"h.e.l.lo," says the cupcake lady, plopping down on the bench. "I"m glad to see you again. Haven"t seen you around for ages. Fancy a cupcake? I"ve a few left and if I eat them all myself I"ll end up as big as a whale!"
I take a cupcake with yellow swirly icing and b.u.t.terflies on top. I don"t really want a cupcake; I want fish and peas and salty things. But I don"t want her to think I"m rude. So I nibble round the edge while she munches up a white one covered in a million silver b.a.l.l.s.
The park lady talks and talks and talks and I don"t even have to answer. She tells me about her day and her dog and her grandchildren and the disaster that is her vegetable patch. She tells me about the old folk who come into the park at eleven o"clock every morning for coffee and how she"s a bit worried about where they"ll all go when the winter settles in.
I think about Manchester then and wonder where the kids go at night when it gets really cold. Then she tells me she makes these novelty cakes for people"s birthdays and special occasions and that her son-in-law is building her a website to get the word round. And her voice is like the longest train; it goes on and on forever.
"Well," she says, at last, brushing cake crumbs off her lap and pushing another cupcake into my hands. "I best be off. Milo will be expecting his walk. See you again."
"Bye," I say, wishing she"d stay longer, wishing I could rest my head on her soft arm and go to sleep.
At Amy"s mum"s they"re all in the garden and Dad"s pretending to spray Amy with the hosepipe. Amy"s squealing for him to stop because she doesn"t want to get her clothes wet, but anyone can tell she doesn"t really mean it.
"What happened at school, Dad?" I whisper. "What did they say? Did the police come? Are you in trouble?"
"Oh, don"t go on, Gabriella," he says. "We"re having fun! They"ll get over their little tantrum now you"re back. Why don"t you go and do your homework or something?"
I sit on the wobbly camp bed and rest my new Geography book on my knees. I"m supposed to be writing about settlements, but my head"s racing so much it"s hard to concentrate. I can"t believe I"m back sitting in a bedroom, doing my homework whilst everything"s still going on in Manchester. I wish Amy"s mum could make a nice big pot of something tasty and we could drive it up there to feed Tia and everyone else. I think about Tia and her hairy dad and my tummy flips over like a pancake. I can"t believe Dad and Amy are actually married, that she"s officially my step-mum. I"ll never call her that, not ever. I wonder how many homeworks I missed while I was away. I wonder how much other stuff I missed.
A settlement is a place where people live. It can be a house on its own or a hamlet, a village, a town or a large city. Nearly all settlements started as hamlets or villages.
Settlements make me think about Manchester again. About all the kids huddling together, making a village of their own. I wonder how many street kids it would take to make a city.
Amy"s mum makes sausage and mash with onion gravy for our tea. We balance it on our laps and watch EastEnders together while Dad and Amy go to the pub. Then she runs me a lavender bubble bath and I stay in it, shoulder deep, until my fingertips go chalk-white and wrinkly.
She brings me hot chocolate, and when I"m in my new pyjamas I dig another cupcake out of my bag. It"s a bit squashed, but I tell her about the park lady not wanting to be a whale and Amy"s mum laughs. We share the cake while she sits on the edge of the camp bed and reads me three chapters of this book called The Painted Garden. I lie on the soft pillow and melt into her voice that flows out of her mouth like a lullaby.
When she"s pecked me on the cheek and snapped off the light I close my eyes and don"t let myself think even for one minute about Beckett or Blue Bunny.
On Sat.u.r.day, while Dad and Amy are at the shops, Amy"s mum and I sit in the garden making strings of pretty beads into bracelets. She got these teensy beads and you have to thread the thin elastic stuff on to a needle, tie a knot and feed the little beads on. They remind me of those hundreds and thousands things the park lady puts on her cupcakes; there are so many colours. We"ve got some tiny silver charms too and some bigger gla.s.s beads that twinkle and sparkle in the sun, making rainbows on my hands. I have six bracelets jingling on my wrist already.
