Home Girl Read online

  * * *

  Surrounded by tall trees and hearing the crunch of the pine cones as I rode over them, I proper enjoyed the rush of wind that swept over me as I bombed downhill. I tried to keep up with Susan who had zoomed a hundred yards ahead. I wondered if she had sank a few dragon hip pills along with her spinach-and-berry brekkie.

  Emily was miles behind, cycling like a stoosh chick who hates sweating. The last uphill climb was a steep one and I had to jump off. My calf muscles screamed and my chest was heaving. I pushed my bike to this viewing platform that offered a neat view over Smeckenham and the Ashburton Downs. I could make out a windmill kissing the horizon.

  I placed my bike on the ground and joined Susan. I took off my helmet and squinted. The sun was proper bright.

  “Nothing like a good bike ride,” Susan said. “You fill your lungs with air and it gets the heart going. Brings color to your cheeks.”

  “And it does your legs in,” I put in.

  “That’s because you’re not yet used to it, Naomi,” said Susan. “Trust me, on your fourth or fifth visit you’ll be whizzing up that hill like an Olympian.”

  “If I come again I’d like to ride a motorbike. Or one of them things with giant wheels. A quad bike or something. That’ll be easier.”

  Susan gave me side-eye.

  Five minutes later, from the bushes at the bottom of the hill, Emily emerged. Her helmet tied on the handlebar, headphones the size of dustbin lids covered her ears, she took her time pushing her bike up to join us.

  “If you’re willing to put the effort in,” Susan said, “you will ride up that hill and reach the summit.”

  I guessed that Susan was trying to teach me some kinda life skill or something but it went flapping over my head. She poshy-prattled on but I was thinking of lying on a beach sipping a colder-than-cold Coke.

  Once Emily had reached the viewing platform, Susan handed out energy drinks, high-protein bars, and bananas.

  “No Coke?” I asked. I glared at the energy drink as if was a meerkat’s piss sample. I didn’t even bother unwrapping the protein bar. It had better use as a ping-pong bat. “No chocolate?” I spat. “What are you? Some kinda evil choco-hating Jamie Oliver disciple?”

  Emily burst out in a giggle but she covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Didn’t I tell you to get me some Penguin choc bars?” I said to Susan. “You know, the original ones, not those mint things. They’re my fave. Even a bourbon would’ve been good.”

  “I can’t give you Coke or chocolate following good exercise,” said Susan. “Far too much sugar. You’ll lose all the benefit of what you have just cycled for.”

  Okay, not gonna hold it down anymore. She’s obviously full-metal stonking black-birds-swirling-in-a-tornado nuts.

  “Oh, Mum! Give Naomi some Coke if she wants it,” said Emily.

  Okay, that’s saved her for now.

  “I haven’t brought any with me,” replied Susan.

  I gave a glare that Susan couldn’t avoid. Then I sat down on the ground resting against a semicircle stone wall. As I unpeeled my banana, Susan dropped herself beside me. She looked at me like a chemistry teacher did to me once when I used a lit matchstick to ignite the Bunsen burner. She was also cadazy. “Take that hill as an example of life,” she said.

  Oh no! Lecture o’clock! When Dad was half-pissed he’d sometimes try to get all clever on me telling me about the meaning of life. I glanced at Emily to save me but she was listening to her headphones and had closed her eyes.

  “The hill starts off with many twists and turns,” Susan went on. “There are many bumps at the start, sharp bends and places where you could fall off. There are many signs and you have to make sure you follow the right one.”

  I nodded in the hope that she’d superglue her gums and scribble a fat full stop to this crap. Emily faked sleep. Susan didn’t shut up. When I get back to Louise, I swear I’m gonna give her the longest cuss attack ever. What was she thinking, putting me with this madwoman? She’s obviously escaped from asylum ward twenty-one.

  “But if you navigate all that,” Susan carried on, “you’ll eventually rise to the top and you’ll laugh at your difficult start in life . . . Do you understand what I’m trying to say, Naomi?”

