The Girl in the Red Coat (14 page)

‘It looks good on you,’ says Melody from her bunk. She’s touching her own hair, that comes right down to her waist, with love.

I feel all over my head, and my hair’s got scrunched up into curls from being so short.

‘When did this happen?’

Silver shrugs and her frilly skirt goes up and down at the bottom.

‘You’ll need to get dressed,’ she says. ‘This is your closet.’ She opens a wooden cupboard at the top of my bed and the ice-cream dresses are there. I see a picture in my head then, of myself running through a great house, running and screaming. It hurts me to think about so I turn my face down to the floor so the twins won’t see.

‘You get dressed,’ says Silver, ‘and then we’ll play together.’

I put on the yellow dress.

I think of something important to ask Melody. ‘How did I get here?’

She’s playing with a doll on the bunk bed, brushing its long gold hair over and over.

‘I don’t know,’ she says, not interested. ‘The same way everyone does I s’pose.’ She goes back to the brushing.

Now I have a terrible thirst in my mouth so I go to ask for a drink. But there’s something I’ve heard about called ‘being disturbed in the head’. And I really think it might be happening to me. I’m putting one foot in front of the
other and a horrible thing is happening. Someone’s pressing fast forward and I’m going into a speeded-up film. My feet are so quick they’re wheels like there’s an invisible bike I’m riding. In a tick I’m next to Dorothy, wondering how I got there so fast.

‘Please could I have some juice?’ I ask.

She pours some orange juice into a blue plastic cup and hands it to me. I don’t recognise the writing on the side of the carton. It’s not
Tropicana
like we have at home. I loved that word and sometimes I’d be looking at it for nearly an hour. Till Mum said – ‘Maybe I should put it back in the fridge now, it’ll be going off.’

This is different. It’s called
365 Everyday Value.

I take the cup. Thinking about Mum has made my throat hurt really badly.

‘Could you drink any more slowly?’ Dorothy’s watching me, waiting for the cup back. I thought I was drinking at normal speed but she’s there, tapping her foot, like I’m taking ages.

‘You’re like Old Father Time himself and there’s dishes to do and all manner of things. I can’t be standing here watching a girl drink for an hour.’

I hand the cup back, half full, not knowing what she means.

I’m shivering, freezing cold. ‘Where’s my coat?’ I ask.

‘It had to be thrown out, child. You’ll have to make do with one of the twins’ old things till we get you something else.’

My throat feels like it’s about to burst. ‘I wanted that,’ I say, but she’s moved away and doesn’t hear.

I make a silent promise to myself and Mum that when I
get a new one it’ll be red. Somehow it’s the most important thing.

The speeding up and slowing down keeps happening. One minute I’m in the truck and in a flash I’ll be miles away, standing by the tree with no leaves that sticks out of the ground and has black burn marks. Far away there’s the four of them, waving and calling me back. Or I’ll be in bed and watching a drop of rain slide down the window – but it takes a whole day. Outside, a mushroom grows up out of the ground in front of my eyes. I play tea sets with the twins on a fold-up table and their voices go very fast and gabbling like chipmunks and they lift the cups to their lips and pretend to drink, over and over, and their hands move across the table, swapping things about so fast I feel dizzy. Silver speaks to me and the only thing I understand is my name at the end. I hang onto the pillowcase they’re using as a tablecloth and I close my eyes and their angry chipmunky squawks ring in my ears as the tea set things crash down.

Tonight, in bed, there’s light still in the air. I watch the twin in the top bunk and see her hair grow. Her long black plait flops over the edge and the tassel end of it goes downwards like black oil dribbling.

What’s happening? I ask myself. I’m seeing the hair grow right out of people’s heads.

I make friends with the twins. They go off sometimes and Silver won’t talk to me. But even then Melody comes into the truck and holds my hand. We’re playing with dolls when Grandad takes me outside.

‘I want to know, dear. What you are thinking.’

We’re sitting on the spiky grass and I can feel the pointed ends of it poking through my thin dress. It’ll make holes in my tights, but I don’t care that much.

‘Right this minute? You want to know what I’m thinking right this minute?’

‘Yes, dear.’

