Life, Death and Gold Leather Trousers Page 11

  “Are you meeting Ed?” I ask tersely.

  She nods, and I feel a twinge of guilt. She looks pretty, with her make-up immaculately applied, and her eyes sparkle with excitement. “I’ll only be gone a couple of hours,” she adds. “Want me to ask Betty to come over?”

  “No, it’s all right. I can look after Lily.”

  Her face breaks into a smile, and she pulls me in for a hug. “You’re such a good girl, Clover, you know that?”

  I nod wordlessly.

  “Sometimes I don’t know how I’d manage without you.”

  I smile awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

  In fact, she’s out for more than two hours. She went out at eight, and it’s nearly midnight when she creeps in, thinking I won’t hear her heels clacking on the wooden floor of our hall. From the stillness of my room, I hear a low, rumbly voice too. It’s not just Mum – she must have brought Ed back with her. Then music goes on. It’s not screamingly loud, but loud enough for me to hear that it’s one of Jupe’s old records. I don’t know why she’s picked that one, as Mum stopped playing Jupe’s stuff after the terrible thing happened and we all fell out. It was as if she was trying to rub him out of our lives. Maybe Ed likes it, or she’s showing off about her famous brother, even though he’s dead and she hadn’t spoken to him in three years. As far as claims to fame go, it does seem a bit lame.

  About an hour later, I hear Ed leaving and Mum padding softly upstairs to bed. Only then can I breathe normally and drift off to sleep.

  As Mum still hasn’t found a new job, I don’t have to collect Lily from school every day any more. “I’m in town anyway,” Mum explained, “dropping off job applications to the shops and cafés. So I can start picking her up.” Freedom! This means I can head down to the beach if I want, like everyone other normal person my age, before everyone drifts home for dinner.

  Today, I’m actually invited round to Jess’s. It’s not that Jess doesn’t want me to come over very often. It’s Jess’s mum, who’s super-strict, and reckons Jess should be huddled over her homework for about six hours a night. I usually have mine done in about ten minutes. “You don’t think anything’s going on between Riley and Skelling, do you?” she asks, lounging on her pristine cream-coloured duvet amidst a scattering of glossy magazines.

  “I don’t know,” I tell her. “If ever I mention her, he acts like he doesn’t want to talk about it. And it’s weird – even when she’s being catty and horrible, he’s still kind of … loyal and nice to her. I mean, I wouldn’t want someone like that constantly hanging around me…”

  “Maybe he’s just flattered,” Jess remarks.

  “Yeah, perhaps that’s it… Anyway,” I say with a shrug, “I’m sick of worrying about Skelling. I’ve just got too much going now with Mum seeing Ed, and having to go round to Dad’s and be all smiley with Bernice…”

  She nods in sympathy. I glance around Jess’s room. Everything’s in its place: books neatly lined up on shelves, nail polishes in a tidy arrangement on her dressing table, guitar propped up in the corner of the room (I taught Jess three chords ages ago, but she lost interest after that). As an only child, Jess doesn’t have to share.

  “You’re right,” Jess adds. “Who cares about an airhead like that? And Riley obviously likes you…”

  “Well,” I say with a shrug, “I guess he does. He walked through town with me when I was wearing that bear costume. Not a lot of boys would do that.”

  First thing I see when I get home is a tracksuit top – a man’s tracksuit top – strewn over our banister. And there’s something else. A noise, a terrible growling noise, coming from our bathroom. I stop dead in our hallway and stare up. “Raaaaaaa!” it goes, like a wild beast that’s broken into our house and is running amok with Mum’s wrinkle creams. “Ma luuurve’s extreme!” the beast roars. “Outta space, outta ma miiiind…”

  Oh God. There’s a man up there, in our bathroom – in our shower, judging by the acoustics – belting it out, as if he’s Jupe.

  “Ah’d go to Mars for you…” he screams on. “Jupiter and Saturn too…”

  Right now, being teleported to Pluto would suit me just fine. I shut my eyes tightly and try to beam myself there. Lily’s draped across the sofa, watching TV, as if this is perfectly normal. Mum appears from the kitchen, oven gloves on her hands, a massive smile on her face. “Have a nice time at Jess’s?” she asks.

