Forbidden Friends, Page 2

  It wasn’t that bad to start with. The two boys who live at the end of our street, Dilan and Danesh, came over every day, and Mum taught all three of us together. Danesh is the same age as me and Dilan is about a year and a half older. I don’t think we ever did any proper lessons, we just had the coolest time playing with Play-Doh and building dens and running wild in the garden.

  Danesh was always very shy and quiet – he was the serious one – but it was Dilan I really liked. He used to hide behind Dad, pulling silly faces to make us laugh. He taught me how to slide down the stairs inside my duvet cover and how to trick Mum into giving us extra sweets after lunch. We were a little gang and he made every day seem like an adventure.

  I remember once Mum helped us to make this amazing papier-mâché dragon. I was in charge of the tail, Danesh did the body and Dilan made the head. He painted table-tennis balls orange for the eyes and made teeth out of white polystyrene. When it was finished we somehow squashed up right inside the dragon, all three of us, and roared whenever Mum came in the room. Even now, if I close my eyes tight and concentrate really hard, I can smell the glue and the paint and Dilan’s hot breath on my face.

  But then one day Dilan and Danesh stopped coming round. It was just after my seventh birthday. Mum said they’d started at Merryfields, the local primary school, and that Dad was going to take over my lessons from then on. Apparently his web design company was so successful that he could put someone else in charge of the day-to-day running of the office, while Mum took care of any extra admin from home.

  It was a total nightmare. He gave me this big speech about how the time to play was over. My lessons became far more serious after that. I was never allowed to go out in the garden, or do any of the other things I loved so much – it was just maths and science and French and Spanish and lots and lots of BORING comprehension.

  I skimmed through the article on climate change. I was good at skimming. The answers were always so obvious anyway. They were right there in the text, so what on earth was the point of writing them down all over again?

  The ozone layer is important because it stops too many of the sun’s ultraviolet rays getting through to Earth.

  1. Why is the ozone layer important?

  The ozone layer is important because it stops too many of the sun’s ultraviolet rays getting through to Earth.

  I dropped my pencil in despair. I didn’t care about the stupid ozone layer. It was such a beautiful day, the last thing I wanted was to waste the whole morning cooped up inside, answering questions on climate change. I wanted to ditch the comprehension and hang about outside until I caught a glimpse of Dilan. He pretty much ignores me these days. He doesn’t remember the cookies and the dens and being squashed inside the dragon.

  I was about halfway through when Mum came in to make a cup of tea. She peered over my shoulder to see how I was getting on.

  “Can’t I have a break, Mum, please? Dad’s popped out for a bit and I’m soooo bored.”

  “Best not, Lizzie,” she said, her eyes darting towards the door. “He might be back any minute and he won’t be happy if you’re not working. I want you to get finished anyway so you can go up and start packing.”

  Packing. My heart sank right down to my trainers. I didn’t want to pack. Not for Spain. The tickets had been stuck up on the fridge for weeks. Mum had booked them online and printed them straight off. She didn’t need to tell me where we were going anyway. It was the same every year. Same dates, same place, same miserable holiday.

  “Can’t we go somewhere else this year, just for once? I’m so sick of going to Spain.” The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

  Mum swung round. “What do you mean?” she said, her face flushing very red suddenly. “How can you even ask something like that?”

  I stared down at my books. “I don’t know, I was just thinking it would be nice to go somewhere different...just for a change...I mean would Luke even want us to go back there year after year...” I trailed off.

  Mum didn’t say anything for a moment. She opened and closed her mouth but nothing came out. My words hung between us, swelling to fill the awful silence.

  “Go to your room, Lizzie.”

  My head snapped up. It was Dad. He’d come back in and was standing by the door, his face hard and angry.

  “I’m sorry. I...I didn’t mean it. I don’t even know why I said it.”

  Mum turned away from us to face the sink, her shoulders hunched up to her ears. I really was sorry; I hadn’t meant to upset her – I was just so frustrated I couldn’t help myself.