  “No,” I quickly replied. I looked away, hoping Susan would put a heavy cork in it.

  “What I’m trying to say is that despite your very . . . complicated start in life, you can be anything you want to be. A doctor, a lawyer, an accountant, a businesswoman . . . maybe even a politician. God! We need more female MPs in this country. The men always make a mess of it.”

  “Anything I want?” I repeated.

  “Er, yes. You can be anything you want, Naomi.”

  “I wanna be a street dancer,” I said.

  “A street dancer? It’s not really a stable career, is it?”

  “That’s what I wanna be,” I insisted. “I wanna go on tour as a dancer for someone like Nicky Minaj or Rihanna. I wanna see places like New York, Hollywood, Hong Kong, Paris, and that city where they had the Olympics. Where they’ve got the Jesus statue.”

  “Rio,” said Susan.

  “Yeah, Rio, I wanna fly there and learn to dance the samba . . . and New Zealand where the sports people do that haka thing . . . and that place where you have those fat statues with Chinese eyes.”

  “You mean Buddha statues,” Emily chimed in. Her eyes were still closed.

  “You can still visit those places if you study hard and get a good place at university—”

  “Oh, Mum,” interrupted Emily. “Give her a break! She’s only fourteen. And if she wants to be a dancer, so what?”

  “I’m only trying to teach Naomi the value of hard work,” argued Susan. “Too many kids these days believe that they don’t have to put the effort in to get rewarded. All that celebrity TV is to blame.”

  “Mum! Take a time out. All we can think about now is resting our legs.”

  “Yeah, my bones feel like they’re made of mash potato,” I said.

  Susan stood up and, with her arms swinging, hoofed-poofed down the hill. She looked out across the valley beneath her. She’s definitely got a bit of the ravens flapping around her skull going on. I hoped she’d carry on walking till she reached the windmill.

  “She’s going to have a sulk now,” said Emily. “Don’t worry, she’ll be back to herself in a minute. Sometimes I wonder who’s the parent.”

  * * *

  During the drive home, Susan stopped off at a corner shop where she bought me a bottle of Diet Coke and a Mars bar. By the time she had returned to the Range Rover, Emily was snoring on the backseat. Jazz played on the car radio. I let it go but if I went for another drive with her, I’d have to deal with the radio station issue.

  “Perhaps you should think about a classical form of dancing?” Susan suggested. “Maybe you could train for the ballet? That’s a great career.”

  I shrugged and crocodiled my choc block.

  “Those dancers who tour with pop singers are very young,” Susan said. “I don’t think any of them are over thirty. There’s much living after you reach thirty. That’s why I’m suggesting having a plan B.”

  I focused on the road ahead. I didn’t wanna get in a long convo with her. Just wanted to get home and watch a horror movie or something. Vampires fanging posho necks would’ve worked.

  “I know school has been difficult for you,” Susan went on. “From reading about your home life I can understand why you were so angry. It explains the fights with teachers and other students. The frustration must’ve built up. You were the one who was supposed to be cared for and yet you were lumped with looking after your dad.”

  Monkey being interrogated by the feds. How does she know so much about me? She’s not my official foster carer. I’m just here for the weekend.

  “But if you stay with us you’ll get all the support you need. Emily’s very bright, my husband knows everything worth knowing about math, and I know a thing or two about
English and other stuff.”

  “You’ve only known me for two secs and you’ve read my frucking file?” I raised my tones. “You know all about my dramas at school? And what happened with my mum and dad?”

  “Er . . . yes, Naomi. Louise read from your file to me. It makes sense, don’t you think? So I could get to know—”

  “I don’t even know you and you know shit about me! Liberties!”

  Emily stirred in the backseat, sat up, and leaned forward. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m trying to explain to Naomi that any potential foster carer needs to be briefed about the young person they’re taking in.”

  Susan scoped me with dread. Her bottom lip wobbled so much I thought it was gonna drop off. She had to brake sharply to avoid the van in front of her. We all rocked forward. The seat belts saved Susan and my ass, but Emily fell off her seat. Kuboof.

