Chasing Somewhere 2

For some reason, they don’t wake me when we get back to Broadstairs, and when I do wake up, it’s the next morning and I’m in my bed at Harbour House. Someone must have carried me up here. I hate the thought of it, of someone touching me while I’m still asleep, but at least I’m still in my clothes of the day before. They’re dirty and smelly and it feels strange to wear them in bed, but it’s better than waking up in pyjamas someone else put me in.

I stretch up and down, then bend over the edge of the bed. The Pack are all piled together on the lower bunk, and I see that Jones has snuggled up against Ginger just as he did when we were on the road. Ginger is awake, and she raises her head and thumps her tail in greeting. Dara.

Hello pretty girl. How’s Jones?

Still sleeping. She looks down at him and smiles. Puppy.

The clock on the wall says it’s almost nine, which explains why the house is so quiet. Everyone else must be on the way to school. I can hear Neil downstairs in the kitchen, though, which is maybe why no one’s come to get me up. Neil is a big believer in the power of a good lie-in. I smell toast and Marmite and the lemony smell of washing-up liquid.

The sun is shining through the curtains, strips of golden light falling on the floorboards, on the blue bookcase, on the music posters on the wall. My rucksack is on the chair by the wardrobe, empty and unpacked, and the gaps have been filled up on the bookcase showing where my books have been put back. I wonder who went through my bag and put everything back, so easily, as though my running away meant nothing. It certainly hasn’t achieved anything.

I would cry about it, but I never cry, so I sit up and swing myself out of bed. The floor creaks, and Mick and Merry both startle awake. I stroke them, then pad out of the room onto the landing. Ginger gently displaces Jones and follows me, looking over the top of the stairs. Only Neil’s coat is on the rack, so Emma must have taken Lewis, Alex and Harry to school.

Merry is still curled up on the bed with Jones, but Mick comes clattering out of the bedroom and follows Ginger and me downstairs. Where? he demands.

Mick is always worrying about getting left behind, so I pause for a second and stroke his silky ears. Nowhere, I say soothingly. It’s ok.

He nudges my hand, not entirely convinced, but doesn’t fuss anymore, and he snaps to attention when he hears plates clattering. Neil pokes his head out of the kitchen, his gingery hair gelled up like a hedgehog. ‘Good morning,’ he says. ‘Toast?’

I go into the kitchen, which is wiped clean and empty. The dishwasher’s stacked, the cereals are back on top of the fridge, but the bread and margarine are still out, and there’s a new pot of jam by a clean plate.

Neil pops two pieces of bread into the toaster. I fill up the dog bowls with clean water and get out the dog food. There’s a clatter of paws and Merry and Jones come downstairs.

‘Who’s the new fellow?’ Neil says.

‘Jones,’ I say. ‘I’m keeping him.’

‘I didn’t say anything.’ Neil gives half a grin. ‘Trust you to come back with another dog. You know Elise is going to kill you.’

‘Fat lot of good you are,’ I say. ‘Aren’t I meant to be in your careful and qualified protection?’

He snorts. ‘Yeah, right.’ Then he grows serious, which is rare for Neil. ‘Why did you do it, Dara?’

I put down the dog bowls. It gives me a tiny warm glow inside to see them all eating together, tails wagging, jaws crunching; and Jones at the end, new, but already a permanent part of the Pack. My Pack.

‘I just had a mad urge,’ I say. ‘You know how deeply I adore Chatham. Sailing’s in my blood. I couldn’t wait another second to steal a ship and sail up the Thames.’

‘Dara.’

‘Seriously. I’m thinking of getting a Mum tattoo and growing stubble.’

‘Dara.’

‘It’s not my fault if you don’t believe me. The Thames calls to me like a bee to a candle flame.’

‘It’s a moth,’ Neil says. ‘Bees go to flowers. Moths go to candle flames.’

‘And I go to Chatham.’ I shrug, smile at him. My toast pops up and I spread it with margarine and the new jam, which is red and runny and very pippy. Merry looks up from her bowl and wags her tail at me. The sun through the window browns the curve of her back and the fringes of her long ears, and makes her eyes shine like new chestnuts. Love you, I tell her, and all the Pack’s tails wave like signalling flags.

‘We had the police out looking for you,’ Neil says. He’s not really cross, because Neil never gets really cross, but he’s not skipping through a field of daisies either. ‘It was in the newspapers.’

‘I know,’ I say, not looking at him. ‘Elise said I was vulnerable and highly-strung.’

‘That’s code for a right pain in the neck.’

I bite into my toast. The new jam is surprisingly delicious, sticky and full of syrupy sweetness.

‘Where were you trying to get to?’ Neil says. He leans against the sink, his hands tucked under his elbows. I know he wants me to look at him, to give him a proper answer, but I look at the golden specks of dust swirling in the sunlight. ‘Or were you just going to wander the length and breadth of England for the rest of your life?’

I shrug.

‘London?’ he prods. ‘Edinburgh? Where?’

Edinburgh might be nice, actually. It’s far enough away so they might forget about me. Or Wales. They have hills in Wales, brown hills and wide grey skies.

Neil says, ‘Is it really so terrible for you here? I thought things were getting better. Are the girls at school still giving you trouble?’

‘It’s not them,’ I say.

‘Then what?’

I gnaw on my toast. ‘I just don’t like it.’ It’s too cramped and no one likes me and I don’t like anyone, but I don’t say that out loud.

‘Why, though? Come on, Dara. How can we make things better for you if you won’t tell us what’s wrong?’

Maybe if I offer up a real reason, he’ll stop bothering. ‘I don’t like going to Court.’ That is true. I might like going to Court if I didn’t have to go there; but I do have to, so I don’t like it.

‘Is it so bad going to Court? All you have to do is dance, and you love dancing.’

‘It’s different,’ I say.

Neil sighs. ‘I don’t understand. How can we help you if we don’t understand the problem?’

‘Then you can’t,’ I say. I finish my toast and reach past him to dump the plate in the sink. ‘That’s great jam. Can you get it again?’

‘Yeah, I guess so.’ He puts a clip on the bread bag. ‘If you’ve finished eating, then go and have a bath. You smell.’

‘No I don’t,’ I say, actually offended.

‘Yeah you do,’ he says. ‘And Emma said you’re to wash the new dog. The others could do with a good brushing as well.’

‘All right.’

‘And Elise is coming round later.’

My heart sinks. ‘I might be dead later.’

‘Then she’ll find a way to reanimate you and yell at your zombified body,’ Neil says unsympathetically. ‘Go on. Shoo.’