Drawing with Light Read online

  ‘Cassy’s really nice!’ Seb says as we walk back up the caravan field to the car. Mattie trots between us.

  ‘You sound surprised.’

  ‘No. Not really. She’s younger than I expected.’

  ‘She’s not my real mother.’

  ‘I know. You told me that before. How old is she?’

  ‘Thirty-one.’

  ‘How old’s your dad, then?’

  ‘Forty-two.’

  ‘And your real mum?’

  ‘I don’t know – forty? We don’t see her,’ I say quickly, so he doesn’t ask me anything else.

  Mattie hops into the back of the car as if she’s been doing it all her life.

  ‘She’s a fast learner,’ I say. ‘She wouldn’t do that a day ago.’

  Seb drives us to a place near the river, where we can get on to the footpath that runs along it. It seemed pitch-dark when we were in the car, but when we’re outside, walking along, our eyes adjust enough to make out the way. The path’s too narrow to walk together: I go in front and Seb follows behind. Once we’re far enough away from the road I bend down to unclip Mattie’s lead, so she can run free.

  ‘Is that a good idea? Are you sure she’ll come back?’ Seb asks.

  ‘Yes. Well, I think so,’ I say. ‘She knows me.’

  ‘What’s going to happen to her, now?’

  ‘Bob will have her back when he comes out of hospital. The dogs’ home people will look after her till then. That’s what Cassy says. But I’m worried they won’t let him take her back, when they see what he’s like. Homeless, no address.’

  Seb shrugs. ‘Well, it’s not up to them how he lives, is it?’

  ‘You should see how careful they are before they rehome an animal. They interview you and everything, to make sure you’re suitable. We weren’t allowed to rescue a kitten, way back, because no one was at home in the daytime.’

  ‘If you could just keep her at Moat House, there wouldn’t be a problem.’

  ‘No. But we won’t be living there till the summer.’

  We’ve almost reached the house, on the other side of the bank. From here, it looks huge. The scaffolding makes it look bigger, perhaps. I still can’t believe we’ll ever actually be living here for real. It hits me, suddenly, how isolated the house is, miles from anywhere. I’m going to have to learn to drive.

  ‘Why’ve you stopped?’ Seb asks.

  ‘Just looking.’

  ‘You can see why it’s called Moat House,’ Seb says. ‘From here, the river looks like a real moat round a castle.’

  Seb takes my hand and pulls me back towards him. We stand very close. Ahead of us, Mattie stops too. She’s watching the birds: hundreds of them, standing on the grassy islands of higher ground in the flooded field. The water shines like silver.

  ‘Brent geese,’ Seb says. ‘Winter migrants. Just arrived.’

  A blast of wind sends a flurry of silver-backed leaves from the willows growing along the riverbank. The leaves are like fish: shoals of minnows. I pull my camera out of my bag, but there’s not enough light, even with a really long exposure, to take photographs.

  ‘You take that camera everywhere, don’t you?’ Seb says.

  ‘Of course. That’s how you get the best shots.’

  ‘You should take some of the dog. And the house too, as a work in progress.’

  ‘That’s Dad’s job. His project, not mine.’

  Seb turns his collar up. ‘It’s freezing,’ he says. ‘Shall we go back?’

  I call Mattie. She stops, turns, trots obediently back. ‘See? I was right! She did come when I called her. You needn’t have worried!’

  ‘We could go to my place,’ Seb says. ‘It’s small, but there’s more space than your caravan. Mum won’t mind the dog, and Dad won’t be home yet.’

  It’s interesting seeing people’s houses for the first time. Like you get to see a bit more of them. Seb’s house is made of stone (not a surprise), semidetached, at the edge of a rundown village I didn’t even know existed.

  ‘We lived near Weymouth before,’ Seb says as he parks the car. ‘But at least this house has a proper garden.’

  We go through the garden at the side to the back door, which leads through a wooden porch into a big kitchen with a red-tiled floor and a wooden table and chairs.

  Seb’s mum’s cooking at the stove. She turns round and smiles at me. ‘Hello! You must be Emily? Yes? And who’s this?’ She bends down to pat Mattie, who cowers behind me.

  ‘Mattie. She’s a bit shy,’ I say, ‘and very muddy. Sorry.’

