Shine

“Night then, Tiffany,” says Darren, popping his head round the door. “We’re just in the room next to you, so if you need anything in the night, or if you’re worried and need to talk, just come and wake us up, OK?”

Claudia’s soft hands tuck me in. She leaves my door open a bit so a sliver of landing light can peep its way in. Shadows hang on my walls and strange sounds creak and creep around me. New fabric-softener smells sit in my nose and tickle my face. And when it’s safe and quiet and there’s no one around, the tears sneak out of my eyes. They trickle at first and then a dark monster in my stomach lurches up and pushes hard. My face crumples like a stupid piece of rubbish paper and my voice wants to call out for my mum and Chardonnay. But I won’t let it call, and I won’t let it call for stupid Darren or stupid Claudia either. Instead, I bite hard on the yellow teddy and try to sleep.

Chapter 8 (#ulink_ebeb06c4-9b4a-5678-8a9f-610cd4796097)

today is not happening…

I keep waking up in the night and have to keep reminding myself where I am. When I open my eyes in the morning Claudia is standing there.

“Good morning, Tiffany,” she says, sitting on the edge of my bed. “Did you sleep well?” I shrug, ignore her questions, and try to find the safe place in my head where my life hasn’t been ruined. She doesn’t seem to mind that I’m not answering her and just carries on jabbering away. “Amida is popping back this morning, Tiffany, to have a chat and let you know what’s happening. Why don’t you have a shower and some breakfast and get yourself ready for the day?”

She takes me out into the hallway and introduces me to the girl in the next room. “This is Matilda,” says Claudia, “she’s the same age as you. She’ll show you the ropes, OK?”

“I only need to know where the shower is,” I say to Matilda when Claudia has gone. “I don’t need to see anything else. I’m being picked up soon.”

Matilda steps forward and grabs my arm, hard. “Wake up, new girl,” she sneers. “We’re all here for ever. No one’s coming back for you, no one wants you around any more; this is the rubbish dump and you’ve been dumped here, just like the rest of us. So get used to it.”

“You’re wrong,” I say, trying to stare her out, “someone is coming for me, soon.” But she’s good at staring, very good. She’s better than Chelsea, better than me. My stupid tummy turns to jelly again. Matilda pushes me into the bathroom, slams the door behind us and shows me her fist.

“See this?” she says. “You just make sure you don’t get in my way, otherwise my fist might find itself bumping into your teeth.”

“You won’t need to worry about me for long,” I brave, staring at her with hard eyes, to hide my fear. “I told you, I’m getting out of here soon. Very soon.”

But she just makes a rude sign at me and walks out.

I run the shower – hot. Is Matilda right? Am I on the rubbish dump for good? I wet a pink flannel in the hot water and bite the fluff hard while my body trembles and more tears sneak from my eyes. I panic that I might never be able to stop because my tears just keep coming and coming. I’m worried that Matilda is outside the door, listening with her big ugly ears. So I make the shower go freezing cold to wake me up and try to think about more happy stuff, like the old film, Singing in the Rain. I pretend I’m holding a big black umbrella and I tipadee-tap-dance around the shower and try to make myself smile.

While I’m getting dressed I decide that today is actually not happening. I start rubbing all the horribleness out and try filling my mind with pictures of wonderful days and beautiful things. Like my mum on a good day when she’s all happy and we’re having a lovely time together at the funfair or the ice-skating rink. Like how happy she looks when she’s bought herself a new ring or when she’s spinning around on a pair of shiny, new high-heeled shoes in a cloud of special perfume. And I try to remember her soft face when we’re snuggling in bed together, sharing secrets. But scary pictures of my mum in a police cell, and Chardonnay in kennels, and Mikey with his fat cigars, and blue flashing lights, and peppermints, and a small island with an unknown family keep crowding in.

Amida the social worker is a liar. He’s not coming to see me today like he promised. Instead he spoke to Darren on the phone and said that nothing much could be done with me until after the weekend, so I have to stay here until then. I’ve turned into a hot-potato problem that no one wants to touch. Matilda is right and I hate her for that. She makes a big fat ‘told you so’ face at me later on when we’re climbing into Darren’s car to go to the cinema. Then she ‘accidentally’ sticks her stupid clumsy foot out so that I trip and smash my shin on the cold metal. Nobody has noticed that I might not be in a cinema kind of mood. Or that it’s super-weird for me to be living in this stupid place. No one has mentioned the fact that my mum is locked behind a grey door, crying, or that I might be feeling left alone.

The truth is a bad fart smell in the room that everyone is too polite to mention. None of the other kids is saying why they got left here on the rubbish dump either.

Claudia waves us off, smiling, with a baby under her arm, like we’re her own children going out with our own dad. But I’ve never even been to the cinema with my own dad before, because I’ve never even seen him with my own eyes and I don’t even know his name, so it’s a stupid thing to pretend. I decide that Claudia is a liar too, just like everyone else in my new life. And I bet that when we’ve gone she just heaves a big sigh of relief because she’s getting rid of us all for a few hours.

Everyone is pretending to be having a nice time with Darren and the helper person that’s come along with us, when they’d really rather be somewhere else.

I want to watch the new ‘12’ film but I don’t trust Matilda’s fists in the dark.

“I want to see the Disney film with the little ones,” I lie.

“Are you sure?” asks Darren.

I nod and Matilda sticks her thumb in her mouth and makes a stupid baby face at me. I pretend not to notice and get busy showing the little ones the big card-board Disney pictures in the foyer. Darren gets us some popcorn and some juice. He’s says Coke’s not allowed because it’s bad for us, but that’s what me and Mum always have, so I don’t see the problem, really. When the Disney colours flash across the screen I try to find a gentle place in my mind; a place that’s somewhere “Over the Rainbow”, with no blue flashing lights or Crimewatch or lost Mums or spiteful Matildas. A place where there’s no waiting or wondering what might happen to you and no pretending that you’re OK, when you really have an earthquake going on inside you all of the time.