Double Act, Page 3

  We feel shaky. Our whole lives have been shaken up.

  Dad really has bought a bookshop! He didn’t even take us with him to check it out first. He went away for the weekend with Rose, and when he came back he said, ‘Guess what! I’ve bought a shop.’

  We just stared at him, stunned. He’s been acting so crazy. Not like a dad at all. Especially not our dad.

  We’re used to him saying, ‘Guess what! I’ve bought another box of books.’

  But you don’t buy a bookshop just like that. You’re meant to hang around for months, getting it surveyed and seeing solicitors.

  ‘It’s all simple,’ said Dad. ‘This sweet old couple are retiring and are happy to move out straightaway. If I can’t sell our own house, I’ll let it out to students for a bit. Your gran’s got her sheltered flat all worked out. Rose only rents her room, and she can shut up her stall in the arcade any time, so she hasn’t got any problems either.’

  We’re the ones with the problems. Garnet and me.

  We don’t even get considered.

  ‘Why didn’t you take us with you to see if we like it?’ I said.

  ‘You’ll love it,’ said Dad. ‘The village is right out in the country, beside a river, with hills all around. It’s a real story-book place. There’s a pond with puddleducks straight out of Beatrix Potter. There’s just this one street of shops. Ours is in the middle. We’ll fit it out with shelves and Rose can have the window for her bric-a-brac. She’s got all sorts of ideas for getting it done up. And there’s plenty of room upstairs. You two can have the attic for your bedroom – you’ll like that.’

  Sarah Crewe gets stuck in an attic in A Little Princess and she has to act like a servant to all the girls in her school. Though at least she got to stay in her school.

  We’ve had to leave our school.

  It was awful saying goodbye.

  But it was much worse saying goodbye to

  Ruby doesn’t want to write it. She always leaves the worst bit to me. I don’t want to write it either.

  Oh, Gran. We do miss you. We miss you ever so ever so much. You used to get cross and you were strict and sometimes you even smacked, but you didn’t hurt because of your poor hands and you couldn’t help being strict because you’re old and you were only cross when we were naughty.

  But we do so wish you were with us now. You could be cross and strict and smack all the time and we wouldn’t mind a bit.

  You didn’t get cross and strict and smack when we took you to your new flat. But you weren’t all happy and smiley. You looked so small and scrunched up and sad and it was so awful.

  We helped you put your chair and your china cabinet and all the rest of your stuff in your new room, but they didn’t look right. They didn’t look yours. It didn’t look like a home.

  This funny old man next door came round to say hello and he gave you a bunch of flowers he’d grown in his garden. Dad teased you and said you’d got yourself a boyfriend already, but you wouldn’t smile. And when Dad said he hoped you’d be really happy in your new flat and he was sure it was all for the best, you just sniffed. You didn’t say anything, but you looked at Dad and it was as if you were shrieking: Who are you kidding?

  You didn’t even kiss Dad properly goodbye, just gave him your cheek. And we don’t blame you either, Gran.

  You kissed us. And we kissed you. Lots and lots.

  We didn’t talk to Dad either. We’re still not speaking to him properly. Or Rose. We don’t need to. We can just speak to each other. In Twinspeak, so they can’t understand.

  Garnet and I have this special language. We’ve got heaps of made-up words for things. Sometimes we don’t use words at all, we use signs. Little tiny things like widening our eyes or putting our heads slightly to one side. We signal to each other and then both start up a pretend coughing fit or sneeze simultaneously or shriek with manic laughter.

  Rose isn’t used to this. It doesn’t half make her jump.

  ‘Pack it in,’ says Dad.

  I glance at Garnet.

  ‘Pack it in what, Dad?’ we say simultaneously.

  ‘Less of the cheek,’ says Dad, taking one hand off the steering wheel and swatting at us.

  ‘How do they do that?’ Rose asks.

  ‘How do we do what?’ we say.

  ‘Stop it! You’re giving me the creeps. Can you really read each other’s thoughts?’ she says, shivering.

  ‘Of course they can’t,’ says Dad.

