Shine

“Yay!” shrieks Mum, frantically jiggling my hand up and down. “Freedom, Tiff! Freedom!”

Suddenly, some policemen step in front of the car and wave us over to one side. Mikey starts tap, tap, tapping on the steering wheel again and Mum starts fidgeting with her hair.

“Just a routine check, sir,” says one of the policemen, leaning into the front window. “May we take another look at your passports, please?”

“Is this completely necessary?” says Mikey. “We need to board the ferry as soon as,” he says, waving a hand toward me. “The kid needs the toilet; know what I mean?”

“I’m afraid it is necessary, sir, and we’ll get you on board as soon as we can.”

I feel really awake now, because something’s not right. All the other cars are driving past us and climbing the ramp to board the ferry. But we’re stuck here with policemen asking us questions. It’s late and I want to be at home, asleep next to Chelsea, dreaming of The Wizard of Oz and Shirley Temple cocktails. I wish my mum had never had this stupid idea in the first place. I don’t even want to go on holiday. I want my normal Saturday with Chels and me cosying up in bed, watching TV and eating ice cream straight from the tub. With Mum and me, together, wandering through the shops and buying cool stuff. Getting dressed up in new clothes and having lunch out, like ladies do. And we’d planned to take Chardonnay to the park. Everything is going wrong.

The policeman looks at me, scratches his head, and then turns to Mikey. “Are you the registered keeper of this vehicle, sir?”

“Yes mate,” says Mikey, tapping and tapping. “It’s all in order, officer, I just bought it from my brother-in-law, he must have forgotten to send off the papers.”

The policeman scratches his head again and I wonder if he has nits, like Chels and I had in the summer. “If you’d like to get out of the vehicle, sir, and step this way.”

Mikey groans and opens the door. Mum lets out a wounded-dog squeal and starts rocking backwards and forwards humming the white cliffs of Dover song. Then we’re surrounded by blue flashing lights, and I know that Crimewatch was true and that Chelsea was right. A large ball of worry drops into my tummy and wobbles around, and a sharp lump sticks in my throat. I start tap, tap, tapping and humming the white cliffs of Dover song too because now I really know that my mum’s in trouble. Big trouble. And what about me?

All the doors are pulled open. There are policemen everywhere and handcuffs are snapped on to Mikey and Mum.

“Mum!” I call from the back seat, “Mum, what’s happening?”

“It’s all right, babe, Mama’s here, no worries,” her voice trembles as someone guides her towards a police car. “You and me, Tiff,” she calls through the rain.

“You and me, Mum.” I call back, panicking. “You and me.”

I watch my mum pulling and struggling against the policemen. She starts screaming at them and fighting, and I wish they knew how to soothe her tantrums.

A lady police officer climbs into the car and sits next to me. “I’m Benita,” she says. “What’s your name, love?”

“Tiffany,” I sniff. “What’s happening to my mum?”

“I’m really sorry, Tiffany,” she says, handing me a tissue, “we have to take your mum and dad into custody for a bit. There’s some stuff that’s happened and we just need to check it all out.” She’s trying to sound cheerful and reassuring. “We’ll have you all back together as soon as we can.”

“He’s not my dad,” I say, “he’s my mum’s business partner.”

Then, before I know it, I’m in a police car, and my little wheelie suitcase is in the back. My mum’s in another car being driven away from me, with blue lights flashing. I don’t even know where Dover is and I need the toilet and Chardonnay is wriggling in the bag. The large ball keeps rolling around in my tummy, making me feel like I’m going to be sick. I can’t stop my hand tap, tap, tapping on the car window and the white cliffs of Dover song is spinning through my mind, like it’s got stuck in my brain.

“Where are you from, Tiffany?” Benita asks.

“London,” I say.

“Is there anyone we can call for you, love? Your dad, maybe, or grandparents, aunts or uncles, friends?”

“There’s my school friend, Chelsea,” I sniff, “but her dad’s really angry with my mum.”

“Anyone else?”

I shake my head. “No one,” I say. “Just me and Mum.”

Chapter 6 (#ulink_f3446ae4-1e3f-5b8a-aeae-a9773c99b6da)

a whole lake of tears is welling…

We drive to the police station. Benita shows me to the toilets and then sits me in a room with a brown plastic table and orange chairs. Chardonnay’s still wriggling but she hasn’t made a sound yet. She’s such a good dog.

“Can I get you a cup of tea, or some water?”

“No thanks,” I say. “When can I see my mum and go home?”

“Tiffany,” she says, kneeling down beside me and taking my hand, “I’m really sorry, but we have to keep Mum here for a bit; until things are sorted out.”

“What about me?” I croak.

“Well,” she says, in a trying-to-be-kind voice, “as it’s so late and there’s no one for us to call at this stage, we’ve had to ask social services to send a social worker who will find somewhere for you to stay tonight. Then tomorrow we’ll be able to take a fresh look at things. Mum knows what’s happening to you and she knows that you’ll be safe.”

A whole lake of tears wells and quivers up through my body and tries to escape from my eyes. But I won’t let it. I blink a lot and sniff into the tissue. Then I hear my mum’s voice screaming away in another room, saying lots of swear words, calling out for me. Chardonnay hears her too because she starts scrabbling about in the bag. I pat her down to try and keep her quiet.

“What have you got in there, love?” asks Benita.

“Nothing.”

“Sure?” she asks, not believing me. And then Chardonnay takes a leap and starts yelping and my bag tumbles to the ground.

Benita picks up the bag and takes a peep inside.

“Look what we’ve got in here,” she says, holding Chardonnay in the air. Then Chardonnay decides that she can’t hold on to her wee any more and it trickles on to the floor.

“Sorry,” I say.

“No problem, Tiffany, I’ll buzz for someone to come and mop it up.”

Benita presses a red button on the wall.

“As for you,” she says, ruffling Chardonnay’s fluff, “I’m afraid we’re going to have to put you in kennels for the night.”

My lake of tears starts pushing up again. I blink hard because I won’t let myself cry.

“Can’t she come with me?” I ask, “Please? We only just got her and she hasn’t even had one whole night with us yet.”

“I’m sorry, but no one will take on you and a puppy as an emergency at this time of night. But don’t you worry, we’ll take good care of her – promise.”

The lump in my throat rises up again and I can’t swallow it down. Now I know how Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz feels when the nasty neighbour tries to take her dog, Toto, away. I can’t lose my puppy, not now that I’ve finally got her. Why can’t my mum sort this mess out and take us home? Surely there’s something she can do? Chardonnay’ll be scared. And lonely.

I can hear my mum’s voice travelling down the corridor. She’s screaming and shouting and having one of her full-blown temper tantrums.

“If I could just see my mum before I go, I’d be able to calm her down for you,” I say quietly.