Midnight (14 page)

‘Don't be silly. They're vermin,' said Mum.

‘He's right, actually,' said Dad, though he sounded reluctant to admit this. ‘The bats have to stay. There's nothing we can do.'

‘But they'll get into our house if we're not careful,' said Mum, combing her hair with her fingers and securing it in a knot on the top of her head. ‘How many bats did you see, Violet? Were they flying all round the garden?'

‘Mmm,' I said vaguely.

‘Don't you go out in the back garden with your hair loose then,' said Mum. ‘They get tangled in long hair.'

‘That's a complete myth,' said Will. ‘There are hardly any recorded instances. Bats are interesting, I've been reading up about them – they're not blind either, they can distinguish light, especially sunrise and sunset, though their eyes aren't very developed—'

‘OK, OK, Mr Smarty-Pants-Swallowed-the-Encyclopaedia, we all know that. They find their way round using radar,' said Dad.

‘No, they use sonar, actually,' said Will.

‘I'm not the slightest bit interested in what they use,'
said Dad. ‘How did we get started on this bat business anyway? Come on, we'd better get cracking, all of us.'

‘Why?' said Mum, retying her hair even tighter.

‘We'll have to make a trip to Mum's. Get some flowers and a big box of chocolates on the way.'

‘You're not serious?' said Mum.

‘Look, she's an old lady. She's maybe not going to
have
many more birthdays.'

‘She's not
that
old. Make up your mind. First she's fit as a fiddle, then she's half daft, now you've got her on her last legs—'

‘OK, OK. Look, all I'm asking is we go over there as a family. It's a nice drive, for God's sake. We won't stay. We'll just have a quick coffee and then we'll go and find a decent pub and have a Sunday roast.'

‘
We've
got a Sunday roast. I bought a leg of lamb.'

‘So, we'll have a
Monday
roast. Go on, you nip up and use the bathroom first,' said Dad, and when Mum got up he patted her on her bottom, presumably helping her on her way.

I wanted Mum to slap his hand away, but she gave him a little smirky smile that made me feel sick.

I hated her being content with so little. She didn't seem to care that Dad had no respect for her whatsoever. If he put on his police boots and commanded her to lie down she'd probably let him trample all over her.

I thought of Will and me. I felt even sicker. Didn't I do exactly what he said? Apart from yesterday. And now he was trying to make me pay for choosing to see Jasmine. He'd been ignoring me ever since.

To hell with Will, I thought. But when I looked over at him my chest went tight. I saw the hunch of his shoulders now that Mum had given in.

‘What about Will, Dad?' I said.

‘What about him?' said Dad.

‘You can't expect Will to come and wish Gran a happy birthday, not after all those things she said.'

‘She'll likely have forgotten all about it by now,' said Dad.

‘Will hasn't forgotten,' I said. ‘Think what it will be like for him.'

Dad sighed in exasperation. ‘I couldn't give a stuff what Will thinks,' he said, acting as if he couldn't even see the boy chewing jam sandwiches beside him.

‘The feeling's mutual,' said Will, with his mouth full.

‘Less of the lip, lad. Go on, get cracking, put a decent outfit on, not those awful scruffy jeans – and don't wear that necklace either.'

Will didn't budge. He spread himself another jam sandwich.

‘For God's sake,' said Dad, slamming his hand down on the kitchen table, making the plates jiggle. ‘Stop stuffing that big mouth of yours and get ready to visit your gran.'

Will waited until he'd cut his sandwich. He took a mouthful. Then he said very calmly, ‘I'm not coming.'

‘Of course you're bloody coming,' Dad thundered, standing up.

‘Of course I'm doing no such thing,' said Will.

‘You'll do as I say, lad, or—'

‘Or?' Will repeated.

Dad stood in front of Will. They were exactly the same height now. Dad was much the heavier, built like a barn door, but Will was wiry and surprisingly strong. Dad took a small step forward. Will stepped forward too, so they were comically close, noses almost touching. Will went right on chewing.

‘Can't you eat with your mouth shut? You've got the manners of an animal,' said Dad. He edged around Will, and started to clear the table. ‘OK then,
don't
come. See if we care,' he said. ‘Come on, Violet, get these dishes washed up and then go into the bathroom after your mother.'