  ‘Then how can they say the same thing at the same time in that weird way?’ Rose says, peering at us.

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Dad, shrugging.

  ‘We know,’ we say, and we raise our eyebrows and make our eyes glitter in a mysterious and mystic manner.

  We wait until Rose turns round again and starts fiddling with the old van radio, trying to tune it to a station. I point to it and nudge Garnet. We both start singing loudly, our timing spot on.

  Rose gasps.

  ‘Cut it out, twins,’ says Dad sharply.

  I turn my fingers into pretend scissors and make lots of cutting movements. Garnet does the same.

  ‘Oh, very funny,’ says Dad, not at all amused.

  When he’s concentrating on the road, I change the scissors to a dagger and mime a sudden bloody attack on Rose. Garnet does likewise, only she’s not quite quick enough. Dad sees, so Garnet shakes her arm quickly, making out she’s got cramp.

  ‘What are you playing at, you two?’ says Dad.

  We blink at him and shrug.

  Dad sighs with exasperation, and then takes one hand off the steering wheel and puts his arm round Rose.

  I nudge Garnet and we both make a very rude noise.

  Dad’s hand tightens on Rose’s shoulder, but he doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t say anything either. Neither do we. The radio keeps buzzing and fading and going funny.

  I feel a bit like that too. Maybe I’m starting to feel car-sick. Well, van-sick. Ooh good, if I’m going to throw up then I shall aim at Rose.

  Ruby was sick. She managed to hit Rose. And me.

  Only little splashes on you.

  You’re not supposed to be writing, in case you get sick again.

  I did great, didn’t I?

  Yes, but I’d sooner you didn’t do it again. Rose got through a whole box of tissues, mopping away. Dad had to stop at the next service station and we had to go to the Ladies. I washed and Ruby washed. Rose positively scrubbed and changed her sweater and jeans, scrunching the stained smelly stuff into a plastic bag.

  ‘I think you two belong in the bag too,’ she said, sighing. ‘Look, I don’t care if you act like idiots, but it isn’t half upsetting your dad.’

  We didn’t say anything. But Ruby smiled, even though she was still sick and shivery.

  ‘Don’t you want your dad to be happy?’ said Rose, looking at Ruby and then at me.

  Not with you!

  ‘He’s had a really tough time the last few years. You two were only tiny so you probably didn’t realize, but he nearly went to pieces after your mum died.’

  We stared at her silently, hating her. How dare she! We felt like we were in little pieces too.

  ‘It was really tough for him, but he kept on going for your sake. He did his best to get on with your gran, even though she can be so difficult at times.’

  How does she have the nerve to criticize our gran!

  ‘He didn’t have any fun, he never went out anywhere, he was so lonely,’ she said.

  How could he possibly have been lonely? He had us!

  ‘He kept slaving away at that boring old job in the city, even though it nearly drove him crazy. He was like this old old man even though he’s barely thirty.’

  She’s mad. He’s our dad. He is old.

  ‘But now he’s got this big chance. A whole new life. Something that he’s always wanted. And he’s been like a little kid – so excited. But you two are spoiling it all. Can’t you see that?’

  Yes, we can see it. That’s w
hat we want. It’s not us that’s spoiling anything. She’s got it all wrong. It’s her. It’s her it’s her it’s her.

  FIVE

  WE’RE HERE. AND we hate it.

  Yes. We hate it.

  It’s the worst place in the whole world, and we’re stuck here with the worst people. Stuck stuck stuck.

  Well, the place itself isn’t that bad.

  Yes it is!

  No, wait, Ruby. I don’t mean the shop. Or the village. But the countryside itself is OK, isn’t it? Especially the hills. I hated going for a walk with Rose and Dad, but when we were up in the hills and we saw all the sheep and the wild ponies and we got right to the top and we were almost up in the sky and we could see for miles and it felt like we could just step off the edge and fly—

  Will you put a sock in it, Miss Arty-Farty Show-Off. All this sky-and-fly stuff! You sound like you’re writing a poem for school. ‘My-day-in-the-country’. Boring! And the country’s boring too. Grey hills and grey fields and grey trees and grey rain.