  ‘She can dry out near the radiator,’ Seb says. ‘I’m going up to change.’

  I unlace my muddy boots and leave them with Mattie next to the radiator.

  ‘Seb’s told me about you. And I’ve met your dad before, of course, in the pub with Nick, after work. I know he’s very proud of his clever daughters.’

  I don’t show her I’m surprised. It’s never occurred to me that Dad goes to the pub before he comes home, and that’s why he’s often late. It doesn’t seem fair on Cassy. It’s his fault we’re living in the stupid caravan in the first place, so he could at least be there as much as we have to.

  ‘Cup of tea? Or something to eat?’ Seb’s mum’s chopping vegetables now and the kitchen stinks of leeks, plus wet dog. ‘I’ve got the kettle on.’

  ‘Tea would be good. Thanks.’

  I pull out a chair and sit down at the kitchen table while I wait for Seb. It’s all cosy and warm. Mattie rests her head on my feet.

  ‘You can call me Avril,’ she says. ‘Everyone does. Fetch me down three mugs from the cupboard, love.’

  I choose three blue spotty china mugs and put them on the table.

  ‘He’s had a bit of a rough time, our Seb. He didn’t get on with school. But he’s bright as a button, any fool can see that. Always got his head in a book. He could do anything. If he’d put his mind to it.’ She pours water into a big blue china teapot. ‘But he can’t seem to focus where work’s concerned. Won’t stick at a job. He doesn’t take kindly to criticism and his dad can’t stop himself. Perhaps being friends with you will give him a bit of an incentive. Like, a little nudge, in the right direction. Here’s hoping!’

  ‘What?’ Seb’s suddenly standing in the doorway. ‘What are you telling Em?’

  ‘Nothing at all. We’re getting to know each other. Tea’s ready.’

  Avril must be nearly fifty. She isn’t like the other mothers I know, friends’ mothers I mean. She’s more of an old-fashioned mother, who cooks and cleans and does everything round the house and garden. When I say this to Seb, upstairs in his bedroom, he defends her.

  ‘It’s because my dad does heavy manual work,’ he says. ‘And he works long hours. So he needs her to be like that. Don’t knock it.’

  ‘I wasn’t,’ I say. ‘I was just noticing, that’s all.’

  ‘You should meet my Auntie Ruby. She’s like Mum but a hundred times more so. She lived in the Welsh valleys, before the mining jobs ran out. Then they moved to Portland. She thinks it’s a woman’s work to look after the man and the house.’ Seb notices my face and laughs. ‘I don’t think that, in case you’re wondering!’

  Seb’s room feels very different from the rest of the house. He’s painted the walls deep red, and there are stacks of books on shelves all along one wall. There’s a bed, desk, computer and all the usual things: racks of CDs, DVDs, iPod speakers. He’s got mostly foreign films, arty stuff. Indie bands. Lots of books, non-fiction mostly: history, archaeology, natural history. Which, I guess, explains how he always seems to know the names of things: buzzard; brent geese; limestone.

  ‘I like your room,’ I say. I finish my tea and lean back on the bed and Seb joins me. We lie there, close together, and he leans over and kisses me.

  ‘What if your mum comes in?’

  ‘She won’t.’

  I still can’t relax.

  ‘I ought to get back soon,’ I say in the end. ‘I’ve got homework for to
morrow.’

  Seb sighs and sits up. ‘School,’ he says. ‘It rules your life.’

  ‘It’s better than doing nothing all day,’ I say.

  Big mistake. I realise instantly I shouldn’t have let the words out. Seb looks really fed up.

  He gets off the bed. ‘I’ll drive you home,’ he says, without looking at me. ‘Get the dog, while I find the car keys.’

  I so wish I hadn’t said it. Seb hardly speaks all the way home. I kiss him goodbye, and he goes through the motions, but it doesn’t feel like it did before. I’ve spoilt everything, and it’s only the second time we’ve been out!

  ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow,’ I say. ‘Thanks for the walk and driving me home and everything.’

  He strokes Mattie’s head when he lets her out of the back seat. ‘See ya, dog.’

  I try to think what to say to Seb, to make him feel better. But I can’t, and anyway, he’s driving off before I get a chance to say sorry. I feel horrible.

