Cross Her Heart(49)

‘Who was Child B? This Katie?’ I hear Marilyn ask as they reach the front door.

‘Her name was Katie Batten. She was a sweet kid, by all accounts. Charlotte’s best friend.’





41


BEFORE


1989

‘You come back here, Charlotte Nevill, you thieving little bitch!’

‘You fuck off, you old bag!’ Charlotte laughs as she calls back over her shoulder, her feet confident on the wasteland littered with bricks and building debris as she runs across it.

‘You’re banned, you hear! Banned!’

Old Mrs Jackson still has one foot in the shop doorway. She can’t chase after Charlotte, not with the Taylor boys over there on the wall, watching. They’d be in there and away with all they could carry before the shopkeeper had got halfway to the demolition site. Charlotte pauses, enjoying the rush of air burning in her lungs.

‘See if I care! I’ll burn your stupid shop down! Brick your windows in!’ She reaches down and grabs one to illustrate her point, throwing it half-heartedly. She laughs again, and turns to run. It’s the third week of March but the bitter wind that’s owned February shows no sign of letting go. Charlotte doesn’t care. She loves the way it blasts her skin and makes her eyes and nose run. It’s wild. She feels free. She’ll be in trouble again later but right now she doesn’t care. She refuses to care. Nothing matters.

Katie is crouching behind the remains of a wall. She joins Charlotte as she comes by, and hand in hand they run laughing across the rough ground where houses have been knocked down but none yet rebuilt. Charlotte hopes that when they get moved out, they’ll get a place near Katie. She knows it’s a dream though. There aren’t any shite council houses where Katie lives.

They run past the playground with the rusty slides, crappy seesaw and old climbing frames, and turn the corner. The bus shelter is there and they flop, as one, on to the worn seat inside, panting and giggling.

‘That will never not be funny,’ Katie says, and her eyes shine as she looks at Charlotte. ‘I wish I could steal like you do.’ Charlotte thinks her heart will burst with pride. Sometimes Charlotte thinks Katie is a living breathing doll. She’s three inches shorter than Charlotte and a proper girly girl because her ma dresses her like that, but under the skin they’re both the same. They both hate their lives, even though sometimes Charlotte doesn’t understand quite what Katie has to hate. Katie appeared like a dream, just there one day on the wasteland, and her life is like a dream too. Proper house. Posh car. Both parents. Music lessons, like the one she’s supposed to be at now. Holidays.

Charlotte pulls the sweets she’s stolen from the shop from one pocket and the sippy cup full of Thunderbird Red she’s stolen from home from the other, and she takes a long swallow before handing it to Katie, who takes a smaller one. It tastes horrible but she likes the numbing heat of it. They eat the Caramacs and Discos and lean into each other, but that word sits between them today. Holiday.

‘Where are you going again?’ Charlotte asks, lighting a crumpled cigarette and blowing out the smoke. She doesn’t like the taste but she’s determined to get used to it. One of her ma’s fags. It’s stolen too. Not that her ma will notice. Or if she does she’ll think Tony’s been at the packet.

‘You know full well,’ Katie elbows her. ‘The seaside. My grandfather’s house in Skegness. Will be my mum’s house soon. He’s got the big C. He’ll die soon. Not soon enough. He needs to get on with it. Sickness is so dull.’ She pauses. ‘Did I tell you he designed tricks for famous magicians? That was his job. You’d think someone who did that for a living would be fun, but no. He’s as dull as my mother.’ Charlotte could listen to Katie talk all day. It’s like music, all posh and polite. Sometimes they try to talk like each other and it’s the funniest thing.

‘Oh aye,’ Charlotte says. ‘Skegness.’ She’s never been to the seaside. Her ma went to Grimsby once and saw the sea, but it wasn’t the seaside like they have at Cleethorpes or Skegness. Fishing boats is all her ma saw. She said it stank. She was there for some man. Always for some man. It was a long time ago – before Tony – but Charlotte remembers it because she was left on her own. Her ma locked her in with some sandwiches and juice and crisps and told her to stay quiet and it was just for one night. One night that turned into two. She cried a lot on the second night but it didn’t make her ma get home any quicker.

‘I wish you were coming with me,’ Katie says, and leans her head on Charlotte’s shoulder. ‘It’s going to be so dull. And I can’t even go to the funfair. Mother won’t let me on any of the rides in case I get hurt. Or dirty. I’m not sure which she’d think is worse.’ She smiles at Charlotte and they both shrug. Katie’s mother drives her mad with all her fussing. Katie says she doesn’t let her breathe. She says her ma’s neurotic although Charlotte doesn’t know what that means. ‘She’ll be crying over Granddad the whole of Easter. So so boring. He’s old and he’s going to die. So what?’

‘Maybe a pirate will save you, like in those old films.’ Charlotte leaps up and pretends to pull a cutlass from the top of her worn-out C&A jeans. ‘I’ll be your pirate!’

‘Yes yes!’ Katie is on her feet too. ‘They’ve locked me away in a cabin and you have to set me free. I’ve stolen a knife from the captain, and I’ll gut her when she’s not looking!’ They are always fizzing with energy when they’re together. Always playing pretend. Half in this world, and half in another. Movie stars, gangsters, always adventuring free and together.