Stargazing for Beginners Page 7

  ‘Just a few days to go!’ he says.

  ‘Twelve,’ I say. Ever since Mum left, Grandad’s been acting like she’s just popped out to the shops. I stir my beans into my potato. ‘Grandad,’ I say, ‘did she text you today?’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘Email? Anything?’

  ‘No,’ he says, squeezing ketchup over his potato, ‘but I’m sure she’s fine.’

  ‘I thought she’d at least want to know how Elsa is.’ Grandad might want to pretend everything is perfect, but I don’t feel like doing that right now.

  Grandad scratches his wild hair and his collection of leather bracelets slip over his arm. ‘She knows that we’ll look after Elsa. She trusts us. You’re both full, you’re clean, and I can’t see any noticeable injuries!’ He laughs when he says this, but somehow he manages to frown at the same time. ‘This is fun, Meg, like the old days.’

  ‘I guess so,’ I say, thinking about when Mum used to go off on one of her trips and I’d stay round here. It was fun, but I’d still get this Christmas-morning feeling when Mum walked back through the door and pulled me into her arms. She’d always smell a bit different and be buzzing with news. She’d dump her rucksack on the floor and I’d curl up on her lap as she talked to Grandad, her hands waving madly in the air as she described the children or animals she’d helped. I loved hearing her voice, but part of me always felt a bit jealous that I had to share her.

  At the end of the table, Elsa drops the spoon and starts drawing patterns in her baked beans. Grandad nods at the mushy food on my plate. ‘Now, are you going to eat your dinner or do I have to feed you as well?’

  I take Elsa home straight after dinner, pushing her up the hill then bumping the pushchair up the three flights of stairs. She tips her head back and watches me. ‘Mama … ma?’ she says.

  ‘She’s not back yet,’ I say, but as I put the key in the lock I can’t stop myself from imagining – hoping – that we find the flat lit up with candles and fairy lights, and that Mum’s inside, waiting for us.

  But just like last night, the flat is dark, cold and empty.

  I take Elsa out of her pushchair and kick my way through toys and balled-up nappies. I can’t believe how messy the flat is. Since Elsa was born it’s got worse and worse – that’s one of the reasons I spend so much time in my bedroom. Right now, Pongo can’t even find a space to lie down. After sniffing at a half-buried bowl, he goes and curls up by the front door.

  I put Elsa in the empty paddling pool. ‘Time to tidy up,’ I say.

  At first, I think it’s going OK. I dump the plates and mugs in the sink and I start to see glimpses of carpet, but then Elsa escapes from the paddling pool and tips out a jigsaw puzzle. She throws the pieces around the room and while I’m picking them all up, she tugs a spider plant off the windowsill, spilling soil all over the carpet and her hair.

  I feel the muscles in my body tighten. ‘Elsa!’ I snap, as I go over to her. She looks up with big, innocent eyes. ‘Stop it. I’m trying to make everywhere look nice.’

  ‘Da!’ she says, holding out some soil.

  ‘I don’t want any soil. I just want you to stop doing crazy stuff.’

  She shrieks and crawls away from me, spreading soil across the room.

  While I sort out the plant, she pulls herself up on the bookcase. ‘Da!’ she says, grabbing a book off the shelf and tossing it over her shoulder. ‘Da, da!’ Book after book is thrown on the floor.

  ‘Stop it!’ My voice is so loud and angry it makes her jump. But she’s not worried: she looks at me, smiles, and drops another book.

  Suddenly, I feel so tired that I want to scream. I go to the bookshelf and grab a handful of books. ‘There!’ I say, dropping them. ‘Is that better? Why don’t we throw everything on the floor, Elsa?’ I take another stack of Mum’s fairy and astrology books, only this time I throw them as hard as I can. They spin through the air, pages fanned out, and crash into the wall. Now I’ve started, I can’t stop. Elsa shrinks back as more books fly across the room. Then I run to the mantelpiece and sweep my hand across it, sending candles, incense cones and Mum’s entire collection of Disney Pop! figures tumbling to the floor.

  Elsa’s hiding behind her fingers. When I pull Mum’s wind chimes down from the ceiling, she throws herself on the floor and starts to sob and I stand there watching her, my heart thudding, rage still prickling my skin. Elsa looks so pathetic lying on the carpet with her bottom stuck up in the air, but something inside me – a mean feeling – stops me from going over to her.

  With trembling fingers, I pick up the Thumper Pop! and put it back on the mantelpiece.