Amy"s mum is telling me that after the beads we"ll have a snack and another few chapters of The Painted Garden, when all of a sudden there"s this big bang on the door. I don"t really think much about it because it"s not my house. I just carry on threading while Amy"s mum goes to answer it. Then I hear this deep voice and a rush of feet and I panic that it"s the police after Dad.
So when I look up I can"t believe my eyes.
I have to blink a few times in case I"m imagining things.
There is a man standing there, just standing there in Amy"s mum"s garden, with the washing flapping near his ear.
The face in the little photo Dad forgot to put in my backpack flashes through my brain, flickering and moving, slipping and sliding. I look up at the man in front of me then back at the photo image in my mind.
My heart is clattering like mad.
The man in the garden has a stubbly chin.
He has this crazy, wild hair.
And it"s not until I notice he"s clutching Blue Bunny tightly in his hand that I know for sure that the complete miracle standing in front of me is Beckett.
It is actually him.
And seeing him here, just knowing he"s alive and real makes me crackle all over. It makes my chest fill up with the hugest pressure of everything. And Beckett just stands there, smiling, looking at me as if I were a complete miracle too.
"Hey," he says, with this big grin on his face, "I found you!"
He holds Blue Bunny out to me, tipping his head slightly to one side like he always did. "I found him too," he smiles, waggling him in the air. "In Selfridges. I thought you might be missing him."
My heart"s banging in my throat and there"s this ringing sound in my ears. I stand up. I stretch my hand out to Blue Bunny and every part of me wants to fly into Beckett"s arms.
"Beckett!" I croak. "Beckett!"
Amy"s mum quietly nods then leaves us in the garden alone, and I turn into a volcano, all the boiling hot lava inside me gushing out. I tell Beckett about Dad and Amy; about Grace"s mum"s garden shed; about Colin on the train and everything in Manchester. I tell him all about Mum and Connor and Jayda and my eyes turn into a river too and I can"t stop crying.
Beckett listens quietly, holding me in his golden-eyed gaze until my talking stops. Then he stands up and pulls some papers out of his brown jacket pocket. He swishes them through the air like a sword.
"Listen to me carefully, Gabriella," he says. "I"ve got something important to tell you. I got an Emergency Care Order, which means you"re safe. We"ll need to jump through more hoops to make it permanent, but everyone a.s.sures me we"ll get there. You never have to live with Mum or your dad again. Not ever. You"re coming to live with me. I"m going to take care of you."
A lady I don"t know peeps her face out of the back door and smiles.
"It"s true, Gabriella," she says. "I"m Lizzie. I"m your Social Worker and I"ve come with Beckett to get you. We have everything in writing."
I can"t say a word. So many things are crashing around inside me I think I might explode.
Why have I got a Social Worker? How come I didn"t know?
Beckett tugs a strand of messy hair from his eyes. Amy"s mum comes into the garden and takes the papers from Beckett. She looks at them carefully, reading every single word. Her face looks really serious and sad, and for a minute I think Beckett"s got it wrong.
Then she looks up at me and nods. "What about it, princess?" she says.
A million yeses are sitting on my tongue, screaming to be heard, but I can"t seem to spit them out. Beckett comes so close I can smell him. He"s this friendly mix of wood smoke and spice. He rests the palm of his hand on my back.
"I never forgot about you, Gabriella," he says. "I"ve been waiting for this day. I"ve been waiting for you forever."
I can"t move. Everything is thrumming all over.
"Is this what you want, Gaby?" says Amy"s mum, taking my hand. "Because if it is, you"d better get moving."
"But what about Dad?" I say, panicking.
"But what about you, Gabriella?" says Beckett. "This is your chance to do something good for you. Mum and your dad don"t really care about anything but themselves. They never really have. They"ve never really seen us, Gabriella, they"ve never thought about what we need. We might as well have been invisible. So it"s time to think of yourself, Gabriella, to work out what you need for you."
I jingle the bracelets on my wrist and sit back down on a stripy garden chair because my legs are weak with worry.
"I looked everywhere for you," I say, sniffing back my tears, remembering the wet mirror puddles in the street. "Everywhere."