  “Er, yes, thanks. Who’s, um … up there?”

  “Oh, that!” She chuckles as if she’s only just registered the terrible warbling. “Ed popped by. He’d been out for a run, then I persuaded him to stay for a while and have some dinner with us. He was a bit sweaty, so I said he could have a quick shower…”

  “Oh,” I choke out. Ed, a bit sweaty. I start to feel a little sick.

  “I’m making lasagne,” Mum adds cheerfully. “Want some, darling?”

  “Er, no, I had dinner at Jess’s, thanks.” A normal dinner in a normal house. OK, it was slightly tense, with Jess’s mum watching us closely to make sure our table manners were up to standard. But still. There was no screaming madman in the shower upstairs.

  Mum calls Lily through for dinner, and I park myself in front of the TV. When I peep into the kitchen later, everyone – Lily, Mum, Ed – is assembled happily around the table like some beaming family from a cereal ad. Mum is wearing a new turquoise top and full make-up. Ed is wearing a dressing gown. Dad’s dressing gown, I realize with a jolt, that he didn’t bother taking when he left us. What’s Mum thinking, letting him wear it? Because Ed’s so much wider than Dad, his vast chest is forcing it open at the front, and a forest of dark, frizzy chest hair sprouts up towards his fat, pink neck.

  I scuttle back to the TV. When I look through again, Ed’s still at our table, chatting to Mum. “Hi, Clover,” he says gruffly, finally noticing me standing there.

  “Hello,” I snarl. He doesn’t even look embarrassed to be here, let alone to be wearing my dad’s dressing gown next to his hairy bare-naked skin. As he gets up to fetch the teapot from the worktop, refilling his and Mum’s mugs, I realize he looks as if, as if … he lives here. As if he really is one of us, after knowing Mum for about five minutes. Obviously, Mum having two daughters – one who’s trying to zap him with sour vibes from the kitchen doorway – isn’t putting him off her one bit. I hear Lily trotting upstairs. A few moments later, the tinny sound of her favourite compilation CD filters down from our room.

  “Not long till the summer holidays,” Mum says, smiling at me.

  “Are we going on holiday?” I ask warily.

  Mum grins soppily at Ed, and he winks at her. “Oh, I’m not sure about that. Money’s so tight with me not working, love. But I’m sure we’ll figure out something.” I don’t bother quizzing her because if there is a plan, and it involves Ed, I’d rather pretend it’s not happening so I can mentally spirit myself off to some other place (like Pluto) where Mum is normal again, not a giggling temptress stirring Mr Muscle’s tea.

  I mean, he pumps iron at the gym, right? And he rips apart entire cows with his teeth. So surely he’s capable of handling a tiddly teaspoon all by himself?

  Jess and I head for the beach after school the next day, where Riley and a whole load of boys are messing about with surfboards. There’s a pile of school clothes dumped on the beach, and the boys have all changed into surf shorts. “Hope it’s OK,” I tell Mum on my mobile, trying not to stare as Riley plunges through the waves. “It’s just, everyone else was going…”

  “That’s fine, love,” she says, sounding all sparkly and happy. “Just be careful and come back by five.” In fact, it’s such a laugh on the beach – a great gang of us and, even better, no Skelling – that I totally forget the time as we run through the surf and gather up armfuls of driftwood for a fire. When you live at the seaside, you often take it for granted and forget how great it can be. As we all work togethe
r to keep the fire going, piling on bits of broken crate, I start to wish the day could stretch on for ever. It’s nearly six when I finally get home, and my school trousers are soaking.

  “Sorry, Mum,” I mumble, expecting a lecture about my precious uniform being ruined.

  She sighs, then rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Well, I suppose it’s better you’re out in the fresh air than moping about here. You’d better get changed, though, instead of dripping all over the floor.”

  I’m getting changed in my room when I hear Ed arriving. I get dressed quickly, shovel down my dinner at top speed in front of the TV and hope Mum won’t bring him through from the kitchen so we can all sit and have a jolly conversation. My guitar’s propped up against the sofa, so I pick it up and start to play.

  “How long you been playin’, then?” Ed’s appeared in the living room clutching a mug of tea.

  “Um, since I was about seven,” I tell him.