I’ve been staring at the white painted side of the van. There’s black words showing through the paint, it says:
Drakerton’s Fine Quality
… I don’t know fine quality what because the paint’s thicker after that, so you can’t see the words.

‘I’m wondering what the fine quality things were.’

‘Oh.’ Grandad’s voice sounds disappointed, like it’s not a good thing to think about at all. But I have the feeling everything’s about to go speeded up or slowed down again and talking feels like it might be a way of stopping it happening.

‘What do you think, Grandad? There’s biscuits with tartan on that say “fine quality”, d’you think …’

He interrupts. ‘I don’t think you should call me Grandad now.’

I turn to him. ‘But why? You are my grandad, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, of course, dear. Except here, people don’t really … The twins think it’s odd. And other people might, you never know.’

‘But what should I call you then?’ I think of the word
Dennis.
I don’t like the way that word is shaped.

‘How about Pa? It’s what the twins call me. You could call me that.’

‘Pa?’

‘Mmmm?’ He answers, like I’ve already agreed to say it. But if you say a certain name, a name like
Father
or
Pa
for instance, it feels very strong. It could change how they are to you. And how you are to them. My father’s a bit rubbish, he’s a dad who wants to be with his new girlfriend rather than coming to get me in his red Peugeot. It doesn’t stop him being my dad.

I purposely prick my fingers on the spiky grass. ‘No, I don’t think I can do that. I don’t think I can manage that.’

‘Oh.’ His face goes cloudy. ‘Well, what about Grandaddy then?’

This sounds awful.

‘Mmm. Sounds a bit like …’

‘Yes?’

‘… like a daddy-long-legs.’

He sighs, he’s getting annoyed now. ‘Grandpa?’

‘Mmm. Not sure about that …’ I try pulling up a stalk of grass. But it’s too strong and doesn’t want to come out of the ground.

‘What about …?’ I ask.

‘Yes?’

‘What about Gramps? I could call you Gramps. That’s
what Sara calls her grandad.’ This makes me think about Sara. ‘D’you think I can send my friend something? I could write a letter to tell her where I am and maybe you could post it?’

He goes quiet and his head turns slowly one way then the other like he’s looking all around for things coming in the distance.

At last he says, ‘Yes, yes. But concentrate on the issue in hand, child. This is much more important.’

‘I said, Gramps.’

‘I guess that’ll have to do then.’ He seems disappointed.

I smile at him, so he’ll feel better about it. ‘I like it. It sounds friendly.’

‘Well, I guess that’s important …’

‘Do I have to call Dorothy anything else?’

‘No.’ He’s sighing again and heaving himself off the ground. I can tell his leg is hurting him bad today. ‘No, I guess Dorothy can be Dorothy. Seems to have been enough trouble calling me by something decent.’

I didn’t mean to be trouble. But I didn’t want to call him Pa.

He’s standing above me, in front of the sun. It makes him black, so I can’t see his mouth moving when he talks.

‘Come, dear. I think we should have a little walk. Just the two of us together.’

I shake my head. I don’t want to be on my own with him.

‘Why, child? Why ever not?’

How can I tell him he gives me the creeps sometimes? It’d be rude, upsetting. Specially after how he’s looked after me.

‘I want to stay here and play.’

He leans down and pulls me up out of the ground – pop! – like a weed. And he keeps hold of my hand and he’s strong.

We set off across the great wide earth and I can feel three lots of eyes in our backs as we go, wondering where we’re off to.

The sky is so big and the ground with huge rocks sticking out of it seems to go on for ever and ever. Miles away in the distance is a misty blue that could be mountains, or clouds. We pass a tree sometimes, sticking up out of the ground, but each time the tree looks like it really doesn’t want to be there. And some of them are burned, like the one I’ve found myself at when the speeding up happens. Even Grandad –
Gramps
– seems tiny in this great big place and because the ground is either rocky or covered with bumpy grass he has trouble walking over it with his bad leg. He’s sweating and every now and again he has to stop and wipe his glasses with a hanky. The jolting makes his face screw up with pain. I look back. The truck is a white spot far away and I can’t even see Dorothy and the two girls.

