Invisible Girl

In the photo he was twelve, same as I am now, which means he’ll be nineteen now. Nineteen is so old! I flick through my magazine and I find a picture of a man with brown hair just like Beckett’s. I cut him out, glue him in the garden and bend his arm so he’s waving up at me. Then I hear the door slam and Amy’s voice screeching like a parrot in a cage.

“Are you ready, Dave, or what?”

I hear Dad shuffling into the hallway.

“What?” he says. “Ready for what?”

“That’s typical,” she spits. “You men are all the same. Total let-downs!”

“Babe,” he says. “Come ’ere, darling. Wassup?”

“Wassup?” she screeches. “I’ll tell you ‘wassup’, Dave. You promised to take me out. You promised me a romantic night, you stupid fat bum. Just the two of us, without Miss Untidy Ungrateful Flappy Ears butting in, remember?”

I put my headphones on and fill my brain with tunes. I make some lovely grass with scraps of green thread on my picture and some soft white clouds from cotton wool. I stick more white pages around my picture and start filling them up too. I add a swimming pool and an outdoor cinema. I build a treehouse out of matches and make a swing from bits of string. I add a village with pavements and little stone cottages in a row. I add a dog, a shop, a hairdressers, a chippy and a Chang’s. I cut out cars and a lady on a bicycle and loads of smiley people walking down the road.

When the front door slams it’s so loud the floor shudders under me. I pull my headphones out and listen. I peep into the hall.

I don’t even care if they’ve gone. It’s better here without them.

I make myself cheese on toast, leaving the butter and the knife and the crumbs all over the worktop and I stretch out on the sofa with my shoes on, snuggling in front of the telly.

It’s mostly boring stuff until this murder thing comes on. It’s exciting at first, but then knives start flashing and the man’s big black boots send shivers down my spine. I wish Dad were here with me, and then I could watch it, no problem.

When it gets really gory and this woman’s voice is screaming I cover my face with my hands. I wish I could switch it off, but I can’t move. I can’t switch to another channel because I have to make sure that they catch the murderer in case he’s actually real, in case he’s actually lurking about outside our flats.

It’s not until I feel chilly that I look up at the clock and notice it’s half-past twelve. The murderer man is stalking around in this underground car park, hiding in the shadows. A lady is heading towards her car, but she can’t see him. I scream at her to hurry up, to run away, to lock herself in her car and call the police. She’s walking so slowly, her high-heeled shoes clip-clopping, scraping on the concrete.

“Run!” I shriek. “Run, you stupid lady, run!”

Something creaks in the hall. I freeze. My heart pounds in my ears and ripples through my skin. The murderer man’s eyes glint in the moonlight.

“Dad!” I call out. “Is that you?”

The murderer music starts howling and the lady is all shrieking voice and clip-clop running, panting, out of breath. But the murderer man is faster. His boots are slapping the ground in long strides, quickly catching her up.

“Dad!”

I flick the telly off and my ears thump as I drown in the silence.

“Dad!” I whisper. “Dad, where are you?”

I grab Blue Bunny, hold him close and stroke the silky label on his ear. Beckett gave him to me the day I was born and even though he’s a bit battered he’s still the best thing in the world. I wish Beckett were here now. He would know what to do.

I stay frozen in the chair for hours, watching the clock tick, tick, tick on the wall. Someone is stalking round the flat, I’m sure of it. They’re creaking the floorboards, shuffling into my room, humming a scary tune. I pick up one of Amy’s heavy ornaments and creep around the flat, shuffling silently behind the noise, following it from room to room. When I’m in the bathroom I hear it clinking in the kitchen. When I’m in the kitchen I hear it thudding in the hall. I walk round and round for ages, too scared to find it, too scared that I won’t. Then I think about Mum. What if it’s her? What if she’s come back and she’s hiding in the shadows, waiting for me?

My heart’s pounding so loud in my ears I run to my room and hide. It’s the only safe place left.

When I wake up the morning sun is streaming through the window, filling my room with a soft, pinky light. And for a while I can’t work out why I’m on the floor, tucked right underneath my bed, as close to the wall as I can get. Then the murderer’s face looms in my brain and Mum’s mean smile flashes shark teeth in my eyes.

“Dad!” I shout.

I know it’s stupid, because our flat’s really small and he would have heard me shouting if he were home, but I can’t help racing from room to room to check.

“Dad! Dad! Where are you?”