  Ed emits a low whistle. “You’re not bad. Not bad at all.”

  “Thanks,” I say, sensing a smidgeon of pride.

  “Suppose it’s in the blood,” he adds, “with your uncle and that.”

  I nod. The last thing I want right now is to be sucked into a conversation about Jupe.

  “I love his music, you know,” Ed goes on. “Couldn’t believe it when I found out he was your mum’s brother.”

  I nod, not knowing what to say.

  “Shame they fell out,” Ed adds. “You’d think they could’ve worked it out, don’t you?”

  “Er, yes,” I say in a small voice.

  “Guess your mum’s pretty stubborn,” he adds with a smile.

  “Yeah, I suppose she is. But I don’t know, really. I’ve tried to ask why we just lost touch, but she obviously hates talking about it.”

  Ed nods, taking this in. “Anyway,” he adds, brightening, “I like your playing style, Clover. Only…” He scratches his round, pink head. “…Couldn’t you play a bit more…”

  “A bit more what?”

  “Well … louder.” He grins, and a gold bottom tooth glints. “It’d sound better if you really went for it, know what I’m saying?”

  I blink at him. “It’s an acoustic guitar, Ed. Not electric.”

  “Uh?” he grunts.

  “It’s, like, you can’t turn it up, unless you’ve got an electric pickup and amp, which I don’t have. You can strum harder, but it’s never going to be really loud, if you mean loud like electric loud…”

  “Haven’t you got an electric guitar?” Ed asks, frowning.

  “Er, no.”

  “Oh.” He looks genuinely crestfallen. “That’s a shame. You’re a talented girl. Don’t they have guitars at school, then?”

  “They do,” I explain, “but we’re not allowed to take them home. And I can’t ask Mum for one with her not working at the moment…”

  “Got a Saturday job?”

  I shake my head. “I’m only thirteen. I’m going to help out my guitar teacher with a bit of babysitting, but that’s in exchange for my lessons.”

  Ed nods and sips his tea. “Well, that’s pretty resourceful. Can I, um…” He hesitates, looking slightly embarrassed. “Could I have a go on that guitar of yours?”

  “I … I suppose so.”

  He smiles and sits down beside me on the sofa as I reluctantly hand over my guitar. For once, I’m so glad Riley isn’t here. “D’you play, then?” I ask.

  “A bit. Well, I used to. I’m sure it’ll all come back…” I frown as Ed starts strumming. Amazingly, he does seem to know a couple of chords, but his great fat sausage fingers keep missing the frets and the strings buzz discordantly. Even so, I sort of recognize the tune he’s trying to thrash out. It’s an old song, one that’s buried deep in my mind and under my skin, that nobody except Jupe and me knew. He never recorded it and, as far as I know, no one else heard it. He called it “Clover’s Song”.

  It’s a song I’ve tried to forget.

  I gawp as Ed wallops the strings. “That song,” I start, “how d’you know it?” But he can’t hear me. Or he doesn’t want to. His eyes are scrunched shut, and he’s warbling the lyrics now, as if spiriting himself off to some other place – like on stage in front of hysterical fans instead of a scruffy living room.

  “Ed!” I try to cut in. “How d’you know that song?”

  He grinds to a stop and grins at me. His cheeks are flushed scarlet, and a trickle of sweat runs down his forehead. “Just remembered it from somewhere,” he says, catching his breath.

  “But … it was never recorded or anything. So you can’t know it…” What am I saying? He does know. He even got most of the words right. That’s always been my song, and now Ed’s stormed into our lives and stolen it.

  “Told you I was a big fan,” he says with a chuckle.

  “Yes, but…”

  “D’you see what I mean about playing?” he interrupts.

  “See … what?” I mouth, still all choked up at him playing my song.

  “Passion. Energy. That’s what you need.” He punches his chest. “Music comes from here, Clover. From the heart.”

  And with that, he gently places the guitar on the sofa and saunters back through to the kitchen to see Mum.

  I stare after Ed, the lyrics still ringing in my ears. If it wasn’t bad enough having him screeching in our shower and lounging about in Dad’s dressing gown, now he’s played a song he couldn’t possibly know and acted all mysterious about it. I glare at my guitar lying across the sofa, and wipe away his sweaty fingerprints with the front of my T-shirt.