  “Up to your room!” Dad roared, taking a step towards me. “How dare you talk about Luke like that? As if you know! As if you know anything!”

  I leaped up and pushed past him, running out of the kitchen and up the stairs to my room. I hate it when Dad loses his temper. It’s not the shouting so much; I’m used to that by now. It’s more the way he looks at me – actually, straight through me, as if I don’t exist, his eyes like ice-cold shards of glass. I’ll bet you anything he never looked at Luke like that. I’ll bet you anything Luke never got the shouting or the ice-cold eyes.

  Luke was my big brother. He died in an accident just before my third birthday, but sometimes it feels as if he never died at all. I don’t actually remember what life was like before he died; I was too young. But the fact that he’s not here any more, the fact that he’s gone, somehow seems to take up more space in our house than if he was still around.

  There are pictures of him on nearly every wall. Luke when he was a baby. Luke on his first day at school. Luke on a beach somewhere, eating a strawberry ice cream. I’ve been staring at those photos for so many years I know them off by heart. I know his shiny smile, and bright blue eyes, his perfect blond hair, but I don’t really know him. I don’t know his voice or his laugh or the way he used to walk. He’s been smiling down at me for as long as I can remember, but as far as I’m concerned he could be anyone.

  I sat on my bed, writing my diary, pouring all my anger out onto the pages. I tell my diary everything. All my hopes and dreams, as well as all the things I hate about my life – like being homeschooled, stuck in the house with Dad all day, totally trapped. It’s the only place I can say what I really feel without upsetting everyone or getting into trouble.

  I was still writing when Mum snuck up to see me. She ducked into the room carrying a cup of tea and some toast.

  “I’m sorry, Lizzie. Dad didn’t mean it. He’ll calm down in a bit.”

  I slipped my diary under my pillow and turned to the wall, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes. Mum was always apologizing for Dad, making excuses, but she never stuck up for me when it mattered. I didn’t realize that when I was younger – I thought she was my ally against Dad. But the older I got, the more I realized that she was just trying to pacify him, keep him calm – that she wasn’t really on my side at all.

  “I’ve brought you some toast and—”

  “I don’t want any stupid toast!”

  “Look, it’s just a sensitive time right now,” she went on, putting the tray down on my dressing table and coming over to perch on the edge of my bed. “You know the anniversary is coming up...”

  “Okay, I’m sorry, but I still don’t want to go to Spain again this year. It’s not a crime, is it? I just wish we could be normal. I wish I could go to school and have friends round, ordinary stuff like that.”

  “You do have friends round, Lizzie.”

  “Yes, but only girls that have been hand-picked and approved by Dad. His friends’ children. It’s so unfair. I’m nearly thirteen – I should be allowed to make my own friends. It’s like living in a prison.”

  Mum sighed. “Just let him get through the summer, through the anniversary, and I’m sure things will settle down. He doesn’t mean to get so worked up. He never used to lose his temper before Luke...” She broke off, her eyes filling with tears.

  Luke again. It was ALWAYS about Luke.

 
“It doesn’t matter,” I muttered. I can’t stand it when she cries. “At least I got out of doing that boring comprehension.”

  “Come on, I’ll help you pack if you want,” she said, doing her best to smile. “Dad’s popped up to the library to get you some books out for the holiday. He’s not actually coming with us for the first week, so it’ll just be the two of us.”

  My head snapped up. A whole week away without Dad? “Are you serious?”

  Mum nodded. “He’s got some important things to sort out at the office. Work stuff. He’ll meet us out there in time for the anniversary.”

  Luke died during our first-ever family holiday to Spain, so this year – the tenth anniversary – was going to be even worse than usual. I’d have to tiptoe around, watch everything I said. Mum was desperate for me to miss Luke, for the anniversary to mean as much to me as it did to them. But how are you supposed to miss someone you don’t even remember?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Spain? I honestly thought Nan was joking at first.

  “What do you mean?” I said weakly, convinced it was a wind-up. “We can’t go to Spain.” I mean apart from the fact that Dad was at Uncle Ron’s and the police had just been round, we didn’t actually do holidays in our family. Mum was always too busy working and Dad never came out of his office long enough to book a holiday, let alone go on one. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d stayed overnight anywhere, apart from on my Year Six school trip to the Isle of Wight.