"I know," he says, kneeling down and taking my hand, "I know. And I"m so sorry you couldn"t find me. I was there all along. Just round the corner."
"Do you really want me to come?" I ask. "Because it"s OK if you don"t. I don"t mind."
He pulls a scruffy leather wallet from his pocket, opens it and shows me a photo of a little girl with untameable brown hair.
"Who"s that?" I ask. "Have you got a daughter?"
Beckett laughs. "No, silly, it"s you! I"ve carried this with me every day since Mum and I left. I vowed to myself that one day I"d come and find you."
He looks shy for a moment, then he coughs and says, "I want you to come with me, Gabriella. I always have. I was just too young to do anything about it before now."
I suck the warm air deep into my lungs, hold it there for a minute while my brain cogs turn everything round, and then let it all out in a rush.
"OK," I say, my body flooding with relief. "I"ll come."
Amy"s mum flies into action, gathering my stuff up and neatly folding it into a pretty bag with daisies on. She makes everyone a cup of tea. My heart is hammering so loud. We have to wait for Dad. Amy"s mum puts her arms around me and pulls me so close that my nose touches her powdery neck. She takes my face between her gentle hands and fixes her watery grey eyes on mine.
"You be a good girl, OK?" she says, tears spilling from the corners of her eyes. "Be a good girl for your brother and never let anyone hurt you again. And remember that everything that happened wasn"t your fault. You didn"t do anything wrong, Gabriella. They were the parents; it was their job to look after you, not the other way round."
Amy"s mum slips the bracelet making stuff in my bag along with The Painted Garden.
"I don"t think I"ll be able to talk to Dad," I say, my voice splintering like wood. "I can"t..."
I pull out a sheet of paper and in blue pencil I write a letter for Dad to read when I"ve gone.
Dear Dad, I"m sorry if I hurt you, but I had to go. I"m making a fresh start with Beckett.
You"ve got Amy now, so I know you"ll be OK.
I do love you, Gabriella x.x.x When Dad and Amy get back from the shops I freeze. Lizzie sits up very straight in the chair. She coughs, quietly. Amy"s mum gathers the teacups, gently squeezes my shoulder and disappears into the kitchen.
Beckett takes my hand and I can feel his heartbeat through his skin.
"What in the name of sunshine is going on here, then?" says Dad, popping his fat, wobbly tummy through the doorway.
"We"re leaving," says Beckett.
"Oh, right, I see," smirks Dad. "You"re barely out of nappies yourself, boy. Who do you think you are, coming in here and throwing your weight around?"
"That"s right, Dave," says Amy, barging forward with arms full of shopping bags. "You tell him."
She peers at Beckett.
"And who in heaven"s name are you, anyway?"
"I"m Gabriella"s brother," says Beckett, pulling the Emergency Care Order out of his pocket and thrusting it in Dad"s face. "And it"s legal. I"ve got every right to be here."
Then Lizzie stands up, shakes Dad"s hand and tells him all about the law and everything. Dad leans back with his mouth wide open, looking like someone has just pulled all the soft purply bits inside him out and laid them on the table in front of him. I"m holding on tight to Beckett, keeping my eyes down, with this big guilty feeling eating huge chunks out of my heart. I"m praying that Dad won"t look at me, wishing Beckett and I could just make ourselves invisible and slide away unnoticed.
But he does.
His eyes land on me and feel sticky and heavy on my skin.
"You"re not really going, are you, Gabriella?" he says, his voice fading away, like it does when Amy shouts at him. "You"re not really going to leave me, are you?" And I"m five years old again. Hating feeling so small and weak, wishing I were as tall and as strong as a tree so I could prop Dad up and kiss his hurts better. I flick my eyes up to meet his and they kill me with all the sadness swimming inside them.
"I have to, Dad," I croak. "I"m sorry, but I have to go."
Dad stumbles, his knees buckling. He flops into a chair, his cheeks sagging because he knows there"s nothing more to say.
We climb into Lizzie"s car and Beckett sits in the back next to me. He clicks my seatbelt in and I dig my hand deep in my pocket and hold on to Blue Bunny"s ear. I look at Amy"s mum"s house, and Dad"s there with his face pressed against the window, steam from his breathing smudging around him.
