Invisible Girl Part 7

I roll my arms round and round like me and Grace used to do and silently mouth out the words. When Mum steps out of the door with Jayda in the pushchair and Connor trailing behind I shrink back. My heart clatters like mad; so loud I'm scared she'll hear it.

"The problem with football," says Connor, stopping to do up his shoelace, "is you have to kick the ball really, really hard to get it in the goal. My friend Musti can do it, but I never can."

Mum grabs his hand and clamps it round the blue handle of the pushchair. She looks up at the thunderclouds and frowns. "That's probably, Connor Marshall, because you take after your stupid, useless dad," she snaps. "Now stop rabbiting and hurry up."

When they're out of view and the street has emptied I dash across the road. I peep through the front window, rubbing the gla.s.s clean with my palm to get a better look. My tummy swishes like seawater. Toys litter the floor; mountains of bags and clothes avalanche off the sofa. Two green plastic breakfast bowls and spoons by the telly sit in spilt milk puddles. It's weird, Mum living here and me never having been inside. I press my nose and lips where Connor pressed his and when I'm certain no one's watching, I take a big deep breath and knock on the door. I wait for ages, twiddling Blue Bunny's ear, sending out my special silver searchlight to Beckett.

I wait for ages, knocking again and again, wis.h.i.+ng that I'd hear Beckett thunder down the stairs to open up the door. But when I've waited forever and he doesn't come I go back to the baker lady and buy Henny a lovely warm bread roll. Then I race to find her as fast as my ankle will let me.

"You should just forget about him," she says, tearing chunks of bread off and rolling squidgy dough b.a.l.l.s between her palms. "I told you, you don't need him or anyone else. You've got me now!"

"I like you, Henny," I say, sliding towards her. "But I do need to find Beckett. Then we can all be a family together. You'll really like him too."

"It's useless," she says. "You don't even know if he lives in Manchester any more. He might even be dead! You said that Connor boy had never even heard of him."

A tight ball of panic knots in my throat. "Don't say that," I say. "Don't say he's dead, Henny, please!"

Henny licks the crumbs off her bright pink fingernails and looks like she's eating sweets.

"He might not even be that nice any more," she says. "You haven't seen him for years. People change. Just saying."

"But you said you'd help!" I say. "You promised, Henny! You said if I helped you then you'd help me. You said it's what families do."

I stare at her, my body filling with panic.

"Oh, don't be boring, kitten," she says, jumping up. "We are family and we do do stuff for each other. I'm looking after you, aren't I? You just got me breakfast. That's being family, that's doing stuff."

"We could ask people?" I say. "Or make signs and put them up and hope Beckett sees them? There's probably loads of stuff we could be doing, Henny, but I can't do it on my own. I need your help. Please?"

Henny rolls her eyes. "It's not the end of the world or anything," she says. "Come on; let's have some fun today."

I follow her all the way back to Piccadilly Gardens, limping and sulking.

I don't want to be with Henny any more. I just want Beckett.

But it's hard to leave her.

"Stay here," she says, when we catch up with the other kids. "And don't move, OK?"

I sit on the gra.s.s and watch her linger on the kerb, smiling, twirling her stripy hair round her finger. A man with a s.h.i.+ny bald head strolls up to Henny, she loops her arm through his and they walk away, chattering and laughing. Tia plops down on the gra.s.s next to me and wraps her arms around her knees.

"You OK, Gabriella?" she asks.

I nod, feeling for Blue Bunny in my pocket.

"Did she make you do stuff?"

My eyes twitch. I shake my head. "Nothing much," I lie, pulling my sock up over my ankle.

"You don't always have to do what she says," says Tia. "She's not the boss of you."

When Henny comes back her eyes are s.h.i.+ning, her cheeks flushed pink. "Result!" she says, pulling me up and flas.h.i.+ng money in my face.

"Is that Kingdom?" I ask, remembering the name Henny said at Tia's.

"No!" she says. "Kingdom never gets out of his car!"

"Who was it then?"

"No one special," she says, smiling. She turns to Tia. "Wanna come with us?" she says. "I've promised kitten some fun."

Tia flaps her sleeves, looks up at the huge, dark clouds threatening to tip rain on our heads, and nods.

First we wander down the street, window-shopping, imagining all the things we'd buy if we won the lottery. Then we trail through the shops trying on loads of cool stuff, giggling and laughing so much I almost forget about my ankle.

Henny dares us to go into this big department store and pretend we're on that programme Don't Tell The Bride, buying bridesmaid stuff. I think about Dad all trussed up like a turkey in his grey suit and pink s.h.i.+rt. I think about Amy and her two dresses and all the money. I wonder where they are now and wish I had a charger for my phone. But you can't say no to Henny. She doesn't really allow it and when we're in the shop she acts so grown-up, bossing the a.s.sistant around while we try on all these really expensive dresses and shoes and put sparkly tiaras on our heads that I almost believe it's true. I almost believe that we really are going to be on the telly.

