Looking for JJ (16 page)

She didn’t like Mr Cottis, his head was too shiny and his eyes were like steamed glass. He took pictures of other people and kept them himself in brown envelopes. It was a sort of theft. She didn’t want him to steal her picture.

“I haven’t got a school uniform,” she said, interrupting her mum.

“Yes. Mr Cottis has brought one, here. You can wear it for the photos.”

A white blouse and tie fell out of the carrier bag. A vest and dark blue knickers. A pleated skirt and long white socks. She held them all up, one by one. The tie had stripes across it. It was the same type that her mum had worn in the photos.

“I don’t want to,” she said, abruptly.

Her mum looked surprised, as though it was the last thing she expected to hear.

“But I thought you’d like this. It could be your first modelling job. You could grow up like me. A model. You could get your face on the front of a magazine!”

“I don’t want to be a model,” she said, pushing the clothes away with one hand so that they lay on the bed without touching her.

Her mum took a deep breath.

“Look Jen, I need you to do this. Mr Cottis is a very important man and if I don’t . . . if you don’t do this photo session, he might drop me. There’s loads more models who would like to work with him. It’ll just take an hour. No more. I’ll be there all the time.”

She stared at her mum, catching her eye, trying to hold the look, to keep her there on the bed, to tell her the truth of what she’d seen. But her mum glanced down and began to fuss with the school clothes.

“He’s coming at twelve tomorrow. I want you to do this and I’ll be there with you. Twelve o’clock. Otherwise I might not have a job and you know what that means.”

Her mum always spoke so softly, her words like velvet. Underneath though the meaning was there, like small hard pebbles. She might lose her job; they would have no money, Jennifer might end up back at Gran’s or, even worse, in care.

“Twelve o’clock. It’ll be all right. You’ll see. It’ll be a laugh. Night, love.”

When the door shut and her mum’s footsteps faded she got up and went across to her wardrobe. At the bottom was a shoebox and inside was Macy. She pulled the old doll out and took it back to her bed. Macy was grubby, her clothes tatty, some of her hair missing where Jennifer had combed it once too often. It didn’t matter though. She got into bed and laid Macy down beside her.

 

 

 

Michelle started to niggle her as soon as they’d been walking for about five minutes. It was an uncomfortable day, chilly and hot at the same time. There was a sharp wind that seemed to be running all over the place, hitting them in the face, pushing them to one side, forcing them onwards, along the lane towards the reservoir. There were clouds dashing across the sky, but every now and then the sun came out and for a moment it was blindingly hot.

“I’m boiling,” Michelle complained. “Lucy, you can be my slave today, so you must carry my jumper.”

She untied it from her waist and draped it around Lucy’s shoulders. Lucy, looking sleepy even though it was past ten, pulled the sleeves into a loose knot at her throat. She smiled up at Jennifer, shielding off the glare of the sun by holding her hand up to her forehead. Then Michelle changed her mind.

“I’m cold, slave,” she said, smirking at Jennifer. “Give me my jumper back.”

Lucy took the jumper off.

“Here you are,” she said.

“Here you are, what?” Michelle said.

“
Mistress
,” Lucy said.

“Don’t be stupid!” Jennifer said, a flash of annoyance coming out of nowhere. She should be used to Michelle’s silly little ways.

“It’s all right. We play this game all the time,” Michelle said. “Don’t we, Luce?”

Lucy nodded. Jennifer noticed that she was wearing her party dress again on top of grubby trainers, her legs bare. Even though she had a jumper tied round her waist she looked cold, with goosebumps on her arms. It didn’t seem to worry her though. Michelle had dressed up. Freshly washed jeans and a T-shirt with the word
Babe
across it. Her jumper was newish as well, deep pink with a zip up the front.

Jennifer hardly noticed what clothes she’d put on while dressing. The carrier bag with the other clothes, the school uniform, sat in the corner of her room as far away from her bed as was possible. She’d shoved it there, out of her line of sight, even though her eyes had been drawn back to it from time to time. Even when the room was dark, when her mum had called out
Night love
, she looked across and saw its shape, crumpled and ugly.

