throat is numb.

I rush away from them, my school shirt wet, my mouth still full of the runny lumps.

I get to the bathroom before they can catch me and I put my fingers down my throat and retch and retch until my stomach is empty.

The smell of my vomit keeps filling the air.

AFTER

‘But at what point is a child to blame?’ Reverend Shaw asks.

‘Megan knew what she was doing,’ I reply.

‘Did she?’ he asks gently. ‘I wonder really whether she knew. Or whether she had any control over it at all.’

His words are taking me to a place I don’t want to be, a time I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to think about how it could have been. I try instead to concentrate on the flowers that he’s brought in from outside.

‘I’m glad you’re not choosing my wedding flowers,’ I say lightly.

‘Church decoration isn’t my strong point,’ he smiles. But he knows that I’m trying to take the conversation far away.

‘People do strange things when they’re scared,’ he tells me.

‘Megan wasn’t really scared.’

‘She was a child too,’ Reverend Shaw says. ‘A very lost one, I should imagine. You wouldn’t have been the only person frightened of Kathleen. Any child living under her roof would have been terrified at times.’

‘So Megan could just do what she wanted? And get away with it all?’

‘I’m not excusing her behaviour,’ he says quickly. ‘But maybe now you can see it differently? Maybe you can distance yourself from the pain and try to see Megan for what she was – a confused child, just as scared as you, but in a different way.’

I close my eyes as the sunlight streams in through the window. I need to think of something else. How these early spring days are my favourite, before it gets too hot and mosquitoes clam up the skies.

‘June?’ The reverend’s voice is patient as he waits for me to open my eyes.

‘But Megan hurt me.’ My tears are sudden and angry.

‘I know.’

‘I don’t feel sorry for her.’

‘I do,’ Reverend Shaw says calmly.

BEFORE
eleven years old

I decide to turn right outside the house and ride my bike along East Lane, even though there’s never much to see this way. The freedom moves my legs, faster and faster. The fields are flat on either side of me and seem to stretch to the ends of the earth. I pass the Picketts’ Farm and, after longer still, the empty blue building I sometimes see from the car.

I pull my bike to a stop at the edge of Creeper’s Forest. Dad’s always made me promise never to go through it on my own, but, today, it doesn’t seem frightening. I think it will curl round me and protect me from anything bad. I turn my wheels on to its path and start to move again.

The trees are packed tightly and almost block out the sunshine, but I’m not afraid. I like the way that the air is colder. I like the way it smells of dry sticks. It’s bumpy, but if I follow the trees’ lines, it’s not too slow.

I’m humming to myself when I see light. I go towards it until I’m out of the forest, on a smaller track, but I’m not sure where it’s going.

Further ahead, surrounded by more trees, there’s a field of broken trailers. I slow down as I get closer. There are five of them, dotted around the edge of the small field. Weeds clamber up them and I can see that some have had their windows smashed. They have curved, soft roofs, covered with speckled moss and grime. But there’s a path through the long grass, going from one to the other.

I lean my bike against the locked gate and look around. There’s no one here, so I climb over and jump down the other side.

Slowly, I walk down the path to the nearest one. It smells rotten as I stand on my tiptoes and peer in the window. There’s a kitchen, with a kettle and a bench and a table. It looks clean. Somebody has been here.

I walk carefully down the next path. The window of the second trailer is dirty, but I can see through it. There’s no kitchen, just two small chairs and big cushions and piles of paper all over the floor. Hanging from the ceiling are tons of brightly coloured shapes – bees and flowers and aeroplanes.

‘Can I help you?’ The voice startles me and I jump back.

‘I was just looking,’ I say.

He’s smaller than me, but not by much. His white cheeks are red from the sun and he has large freckles dotted over his nose. His glasses are too big.

‘Why?’ he asks.

‘I saw the trailers.’

‘They’re not mine,’ he says. ‘But I use them.’

‘Oh.’ I look back towards my bike. I can see its yellow handlebars sticking between the wood of the gate.

‘Are you on your own?’ the boy asks.

‘Yes.’

He looks at me, as though I’m meant to say something else.

‘Did you make the paper shapes?’ I ask, looking at them through the smeary window.

‘Yes.’ He smiles and small dimples dent his cheeks.

‘Can I see them?’ I ask.

‘OK.’ He nods.

He climbs up the steps of the trailer next to us and pushes open the door. I follow him up. Inside, the air is dry.

‘This is my art room.’