Tia and me practise walking up the aisle, all slow-mo and serious, while Henny talks to the lady about what flowers would go best with our clothes. I only want roses, white ones, like the ones around Grace's mum's door, but the lady's saying tulips are in fas.h.i.+on. I wonder if Amy and Dad had roses or tulips at their wedding. I bet Amy had a mega-sparkly tiara.

If Amy would've let me be a bridesmaid I know what dress I'd choose. It's not a silky one or a puffy one. It's not even the most expensive. It's one tucked at the end of the rail made of white cotton with sparkles on like the kind of thing Laura from Little House on the Prairie might wear. I wouldn't have spoilt it for Amy. I would have even worn whatever dress she chose. Just so I could be there with Dad.

When we pretend we're on My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding, we get totally hysterical. Tia's giggles fire out like a machine gun; she doubles over, clutching her tummy, tears squeezing from the corners of her eyes. Henny's voice gets louder and louder, demanding puffier dresses for us with loads more frills. Then she trips over. The silver high-heeled shoes she's wearing jab the corner of the silky blue dress she's yanked on over her leggings and top, and the loudest ripping sound ever splits the air in half.

For a moment she rolls on the floor, laughing, her arms and legs waggling about like a beetle on its back. Then she lies very still trying to melt into the carpet pattern, smothering her giggles, hoping the a.s.sistant lady didn't hear. But the lady's ears p.r.i.c.k up, she struts over to us with her arms crossed and a sour lemon look fixed on her face. She takes a sharp breath in.

Tia and me panic. We frantically start pulling off our dresses, throwing our own clothes on, and grabbing hold of our bags. The a.s.sistant slams her hand on the desk, pursing her lips so they look like a hamster's bottom.

"I think we've had quite enough of this!" she snaps. "And I do hope you realise that all damages must be paid for!"

Henny freezes for less than a second, her eyes flas.h.i.+ng, her brain cogs turning. "Run!" she shouts, scrambling out of the dress. "Follow me!"

Henny, Tia and me run faster than the wind, our hair flying out like kite strings behind us. We push through the shoppers, out of the Wedding department, through Children's. We fly down the escalator, past Make-Up and on to the street outside.

"Stop there!" shouts a red-faced man in a navy blue jumper with Security embroidered on it. He pulls out a radio thing and shouts, "Kids," and chases us, thras.h.i.+ng his hands about in the air.

But my eyes are on Henny; I'm running behind her, my ankle throbbing, my backpack digging into my shoulder.

"Do you hear me?" shouts the security man, panting behind us. "I said, Stop! Right! There!"

"Quick!" says Henny, grabbing our hands and weaving us through the swarms of shoppers, darting into an alleyway, pus.h.i.+ng us through a little doorway and up some red metal stairs. The man keeps shouting, his voice echoing in my ears.

We huddle in a boiler room full of hissing and clunking and sit on the floor to catch our breath. Henny and Tia are laughing so much I think they might wet themselves. My tummy's twisting, my heart's clattering, everything's jangling inside. And I'm just about to check my ankle when something tugs at my hair.

"No!" I say, freeing a glittering tiara from my tangles. Guilty feelings tumble through me; my eyes fill up with tears. "I've still got it on! I've stolen a tiara!"

The thunder growls and the black clouds throw bucketfuls of raindrops, scattering everyone like marbles.

"C'mon," says Henny, tipping her head up and catching the rain in her mouth. "I've got an idea."

"I'm going home," says Tia. "I'm not hanging out in this."

She tugs my arm. "I could probably sneak you in tonight," she whispers. "If you want?"

"I thought you never stayed there?"

She lifts her shoulders up to her ears and they drop back down like a heavy sack of potatoes. Henny crosses her arms in front of her chest. She makes this big sulky face, sighs and turns her back on Tia.

"Go with her if you want," she huffs, glaring at me. "Miss out on all the fun I've got planned. See if I care!"

My tummy starts twisting. I look at Tia. I look at Henny's back all hunched up and angry. "Can Henny come too?" I ask.

Tia stretches a jumper sleeve until it's extra long and wraps it round her hand like a bandage. She shakes her head. "Too many people," she says. "My dad'll hear. He hears everything."

Henny flies round, stabbing Tia with her gla.s.sy eyes. "Don't fret yourself, Tia," she hisses. "I wouldn't wanna stay at your place anyway. Full of pervs."

Tia touches my arm. "I'll look out for you," she whispers, catching the rain in her palm and turning to go.

I don't want to go and have fun with Henny and I don't want to go to Tia's. I don't want anything except Beckett, but no one will help. How do you even begin to find someone in a city as big as Manchester?

"Come on!" says Henny, grabbing my hand. "Let's go and see a film."

When we get to the cinema, Henny goes mad buying stuff with the cash she got from that man. We get two super-sized c.o.kes, two boxes of popcorn, a packet of Minstrels and a packet of jelly babies to share. While we're standing in the bustle of people she winks at me then slips her hand in a lady's bag, pulling out a purse and a mobile phone. I glare at her and shake my head. She taps her finger on my lips and smiles.

