Breakfast at Sadie's Page 14

  ‘That's – that's why I've been late so often, and . . .’ I trailed off.

  Vampira shook her head briskly, like she was trying to wake herself up, and turned back to Aunt Leona.

  ‘So you went off on holiday and left Sadie alone, is that it?’ she said. ‘A fourteen-year-old girl. You left her on her own to run her mother's business.’

  ‘It's OK; she didn't mean to!’ I flung out wildly. ‘Please, don't tell anyone—’

  Vampira had never looked so pale, so deadly calm. ‘What, she didn't mean to fly off on a plane? Well, it's a pretty criminal mistake to make, and I think the police will be interested to hear about it.’

  ‘No!’ I lunged towards her and grabbed her arm. Hot, salty tears started down my face. ‘You can't! You can't go to the police! I'll be taken into care – they'll tell my mum – please, you can't, it'll make her worse . . .’

  They were all looking at me. I turned away, clutching my face and trying to hold in the sobs. It didn't work.

  For a few minutes all I could hear was the sound of my own crying, echoing about the hallway. Then someone hugged me, holding me tightly, stroking my hair. ‘Shh . . . it'll be OK . . .’

  It was Vampira.

  Tennis Match

  Once I stopped crying – which probably only took a few minutes, but it felt like damp decades – Vampira let go of me and gave me a little pat.

  ‘Are you all right now?’

  ‘Yes,’ I muttered, wiping my eyes. My face was in flames. I couldn't look at anyone.

  ‘Let's go in and discuss this, then,’ said Vampira. It was an order, not a suggestion. ‘We have some rather difficult decisions to make.’

  Her voice was like ice shavings. Aunt Leona looked ill.

  So for the second time that day we all sat in the lounge, with Tricia and Vampira beside me on the sofa again. Aunt Leona sat huddled in the armchair by the fireplace, looking like a prisoner about to be executed.

  Tricia cleared her throat. ‘The thing is, Sadie's right, you know.’ She was sitting with her arm around my shoulders. I wasn't sobbing any more, but my stupid eyes kept leaking, like a tap that dripped in the night.

  Vampira frowned, her long black hair almost blue against her pale skin. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, it may not actually make Celia worse to hear about Sadie being left on her own, but it would be an extremely stressful thing for her to hear in such a helpless state. Frankly, I think we should keep it from her if we can.’

  Vampira didn't look thrilled at this. ‘Yes, but Leona broke the law! We can't just shrug and pretend it never happened. She abandoned Sadie!’

  ‘But I . . .’ started Aunt Leona. She petered off as Vampira glared at her, shrinking back into her chair.

  ‘I was OK.’ I wiped my nose with a soggy tissue. My arms felt stiff, like I had been lifting weights at a gym.

  Tricia's arm tightened around my shoulders. ‘You were better than OK. You did an amazing thing, Sadie.’

  Vampira's face softened, and she smiled at me. A real smile, open and human, and suddenly the thought of her being friends with Kathy wasn't so strange after all.

  ‘Yes, I agree; Sadie's an amazing young woman. I don't know any other child in her year group who could have done what she did. You're really to be commended, Sadie.’ Her eyes were warm with approval.

  I blinked. Was this really Vampira, talking about me?

  It only lasted a second, and then she was herself again. ‘ But, it was still completely criminal of Leona to leave. And I don't see how we can just—’

  ‘I agree, it was an awful thing to do,’ broke in Tricia quietly. ‘But now we have to do what's best for Celia, as well as for Sadie. And I really don't think that going to the police will help matters.’

  Aunt Leona's eyes followed the conversation as if she were watching a tennis match. There was a pause while Vampira frowned, thinking it over. On the wall, the clock ticked softly.

  Finally Aunt Leona swallowed. ‘I – I'm really sorry. I won't do it again.’

  Vampira snorted, and gave her a cold look. ‘I know you won't, because I'm going to be checking up on you. And if you leave Sadie again, I'm going straight to the police, Celia or no Celia.’

  The Full English, Take Two

  The next morning I stood cooking at the hob, frying up eggs and flipping over the bacon that hissed on the grill. Aunt Leona worked at the counter behind me, hardly saying a word.