When she woke up her room was grey, the daylight forcing its way through her curtains. She got up and walked out into the hallway to look into her mum’s room. Pushing the door open she saw her lying half in and half out of the covers, one foot sticking up. Jennifer tiptoed across to the bed and pulled the duvet straight, causing her mum to move, her head shifting on the pillow. Then she was still. Turning to go out Jennifer noticed the globe, sitting on top of her mum’s chest of drawers. She stood close and studied it for a moment. How had Mr Cottis brought it to the house? It looked too big to fit in his suitcase or his holdall. She put her hand up and touched the ball with her fingers, watching as it spun gently, the countries of the world floating by her. Why had he wanted it?

“Jen?”

Her mum’s voice was husky from sleep.

“Do you want a cup of tea?” Jennifer said, walking back to the side of the bed.

Her mum shook her head, her hair rubbing against the pillow. Jennifer turned to go but her mum spoke again, her voice crackly with tiredness.

“Don’t forget the photos this morning. Have a bath. So that you look your best!”

Jennifer didn’t answer. She walked out of the room with feet of lead.

 

In the lane she let the others lead the way. She’d come along even though she hadn’t really wanted to go to the reservoir, and wasn’t bothered about seeing the Bussell brothers’ den. It was something to do, a journey to make, a place to go until she had to go back and face Mr Cottis at twelve o’clock. Up ahead she could see the gate of the reservoir. Lucy talking about her favourite subject. The wild cats. Michelle was full of it.

“Be careful you don’t get too close to them,” she said, in a loud voice.

Lucy mumbled something Jennifer couldn’t quite hear.

“Because they hate people. They blame people for pumping in the water and drowning them. Don’t look straight at them because they might scratch your eyes out.”

“Don’t say that!” Jennifer said.

Michelle was irritating her. Pretending to know everything. Lording it over Lucy. Dressing up in new clothes when she couldn’t be bothered to dress up for Lucy’s party.

“Why not? It’s true.”

“It is true. That’s why Stevie hunts them.”

Lucy was wide-eyed, her expression deadly serious. Honestly. It was
cats
they were talking about, not tigers! Jennifer huffed and passed them, in through the gate of the reservoir, along the winding path, stepping out in front of the two girls, putting some distance between them.

She looked across the lake to the spot where they’d had the picnic the day before. She remembered Stevie Bussell, lying back on the blanket, his boots looking as though they were too big for him, touching his trousers with his hand in a disgusting way, his mean eyes looking at her, calling her mum names. Who would take his word for anything? Him and his dressing-up clothes, his den in the woods, his guns for shooting the wild cats. How could he call her mum a
prozzie
? Where had he got the idea from?

“JJ, don’t go so fast,” Michelle said, running up behind her.

Lucy came last, her face flushed, her eyes looking distant, as though she was thinking of something else, the cats, perhaps. For an instant Jennifer saw her brother’s face there, just an expression, nothing more.

“Come on, slave, keep up!” Michelle said.

They walked along for a while, zigzagging the path, keeping to the edge of the lake, dipping in and out of thickets. They went in and out of small woods, their trees young, the bark silky and the branches thin, like ladies’ arms. Lucy turned round from time to time and Michelle gave her another order, her voice friendly. It was only a game. Just pretend. Michelle wasn’t really ordering Lucy around. It was just some fun. They passed a couple of people with dogs on their way round. It was a Monday morning but nobody looked at them strangely. Three girls walking round the reservoir. It was the school holidays after all. In town the classrooms were still and the only thing moving in the playground was the breeze, picking up sweet wrappers and throwing them down again.

There were some boats on the lake, cutting through the water, their sails billowing one minute and taut the next. When the sun came out the water sparkled and the boats seemed to skate across the surface. When it clouded over they slowed down, bobbing up and down on the muddy ripples.

The path split. One section led around the lake and the other forked off up an incline away from the water. There was a sign a couple of metres along:
Woodland Park Reconstruction. Public Access Prohibited.

“This way,” Lucy said, ignoring the sign.

Jennifer paused for a moment. They weren’t supposed to go. They would get in trouble if anyone saw them. She looked at her watch. It was almost eleven. They’d been out for an hour, walking round the lake for almost that long. If they carried on she wouldn’t have time to get back for Mr Cottis.

“Come on,” Michelle said, linking her arm, pulling her onwards.

And then it occurred to her. Why not stay out? Why not stay out all day? That way she wouldn’t have to see Mr Cottis or dress up in a silly uniform to have her photographs taken. She started to walk, her body feeling looser, lighter even. It was simple. Why hadn’t she thought of it up to that moment.
She didn’t have to go back and have her photo taken.