  “I know it’s a bit out of the blue,” Nan cut in, “but we all need a break, Bee, especially your mum.”

  “But what about Dad? How can you even think about going on holiday when Dad’s not here? And you haven’t told me when he’s coming home. You haven’t told me anything.”

  “He says he doesn’t want to come on holiday with us, he’s too busy,” said Mum, her voice just as brittle as before. She didn’t exactly look as if she was in the mood for a holiday herself. And how did she know Dad didn’t want to come? Was that what he’d been saying on the phone? Was that why he’d walked out when he saw the tickets? I was beginning to feel as if I was still asleep, trapped inside a terrible dream.

  “When did you actually plan this trip? I mean, first Dad goes missing, then he calls to say he’s staying at Uncle Ron’s, and now you tell me we’re going to Spain. None of it makes any sense.”

  “I booked the holiday at the beginning of last week,” said Nan. “Your mum’s already arranged the time off work. To tell you the truth, Bee, it was supposed to be a surprise for you. Two weeks at the Costa de las Cuevas resort.”

  “But what about Dad’s ticket?” I said, my voice rising. “I don’t want to go unless he comes with us! It doesn’t feel right! And if it was supposed to be a surprise, why did Mum leave the tickets out like that?”

  “I left them out for Dad to see in the morning,” said Mum. “I didn’t realize they’d still be there when you got in from school. Come on, Bee, it’s just a holiday. You’ll love it once we get there.”

  Nan nodded, agreeing. “Don’t worry about your dad; he’s happy for the three of us to go on our own.”

  I shook my head, more confused than ever, but I couldn’t help feeling a tiny flicker of excitement. I hadn’t been on a proper holiday for years. The girls at school were always going off on exotic holidays, boasting about all the amazing places they’d visited. I could only imagine what it would be like to climb the Eiffel Tower or go to Disneyland or lie on a sun-drenched beach somewhere.

  Nan started to describe the little hotel where we’d be staying. She said I’d be able to swim in the sea and learn how to waterski and eat loads of paella. Mum just sat there, zoned out again. It was obvious she was still worried about Dad and she wasn’t the only one. I wanted to know how they were ever going to make up if he was at Uncle Ron’s and we were hundreds of miles away in Spain.

  It still seemed unreal the next day. I could hardly believe it was true; that we were actually going on holiday to Spain. Nan and I went up to the High Road to buy my new suitcase and when we got back I went round to see my next-door neighbour, Bailey. His older sister, Carin, let me in and I raced up the stairs to his room, two at a time, desperate to tell him what was going on.

  “Spain!” he said. “Blimey, Bee, it’s alright for some!” He was on the floor, attempting to wrestle a sleeping bag into his old school backpack, rolling around as if he was grappling with a crocodile. “I thought your mum and dad never had time for holidays abroad?”

  “They don’t usually, they always say they haven’t got the money, but you know what my nan’s like once she gets an idea in her head. It was supposed to be a surprise or something. And anyway, it’s just me, Mum and Nan.” I hesitated for a moment. “My dad’s not coming; he’s gone to stay at my Uncle Ron’s for a bit.”

  Bailey glanced up. “What is it, ladies only?”

  “Something like that,” I said. “Except my mum won’t tell me what’s really going on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, they had this massive fight and then my dad left the house after I got home on Friday and we didn’t even know where he was until yesterday morning.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” said Bailey.

  “I was going to, but I kept hoping he’d show up suddenly. The police came round and everything.” My tummy clenched up. It sounded even worse saying it out loud.

  “The police?” said Bailey. “No way! My mum’s always storming off when she rows with my dad but it’s never been as serious as that. Look on the bright side though...” He glanced up at me from the floor. “This time next week you’ll be soaking up the rays, while I’m stuck in the middle of some muddy field in the pouring rain. Hey, I bet you’ve never even been on a plane before.”