"Right," she whispers, pointing to a crowd of people lining up to give their tickets to the girl. "You just have to look like you're with them, like someone else has your ticket. Stay close and smile. I'll meet you in screen four. OK?"

I freeze. I think about the fish and chips on my very first night with Henny and breaking into that apartment. I think about the stolen tiara that's burning a huge guilty hole in my bag. I'm not the person I was any more. I don't think even Grace would recognise me if she were here.

I shake my head.

"It's just for fun!" she whispers. "It's a buzz!"

"I'm not sure," I say, watching the crowd of people slowly trailing in.

"We're going to miss it if we don't hurry," she says. "Look, I promise, promise, promise, after the films we'll set about finding Beckett. We won't stop searching until we find him."

I look in her eyes, searching to see if she's telling the truth. "Promise?"

"Promise," she whispers, "we'll look everywhere, we'll search the entire world for him, we'll ask everyone. I promise you we'll find him. Now go on in before it's too late!"

I press myself close to the crowd of people handing tickets over to the girl collecting them. I look at Henny. She winks back. I keep the picture of Beckett's face in my mind, sending my special searchlight s.h.i.+mmering through Manchester. Soon. Soon, I'll find him. Soon he'll tell me what to do. I draw a smile on my face. I nibble on popcorn. I try to look like I'm having a nice time, like I know what everyone's talking about, like I know who everyone is. But my cheeks are scorching; my heart's fluttering like the wings of a b.u.t.terfly trapped in a net.

"Ticket?" says the girl.

I ignore her, keeping my face down; hiding in the trail of strong perfume the lady in a green, flowery dress is leaving behind her. I edge closer, looking like I'm with her, wis.h.i.+ng somehow I were.

"'Ere, you!" says the girl, pinning me to the spot with her stare. "I said, ticket!" She holds her hand out, waiting.

The crowd stops snaking along, suspicious eyes buzz over me like wasps.

"I errm," I say, spinning round, searching for Henny. "I..."

A voice shouts loud in my head. Run, Gabriella, run!

I drop my c.o.ke and popcorn and push through the crowd, searching for Henny, my bag thras.h.i.+ng about on my back; my ankle shooting scorching darts of pain up my leg.

"Oy!" shouts a security guard, racing after me. "Come back here!"

Outside, Henny's nowhere to be seen. I run and run and run, avoiding the puddles. I run and run and run, trying to run out of my skin, trying to get away from my life.

Please, Beckett, where are you? I need you so much!

I don't even know where to start looking. I don't even know who to ask.

When I'm far away from the cinema I stop running and check my ankle. I need a bandage. I need to wash my feet.

I open my backpack. It's too heavy. I can't carry it any longer.

So I rummage through the tangle of sleeves and stinky socks and scrunched-up rainbow snips of paper and sweet wrappers. I drag out a bundle of soft cotton clothes stubbled with sharp gritty bits and sift through it all, sorting, wondering what to keep. I drop half my life in the plastic bin and fold the rest up neatly and put it back in my bag.

I pull my phone out of the side pocket.

I press the dead b.u.t.tons five times, imagining Dad's voice at the other end. Then I kiss the little screen and throw it in the bin.

I start walking and I think about Mum. I imagine knocking at her door and her scooping me in her arms, stroking my wet rat-tail hair, kissing my ankle better, telling me it's all going to be OK. But imagining hurts too much. It makes the tears cram up in my eyes, stinging. Something inside me feels so broken I'm scared it'll never be fixed.

There's only one place left for me to go to. I don't have any choice.

I walk on the pavement, avoiding the cracks, counting from nought to a hundred and back again. I say that war poem in my head, which makes me feel too sad, so I do my seven times table ten times over to help me forget. I go into the bakers and spend the last bit of my money on doughnuts.

"h.e.l.lo!" says Connor, scooting up to find me behind the bin. "You watching us again?"

I press my finger to his lips. "Shhhh," I say, grabbing his green sweats.h.i.+rt sleeve and pulling him close. "D'you like doughnuts, Connor?"

He licks his lips, looks over to the house with big owl eyes and nods.

"D'you have to stay here?" I say. "Or are you allowed to the swings?"

"I'll go ask," he says, scooting in circles across the road.

"Don't tell on me though," I whisper. "Promise?"

He grins, holds his thumb up, scoots through the front door, shouts to Mum and scoots back out. Jayda appears at the window, following raindrops with her little pink fingertip, making misty kisses on the gla.s.s.

The swings are empty. We climb up and hide under the little red-tiled roof bit at the top of the slide, Connor's scooter clanking on the metal. He rubs his tummy. He licks his lips.

"What are prehistoric monsters called when they sleep?" he says.

"Errrm, I don't know. What are prehistoric monsters called when they sleep?"