Secrets Read online

  I didn’t say much either. I was flying through this new magical world of religious Renaissance painting, so pink and blue and glittery gold. It was as if I’d sprouted my own beautiful set of angels’ wings. I’d always painted wings plain white, but now I saw they could be shaded from the palest pearl through deep rose and purple to the darkest midnight-blue tips. Some of the angels’ wings were carefully co-ordinated with their gowns like matching accessories. Others had unusual, eccentric colour combinations like red and gold and black, with a white gown. One particular fashionista angel was strolling along the sandy path with a golden-haired boy about my age, holding a fish.

  When we were little Dad used to read aloud to us every day from a large and unwieldy Victorian Bible. Dad had been very religious until he had a row with our vicar. He’d gently suggested to Dad that home-schooling was all very well, but Grace and I needed more of a social life so we could make some friends. Dad blew his top and had no time for the vicar, his church, or the entire Christian faith after that.

  He put the Bible back on the shelves as stock. I was sorry when it sold, because I loved looking at the wonderful Doré illustrations. I remembered a lot of the Bible stories, so I knew that the boy with the fish and the angel friend was Tobias. He was dressed in colourful medieval garb, with dashing bright-red tights. I tried to imagine a modern teenage boy prancing about in scarlet stockings. Still, some boys wore their jeans skin- tight. The Tobias in the painting obligingly put on blue jeans and a white T-shirt and smiled at me.

  He came home with me that day as my new imaginary friend. Poor Jane got elbowed into the background. Tobias and I read together, painted together, walked together, whispered together. He spoke softly right into my ear, his cheek very nearly brushing mine.

  Now I imagined him kissing me, touching me, like the girls and their boyfriends in the magazines. But then I imagined real boys, with their foul mouths and grabbing hands, and I shuddered.

  ‘I don’t like boys,’ I said.

  ‘Boys like you, Prue,’ said Grace. She sighed. ‘It’s not fair. I wish I was pretty like you so boys would turn round and stare at me.’

  ‘I bet they only stare because I look such a freak,’ I said.

  Mum made most of our clothes from remnants from the Monday market stall. I’m fourteen years old and yet I have to wear demure little-girly dresses with short sleeves and swirly skirts. I have a red-and-white check, a baby blue with a little white flower motif, and a canary yellow piped with white. They are all embarrassingly awful.

  Mum used to make appalling matching knickers when we were little, threaded with very unreliable elastic. Our baggy shop-bought white pants are only one degree better. Still, I have proper underwear now. I used my maths tuition money to buy a wonderful black bra with pink lace and a little pink rose, and two matching knickers, wispy little things a tenth of the size of my plain girls’ pants.

  I locked the bathroom and tried them on, standing precariously on the edge of the bath so I could peek at myself in the bathroom cabinet mirror. I loved the way they looked, the way they make me look.

  I hadn’t dared wear them yet under my awful dresses because Grace could so easily blab. I’d have to wash them out secretly myself rather than risk putting them in the laundry basket.

  ‘Do we look like freaks?’ Grace asked worriedly.

  ‘Of course we do. Look at our clothes!’

  Grace considered. ‘I like my dresses, especially my pink one with the little panda pattern – it’s so cute,’ she said. ‘Would you have liked that material for your dress, Prue?’

  ‘No! I can’t stick little pandas or teddies or bunny rabbits. For God’s sake, I’m fourteen.’

  ‘Do you think I’m too old to wear my panda dress?’ Grace asked anxiously.

  There was only one answer but I didn’t want to upset her. ‘I suppose your pink panda dress does still look quite sweet on you,’ I lied valiantly.

  ‘It’s getting a bit small for me now anyway,’ Grace sighed. ‘All my dresses are tight on me. I wish I wasn’t getting so large and lumpy.’

  ‘It’s just a stage you go through. Puppy fat.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ she sighed again. ‘Dad keeps going on about me getting fat. He says I shouldn’t eat so much. He says I’m greedy. Do you think I should go on a diet, Prue?’

  ‘No! Take no notice of him. He just likes to nag, you know that. Anyway, you can’t diet just yet. I’ve got you a surprise.’

  I’d felt so mean spending all my tuition money on myself, though I knew Grace would never manage to keep any present I bought her properly hidden. The only way I could buy her a treat was to get her something edible, to be quickly consumed.

  ‘A surprise!’ said Grace, clapping her hands.

  ‘Ssh! I was keeping it a secret, to cheer you up the next time Dad goes off on one of his rants, but you might as well have it now.’

  I climbed out of bed and went to scrabble in my knicker drawer. My hands found the flimsy satin and lace of my new underwear. I secretly stroked them in the dark, and then searched again until my fingers slid over the crackly cellophane of Grace’s surprise.

  ‘OK! Here we are!’ I slipped back into bed and thrust my present into her hands.

  ‘What is it?’ she said, unable to see properly in the dark.

  I flicked the torch on to show her.

  ‘Oh wow!’

  ‘Shut up! Do you want Dad to hear?’ I said, nudging her.

  ‘Sorry. But, oh Prue, it’s so sweet!’

  There’s a special chocolate boutique in the shopping centre. It’s Grace’s all-time favourite shop even though she’s never even set foot inside it. Mum buys chocolate off a market stall. It’s always a funny make and past its sell-by date, but it’s cheap, and that’s all Mum cares about.

  I was going to buy Grace a pound of posh chocolates in a fancy box, but then I saw this big white chocolate bunny in the window, clutching an orange marzipan carrot. I knew she’d love it.

  ‘What shall I call him? Peter Rabbit? Benjamin Bunny?’

  ‘Can’t you ever make up your own names, Grace?’

  ‘You know I can’t. You think up a lovely name for him.’

  ‘There’s not much point. You’ll be chomping away at him in two seconds. Knowing you, there won’t even be a little chocolate paw left by midnight.’

  ‘I’m not going to eat him. He’s far too wonderful. I’m going to keep him for ever,’ said Grace, but her fat little fingers had already undone his ribbon and peeled off his cellophane. She sniffed his creamy ears ecstatically. ‘Oh, he smells heavenly!’

  ‘So eat him, silly. That’s what he’s for.’

  ‘I can’t! Well, perhaps I could eat his carrot? I don’t want to spoil him. Still, maybe I could just lick one of his ears, to see what he tastes like?’

  ‘Go for it, girl!’

  Grace stuck out her tongue and licked. And licked again and again and again. And then all by themselves her teeth started chomping and the chocolate bunny was left disturbingly hard of hearing.

  ‘Oooh!’ Grace murmured blissfully. Then she shone the torch on him. She saw what she’d done. ‘Oooh! ’ she wailed, her tone changing.

  ‘It’s OK, just eat his head up quickly. It’s what he’s for.’

  ‘But it’s spoiling him. Why am I such a greedy guts? Look, he’s got a horrible gap in his head now.’

  ‘He’s fine.’

  ‘No he’s not. I want him to be whole again,’ Grace said, looking as if she might burst into tears.

  ‘Well, his ears are in your tummy. If you gobble up the rest of him quickly then his body can join up with them, and they can squidge themselves together like plasticine. Then he’ll be whole in your tummy and it will be his own private burrow.’

  Grace giggled uncertainly, but started chomping on his chocolate head. She offered me one arm because she felt he could manage on three paws. I’d imagined him so vividly I felt a little worried myself. It was like feasting on a real pet rabbit