  “I have, but it was so long ago I can’t actually remember. What’s it like?”

  “Noisy,” he said. “Especially take-off. And boring. But Spain’s not that far, a couple of hours max.”

  I’ve lived next door to Bailey since I was five and he was six. We’ve grown up together, more like brother and sister than neighbours, I guess. My real brother Aidan left home years ago, first chance he got, and I hardly see him these days. I used to wish Bailey was my brother. He was always moaning about his family, but I’d have swapped them with mine any day.

  “Hey, give me a hand with this, would you?” he said, as the sleeping bag sprang out of his backpack again, landing in a heap at his feet. “I’ll be here till Christmas at this rate and we’re supposed to be...” He stopped mid-sentence as he stared up at me, confusion spreading across his face.

  “You look different, Bee.”

  “No I don’t.”

  He nodded slowly, as if he was working out the answer to some incredibly complicated puzzle. I could feel myself turning crimson. I hate it when he stares at me like that.

  “Yes you do. It’s your hair, isn’t it? You’ve done something different to your hair!”

  “No I haven’t, don’t be stupid,” I said, pushing my hands through my uncontrollable mess of curls. I couldn’t do anything different with my hair even if I wanted to. “I...I...I’m just wearing a new top, that’s all.”

  I grabbed the sleeping bag and scrunched it up as small as I could, willing my face to cool down. Yes, I’d always thought of Bailey as a brother, but in the last few months things had started to become all mixed up and confused. It wasn’t that I fancied him or anything; I just didn’t feel as comfortable around him as I’d used to. And I’m sure he realized – the way I blushed like an idiot every time he even looked at me! At least that was one thing I wouldn’t have to worry about while we were in Spain.

  The next couple of days dragged by. It was awful being home without Dad. He texted me a few times to say he was fine and how lucky I was to be going to Spain. All that lovely sunshine, he wrote. I’m so envious! xx I was desperate for him to show up suddenly and say he’d changed his mind about coming with us, but he didn’t even call. I tried calling
him myself, but it went straight to voicemail every time.

  I kept asking Mum if she’d seen him or spoken to him since Monday, and whether I could call him at Uncle Ron’s myself, but it was impossible to get a straight answer out of her.

  “I don’t really want you bothering him right now, Bee,” she said, vaguely. It was the day before the holiday and she was sorting out a pile of washing. “He just needs a bit of space to think things through. I know it’s unsettling for you, but then Dad’s never been a great one for going away, has he? It’s hard enough to get him out of his study, let alone on a plane to another country.”

  “Yes, but why is he staying at Uncle Ron’s? And what is it he needs to think through?”

  “It’s just—”

  “I know you’re breaking up!” I interrupted, blurting out my worst fear. “I wish you’d just tell me.”

  “Of course we’re not breaking up!” cried Mum. “We’re going through a little rough patch at the moment, but it’s nothing like that!”

  “Well, what is it then?” I said, desperate to understand.

  But she just shook her head, sighing. “It’s complicated, Bee. I can’t really talk about it right now; I’ve still got so much to sort out. We’ll talk in Spain. I’ll explain everything, I promise.”

  She’d been promising to explain things ever since the letter arrived, but I was still waiting. I don’t think she realized how confused I was – how weird it felt to be busy getting ready for a holiday without my dad.

  “I just wish everything could go back to the way it was before that letter arrived and all the rows started,” I said, my eyes filling with tears. “I hate being here without Dad.”

  Mum dropped the dress she was folding and pulled me into her arms. “Hey, come on, Bee,” she said gently, tipping my chin up and wiping my eyes. “I know it’s difficult, I miss Dad as well, but everything will seem so much brighter once we’re away.”

  It was nice to have a cuddle. My mum’s not usually the easiest person to talk to if you’re worried about something. She always says there’s a practical solution to every problem – but there are some problems that can’t be fixed no matter how hard you try. She gave me another quick hug and then went back to the washing. “Why don’t you pop upstairs to pack and then when you’ve finished I’ll make us both a nice cup of tea.”