  “And I don’t wanna be no freaking doctor!” I yelled. “Don’t wanna be a lawyer or go to uni. You can toss Guy Fawkes on top of all that. You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my mum! I’m gonna be a dancer and if you don’t like it you can frig yourself with your bike pump!”

  “I was only suggesting, just giving you something to think about—”

  “Stop the frucking car!” I screamed. “I wanna get out! Telling me to do this and do that! You’re not my dad either!”

  Susan stamped on the brake pedal. Everyone jolted forward again. Emily smacked her head on the headrest in front of her and dropped to the floor again. “For freak’s sake, Mum!”

  “Sorry,” said Susan. She puffed out a long sigh and rested her head on the steering wheel. She then sucked in a deep breath and closed her eyes.

  I took the opportunity to escape.

  “Naomi!” Susan called. “I’m very sorry! I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I threw her a brick-hard glare. Then I marched away and threw the Mars bar wrapper over my shoulder. I forgot my Coke bottle but it would’ve looked kinda tragic if I storm-heeled back for it. Pedestrians foot-braked in their tracks to see what the drama was all about.

  “Naomi!” Susan called out again.

  Jumping out of the ride, Emily hot-stepped to catch up with me. I tried to ignore her but I kinda liked it that she cared enough to quick-toe after me. She rolled with me for a short stretch before she could think of something to say. “I know you’re pissed off with Mum but it’s a long trek from here.”

  I paid her no mind and carried on walking. I stretched my strides. Emily had to jog for a bit to keep up with me.

  “I don’t know about you,” Emily said, “but my legs are killing me with all that riding up hills. My body’s reminding me of the shots I took last night. If you’re gonna walk all the way back I’m gonna have to go with you—duty of care and all that. Do you wanna do that to me? I’ll need a wheelchair and a sick-bag by the end of the day. It’s not a look I’ve been going for.”

  “Tell your mum to stop lecturing me and tell her to stay outta my eyesight.”

  “I will. I swear, if she says another word to you I’ll hit her with her bike and roll her down one of those hills.”

  I quarter-smiled.

  “She doesn’t mean any harm,” Emily added. “She just gets carried away sometimes. All that goodwill in her wants to come out of her stomach like an alien.”

  I tried hard to kill my grin. Alien was one of my fave films. I didn’t love the sequels too much.

  “I’ll help you bake a cake this afternoon,” offered Emily. She was smiling and doing happy things with her eyes. I wasn’t six years old but at least she was trying to bend my lips into a smile.

  “All right, I’ll come back with ya but I’m gonna hold you to licking your mum with a bike if she starts on me again.”

  “Promise. Bike versus Mum’s head is definitely on—even if she nags you a tiny bit.”

  I couldn’t murder the chuckle that ran away from my mouth.

  Avoiding Susan’s gaze, I returned to the Range Rover and took a backseat next to the bikes. I crossed my arms and stared out the back window. I was good but I wanted Susan to know I was still raging. Emily joined me. Susan fired up the engine and pulled away.

  “I’m very sorry, Naomi,” Susan apologized once more. “I—”

  “Mum! Just drive.”

  We reached home. I jet-heeled to my room and slammed the door behind me. I could hear Emily telling Susan to just leave me on my lonesome for a bit. I sat on the bed and stared at the blank TV. Suddenly, the TV was showing me the inside of my old flat. Monkey in Wonderland. I’m beginning to see things. Is this shit happening in my head or the TV screen? I watched myself on the TV—or at least I thought I did.

  I tip-tap-toed to the bathroom and pushed down on the door handle. I stepped inside. The bathroom fan was louder than normal. The soap dish dripped red. Sliding fingerprints marked the white-tiled walls. The scum level inside the tub was stained with blood and grime. I couldn’t sniff the lavender oil that Mum usually spilled into her bathwater. Her head hung over the side. Her sleek hair looked nice but there was a small puddle on the floor. It was weird seeing her naked. Her mouth was open but her eyes were closed. The water was very still, like a little pond on a silent, cold day.