Lizzie puts the radio on. It"s a song called I Know You Care. And I feel so shy being next to Beckett and yet every part of me knows him like not even a day has gone past since he left.
"How did you find me?" I whisper.
"Long story," he smiles. "I was in Selfridges with my girlfriend, Leila, looking at bridesmaid dresses for her friend"s wedding. And Blue Bunny was just sitting there by the till looking so lost and alone. Leila asked the shop a.s.sistant how he got there and she said someone had dropped him. She decided to leave him by the till in case someone came looking for him. Then a few days later I was lying in bed and it suddenly hit me a he was yours.
"I couldn"t make sense of it at first. I mean why would your Blue Bunny be in Manchester? But I got up and ran straight back to the shop as fast as I could. I remembered I"d drawn the heart on his chest and my name on his label. And there it was. Something told me you needed me more than ever."
"And then what happened next?" I say.
"Well," he says, "I visit Connor at school every week to check he"s OK. We chat through the fence and I give him sandwiches and stuff. He said you"d been at Mum"s, looking for me. That every time you saw him, you asked him if he knew me. He said now you"d gone back with your dad and he was to tell me that you were living near the swimming pool. I went straight to Social Services. They had Amy"s mum"s address because they were on to your dad for negligence already. He should never have left you on your own, Gabriella."
I feel bad about Dad. The word negligence makes something thump and twist in my chest. I think about his fat wobbly tummy and Amy poking it. I think of him pushing the vacuum round, doing his exercises. I know he didn"t mean to hurt me. I know he didn"t really want it to be like this. He would"ve watched another eclipse with me one day. I know deep down that he wanted to.
We stop in town to get a drink and a snack and then drive the long ribbony motorways back to Manchester, talking about everything in the world. I"m still finding it hard to believe that Beckett wanted me to come and live with him all this time.
There are things about us that are the same, but others that are different. Beckett likes drawing too, but he"s not much into telly. He lives on the ca.n.a.l; he shows me photos on his phone of his narrow boat. It"s called Providence and it"s all red and green paint and shiny bra.s.s.
He shows me photos of his girlfriend, Leila, and I almost burst open right there and then. It"s the girl with the bubbly hair and smudgy eyes. The one with the guitar at Manchester Piccadilly station, with the voice that"s smoother than chocolate.
"You"ll have to learn to make the fire," says Beckett, "if you want to keep warm in winter. And we"ll have to get you a bike so you can zip down the towpath to school." He pauses then he says, smiling, "One thing I want to know is, how exactly did Blue Bunny find himself in Selfridges?"
"That"s a long story too," I say. "And I will tell you one day. But there"s more important stuff I need to know. Beckett, what happened with you and Mum?" I ask, "Why won"t she talk about you? It"s like you never existed."
Beckett runs his hand through his scraggy hair and tips his head to one side.
"That"s another long story," he says. "The short version is that once we got to Manchester she had this string of crazy boyfriends. When I was fourteen I decided I"d had enough, so I went to live with my best mate and his dad. It was cool. His dad helped me get my exams done and get a job and stuff. Then I heard that Mum"d had Connor and it made me so mad. She wasn"t fit to be a mother, she shouldn"t put another child through the same nightmare she"d put you and me through. And I went round there and told her so."
He rests his hand on his lap and rubs the soft bit of skin between his fingers.
"She didn"t like hearing the truth," he says. "So she said she never wanted to see me again. And then she went on to have Jayda. Sometimes I wonder why she had any of us. She doesn"t even seem to like kids, but she keeps on having more. I worry about them. It"s why I visit Connor at school. I watch the house sometimes to make sure Jayda"s OK."
"It was horrid in there," I say. "She"s horrid to them."
Lizzie"s ears p.r.i.c.k up.
I look at Beckett.
"We can"t do anything yet," he says, "but you mustn"t worry. Social Services have their eye on them. They"re not invisible."
Lizzie drops us off by the ca.n.a.l, handing us my bag and saying goodbye.