‘Did you really make these?’ I reach out gently to touch a paper Christmas tree that hangs from its star. It has so many layers and at the end of each branch sparkles a tiny bauble.

‘Yup,’ he says proudly. ‘I’m Blister, by the way.’

‘Blister?’ I smile cautiously.

‘Long story.’

‘I’ve got lots of time.’

‘I was left out in the sun too long as a baby. Got burnt so bad that I was one big blister. And the name stuck.’

‘That wasn’t a long story.’

‘Nope, I suppose it wasn’t,’ he laughs. ‘Do you want to see the other trailers?’

‘OK.’

He moves past me and we go down the steps, along the path and back towards the first trailer.

His T-shirt is too small. His trousers are too long.

He goes up the steps and moves back so that I can come in.

‘Welcome to my kitchen,’ he says with a bow.

‘It’s lovely.’

‘Thank you. Do you want a drink?’ He opens a cupboard and gets two glasses out. ‘You can have water, or water.’

‘I’ll have water, then.’ I nearly laugh, but I don’t.

He unscrews the lid of a big bottle, fills the glasses and passes one to me.

‘What’s your name?’

‘June.’

‘That’s a nice name.’

‘Thanks.’ I sip the water to stop a blush creeping up.

‘Were you born in June?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s the nicest month of the year, I reckon. Not too cold, not too boiling hot. In August, it’s like an oven in here.’

‘Whose are these trailers, if they’re not yours?’

‘They were a man’s, called Mr Jones, but he killed his wife and then killed himself.’

‘He killed her?’ I ask, looking around.

‘It’s all right,’ he laughs. ‘I don’t think it was here. But their only child lives miles away and can’t be bothered to keep the trailers properly, or sell the land. And no one else wants to come here – everyone says they’re haunted.’

‘Are they?’

‘I’ve never seen a ghost in them.’

I follow him as he goes out and down the steps.

‘So now they’re all yours?’ I ask as we walk back down the path.

‘I pretend they are.’

We go back into the trailer with all the shapes, and I copy Blister as he sits on a beanbag. He’s a bit chubby, like me. His fingers are muddy and his nails are bitten down.

‘I’ve been digging,’ he says.

I look away. ‘Oh.’

‘So, where do you live?’ he asks, putting his glass down on the floor.

‘Potter’s Lane.’

‘Down by the river?’

‘Yes,’ I say, my heart thumping a bit faster. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Near Picker’s Yard.’ He takes a piece of red paper from the table and starts to fold it.

‘I don’t know it,’ I say. Blister unfolds the paper and rubs it flat again.

‘There’s not much to know,’ he smiles. ‘But if you like chaos, you’d love my house. It’s good chaos, though.’ He drinks a bit of his water. ‘Now, if this was orange juice, it would be delicious.’

‘It’s still nice.’

‘Yeah, I suppose it is.’

‘How did he murder her?’ I ask.

‘Who?’ He looks surprised.

‘The husband. Who owned these trailers.’

‘Oh, right.’ Blister leans on his hands and stares at me across the table. His eyes are almost black, which looks a bit strange, as his skin is so rosy and white. ‘They say he strangled her and then chopped her up and . . .’

‘No!’ I laugh and put my hands over my ears. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’

Blister smiles at me. His dimples are on his cheeks again.

‘Are you chicken?’ he asks.

‘No.’

‘I bet most of it’s rumours.’

‘How long does it take you to do them?’ I ask, looking up at the ceiling.

‘My paper shapes?’ We both stare at them, hanging like little planets. ‘Depends which one. That one –’ Blister points to a seagull, flying silently above our head – ‘that didn’t take long. But that one . . .’ There’s a castle, near the window.

‘It’s amazing.’

‘Yeah, I like it. That one took me a few hours. It took me ages just to get the turrets right.’

‘Can I touch it?’

‘You’ll see it better if you stand on a chair,’ Blister says, getting up.

I copy him, until I’m nose to nose with the castle walls.

‘It’s six pieces of paper, all stuck together, with thin cardboard for the floor,’ he says. When I touch the castle, it spins slightly. He’s drawn a princess waving from one of the windows. ‘This is my best bit.’ Blister unhooks a thin piece of string and lowers the drawbridge. Inside is a little knight on a plastic horse, his sword pointing towards us.

‘Did you really make the castle yourself ?’

‘It’s not so hard.’ He draws the bridge up and gets down from his chair.

‘I think it’s really cool.’