  And now there’s Mattie to think about: tomorrow she’ll be gone. It makes me sad all the rest of the evening, the idea of her locked up in some sort of cage, in the dogs’ home, all alone and afraid.

  I try one more time. ‘Please, Cass. I’ll feed her and take her for walks and everything. I promise. She’s so good. She won’t be any trouble. At least till the weekend. Bob might be out by then.’

  I can see Cassy is wavering. She lets Mattie rest her head in her lap. She smoothes her soft head and pulls her ears absent-mindedly while she watches the telly.

  I start my photography homework.

  Dad gets in soon after. He comes to look over my shoulder at the computer screen. ‘They’re pretty good,’ he says. ‘Interesting topic.’

  I tell him about my project. I think about what Mr Ives said, about Francesca. I watch Dad’s face, waiting for a flicker of something that might show me he’s thinking of her too.

  And he does look wistful, for a second. But what he says is on a totally different tack.

  ‘You’re so grown-up, suddenly,’ he says. ‘You and Kat, both. Still, I always knew you were only on temporary loan.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ I say. ‘You make me sound like a library book!’

  ‘I mean being children – young people – you don’t belong to your parents. You’re just with us for a while. Passing through, on the way to growing up.’

  ‘That’s a bit deep, Dad!’

  I’m not sure I like him thinking about me like that. As a temporary thing. I know what he means, sort of. But I also want to think I do belong to him. Isn’t that what a family is? People belonging to each other?

  ‘I hear you’ve made friends with Nick’s son. Seb.’

  Cassy looks up.

  ‘And?’ I say to Dad. ‘What of it?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Dad hastily backtracks, as if he’s embarrassed. ‘He seems a nice enough lad. I thought I could invite him to the office sometime. You know, show him around. Talk to him about architecture. Might spark something.’

  ‘Dad,’ I say. ‘No. Please. Just leave him alone, OK?’

  Cassy’s gathering her towel and stuff ready for the trek over to the shower block. Mattie gets up to follow her. I wait till the door shuts behind them.

  ‘Did Cassy tell you about my job too?’

  ‘Yes. She thinks it’s a good idea. I’m not sure –’

  ‘It’ll be fine, Dad. It’s only for ten days. It’ll be good for me.’

  ‘That’s what Cassy says.’ He opens the fridge and gets a beer out. ‘We haven’t talked much for a while, have we? Just you and me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’m sorry about the caravan.’ Dad looks ridiculous, with a pale moustache of froth from the beer. ‘I know it’s tough, living here.’

  ‘It’s Cassy you should be thinking about,’ I say. ‘It’s making her ill.’

  Dad looks shocked, as if it’s never occurred to him before.

  ‘She’s white and sick and always tired,’ I say. ‘Haven’t you noticed?’

  Dad puts the beer down on the table. He stares at the can. He doesn’t say anything for ages.

  I carry on sorting my photos, and before long Cassy’s back, all damp and shiny-looking from her shower, Mattie padding softly behind her, and it’s time for everyone to get ready for bed.

  Mattie sleeps inside the caravan, this time.

  11

  To: katkin

  From: emilywoodman2

  So much to tell you!

  Can’t wait for you to get home! (When???? Give me a date.)

  News. We have a dog (only on temporary loan) – Mattie, remember? Bob collapsed in the library and is in hospital, so we are looking after her, but only till the weekend ’cos Cassy says there’s not enough room. True, but I LOVE Mattie, she’s sweet and sad and so good and obedient. I think Cassy likes her too really but Cassy is being a bit odd.

  Other (main) new thing to tell you: I am going out with Seb! (hopefully NOT temporary!!!) It has been one week and two days now. We went to see a film at the weekend. Yesterday we went for a walk together, and I met his mum. I really, really like him. A lot. I can’t quite believe this is happening to me. It feels weird and also wonderful at the same time. But I think I’m not very good at it, going out with someone I mean: I say things too quickly and Seb’s a bit moody. I know, I know. I’m usually the moody one.

  Oh, and I’ve actually got myself a job! Dad doesn’t seem to mind too much. He is a bit preoccupied. I start work tomorrow.

