Lola Rose Read online

  ‘I’m . . . OK. He hit you more, much more.’

  ‘Can you get up, darling? We’ve got to be quick,’ Mum said, pulling at me. Her nose was bleeding and she wiped it impatiently with the back of her hand. ‘Come on, sweetheart! I need you to help me pack.’

  ‘What?’ I stared at Mum. I didn’t know what she was talking about.

  She cupped my burning face with her hands. ‘We’re not staying. Now he’s started on you he won’t stop. I’m not having that. We’re running away!’

  I stared at Mum.

  ‘How can we run away?’

  ‘Easy. I’ve still got the ten thousand pounds in my handbag. Well, we’re about fifty quid down because of the meal, but never mind. Thank God I didn’t give it to him for that stupid car. OK, OK, I’m the big stupid. He said he’d knock some sense into me – and he has, he has. I’m not having him using you as a punchbag, kiddo. Come on, then. You are up for it, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yes! Yes, of course I am. But he’ll go berserk when he finds us.’

  ‘He won’t. We’ll get right away, you and me and Kenny. A completely fresh start. So come on. Pack a bag, just a little one you can carry. And do one for Kenny too while I go through all my stuff.’

  ‘Mum . . . this isn’t a game, is it?’

  ‘Do I look like I’m playing a blooming game?’ said Mum, wiping her nose again. ‘He’ll be down the pub till closing time but we want to be well away then. So come on, Jayni, jump to it.’

  So I jumped. I ran into our bedroom and snapped on the light. I looked weird in the mirror, one side of my face bright red where Dad had hit me, one side chalk-white. Kenny blinked in the sudden bright light and tried to pull the duvet over his head.

  ‘No, Kenny, we’re getting up. Come on, you’ve got to get dressed.’

  ‘But it’s night time.’

  ‘Yes, but we’re going out again.’

  ‘With Dad?’

  ‘No, just you and me and Mum.’ I hauled him out of bed and hugged his little squirmy body hard. ‘And you’re going to be a big big boy and help.’

  Kenny reached out and touched my red cheek.

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Will it get right again?’ said Kenny.

  ‘Of course it will. Now!’ I stood him on the floor and looked at him. He was still wearing his T-shirt and pants and socks. I had a brainwave. I rummaged in his drawer. ‘Put these on then, OK?’ I said, thrusting more pants and socks at him. ‘Over the other ones. And another T-shirt. And then there’s your red jumper, you like that, and the blue Thomas the Tank Engine one, and your jeans . . . We’ll have to pack a spare pair, we’ll never get another lot on over the top.’

  Kenny started giggling hysterically as I shoved as many clothes on him as I could. He waddled about so comically I couldn’t help laughing too, though my heart was going thump thump because I was so scared Dad might come back and catch us.

  ‘What are you kids laughing at? Come on,’ Mum called urgently.

  I set Kenny to packing his favourite toys in his school bag and started on my own clothes. It was easier for me. All my stuff was getting too small and tight and made me look far too fat. I hated nearly everything. I was already wearing my favourite outfit, my purple velvet skirt and my black grown-up top. I shoved a big black cardie on over the top and then my horrible padded white jacket, which made me look like a snowman – but never mind, I could get the denim jacket now we had lots of money.

  I packed my underwear and my jeans and my pink top with the hearts and my suede boots which rubbed a lot but I still loved them. Then I remembered my pyjamas, and my old bear Pinkie was tangled up inside them. All her fur’s worn smooth and shiny and she’s lost an eye which gives her a lopsided expression. She’s really tatty now and I’m too old for teddies anyway but I still crammed her into my bag.

  Kenny was making even sillier choices, shoving a yoyo without any string and broken crayons and a jigsaw set with half the pieces missing into his school bag, but forgetting his new wax crayons and little Bob, the blue bear he’s had since he was born. I repacked for him, and then jiggled my own stuff around, packing a big carrier bag with my scrapbook and my new magazines and scissors and sellotape and Pritt.

  ‘We’re done, Mum,’ I said, going into her bedroom.

  She looked as if she was in fast forward, rushing round like crazy, ransacking her wardrobe and her chest of drawers. Her nose still wouldn’t stop bleeding. It made a garish trail past her lips, down her chin, dripping onto her blue top.

  ‘Your best blue top, Mum!’

  ‘It’ll wash out. I’ll leave it on. Though it looks a mess. Should I just dump it?’ Mum stood still, suddenly freeze-framed.

  ‘Put a sweater over it. I’ve got Kenny wearing half his clothes,’ I said.

  ‘You’re a clever kid,’ said Mum.

  She didn’t think me so clever when she saw my carrier bag. ‘You can’t drag that along too, Jayni!’

  It was one of those big strong fifteen-pence supermarket carriers but my scrapbook only just fitted inside. It’s a huge, old-fashioned accounts book with hundreds of pages. I bought it for a pound two years ago at a car boot fair. It is my most valued possession. Mum knew this, but she still argued.

  ‘You can’t take that great big thing, not when you’ve got your own bag, and you’ll probably have to carry Kenny’s too.’

  ‘I’ll carry it all, I promise. I have to have my scrapbook.’

  ‘You could start a new one.’

  ‘I need this one. It’s got all my best ever pictures. I have to take it, Mum.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake, do as you’re told!’ Mum shouted. Then she stopped, her hand over her mouth.

  We heard footsteps walking along the balcony towards our flat.

  ‘He’s back!’ Mum hissed, and we clutched each other.

  But the footsteps went past our front door and on down the balcony. Mum breathed out and tapped her hand over her heart. Then she gave me a quick pat on the shoulders. ‘OK, OK, take the bloody scrapbook. Let’s just get out of here, quick.’

  She got her suitcase and her handbag, still wadded tight with five-pound notes. We hung Kenny’s heavy satchel over his small shoulders. I grabbed my own school bag and the scrapbook carrier. We looked round the flat one quick last time.

  Kenny suddenly wailed that he wanted to take Bubble, our goldfish. I promised him he could have a whole tank of tropical fish in our new place but Kenny wouldn’t be diverted. He started howling, his arms round Bubble’s bowl.

  ‘Oh God, what next?’ said Mum. She poured some water into a polythene bag and tipped Bubble into it. ‘OK, he’s coming too,’ she said. ‘Now, let’s go.’

  So we went, staggering along the balcony and down in the lift. I was terrified we’d walk out and bump straight into Dad but there was no sign of him, or any of his mates.

  ‘They’ll still be in the pub, with any luck,’ said Mum. ‘Still, the sooner we scarper the better.’

  A taxi drew up down the road and three old ladies got out, back from their bingo.

  ‘Hey! Hey, taxi!’ Mum yelled.

  She nodded at me proudly, as if she’d summoned it up herself out of thin air. The taxi driver shook his head at us as we hobbled towards him. He shook his head again when he saw Mum’s bloody nose.

  ‘Do you want the hospital, love?’

  ‘No, the railway station, please,’ Mum said briskly. She wiped her nose. ‘Walked straight into a lamppost, didn’t I?’

  The taxi driver raised his eyebrows but didn’t comment. My cheek had calmed down now, though it still hurt. My teeth felt funny too. I hoped they weren’t going to fall out. Still, it might make my cheeks look hollow. I hated my fat face.

  The taxi driver was peering at Kenny and his bag. ‘What you got there, son? Is it a baby shark?’

  ‘No, it’s a goldfish,’ said Kenny.

  ‘It’s never!’ said the taxi driver. ‘Well, I’m not supposed to carry no livestock. That’s what a goldfish is, lives