They left the lake behind, went up the path and into another wood. The trees there were bigger, older, more dense, as though they’d been there much longer than the lake. On either side of the path the branches leaned towards each other, touching above their heads, blocking out a lot of the sky. It made Jennifer feel secluded, as if she was in a different world. She felt a lightness in her step. Maybe, if she didn’t go home until late, Mr Cottis wouldn’t want the photographs at all.

“It’s in there,” Lucy said, stopping, pointing to a gap in the trees that led downwards towards the edge of the lake.

The three of them walked off the path and into the trees, stepping high to avoid the undergrowth, nettles, dry cracking twigs and thorny bushes. The light was dull and underfoot it became damp, their feet sinking into muddy patches.

“Oh no,” Michelle said, holding up one of her white trainers coated with mud.

“We’re nearly there,” Lucy said.

They emerged from the trees on to a small rocky ledge that dropped sharply into deep water.

“Where are we?” Jennifer said.

Instead of reaching the shore as she’d expected, the lake was off to the side, distant, like a picture postcard, boats dotted here and there. In front of them, the water looked different, still and dense, almost black in colour. It was the width of a river, the opposite bank close enough to hit with a stone.

“I don’t remember this bit,” Michelle said, still holding her foot up to look at her muddy trainer.

“Stevie found it. Nobody comes here.”

“Where’s the den?” Jennifer said, looking around, half expecting a small wooden building or a cave.

“Here,” Lucy said, climbing over some rocks and beckoning for them to follow. “Careful, the rocks are slippy and some of them are loose.”

Behind a couple of big boulders were a pile of branches, their leaves withered, dry and crackly. Lucy started to move them one by one and Jennifer was struck with admiration. Had the Bussell brothers built an
underground
den?

“Here,” Lucy said, becoming breathless, moving the branches behind her, passing them to Jennifer and Michelle.

When she got to the last couple she sat back. Beneath the wood and leaves they could see a tin box, a large tin box.

“Where’s the den?” Michelle said.

“This is it.”

Lucy pulled the remaining branches off and put them behind her. The hole was about sixty centimetres deep. The tin box sat snugly in it, its corners scuffed. It must have been about thirty centimetres wide and sixty centimetres long. Jennifer couldn’t quite see, but it looked deep, as though it might hold a fair bit.

“That’s not a den!” Michelle said, disdainfully.

“Wait till you see what they keep here,” Lucy said, on her knees by then, grabbing the handle on the side of the box with both hands, pulling hard to move it. Jennifer got to the other side and pushed, her legs slipping for a moment and one of the loose rocks skidding away and dropping into the water.

“It’s a box. It’s not a den! A den is a place to sleep, to eat, not a stupid box.”

Jennifer and Lucy struggled until the tin box was out of the ground. It sat crookedly between them, with a dent in the lid that Jennifer hadn’t noticed at first. Lucy, breathless, flung it open. Inside it was packed: canteens for holding water, tins of baked beans and frankfurters, two sleeping bags rolled up on top of a skein of rope. There was an assortment of tools, screwdrivers, a hammer, a Stanley knife, even a baseball bat. Bit by bit they unpacked it, throwing things behind them, to the side. Michelle was sitting on a rock, rubbing at her filthy trainer. When they came to the bottom there was a small zip-up pouch.

“Where’s the gun?” Jennifer said.

“They don’t leave that here. It’s too dangerous!”

“If it really exists,” Michelle said, sarcastically.

Jennifer sat back, disappointed. Even though she hadn’t been bothered about coming she had half expected to find something interesting.

“Stevie does have a gun!”

Jennifer picked up the pouch. She unzipped it and turned it upside down so that the contents spilled out on to the gravelly ground. There was some money, mostly coins, and a couple of cigarette lighters. Inside, something was stuck, so she put her fingers in and pulled out a couple of photographs. They were upside down when she first saw them and it took her a moment to register what was there. A face that she knew. Two shots of her mum, lying back on a sofa of some sort, naked except for a teddy bear that she was holding up to her cheek. Her mum. Naked. A child’s toy rubbing against her skin. It didn’t seem right. It didn’t look nice. She held them in her hand for what seemed like a long time, her fingers trembling, her mind blank, like an empty room. Lucy, turning her head to see, made a small sound in her throat. It sounded like an “
Oh
”.