  The flat is a mess … I’m a mess.

  I hate Mum right now.

  I stare at Thumper’s bobbing ears until my heart starts to slow down. I force myself to take slow, deep breaths. In 1970, the astronauts on Apollo 13 were two days into their mission when there was a catastrophic explosion and they started to run out of oxygen. Did they scream and throw stuff? No, they used tape and a sock and made a machine that saved their lives. Their heart rates probably didn’t even increase! How can I dream of being an astronaut when I can’t even stay calm looking after a baby?

  Slowly, my rage fades away and I’m left feeling shaky and embarrassed that a bit of soil and some books made me lose control.

  I step over Elsa and go into the kitchen where I get a rice cake and a roll of bin bags.

  I hold the rice cake out to Elsa. ‘Here we are,’ I say. She lies there, sucking her thumb and staring at me. ‘Sorry I shouted.’ I put my hand on her warm back. Slowly, her hand reaches out and she takes the rice cake. ‘I’ll give you a bath, but first we’re going to play Chuck Everything in the Bag, OK?’

  She sucks on the rice cake.

  ‘Plastic fruit?’ I say, holding up some grapes. ‘Chuck it in the bag! Peppa Pig? Chuck her in the bag!’

  Elsa sits up and watches me. After a moment, she gets one of my school shoes, crawls over to the bin bag and drops it in.

  ‘That’s it!’ I say, resisting the urge to take it straight out. She smiles and grabs hold of Pongo’s ankle. ‘No, not Pongo. He’s too big.’ I pass her a brick. ‘Do this instead.’

  While she throws in the rest of the bricks, I get all the books back on the shelf. Soon we have three bulging bin bags, a pile of dishes on the kitchen table and, yes, I can see carpet!

  ‘Let’s get rid of this,’ I say, pulling the stopper out of the paddling pool. Air starts to hiss out and I throw it behind the sofa along with the bin bags. Now we have a big, beautiful, empty space! I lie down in it, too tired to do another thing. Inspired, Pongo and Elsa start doing circuits of the room, occasionally crawling over me. This is lovely, I think, shutting my eyes.

  Then something hard and slimy drops on my forehead. I ignore it, but Pongo paws at my shoulder and then the slimy thing hits me again. I open one eye and see that it’s Pongo’s Kong – the big rubber ball he chases on the Downs. I roll over and force myself to sit up. ‘Walkies?’ I say.

  TWENTY

  Thursday passes by in a daze of trying not to fall asleep and resisting the temptation to buy a Crunchie. As usual, we have dinner at Grandad’s, then it’s back to the flat for a mini meltdown (Elsa decides she hates baths) and up on the Downs for our sleepy walk. Tonight I tell Elsa about the different types of stars – red dwarfs, white dwarfs and hypergiants – and soon her head falls forward and she’s sleeping in the sling. On the way back, I make a detour to the all-night garage. It’s an emergency. I need a Crunchie to get me back up the stairs to the flat. Once again, we both crash out on Mum’s bed. I really should get her back in her cot, I think, as I drift off to sleep … Maybe tomorrow …

  The first thing I see when I wake up on Friday is my phone. It’s hard to miss because Elsa’s pressing it into my eyeball and having a pretend conversation with me. ‘Ah, uh, babab, ah?’ she says.

  I push the phone away and that’s when I see I’ve got a message. I sit up, snatching the phone o
ff Elsa. She makes a grab for it so I move to get away from her and stare at the screen. It’s an unknown number. I open the text. Am fine and miss u all. Namaste! Xxx Mum

  It’s so good to finally hear from her that I smile. Then I read the words again, trying to find something I’ve missed, some clue about exactly where Mum is and what she’s doing. Elsa thumps my back. ‘Da!’ she says, and my smile fades away. How can Mum say she’s fine and then not ask a single question about us? And if she misses us so much, why doesn’t she just come home?

  Elsa latches on to me, pulls herself up and stands there, holding my arm and wobbling in her Winnie the Pooh Babygro. ‘Mum’s OK,’ I say, because I have to tell someone, then I give her the phone and she clamps it upside down against her ear.

  ‘Mamama,’ she says, and she starts chatting away in a strange alien language.

  And that’s when I glance at Mum’s clock and realise how late it is. Somehow we’ve overslept! Quickly, I run through everything I have to do (change Elsa, give her breakfast, feed Pongo), and what I can drop (brushing my hair, feeding me). At the same time I try to work out if I have any hope of getting to school on time. Maybe. If I run.