  I staggered to my bedroom, slammed my eyes shut, grabbed a pillow, and pushed it into my face.

  * * *

  Later that day, it was Emily who helped me bake a Victoria sponge sandwich cake. She gave me ratings for following instructions and mixing everything up to spec. Susan popped in and out of the kitchen to check on us and slowly my rage toward her went down a dose or two. But I had made up my mind about something.

  When the cake had cooled, I cut a slice for Susan and offered it to her on a plate with a napkin.

  “Naomi did most of the work,” said Emily. “She was telling me what to do.”

  She wasn’t lying.

  “What a nice cake,” Susan said, checking the texture. “Maybe one day you can be a chef? Perhaps when you finish school you might consider doing a cooking course or something?”

  “Mum!” Emily raised her voice.

  I bit my top lip.

  “Just try the cake and stop going on,” urged Emily.

  Biting a big chunk, Susan raised her eyebrows and nodded. “This is delicious!”

  Emily smiled and clapped. I scoped Susan’s face for any sign of fakery.

  “Perhaps we can bake cookies or shortbread tomorrow,” Susan suggested.

  I didn’t respond to that one. Instead, I returned to the kitchen table and cut myself a big portion of prime Victoria sponge. I poured myself a glass of Coke, sank half of it, and sat next to Emily. I sucked in a big breath. “I’m not gonna be here tomorrow,” I announced.

  Susan and Emily swapped glances.

  “But—” Susan started.

  “I wanna go back to the Goldings,” I choked her flow. “When you finish your cake, can you call Louise, please?”

  “Of . . . of course,” Susan managed. “I’m very sorry I upset you this morning. I’ve learned my lesson, Naomi. If we’re lucky enough to have you again, I’ll be more . . . considerate.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” I said. I’m not raising my tones and I’m not swearing. Louise would give me a top ranking for this. “Can you call Louise when you finish your cake? I’ll appreciate it.”

  “Er, yes, of course.”

  “That’s a shame,” said Emily. “We’ve loved having you here.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I said. “I appreciate it. But . . . but I can’t see me fitting . . . I can’t see . . .”

  Susan’s head fell.

  “I hear you,” nodded Emily. “You can bake a wicked cake though! Do you want me to wrap the rest of it in foil so you can take it with you?”

  “Yes, please,” I replied. “Thanks for being my trainee.”

  Emily laughed but Susan stood there as if I’d made jokes about starving babies.

  * * *

  Sitting on my bed beside Emily w
ith my bags packed, I checked the time on my phone. Ten past six.

  “You all right?” Emily asked. “You’ve been quiet all afternoon.”

  “I’m all right,” I said. “Been thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “About my real mum. You know, she was really pretty. My nan once showed me pics of her when she was sixteen years old. It’s been years since . . . you know, but I still miss her loads.”

  “Course you miss her. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t.”

  “I just—” I couldn’t stop the tears. “I just wanna be somewhere . . . somewhere where I can imagine her smiling. Instead of always thinking of her in that . . .”

  Emily gave me a long hug. “You don’t have to say it.” She wiped my tears.

  I felt a slap of embarrassment. After all, I had only known her for one day.

  “You’ll find somewhere,” she said. “What about the Goldings? Their place could be that somewhere.”

  “Louise says she wants to find a better fit. I think she means she wants a white foster family to look after me.” I sniffed that Emily kinda felt awkward about this issue so I didn’t run with it.

  “You must be tired of all this moving around,” Emily said after a while.

  “You’re not wrong on that one! Last night I was trying to count the amount of bedrooms I’ve snored in for the past year.”

  “How many?”

  “My calculator crashed on that one,” I said. “I’ve had sleeping bags, single beds, double beds, bunk beds. Doesn’t matter how comfy they are or how many pillows they give me or if I keep the light on . . . I still have nightmares about Mum.”

  Emily squeezed me again. It felt nice.

  “Maybe,” she said. “Maybe you need some sort of closure, or talk about her with someone. Have you tried that?”

  “Louise tries to get me to talk about her. She wanted me to mark the day of her death the other day.”