  “Me and Jupe?” I hear Mum saying. “Oh, don’t keep asking me that, Ed. I already told you. We had … an argument, that’s all. There was a kind of accident, but it’s all so long ago now…”

  “But what—” Ed starts.

  “Please, Ed, darling,” Mum cuts in.

  I stride into the kitchen, where Ed’s helping himself to juice from our fridge. “Heard you playing just then, love,” Mum remarks. “Didn’t sound like your usual style…”

  “Oh, that?” Ed chuckles, swigging straight from the carton. “That wasn’t Clover. That was me. I was just showing her a thing or two.”

  Catching my eye, Mum bursts out laughing. “Oh, right. So you’re the musical expert, are you, Ed?”

  “Not technically, maybe,” he says gruffly. “But that’s what I was trying to explain to Clover. It doesn’t matter about hitting the right notes. Music comes from here, doesn’t it?” He raps hard on his chest. “From the heart.”

  I wish someone would explain how things go. Boy kisses you, then you hang out for ages (no more kissing) and then, when you’ve worried like mad that he doesn’t want you in his house for some reason, he casually says, “D’you want to bring your guitar over on Saturday?”

  So here I am, in Riley’s actual bedroom. I’d imagined a kind of hippie house with weird fabrics draped everywhere and a smell of incense – but it’s just normal. Bit scruffy, few dirty dishes piled up in the sink downstairs, but kind of cosy. Maybe his dad only gets to be a proper hippie on Carnival Day.

  “So Ed reckons he’s a musical genius?” Riley says, perched on his bed while he tunes up his guitar.

  “Looks like it,” I say. “Maybe I don’t need to go to Niall’s after all.”

  Riley smiles, causing my heart to flap like a bat in my chest.

  “Reckon it’s serious with them? Your mum and Ed, I mean?”

  I shrug. “Well, he obviously likes her. He’s always popping in…”

  “Doesn’t he work?” Riley asks.

  “He’s supposed to. He reckons he’s an odd-job man. But he always seems to be just passing our house…”

  “D’you mind him being around?” Riley asks.

  I mull this over. Downstairs, Riley’s dad is pottering about in the kitchen. Alt
hough there’s no mum here, it feels calm and normal compared to our house. “I don’t have much choice,” I say lightly.

  While Riley digs out some music, I glance around his cluttered room. In a corner, propped against the wall, is a cork pinboard crammed with photos. Some look pretty tatty and are curling at the corners. “Are those your old friends?” I ask, indicating beach shots of groups of boys.

  “Yeah,” he says. “I went through a phase of taking loads of pictures before me and Dad left Haven Bay.” I scan the pictures, amazed that a boy would have a pinboard like this (but then, my knowledge of boys’ bedrooms is tragically limited).

  “Who’s that?” I ask, noticing a tiny picture pinned in the bottom corner, of a much younger Riley building sandcastles with a little girl.

  “Guess,” he says with a grin, placing his guitar on the bed and sitting on the carpet beside me.

  “Um, first girlfriend?” I tease.

  “Not really. A friend, though. Yeah, definitely my best mate back then. Still don’t get it?”

  I shake my head. “Haven’t a clue…”

  “Sophie Skelling.” He holds my gaze.

  “Honestly?” I peer back at the photo, and now he’s said it, I can see the younger her. Before custard bikinis. And 34C boobs. She’s chubbier, with a fuzz of mousey-brown hair that sticks up at odd angles. In fact, it’s even more out of control than mine was, pre-Bernice. “But … you mean you knew Sophie when you were little?”

  Riley nods. “Yeah.”

  “Why didn’t you ever say?” I blurt out. I can’t believe it. It’s as if all of a sudden, he’s not the boy I thought he was. Couldn’t he have mentioned that he knew her back then? I didn’t even know Skelling came from Haven. No wonder she looks at me like she’d happily stab me with her mascara wand!

  “It’s kind of complicated,” he says, shifting position on the carpet.

  “But, Riley, I’ve told you everything about me – all the Jupe stuff, Mum and Ed … everything.” I shake my head, trying to make sense of it all. “No wonder Sophie’s so weird and hostile with me,” I add, seized by an urge to storm out of Riley’s room and go home.