  I grab a nappy and the baby wipes. Then I remember I have PE and that my kit is somewhere in the wash basket. I pull out my mouldy-smelling T-shirt. ‘Am fine’, I think. That’s great, Mum … I’m just thrilled for you.

  TWENTY-ONE

  ‘I’ve been told,’ says Mr Badal, ‘that when I let captains pick teams it makes some of you feel left out. According to one of your mothers,’ he pauses here to stare hard at Richard Gardner, ‘I should find a different way to do it.’

  We’re standing in a huddle on the top field, wind whipping up our shorts, icy drizzle misting our faces. Thank you, Richard’s mum, I think. Finally! Mr Badal must be the only PE teacher in the country who still lets popular kids pick teams like this. Usually the only students left standing are me, Richard and Nasma Khan (who has chronic asthma).

  Mr Badal thuds his hockey stick down in the grass. ‘But I say, “Man up!” Bella and Jackson, you’re our captains. Get up here and pick your teams!’

  My heart sinks. Here we go …

  ‘Woody!’ says Bella (obviously).

  ‘I’ll take the one and only Andre Jaquet,’ says Jackson, pointing at his best friend.

  ‘All right!’ says Andre, and the two of them bump chests. Then, one by one, the students standing around me are selected by Bella and Jackson.

  ‘Excellent!’ says Mr Badal, rubbing his hands together, before going off to sort out the pitch.

  Soon there are only seven of us misfits left. Bella studies us, nose wrinkled, like she’s having to choose between an unappetising selection of sandwiches. ‘Ummm … this is hard …’

  ‘Just pick, Bella,’ says Ed. ‘We’re freezing out here.’

  ‘Heidi!’ she says.

  Oh, come on. Heidi? Heidi screams if a ball comes within two metres of her and she’s wearing wedge-heel trainers that do up with zips! I go mountain biking and I walk all over the Downs, but just because I can do sums in my head everyone assumes I’m hopeless at sport!

  Heidi drifts towards Bella’s group. ‘Thanks, babe,’ she says.

  A gust of wind slams against me. I cling to my hockey stick for support, and that’s when I hear my name being called. ‘Meg!’ shouts Jackson. ‘Wake up and get your brainy arse over here.’

  ‘Me?’ I say, glancing over my shoulder.

  ‘Yes, you. And I’ll take you lot as well.’ He points at the three students standing nearest to him.

  ‘Hey, it’s my go,’ says Bella.

  ‘Richard’s mum’s right,’ says Jackson. ‘This is a stupid way to pick teams.’

  ‘Finally,’ says Ed. ‘Let’s go.’ He picks up his hockey stick and heads across the field. Bella follows him.

  ‘Grab a spoon, Bella!’ Jackson yells after her.

  She turns back. ‘What?’

  ‘You’re about to taste defeat!’

  ‘Idiot,’ she mutters, then she jogs after Ed.

  ‘Yeah, you run away because we’re the whup and you guys are the arse!’ Then he screams, holds his stick above his head, and starts sprinting across the field. ‘Come on, team!’ he shouts over his shoulder. ‘Let’s murder them!’

  Maybe it’s Jackson’s inspirational speech, or maybe it’s because I’m so tired and angry with Mum, but I really throw myself into the game. At one point I’m running so fast for the ball that I don’t notice Mr Badal until it’s too late. I slam into his solid bulk and we both fall smack down into the mud.

  Ed, who was racing me for the ball, narrowly avoids crashing down with us by jumping to one side. Sir scowls and rubs his elbow.

  ‘Man up, Sir!’ shouts Ed, before whacking the ball and flying after it.

  I may be playing with a mad energy, but I’m also hopeless – I blame Mum for this too: I score an own goal, get a penalty for ‘using my stick in a dangerous way’ (I didn’t: my hands were so slippery the stick just shot towards Heidi’s face), and I even manage to trip over a crisp packet. Bella’s team beats us seven–two.

  As we trudge back to the changing rooms, Jackson slaps me on the shoulder. ‘You’re my player of the match, Clarky.’

  ‘But I got two penalties – and an own goal!’

  ‘Sorry, I should have said, “You’re my funniest player of the match.” ’

  ‘Oh … Thanks.’

  ‘See you at Biscuit Club,’ he says, then he lifts up his hockey stick, has a quick fight with an invisible enemy (I’m guessing a ninja from the sounds he’s making), and runs into school.