  It has rained here SO much. The fields are flooded.

  How r u? Please send me a message. You haven’t texted or emailed for ages.

  xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

  From: katkin

  To: emilywoodman2

  Hi Em. Oh my God!!!!!! You and the beautiful boy!!! That is so amazingly cool and I’m even a tiny bit jealous (well, not really. I do have the gorgeous Dan after all). And I am a bit surprised too. Not in a horrible way because I know how lovely you are and everything, but just because I never thought you were that interested. Does that sound mean? It’s not meant to.

  Guess what? It’s actually snowed here! We went Christmas shopping in the snow!! How cool is that?

  It didn’t settle or anything, though, and now it’s raining. We are doing a Secret Santa thing for everyone in the flat before we all go home for the holidays.

  What is going on with Cassy?

  Who the hell are Mattie and Bob?

  What do you want for Christmas? I don’t have much money so it has to be something cheap.

  Dan’s old girlfriend (she’s not ‘old’ – his ex) will be around in the holidays when he goes back to London, so I’m not sure what to think. Hmmmm. They went out together for ages, like more than a year, and split up when they went to different universities. I think it’s possible she still likes him.

  What’s happening at the house? When will it be ready??

  Just remembered about who Bob is. Honestly, Em, only you would have an old crusty dog like that.

  Gtg. Making mince pies and have to write Biology essay by tomorrow.

  x Kat

  To: katkin

  From: emilywoodman2

  How could you forget Mattie and Bob? Has your brain erased all memory prior to uni experience??? (Rachel calls this Selective Amnesia.)

  I am sending you a photo of Mattie (quite good but would be better without flash).

  Moat House now has a roof and doors and windows, and half a staircase!

  Why don’t you bring Dan HERE for Christmas? Safe from clutches of old girlfriend, and I get to meet him and see if he is good enough for you.

  (I know, million reasons why NOT: caravan too small. Cold. No privacy. Dad being embarrassing. Etc., etc.) BUT he could bring a tent and thermal underwear (ha! very sexy!). What is he like? Send photo.

  Would you prefer 1. earrings? Or 2. silk scarf? (For Christmas.) I can get a discount.

  xxx Em

  I wait. No reply pops up. She’s go
ne to make the mince pies or whatever.

  I have another look at the photos of Mattie. She looks so cute with her sweet face, sad eyes, her soft ears that fold down at the top. If I print one off, Cassy can take it with her when she goes to see Bob in hospital after work tomorrow. He must be worrying about her.

  Today is our first day at work at the Christmas market, after school.

  ‘You watch the bags and scarves at the front, to make sure no one nicks anything,’ Rachel says, ‘and I’ll keep an eye on the jewellery.’

  The market’s packed. We’ve had loads of people buying stuff already: earrings and the big bright baskets, mostly, and one guy who bought three identical pink silk scarves for the three different ladies in my life. Yuck. Rachel pulls a face and it’s all I can do to stop myself throwing up.

  ‘Arrogant git,’ Rachel says, once she’s taken the money off him. ‘He’s not even good-looking.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s very wealthy,’ I say. ‘More likely, he’s got three aunties, not three girlfriends!’

  It’s a bit quieter while people go off to watch the lady mayor switch on the lights. The Salvation Army band starts playing Christmas carols round the huge Christmas tree in front of the church.

  Rachel and I mess about, trying on the expensive hand-embroidered silk scarves. Polly said we could wear one each, to model them. It makes more people buy them, apparently. Rachel chooses a turquoise silk one. She makes me try something bright: not your usual black. So I end up looking like a Christmas parcel, wrapped in orange and shocking pink.

  ‘Wow! Didn’t recognise you two gorgeous girls!’ Cassy suddenly appears, smiling at us. She hands us each a plastic cup of hot spiced apple juice. ‘To warm you up!’ she says.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I say.

  ‘Rob and I thought we’d come out for the evening,’ she says. ‘We’ll be at the Jazz cafe later, if you want a lift home?’

  ‘Aw!’ Rachel says, when Cassy’s disappeared through the crowds again. ‘Isn’t she nice to you?’

  ‘Suppose,’ I say. ‘I could easily have got the bus.’

  ‘Isn’t your mystery man coming to collect you, then?’