‘Thanks.’ He moves the red piece of paper so that it meets the corner of the table. ‘I could teach you one day.’

‘Really?’

‘Course.’ Blister rubs at the mud on the back of his hand. It changes to a light smudge.

‘You don’t go to my school,’ I say.

‘I don’t go to any school,’ he laughs.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Our mom and dad teach us at home.’

‘How?’

‘They take it in turns, depending if Dad’s working.’

‘You really don’t go to school?’ A murmur of jealousy flickers inside me.

‘No. We learn at home. Well, we try to. It’s a bit chaotic at our house. I don’t think they know where half of us are most of the time.’

‘Are there lots of you?’

‘Seven – five boys and two girls. Nine, if you count Mom and Dad.’ He picks up a black crayon from the tub next to him and starts to draw a square in the middle of the red paper. ‘How many do you have?’ He looks up. ‘Brothers and sisters?’

‘One. Sort of,’ I say, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to think about Megan in here.

‘How can you have a sort of ? Are they cut in half ?’ Blister is drawing all sorts of thin lines in the middle of his square.

‘She’s a stepsister.’

‘Oh, one of those.’ He swaps the crayon for a pencil. ‘It must be quite nice, just having one.’

‘I guess.’

‘Most of mine are adopted. Mom and Dad had Maggie and me, but then they couldn’t have any more, so they adopted lots instead. It’s good, though.’

I watch him draw and rub at the lines. His eyes screw up a little bit, in concentration. He scratches his shoulder, before he picks up the paper and shows it to me.

‘What do you think?’

I think it’s meant to be the skull of some sort of animal.

‘It’s good,’ I say, although I’m not really sure it is. But I like the way that he took his time drawing it, how careful he was.

‘You can have it, if you want.’ Blister folds it in half and then half again and passes it to me.

‘Thanks,’ I say.

‘So, if you have a stepsister, does that mean you live with your mom or dad?’ he asks, sipping at his water again.

‘My dad.’

‘Where’s your mom?’

‘She’s dead,’ I say. The word hangs between us, then drifts up to the coloured shapes above our heads.

‘Do you miss her?’ Blister asks quietly.

‘Yes.’

He nods his head, as though he knows.

‘Do you want more water?’

‘No. I should be getting back.’

‘Will you come here again?’

I stand up and put my skull picture in the back pocket of my shorts.

‘Yes,’ I say, and he smiles. No one ever smiles because of me. Well, only my dad and Jennifer. It feels like the sunshine is actually in the trailer. ‘I like it here.’ I smile back at him.

Blister stays on the steps of the trailer and watches me clamber over the gate. When I look back, he salutes me and I wave at him before I pedal off quickly.

The wind is warm on my face as I rush back through the forest.

Blister is my friend. Blister is my friend.

I know I won’t tell a soul. I’ll hide my piece of red paper and keep the secret of him tucked so close that no one will ever know.

‘Come in,’ Mr Cleadon says, standing up from behind his desk. ‘Do take a seat.’

‘Thank you,’ Kathleen says. She lets go of my hand briefly, as we sit down, but then she picks it up again.

‘I’m sorry to have to call you in, Mrs Kingston.’

‘That’s fine.’ Kathleen smiles at him and then at me.

‘I’m not sure if June has told you what this is about?’

‘No.’ She looks straight at my headmaster. Her clogged eyes don’t blink.

‘Right. Well. June has been caught stealing,’ Mr Cleadon says. I breathe in sharply and feel Kathleen tense beside me. I think Mr Cleadon expects her to say something, but there’s only silence and the ticking of the clock on the shelf in the corner. ‘Unfortunately, some money and possessions went missing and they were found in June’s bag and drawer.’

‘It wasn’t me,’ I say quietly.

Mr Cleadon puffs the air in his cheeks. ‘We’ve been through this, June.’

There’s no point me saying any more. I’ve tried telling him the truth, but he won’t believe anything I say.

‘Are you sure about this?’ Kathleen asks. She reaches over and tucks a curl behind my ear. I try not to flinch. ‘June is such a good girl. I find it hard to believe that she would do that.’

‘Some children saw her do it.’

Kathleen shakes her head. ‘It’s been a difficult time for June,’ she says. She looks so like she cares that I almost believe her. ‘You know that she lost her mother a few years ago.’

‘I’m fully aware of that, Mrs Kingston. But stealing is something we can’t excuse.’