  Rose doesn’t think much of it either. She’s still all smarmy with Dad, but we’re wearing her down – and this certainly isn’t her dream place to live. She got seriously fed up when I accidentally on purpose waved that branch near the washing line and snagged all her stupid tights and the village shop only sells pale beige old-lady tights. Old Rose could have sold her soul for a Sock Shop then.

  She hates the Superstore too. Because it doesn’t have any decent fruit or veg and the bread’s sliced up in bags.

  Yes, but Dad says he’ll grow raspberries and tomatoes and runner beans in the back garden and he’s going to have a go at making our own bread.

  Do me a favour, Garnet! Dad can’t even make toast. Gran was always going on about how hopeless he was.

  Dad says that was because she never let him try his hand at anything. She always said, ‘Come on now, out from under my feet, stop cluttering up my kitchen.’ Oh dear. We do miss Gran so. We wish she was here.

  No, we wish we were there. Instead of here in this hateful dump. We don’t fit in.

  Dad’s shop doesn’t fit in either. Especially now. The antique shops are all painted white or cream or very pale beige. Dad’s shop started off dirty white too, so he decided to brighten it up a bit.

  ‘I’m going to call it The Red Bookshop,’ he said. ‘Because of my three girls. Rubies are red, Garnets are red, and Roses are red. So let’s go the whole hog and paint it red too.’

  He motored miles and miles to the nearest Do-it-Yourself Store in Hineford and came back with pots of stinging scarlet paint. We were supposed to help Rose wash the front of the shop and rub the peeling paint, but after about ten minutes scrubbing and sloshing, Ruby threw her sponge in the bucket and said, ‘We’re fed up with this lark,’ and sauntered off.

  So I threw my sponge in the bucket too, and sidled after my sister.

  ‘Hey, come back, you lazy beasts,’ Rose shouted, and she threw a sponge at us.

  It glanced off Ruby, still sopping wet. Ruby took hold of it and aimed. She’s a very good aimer. It caught Rose full in the face.

  We ran right away then. We walked round and round the village and up and down the stream and then we went down by the river but it was too muddy and we weren’t wearing our wellies and I slipped and got mud all over my bottom. It looked AWFUL. And Ruby made it worse because she kept laughing at me. I tried to rub the mud off with grass but it was useless.

  I started to cry and Ruby got cross.

  ‘Why do you always have to be such a baby?’ she said. ‘Look, it’s your own fault for slipping like that. And it doesn’t matter anyway – they’re only your old jeans. And she can’t tell us off because she’s not our mother or any part of our family. So stop snivelling.’

  ‘I can’t go back through the village like this. People will look at me and laugh.’

  ‘No they won’t. They won’t even notice, honest,’ said Ruby.

  She wasn’t being honest. They did notice. This crowd of children fishing by the bridge saw us and stared. First of all because we were strangers. Second because we’re twins. But then they saw the muck all over my jeans and then they really stared. And sniggered. And shouted horrible rude suggestions.

  Ruby caught hold of me by the wrist and gave me a little shake to stop me crying again. She marched us straight up to them instead of skulking away, like I wanted. Her face was as red as her name.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ she said, when we were right up close to them. She made me say it too. ‘What’s so funny?’ we said in unison.

  They were mostly around our age, but some were bigger. Ruby didn’t care.

  Some of the littler kids stepped backwards. They weren’t just worried about Ruby. It was me too. Because we were walking in step and talking exactly together and when we do that lots of people find it really spooky.

  The bigger boys weren’t easily fazed though. One fat one with silly sideways hair said something ever so rude and horrible and they all laughed again.

  ‘Ooh! Being covered in mud is funny, is it?’ said Ruby.

  ‘Funny, is it?’ we said together.

  Then Ruby looked at me and looked at the muddy grass and I knew what she was going to do. I knew I had to do it too. We bent, we sunk our hands into the mud, we straightened up – and while they were still all gawking at us we went splat, right in their faces.

  ‘Have a big laugh then,’ said Ruby – and we ran.