  She had been very quiet ever since Vampira and Tricia had left the day before, moving her bags into my room without a murmur of protest. I had offered the Brochus one of the guest rooms upstairs when they got back from their stroll, but they had just smiled sweetly at me and said they were nicely settled in now, thank you. So Aunt Leona was sharing my room until they left.

  Usually I hated sleeping with her – she snored like a chainsaw, and hogged all the covers – but I hadn't minded at all last night.

  ‘Sadie – is this right?’ said Aunt Leona suddenly. She showed me the mushrooms she was chopping. I glanced over my shoulder, scrambling eggs with a wooden spatula as I looked.

  ‘Sure, that's fine. Maybe a bit smaller.’

  ‘Smaller, right.’ She frowned in concentration, carefully slicing the knife through each mushroom.

  It was going to take her ages at that rate. I opened my mouth to say something – and then closed it again. It wouldn't be the end of the world if the mushrooms took a few minutes longer than usual.

  ‘What?’ Aunt Leona looked up suddenly, her face reddening.

  ‘Nothing.’ I flipped the hash browns over on the grill, and pricked the sausages with quick jabs of my knife. The tomatoes sizzled in the frying pan. ‘I mean – thanks for helping.’

  Aunt Leona looked confused for a moment, holding the knife like she had forgotten what to do with it. Then a small smile touched her face. ‘That's OK. It's sort of the least I can do, don't you think?’

  When the first lot of breakfasts were done, Aunt Leona took them into the dining room, carrying a plate in each hand and bumping backwards against the swinging door to open it. She was back a few minutes later, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘Who's that woman out there? With the face like she just drank a pint of Dettol?’

  I made a face, sliding fresh eggs onto a plate. ‘Oh. Mrs Dumont. They're checking out tomorrow. Hopefully.’

  Aunt Leona went back to slicing mushrooms, squinting down at the chopping board. ‘She doesn't like you much, does she? Started going on about how rude you were, and how she wants a discount.’

  Argh! ‘ Oh, I can't believe she's still going on about that—’

  Aunt Leona shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘Well, I told her to get over herself and leave, if she hated it so much here.’

  My mouth dropped, imagining Mrs Dumont's face. Blimey, it must have been priceless. ‘You didn't!’

  My aunt grinned at me over her shoulder. ‘Oh, I assure you I did. And I also told her to stop slagging off my niece, who, by the way, just happens to be the manageress.’

  When the Living Is Easy

  So for the rest of the summer, I ran the B&B. And I don't know if it was Marcus's website or what, but we were busier than we had ever been, with all the rooms filled almost every night. The weeks passed in a whirl of making breakfasts, talking to the guests, checking people in, cleaning – and smiling away like a mad thing. And then one day I realized that I hadn't had to remind myself to smile in ages; it was just there.

  Aunt Leona helped with all of it. She still snapped at me sometimes if I butted in too much, and had her days when she was soo obviously not enjoying it at all . . . but slowly, slowly, she started to get the hang of it, so that by the time I had to go back to school she could just about do everything on her own. She even learned how to fold the swans.

  When I had time to myself, I saw Milly sometimes. It turned out that we had loads of quirky stuff in common – like we had the same sense of humour, and both loved Johnny Depp movies. Not to mention that
she liked tennis, so I dusted off my racket and we played a lot, sometimes sunbathing down at the beach afterwards. We could talk for hours, about pretty much anything. Or not say anything at all.

  I visited Mum every day. We got really good at using something called an alphabet card, so that we could zap conversations back and forth almost like she was talking. We talked a lot about Dad that summer.

  I also read that book of Marcus's – the How to Run a Perfect B&B book. Only Greg R. Smeed couldn't have been the big expert he claimed, because he didn't say anything I didn't already know. He kept going on about things that I had already been doing for weeks, like putting fresh flowers out in the entrance hallway, and keeping flyers of all the Brixham tourist attractions on the front table.

  I mean, it wasn't rocket science.

  Not a Hero

  Our new English teacher was Mrs Sayle. During her first lesson, she had leaped about like an excited cricket, chirping on about stories and truth, and how she was going to take us on an odyssey of the mind that year. Which had impressed nobody, so she had taken the hint and calmed down a bit.