‘No, of course not. And I’m sure that June is sorry. It’s just that there are special circumstances here.’

‘I know. Which is why, because this is the first time, the punishment in school will be minimal. And I hope that at home you’ll make it clear to her that stealing is just unacceptable.’

‘Of course. June knows that it’s wrong. You have my word that it won’t happen again.’

‘Try to keep out of trouble, June,’ Mr Cleadon says with a smile that barely reaches his mouth, let alone his eyes.

We get up to leave and Kathleen kisses the top of my head.

‘It’ll be OK,’ she says as she takes my hand and leads me from the room.

We sit through supper and I’m waiting. Slowly, I eat the pile of food in front of me. I don’t look up once.

Megan is telling Kathleen about her day, about the volcano they’re making as a class and how she’s in charge of the flames. She’s going to cover card with bright tissue paper and stick it jagged from the top.

The brownie is sickly sweet and I force spoonful after spoonful of it down. The sponge is sprinkled thick with sugar and sits heavy on my teeth. I scrape my plate, until every last drop is gone.

‘So, you’re a thief as well.’ Kathleen’s words are for me. I don’t want them, but that doesn’t stop them. ‘I bet your mom was a thief too. Nasty little woman that she was.’

Anger bubbles in me. It takes over my bones and I have to clasp the sides of my chair to stop myself from screaming.

‘Like mother, like daughter, and we can’t be having that.’ Kathleen stands up and walks out of the room. I see her going across the hallway and into the living room.

‘You’re at the bottom of the heap,’ Megan says. ‘And your mom was ugly too.’

It’s too late to stop myself. I jump up so quickly that Megan’s eyes flash with fear and I’m on her, pulling her hair and thumping her with my tight fists.

‘She wasn’t, she wasn’t, she wasn’t.’ I don’t care that I’m crying. And I don’t care that Megan is curled up, screaming on the floor.

I hear the front door opening, but I carry on.

‘June!’ my dad shouts. He pulls me from her, just as Kathleen comes back in. She has her sewing basket in her hand.

‘Megan!’ she exclaims as she drops the basket and scoops her daughter up.

‘What’s going on?’ my dad asks. He’s holding me at arm’s length.

I’m breathing hard. I’ve never laid a finger on Megan before. But, today, fire got into me. I stare back at my dad, bewildered by what I’ve just done.

‘I came back early to surprise you,’ he says, and he looks so confused.

‘I’m sorry,’ I tell him. And I am, because I’ve made him look sad.

‘Why did you do it?’

‘It was just a silly quarrel, Bradley. Don’t be hard on her,’ Kathleen says, putting her hand softly on his arm. ‘It’s over now.’

Megan is still crying slightly. It’s strange to see her curled up there.

‘Fine,’ my dad says. ‘But you’re to go to your room, June. And if I ever see you hurting Megan again, there’ll be hell to pay. Do you understand?’

I nod and run away, leaving them huddled together on the kitchen floor.

The next day after school, I know I can’t stay in the house. I put a note on the kitchen table – ‘I’m going to Jennifer’s. Back later.’ And then I leave it all behind me, the wind rushing past my ears.

I can hear Blister humming to himself from the edge of the path. He’s sitting on the trailer steps and he sees me as I start to climb over the gate. In his hand is a little penknife and it points straight to the sky as he waves.

He grins at me. ‘You came back.’ He puts down the stick that he’s carving and walks through the grassy path.

‘I hoped you’d be here,’ I say, wriggling my arms to get the bag off my back. ‘I brought you something.’ He watches me as I unzip it and pull out the small bottle of orange juice. ‘I thought you’d like this,’ I say. Suddenly, it seems a bit strange. It felt like a good idea earlier, but now I feel awkward as I give it to him. ‘You said orange juice would be better.’

He looks up at me as if I’ve given him a bar of gold.

‘Thanks, June,’ he says. I follow him back to the steps. ‘Look what I did.’ He picks up the stick he’s been carving. It’s a small spear, with a sharp, pointed end. ‘To keep the ghosts away,’ he laughs, and throws it straight into the ground, where it stays, sticking upright. ‘Nothing will get past that.’

We go into the trailer and I watch as he pours the orange juice into two glasses.

‘Presto,’ he says, and clinks my glass.

‘Presto,’ I say, as though it’s our own secret code, the key to our club.

‘Shall we drink it in the art room?’ Blister asks. Before I even nod, he’s off and I’m following him, looking at the muddy streak stretched straight across his arm.