‘I'm not coming either, Dad,' I said.

Dad stopped. He was still holding a cup and saucer. He slammed them down so hard that the handle snapped straight off the cup. Dad hung onto it, hardly noticing.

‘This is all your fault,' he said, glaring at Will. ‘What sort of example are you to your sister?'

‘She's not my sister – as her grandmother pointed out so charmlessly,' said Will.

‘I
am
your sister,' I said. ‘And I don't want to see Gran ever again.'

‘Violet.' Dad came over to me, shaking his head. ‘Stop this nonsense. Now go and get ready, sweetheart.' He reached out as if he was going to give me the same proprietorial pat on the bottom he'd given Mum. I swerved away from him.

‘Don't, Dad! I mean it. I'm not coming,' I said.

Colour flooded Dad's face. I saw the pulse beating at his temple. He raised his arm again and this time I thought he was going to slap me. I clenched my fists and stood my ground. Dad let his hand fall to his side without making contact.

‘Stay at home, then,' he said. ‘I'm not going to waste my breath arguing with either of you. You make me sick, the pair of you.' He turned on his heel and started to march out of the kitchen, but he was wearing his old scuffed slippers. He tripped and one slipper twisted sideways. He didn't stop to sort it out, he walked on anyway, step shuffle, step shuffle, until he was out the door.

Will and I looked at each other and then cracked up laughing, hands over our mouths to muffle it or he'd be back and
really
slapping us about. Will made another strawberry jam sandwich, taking great care this time, even cutting off the crusts. He arranged it on a plate in dainty triangles and then offered it to me with a flourish. I ate it up in eight quick bites.

‘So it looks like we have a day to ourselves,' said Will.

‘I thought you said you had plans for today,' I said.

‘I could cancel them,' said Will, grinning.

‘Maybe we could go to Brompton Woods,' I said. ‘Oh Will, please let's.'

‘Maybe. Later on. We can see what we feel like.'

‘OK. Only . . . don't feel like playing any games, will you?'

‘Games can be fun.'

‘Blind Man's Buff isn't my idea of fun.'

‘I'll invent a new game for your delight.'

‘For
your
delight, you mean.'

‘Exactly. Or what would be the point?' said Will, his eyes glittering.

I looked at him warily, wondering what little game he was hatching. ‘We are friends now, aren't we?' I said.

‘Of course we are.' Will dug his finger in the strawberry jampot and smeared my wrist and his own with scarlet jam. ‘We'll still be blood siblings,' he said, and then he licked my wrist clean and I licked his.

Mum made a fuss when she came downstairs in her green woollen dress, a purple scarf pinned into place with an amber brooch. Her face was very pale above her colourful outfit.

‘What's all this about you not coming? Of
course
you're coming – both of you.'

‘No, we're not,' said Will. ‘And you don't want to either. You're just going because Dad bullied you into it. Gran's never been that nice to you either, has she?'

Mum flushed, looking uncomfortable. ‘Don't, Will, please. All right, you don't have to come. I do understand. But Violet, you must go. You'll upset your dad so if you don't.'

‘That's just too bad,' I said, folding my arms. I kept them folded, hugging myself for courage when Dad came back downstairs. His face was still bright pink, his neck nearly purple where his tight collar was digging into him. He always dressed in a formal shirt and tie and suit to see Gran because she said she couldn't bear seeing grown men in sloppy T-shirts.

‘Last chance, Violet,' Dad said. ‘We're leaving in five
minutes. You've still got time to get washed and get your togs on if you jump to it.'

‘I'm not jumping, Dad,' I said.

‘Right,' said Dad. ‘I'm not going to lower myself and plead. Though what if this is the last birthday your grandmother ever has? It's surely not too much to ask, one little family visit on a special day, after all I do for you? I even act like your personal chauffeur, driving you round to see your fancy friends.'

I stood silently, hanging onto my elbows, trying not to react.

‘You stone-faced little cow,' Dad said suddenly. ‘What sort of a daughter are you? Well, stew in your own juice then.'

He stormed out of the house. Mum gazed at us anxiously, fumbling in her purse and putting a ten-pound note down on the table.