My heart starts thudding. I lie down on his bed, rest my face on his pillow and breathe in the greasy stink his hair has left behind. It’s not a nice smell, not anything you’d want to put in a bottle and sell, but it is my dad. Then I remember all the empty lager cans on the front room floor. I leap up and count them. I peer out of the window searching for his car, and then the hospital programme sneers in my eyes. What if he’s had a car crash and died? Seven cans of lager are too much to drink when you’re driving. What if he’s really hurt and lying in hospital somewhere? Or what if he’s run someone over and they’re dead and Dad’s at the police station? How will I know? If he goes to prison, then what about me?

I try calling, but his phone’s switched off. I try Amy’s and it’s the same. I switch on Daybreak to fill the flat with the sound of laughter. I huddle on Dad’s chair with my knees hunched up to my chest, biting a scab on my arm until it bleeds. Please come home, Dad, please! I’ll be really good forever. I’ll do all the washing-up for you. I won’t even complain about Amy any more, I’ll do everything she says, just please come home!

I open the front door and pace up and down the balcony that connects all the flats in our block together. I peer over the edge, stretching my eyes across the green where the Play Rangers go, past the cars, as far as I can see.

I go back indoors. I put the kettle on and make a cup of tea with two sugars and watch it turn cold. I pour a bowl of cereal and stir it round and round until the milk has melted it to mush. I put my uniform on and pack my school bag in a daze. Should I go to school? Should I stay home? Should I call 999 for help?

Fear is nesting inside me, curled up tight in the fist-sized pit where my ribs meet at the front. It’s sitting there with its jaggedy hair and its bright eyes, watching. I lie on Dad’s bed again and count to a thousand. I whisper to Blue Bunny that it’s all going to be OK. I go outside again and peer over the balcony.

And that’s when I can’t believe my eyes!

They’re there.

Standing in the middle of the green! Kissing!

“Dad!” I call. Tears, that I blink away, gather and twist like a hard knot of wood in my throat.

“What happened, Dad? Where were you all night?”

Amy stares up at me. “What are you then, Gabriella,” she snaps, “his keeper or what?”

She clatters up the stairwell; Dad puffing up behind her with his head drooped low.

“If you hadn’t noticed,” Amy says, “we’re grown-ups and grown-ups don’t have to ask to go out. Let alone from a twelve-year-old with manners like scum! And I hope you haven’t messed the place up, Gabriella. I hope your bed is made. It might be nice if just occasionally you appreciated me for bringing a bit of order to your life instead of nagging on about where we’ve been.”

Mrs McKlusky opens her front door and scuttles outside. “What’s the racket?” she says, twitching her eyes. “It’s not even eight o’clock. Some of us like to drink our morning cup of tea in peace! It’s not too much to ask, is it?”

Amy turns on her. “And you can shut it!” she sneers. “D’you hear me? Keep your sharp beak out of other people’s business, you nosy old bat!”

Dad sighs and bundles us indoors. “Calm down, Gabriella,” he says. “What’s all the fuss? Nobody’s died, have they?”

I glare at him.

I fold my arms across my chest and turn my back on him, anger rising like a flooding river inside me. Although I’m angry with Dad I wish he’d hold me tight like that day Mum and Beckett left. I wish he would say something nice to me. “You stayed out all night, Dad!” I shout. “Where were you?”

Dad presses his hand over his mouth, stopping his words from tumbling out.

“Where were you, Dad?” I whisper, tears escaping from my eyes. “I thought you’d had a car crash! I thought you’d died! It’s all her fault – you never did anything like this before Amy was around!”

I dig my nails into my palms and wish they were Amy’s flesh. Dad doesn’t say one word, he won’t even look at me. He just flops on the sofa and sighs. He snaps open another can of lager.

“Oh, give it a rest, Miss Doom and Gloom. We’re getting married,” Amy says in a sharp voice, flopping next to Dad and sliding into his arms. “There, I’ve said it. Your dad is no longer your property, he’s mine. It’s official and it’s going to happen whether you like it or not and for your information it’s not up to Dave who my bridesmaids are, it’s up to me. And I’m having my best mates. We’re having an adults only big flash bash on a sunny beach somewhere exotic, aren’t we, Dave? Somewhere far away from this old dump. It’s none of your business where we were last night, Miss Flappy Ears, but if you must know, we were in a very expensive, very posh hotel! Celebrating!”