  They started running after us, but we can be very speedy so we soon got clean away. Well. I wasn’t clean. I was still covered in mud.

  ‘But so are they!’ Ruby spluttered breathlessly. ‘Their faces. Oh, Garnet, that was so glorious. Twin-grin!’

  ‘Twin-grin,’ I echoed obediently, though I didn’t really feel like smiling.

  We have this little grinning ritual whenever we’re really pleased about something. Ruby puts her fingers at the corners of my mouth and turns it into a huge grin, while I reach out at the same time and do the same to her.

  I managed to stay grinning like a Halloween pumpkin, but I kept looking behind me all the same, in case those children might be creeping up on us.

  ‘Relax. They’ll have gone back to their stupid fishing,’ said Ruby, sussing that I was still scared.

  ‘Maybe. But they’ll still be out to get us sometime, won’t they,’ I said stiffly, trying to keep my grin in place.

  ‘Well, we’ll get them back,’ said Ruby airily. ‘Especially that Big Blobby one.’

  ‘But they’ll all start hating us then. And we’ve got to go to school with them, haven’t we,’I said. My grin wavered, and then drooped.

  ‘We won’t go to this dumb old school. We’ll slope off by ourselves,’ said Ruby.

  ‘But they’ll find out and we’ll get into trouble,’ I said. ‘And we’re in pretty big trouble now. We can’t go home because Rose will get us, and we can’t go down by the river because those children will get us.’

  It looked like we were stuck for ever, hiding up a little alleyway at the edge of the village. I leant against the wall, the cold pebbly stuff scratching me through my T-shirt. My jeans were still wet and sticky with mud. My face ached with trying to smile. My eyes stung with trying not to cry again.

  ‘Garnet?’ said Ruby gently.

  She put her arm round me and cuddled me close. I snuggled up against her and we held on tight to each other. Our shadows became Siamese.

  ‘Perhaps we’d better go back to the bookshop,’ I said eventually.

  ‘No, not yet. We’ve only been gone an hour or so. She’ll just get angry. No, we have to stay away ages and ages, and then she’ll be really worried. Better to stay away until after Dad gets back, then he’ll be dead worried too, and they’ll maybe have a go at each other. Then when we do turn up they’ll be so relieved we’ve not been kidnapped or killed that they won’t go on at us. Or not so much, anyway.’

  ‘But what are we going to do?’, I’ wailed.

  ‘We’ll do one of our plays,’ s
aid Ruby.

  That made me cheer up. Ruby hasn’t felt like playing one of our pretend games for ages.

  So we had this really great game together.

  And then, when we eventually sloped back to the shop, Rose didn’t get cross with us.

  She’d done all the front of the shop by herself, but she didn’t tell on us to Dad. She even washed out my jeans for me without getting fussed. Gran would have gone nuts.

  What’s the matter with you, Garnet? Have you gone completely nuts? Is this Let’s Love Rosy-Posy Day?

  No. I can’t stick her, you know that. But I’m just trying to write a truthful account, that’s all. In our accounts book.

  Well, I think we should give a good account of ourselves. And make a bad account of everyone else. That’s much more fun.

  Rose was OK when that woman in the quilty jacket and the lollopy dog came to complain about the red paint.

  Dad looked like he was going to burst into tears, but Rose went ‘Oh B-B-B-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R-R!’, blowing this giant raspberry and said it was our shop and we could paint it whatever colour we fancied and that the video shop two doors along with all its placards didn’t exactly add to the authentic Victorian charm of the village anyway. So the bossy lady got into a huff and flounced out with her floppy dog and we were all laughing—

  Yes, but Rose wasn’t really that clever, because how many real customers has Dad had?

  Well, there was the man who wanted the gardening book . . . and the lady who wanted all the Bills and Moons . . . lots of ladies . . .

  Yes, but they only spend fifty pence at a time!

  That vicar came. And he bought a Bible – the big one with pictures that cost heaps.

  And that’s about it. They don’t want to come, the villagers. They don’t like us. Or they don’t like books. Or both.

  Yes, but Dad says he’s really after the Tourist Trade. The people who come at weekends. And holidaymakers.