We stop by a tree. It’s bare jagged wood, black and burned. Gramps leans against the tree and closes his eyes. I think he must be resting, so I sit on the grass away from him and flick the seeds off a stem. I keep an eye on him though. Keep looking back over my shoulder.

‘Come here.’ I hear his voice behind me at last.

I sit still.

‘Come here,’ he says again. I don’t want him to get angry so I do, but I can feel my heart going fast inside me. Children are like the zombies I once saw in a film at Dad’s. We have to do as we’re told and obey like our brains have got eaten.

There’s not much room for both of us to lean on the tree. I stand there, a bit away from him, and look down at the dust on my shiny shoes.

He says, ‘C’mon, c’mon,’ and makes me move so we get squashed close together, our sides touching. He’s taken off his glasses and he must have put them in his pocket because I can’t see them anywhere. His pale eyes are shiny-bright.

‘We need to have a very special and unusual talk, Carmel. We need to have a conversation.’

‘What about?’

He looks at me hard. ‘Pain.’

‘Pain?’

‘Yes, dear. Pain. My pain.’ He touches his side. ‘You’ve seen how I walk? Well, sometimes it’s bad. Real bad.’

‘How did you hurt your leg, Gramps?’ I ask.

‘A motor vehicle went into me.’

I have to stop myself from crying out because the picture of a pair of brown boots sticking out from under a truck flashes in my brain.

‘Oh, oh,’ I gasp. ‘How?’

‘That’s not important. What’s important is the here and now.’

He’s looking at me so hard I feel I’m going to fall over. Then he sighs a little, but it’s a happy sigh. Excited.

‘Please, Grandad – Gramps. Can we go back now?’

‘No.’ His voice is sharp. ‘It’s high time, you know.’

‘Please, Gramps.’ I put my arms behind me and cling onto the tree. ‘I don’t know … I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ That comes out wrong.

‘Oh yes? I think you do.’

Behind his eyes reminds me of trees waving about on a stormy night. The muscles on his face are so tight, if I touched it my hand would bounce right off his skin. My short curly head prickles all over.

I suddenly have the idea he could murder me out here.

I don’t know where the idea has come from but it makes my muscles move, to run off, but he catches me by the arm and pulls me back.

He holds my arm tight and I see him moving his face about. Making it nicer.

‘Don’t run away, Carmel. Why did you do that? Promise me you won’t do that again.’

I don’t say anything.

‘Promise?’

I nod. I can’t tell him it’s because I had the idea he was going to murder me.

‘I don’t know if you know it, but you are a very rare person. Exceptional might be the way to name it. Not everyone can see it, but I can. I know how rare and special you are.’ He lets go.

I don’t want to be rare. I rub at my arm where he’s hurt it.

Perhaps Gramps knows about how time keeps changing for me, and that’s what he means. But I haven’t said about it happening and I don’t think he can read my mind. I rack my brains because Gramps is staring like he’s waiting for an answer. The only other secret thing is how I see the energy in people and how it goes up and down, how they can be empty or full like a glass of milk. I haven’t told him about that thing either. Both are private and I wouldn’t know how to start talking about them.

‘I, I don’t understand, Gramps.’

‘Yes, yes, sure you do.’ He’s nodding away to himself.

I can feel myself wanting to cry. ‘I don’t, please. Please can we go and see Dorothy? I’m thirsty.’

‘The first time I saw you, I knew about this rarity and I’ve
waited. I’ve waited and waited to talk about these things. I’ve been as patient as Job and it hasn’t been easy, Carmel, knowing how wonderful things can be and having to wait. But sometimes that’s what you have to do until the time has come. This morning, when I woke up and the day was so fresh and clear, it felt like the world had been washed new. And I thought: now’s the time, today’s the day – give me your hand.’

I don’t want to.

‘Carmel, your hand. Give me your hand, stop shallying.’

I want to put my hand behind my back and not let him touch it even. I want to run off to Dorothy, even though I know she doesn’t want me now she’s got her twins back. But if I try to run he’ll grab me again so I’m trapped. I start to cry little sniffling sobs.

Slowly, he crouches down. It hurts him a lot to do.