‘After you.’ He bows deeply, one arm swept to the side, the other tilting too much and spilling juice on the steps.

‘Why thank you, sir.’ And I climb up into the second trailer. The smell of glue mixes into the warmth, and I notice that the piles of paper on the floor are stacked with their colours in order.

‘You’re very tidy.’

‘It’s how I like it.’

‘Maybe because your home is so busy?’ I say.

Blister rubs his cheek. ‘Maybe. I hadn’t thought of that.’

We put our glasses next to the cushions. Blister kneels down, picks up a piece of paper from each pile and lays them out in the middle of the floor.

‘So, what do you want to make?’ he asks. I stretch my legs out straight and wriggle my toes in my sandals.

‘I don’t know,’ I say.

Blister crawls over to a tiny table and picks up a tube of glue. I watch as he takes one piece of white paper and one piece of gold. He starts to fold them and it’s as if I disappear. He screws up his nose slightly as he concentrates and it squashes some of his freckles.

His fingers move carefully. He folds and twists and sticks the paper, as though it’s a precious jewel. I’m not really thinking about the shape – I just like watching something beautiful appear out of something so ordinary.

It’s finished and Blister holds it up in front of him.

‘It’s an angel. For your mom,’ he says.

I reach out to touch her wings and the clothes of white and gold. Her face is blank, but I know she’s happy.

‘I didn’t want to make you sad,’ Blister says.

‘I’m not,’ I say quietly. But I am. I’m so sad that I don’t know how my heart carries on beating.

Blister puts the angel in my hands. I want her to be big, so I can hug her.

‘Was your mom nice?’ Blister asks.

‘Yes,’ I say, and I pull my knees up tight into my chest and look down, so he can’t see my eyes.

‘I don’t mind if you cry,’ he says. He puts his hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s not fair that she died.’

But I press my head into my knees, until I know the tears have stopped.

When I look up, Blister is sitting with a little rag in his hand.

‘It’s the cleanest I’ve got,’ he says.

I take it from him. It feels rough against my eyes, but I don’t mind.

‘Thanks,’ I say.

A silence now sits between us and I don’t know how to fill it.

‘What’s your stepmother like?’ Blister finally asks.

‘She’s OK,’ I lie, holding my angel tightly. Blister looks at me as though I should say some more. ‘I’d better go. She’ll be worried about where I’ve got to.’

‘Oh.’

‘Sorry. I’ll come again, I promise.’ I stand up and Blister gets up too.

‘Can I keep my angel?’ I ask.

‘Of course. I made her for you.’ Blister smiles and his dimples dip in. He pushes his glasses up a bit on his nose.

‘Thanks,’ I say.

I put her carefully into my bag, worried that I might hurt her. I don’t want her to get crumpled. I want to get her to the house safely, where I’ll tuck her away in a secret box.

My very own angel.

AFTER

Mickey and I walk side by side. The sun is warm on my face and there’s not a cloud in the sky.

‘Where shall we go today?’ I ask.

‘The fields at the back of my house?’ she replies.

‘I’d like that.’

We walk slowly – Mickey’s hip makes her seem older than she is. She shuffles slightly, the dry dust lifting around her ankles.

High above us, two birds swoop and twist before they disappear from view.

‘Birds are like memories,’ I say. Mickey chuckles. She’s used to my thoughts by now. ‘They are,’ I insist. ‘How sometimes they’re close enough to see clearly, but at other times they fly just out of reach.’

‘You’ve been reading too many books again.’

‘I can’t work out whether memories are good or bad,’ I say.

‘I suppose it depends which ones they are.’ Mickey sounds tired now. ‘Maybe you should try to remember the good and forget the bad.’

‘But sometimes even the good ones hurt,’ I tell her.

Mickey nods as she puts her hand gently on my arm.

‘Let’s make happy memories for today, then,’ she smiles.

‘How?’

‘You see those horses over there?’ She points into the distance. At first they’re difficult to see, but then the herd of them becomes clearer. ‘How about we go and ride them?’

‘They’re not ours,’ I laugh.

‘They could be if we take them.’ Mickey is laughing so hard that we have to stop walking. She leans into me as she starts to cough, but they’re happy tears in her eyes.

And I laugh with her too, the sound sweeping up to the wide blue above us.

‘It’s good to be alive,’ she says. But this time the coughing pulls at her body and I know she’s hurting. ‘Let’s go back, June,’ she says.

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