  I’m about to follow him when I hear someone call my name. I turn round to see Ed strolling towards me. Even though he’s been running around on a muddy pitch for forty minutes, he’s somehow managed to keep his kit pristine, although I do notice that his hair has gone a bit floppy.

  I wrap my arms around my musty T-shirt; I really need to get changed.

  He stops in front of me. ‘We’ve got to do our homework,’ he says, and somehow it sounds like an order. ‘I don’t really want to do it at lunchtime. Can you stay behind after school?’

  I shake my head. ‘After school’s no good for me.’

  ‘What? Never or just today?’

  ‘Never.’

  This throws him for a second. ‘OK. How about tomorrow?’

  ‘Tomorrow’s Saturday.’

  ‘Right,’ he says. ‘I forgot.’

  Bella appears next to him. ‘What did you forget?’ she says.

  ‘Nothing. Just talking about our science homework.’

  ‘Me and Raj met up last night. Raj’s done this rap about all the different planets called “Space in Your Face”.’ She gives us a little demonstration, rapping ‘Uranus, Uranus, what colour is Uranus?’ She stops abruptly and points at me. ‘Well,’ she says, ‘what colour is Uranus, Meg?’

  ‘Blue,’ I say with a sigh.

  She throws her head back and laughs while Ed watches her, one eyebrow raised. ‘What?’ she says. ‘It’s funny!’

  ‘Finished?’ says Ed.

  After a final giggle, Bella nods, then a silence falls over us. Bella looks from me to Ed. ‘Well, this is awkward.’

  ‘We could email our presentations to each other,’ I say in a rush. ‘Read each others’ through and suggest changes.’

  ‘I think the point is,’ he says, ‘we’re supposed to practise saying them together, but if you’ve got more important things to do then that’s OK. I can always ask Miss for another partner … Maybe someone who actually wants to win the competition?’ Even though he says all this with a smile, it still makes a flutter of worry run through me. The school could only enter two students for the NASA competition and I know how lucky I am to have been chosen.

  ‘Ohhh … She doesn’t like that!’ says Bella, seeing my face.

  Quickly, I try to work out when I can find the time to meet up with Ed, but my mind is as numb as my freezing fingers and I’
m so tired I can’t think straight. But then I remember a tiny window in my schedule. ‘The science trip!’ I say. ‘We’ll do it then, at lunchtime.’

  ‘Or on the bus?’ says Bella. ‘You two could curl up on the back seat and talk nerdy to each other.’

  ‘Fine,’ says Ed. He looks annoyed, but I can’t work out if it’s me or Bella who’s bothered him. ‘We’ll do it then.

  ‘Come on, Woody.’ Bella starts walking away. ‘I want a cheese croissant and they always run out.’

  Ed starts to follow her, then turns back. ‘One other thing,’ he says. ‘You’ve got a bit of mud –’ he points at my cheek ‘– kind of there.’

  I rub at my face. ‘Gone?’

  He shakes his head. ‘You need to look in a mirror.’

  ‘It’s a massive splat!’ Bella shouts. ‘Come on, Woody!’

  TWENTY-TWO

  When I arrive at the Biscuit Club, Mr Curtis has already made our cups of tea and Annie and Jackson are arguing over the biscuits. ‘Mr Curtis actually broke up some Party Rings and put them in the box,’ explains Annie, ‘but I found one that wasn’t broken.’

  ‘I saw it first,’ says Jackson, trying to snatch it out of her hand. ‘You just moved faster than me.’

  ‘Seriously?’ says Mr Curtis, staring at them. ‘OK, I say Annie gets the Party Ring, but Jackson, you can have these two really rather large bits of Ginger Nut.’

  ‘Yes!’ says Annie grinning and sticking her finger up at Jackson. Rose looks aghast and Mr Curtis pretends not to have noticed.

  Jackson doesn’t care. He’s already sucking tea out of a Ginger Nut. He shrugs. ‘Actually, they’re all right.’

  Today, for some inexplicable reason, Mr Curtis wants us to make origami animals. Jackson and Rose get stuck straight into it and soon cats, giraffes and frogs appear on Jackson’s beanbag.

  ‘I’m not doing it,’ Annie says to me. ‘It’s pointless … And before you start feeling sorry for me, this has nothing to do with my cerebral palsy.’ She wiggles her fingers in my face. ‘See? These puppies are fine.’