‘Carmel, dear. This is not a time for sadness. It’s a joyful, joyful thing, this gift you have.’

His face is close to mine. ‘What gift?’ I sob.

He sighs. ‘Calm down, will you? I can’t tell you. I can only show you.’

He stands up again and his face has to scrunch up because it hurts him so much. He takes my hand, very slow and gentle. His hand feels cracked and rough at the fingertips, then very smooth on his palm.

‘In this hand …’ He stops and seems to get stuck with his eyes raised to the sky.

After a while I must be fidgeting because he snaps out of it and bends over me.

‘Carmel, stay still. You’re jumping around like a cricket. How can I concentrate?’

‘What are you doing, Gramps?’

He looks right at me then with his eyes gone big. My head starts prickling again. My hair feels now like it’s waving about on its own like tentacles.

‘Put your hands on me, child. Oh Lord, see this girl who is a vessel of your grace …’ He stops and mumbles to himself.

I reach out and put my hand on his arm, scared everything will slow down and I’ll be stuck in this awful time forever. It’ll be like when Dad’s video gets put on pause and the picture stops, but jumps from side to side.

‘Now, not there. On my leg, on the site of my pain. Oh God …’

And I do as he says because I know the sooner I do, the sooner I’ll be allowed back with Dorothy. I put my hand very light and soft where he’s showed me. On the rough black stuff his trousers are made of, by the side of his hip. He goes quiet and screws his eyes up tight.

Then everything does speed up, like I was scared of, in a terrible way. Clouds rush overhead and the sun chases them across the sky. It gets hot as the sun flies up to the top of the sky then cool again as it falls down. The grass flaps and waves, following the sun and everything grows – even the tree waggles its branches and goes upwards.

When time goes back to normal the air is orange. The glowing sun is halfway past the edge of the world, so there’s only its huge top half shining at us. Gramps’s face has sweat on it. Slowly, he opens his eyes.

‘Take your hand away now, Carmel.’

My hand’s gone stiff and clamped to his side like it’s been there for hours. I try to wiggle my fingers around but my
hand’s turned into a claw. It waves uselessly in the air with the fingers curled up.

Now Gramps has got a different face – he’s so calm and smiling. Like there’d never been any pain in his whole life.

‘
Now
we’ll see how I’ve been right all along. How I’ve ignored the railings of my wife because I’ve known in my heart what’s true. What we’re about to witness, here together, is beyond mortal powers. It comes from heaven, child. It comes from heaven.’

I’m hoping what he says means this is nearly over. I don’t think I can stand being here with him, all alone, for much longer.

‘Don’t look upset, dear.’ He puts his hand down and strokes my cheek. ‘We should be jubilating. It’s a fine and a tender thing. Now then.’

He makes some grunting noises. He’s got stiff too, leaning against the tree for so long.

‘That’s the way.’ He stands up proper and straight and puts his shoulders right back. ‘Now then.’

He pats himself up and down and then smoothes his hair back with both hands. He puts one brown lace-up shoe in front of the other like he’s testing something out.

‘With the grace.’ Then his voice goes very low and quiet so I can’t hear what he’s saying.

He starts taking steps away from the tree, slow and stiff. He walks five steps, stops and smoothes back his hair, and starts off again back towards the way we came.

But his limp is worse now. The ground’s so bumpy it’s jolting through his whole body. He gets slower and slower and I think, if I was on the other side of him, I’d see his head pressing out tight into the garlic bulb.

He stops and slowly turns round until he’s looking at me.

‘What are you, child?’ My legs start shaking so much I think they’re going to crumple up underneath me.

He limps towards me with his feet slipping everywhere and his face ugly with temper. I can hear little whimper noises coming out of me even though I didn’t know I was making them. I’m pressed into the tree so hard it’s hurting.

‘Are you really a child?’ he yells over to me, his voice scattering over the rocks. ‘Are you really?’

‘Of course I am. You know I am. I’m your granddaughter.’

He charges right up to me and puts his hands on my shoulders and his face right in front of mine. I can’t see anything except his eyes and the two of them keep joining up and making one great big purple-blue one. I can’t help it, I scream. I scream right into his face.