  ‘Quick writing exercise,’ she said now, pacing about in front of the room. ‘I want you to describe a place that you know very well. Bring it to life for me, so that I can see it, feel it, taste it for myself. Right? Ten minutes, go!’

  I bit my lip and opened up my orange exercise book, waiting for the absolute dread to hit my stomach, freezing my brain, paralysing my fingers.

  But it didn't come. It felt so bizarre, like hanging about on a platform waiting for a train to arrive that had actually been cancelled and no one had told me. I hardly knew what to do with an exercise book in front of me and no panic.

  Beside me, Milly already had her head down, her hand flying over the page. I glanced at her sideways, and could see her eyes shining; she loved stuff like this.

  I looked down at the blank lined sheets. Well, I didn't love it. But . . . I felt like maybe I could do it.

  I picked up my pen and started to write.

  Afterwards we had break, and Milly and I fought our way through the corridors, heading out to the courtyard. I saw Hannah and Tara and the others over in our old spot, and I waved. I had sort of been dreading seeing them again when the new term started, but it had turned out to be no big deal. We just said hi when we saw each other in the corridors, and that was that.

  ‘You know what's strange?’ said Milly as we leaned against the wall.

  ‘No, what?’

  ‘Well—’ She rummaged in her bag, taking out a pack of crisps. ‘It's the way that no one knows what you did last term. I mean, you should be this complete celebrity, with people stopping you in the halls and begging on their knees for your autograph, but . . . nada. No one's got a clue.’

  It was a grey day, with the clouds hanging down so low you could practically touch them. I took a Coke out of my bag and snapped it open, making a face at her.

  ‘Why would anyone know? It wasn't in the papers or anything.’

  Milly laughed, her grey eyes looking like part of the clouds. ‘Yes, that's exactly what I like about you, Sadie . . . you really don't get it.’

  ‘Get what?’

  She popped a crisp in her mouth. ‘Has it never occurred to you that anyone else would have told everyone? Would perhaps have bandied it about that they were, like, this complete hero—’

  ‘You're barking! I'm not a hero!’

  Milly grinned, shaking her head. ‘OK,’ she said. ‘Not a hero. Whatever.’

  Seeing Things

  The nurses smiled at me as I walked down the corridor. ‘Back in school, eh?’ said Brenda, flicking my tie. She hadn't seen me in a couple of days.

  ‘Yeah, Year Ten.’

  She laughed. ‘Oh dear, GCSE's . . .’

  Which obviously I knew, since everyone kept going on about it. My stomach dipped, thinking about it. No, stop it, I told myself. It won't be as bad as you think.

  I walked into Mum's room and stopped short. ‘Your tube is gone!’

  She sat up in bed, smiling at me. ‘I wanted to surprise you,’ she said.

  ‘Mum! Oh, that's so great!’ I rushed to her bed and hugged her, and for the first time in months, her arm was strong enough to wrap around me in return. I sank back onto her bed, grinning. ‘You can really talk again!’

  ‘Just about.’ She put a hand to her bandaged throat and swallowed. ‘It's a bit rough from the tube, but it's there.’

  I started to say something else, and stopped as she touched my jacket, tugging at it playfully.

  ‘Year Ten, eh?’

  ‘Yeah. And Mum, I wanted to show you—’

  ‘How did you do today?’

  I stiffened. The world stood completely still as her words hung in the air like cigarette smoke. She looked at me expectantly, eyes gleaming, waiting to hear about perfect marks.

  ‘Sadie?’

  I stood up slowly. I was shaking. ‘I'm – I'm not going to tell you.’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Sadie—’

  ‘It's all you care about!’

  ‘Sadie, that's not true—’ She stopped, coughing.

  ‘It is true! Every single day, that's all you ever talked about – how did you do, how did you do! The second you get your voice back, you're asking about it! The next thing will be my homework, won't it – going on like it's the end of the world! Well, it's not. And you know what? I can do well if I want to, if no one's breathing down my neck and quizzing me every second!’ I fumbled with my rucksack, grabbed my English essay out of the folder. ‘But I don't need to.’

  I tore the essay up.