‘There's not much in the fridge apart from the lamb and stuff. Get yourselves something nice down at the corner shop. And don't do anything silly, either of you. Do you hear me?'

I nodded, suddenly near tears.

‘Don't worry, I'll look after her,' said Will.

Dad yelled from out in the driveway for Mum to get a bloody move on.

‘Hark at him, bellowing like a bull. What will the neighbours think?' said Mum. ‘I've half a mind to stay home too.'

But she scuttled out to join him. We heard the car doors slam and then the roar of the engine as they drove off.

It was very quiet in the kitchen. Will tore a kitchen towel off the roll and gently dabbed at my wet eyes.

‘I'm crying because of Mum, not Dad,' I sniffed. ‘You're lucky, Will. I wish he wasn't my real dad. I hate him. If only I had a dad like Jonathan.' But I shut my mouth quickly. I didn't want to spoil things by talking about Jasmine and annoying Will.

‘Cheer up, little sister,' said Will.

‘Oh Will!' I sobbed.

‘Hey, you won't need a shower at this rate. Race you for the bathroom, eh?'

Will got there long before me, but he was only two minutes using the bathroom. I took much longer, washing my hair in the bath. I heard music coming from Will's room, beautiful strange piano playing. He usually played really loud thumping rock music, partly to annoy Dad, but I knew he had a collection of classical CDs that he listened to secretly, using headphones.

When I was dressed I pattered shyly along to his room, my hair tied up in a towel. Will had propped the door open so I could hear the music properly.

‘It's lovely. What is it?'

‘Debussy. It's called “The Dance of Puck”. It's the nearest I can get to fairy music for you.'

I hovered at Will's door. ‘Can I come in?'

‘Sure.'

It was ages since I'd been in Will's bedroom. Muffy's cage was still there, taking up half the room. He'd tied black ribbon and white silk lilies to the bars and made a model of a chinchilla out of papier-mâché, painting it
white and putting it on a pedestal so it looked like a marble memorial statue.

‘Oh Will. You
must
get another.'

‘No, no more pets. I'm not keeping anything caged any more. I'm getting into bats though. I've made a bat box and hung it out the back of our house. I want them to roost in
our
loft.'

‘You are joking, aren't you?' I
thought
he was, but I saw he had several library books on bats. He had piles of books all over his room, mostly non-fiction, but he had a lot of fantasy and horror paperbacks and there were all his old childhood favourites still on the windowsill, the Narnia books and
The Wind in the
Willows
and
The Jungle Book
. There were reminders of the little boy Will all over his room. He'd kept his quartz collection, and the same little troop of pipe-cleaner mountaineers were trekking up this rocky terrain. I looked all round and eventually spotted Big Growl hibernating under a pile of crumpled clothes.

The pictures and postcards Blu-tacked to his walls were more sophisticated, mostly photos of tortured Gothic singers, boys in black with black hair, girls in white with long blonde hair. There was a set of Hieronymus Bosch creatures with rabbit heads and flowering genitals coupling in imaginative new ways, then a painful series of souls being tortured in hell. There were also five photos of Muffy crouching in corners, her snout in the air, her eyes bright with love. The only other photo was one of a baby, a peaky little creature with a shock of thick black hair and big violet eyes.

‘You've got
my
photo on your wall!' I said.

‘Well. You were quite sweet then. You've gone off rapidly since,' said Will.

‘I looked so weird as a baby. It's odd, we are a bit alike. Look at the hair.'

‘I always used to wonder why there weren't any baby photos of me,' said Will. ‘I asked them once. Dad said it was because I was such an ugly little tyke that the camera broke. Mum got a bit flustered and spun me this long story about a photo album going missing. I was more inclined to believe the old man.'

‘What – that you were ugly?' I said.

‘Well, I am,' said Will, lying back on his bed, his arms behind his head.

‘Oh, come
on
! You're milking the poor-little-me situation a bit too much now. You know perfectly well everyone thinks you're drop-dead gorgeous,' I said.

‘What do you think, Violet? No, OK, we're related, more or less. What about little friend Goldilocks? You two obviously have long discussions about me.'