  Mum's face looked like I had slapped her. ‘Sadie . . .’ she whispered. ‘Oh, Sadie, I'm sorry.’

  I didn't answer her. I stood staring down at the scattered scraps of paper. B – good work! was on one of them.

  Mum swallowed. ‘Please sit down. I can't talk very loud.’

  I sat on the edge of the bed and looked away. Mum groped for my hand, tried to squeeze it. ‘Oh, I'm so stupid,’ she said. ‘Sadie, I'm sorry; I just asked out of habit, out of stupid, stupid habit! Oh, love, you're absolutely right, and I knew it months ago.’

  Tears sprang to my eyes. I held myself tightly, not letting it show.

  She coughed again, wincing. ‘You were lying to me about your marks last term, weren't you? You weren't really doing that well.’

  My head snapped up. ‘How did you . . .’

  ‘I don't know. It was just something in your face, or your voice – it was like I noticed more when I couldn't talk.’ Her eyes were moist. She wiped them with the back of her hand and tried to laugh. ‘You know, GBS takes away absolutely everything, but one thing it does give you is a lot of time to think . . . and Sadie, I realized what I've been doing to you, putting you under so much pressure.’

  I stared at her. ‘But—’

  ‘And I decided that I'd wait until I had my voice back to talk to you about it . . . and what do I do but put my foot in it the second I open my mouth!’

  I looked at the raw place on her throat that the bandages didn't quite cover, and then away. I didn't know what to say.

  Mum's voice came slowly, painfully. ‘Sadie, I— well, I always wanted more for myself, you know. Felt that I should have a degree, that I was stupid because I didn't. I just wanted you to have an education you could be proud of . . . or at least I told myself it was for you, but I guess really . . .’ She trailed off, and touched my arm. ‘I'm sorry, Sadie. Please forgive me.’

  I pulled away. ‘Well— well what if I don't want to go to uni? Or even college? Because I've been thinking about it a lot, and I want to leave school when I turn sixteen.’

  Her throat moved. ‘I see.’ There was a pause. ‘What would you do?’

  I plucked at her bedsheet. ‘I don't know . . . maybe take a hotel apprenticeship somewhere, or even just work at Grace's. I've been – been helping out Aunt Leona a lot. I like it.’

  I looked up, and saw the struggle caught on her face.
And I thought, Right, that's torn it, forget about being all understanding and sorry, but then she nodded slowly.

  ‘Well . . . fair enough. It's your life.’ She saw my jaw drop to the floor, and smiled. ‘Whatever you want to do is fine, Sadie. I've realized I couldn't be more proud of you, just the way you are.’

  She touched my hair. ‘Listen, let's – let's not lose what we found when I couldn't talk, OK? I want to stay your friend.’

  ‘OK,’ I said softly. I felt a smile grow through me, and then we were hugging each other tightly, sort of laughing and crying at the same time. Whatever it was, it felt good.

  ‘And you know what else?’ Mum said when we pulled apart.

  ‘What?’ I dabbed my eyes with the corner of her sheet.

  She grazed my cheek with her fingers. ‘I've realized how very much like Frank you are.’

  I smiled down at her bed. My paper was still scattered all over the floor, and suddenly I was stooping down, gathering up the pieces. ‘Mum, do you want to hear this?’

  ‘If you want me to.’

  ‘Yeah, it's – well, we were supposed to describe a place that we know really well, and – well, just listen.’ I arranged the pieces on her bed, fitting them together like a paper jigsaw, and started to read.

  The Intensive Care unit at Brixham Hospital has white shiny walls, and it's full of nurses rushing about, pushing carts and carrying clipboards with important papers on them. It smells like antiseptic, so clean that it hurts, and you can hear TVs going and sometimes the nurses shouting something when there's an emergency.

  My mother's room is there, in IC as they call it. I see other rooms as I walk down the corridors on my way to hers, and they all look the same, with white walls and a TV and beds with metal railings on them.

  But my mother's room is different, because she's in it. I sit on her clean white bed with her, and we talk even though she can't speak. There are always flowers on her table that Tricia brings from her shop, usually things like carnations, but sometimes lilies that open up and scent the whole room. The walls are just plain white like the others, with a TV hanging on them, but somehow it all looks friendlier in here.