I ran nearly the whole way to the Latimer Estate, rehearsing what I was going to say to Treasure’s nan. But I didn’t get the chance.
There were two big television vans parked in the courtyard of Elm block and over by the dustbin shelter there was a crowd clustered in front of the television camera. Kids were running towards it, desperate to be on television too. I grabbed one little boy by his bony elbow.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Leave off! It’s the telly, innit. They’ve got the bloke.’
‘Which bloke?’
‘The one that murdered the girl, Treasure.’
‘She’s not murdered!’
‘Well, they haven’t found her body yet, but my mum says it’s only a matter of time. She says they should torture him until he says what he’s done with her.’
‘Who?’
‘That nutter Michael Watkins. He’s the one that did it.’
‘Michael Watkins?’
‘You are thick. He lives next door to Treasure and her gran, Rita, and all that crowd.’
Mumbly Michael!
‘He hasn’t done anything to Treasure!’
‘Yes, he has. The coppers came and arrested him. They did a search of his mum’s flat and all. There’s no trace of Treasure – yet. My mum reckons they should search the dustbins. She’ll be found soon, you wait.’
He jerked his elbow free and ran towards the television crew. I ran after him, though my legs were so wobbly I nearly fell down.
They couldn’t have arrested poor Mumbly Michael.
They could.
A journalist was talking solemnly straight to camera.
‘We understand that the police are still questioning this man, who is believed to be the next-door neighbour of Treasure Mitchell’s grandmother. There’s still no sign of the little girl herself but her family haven’t given up hope.’
I wondered if this family were still staying with Nan in her flat. I skirted the crowd and dodged up the stairs, but when I got to the right landing I saw there were two police officers outside Nan’s flat, and two more outside Mumbly Michael’s.
I felt so frightened I just bobbed back down the stairs, rushing too quickly in the dark. I missed my footing and went hurtling down four or five steps at once, landing with a terrible thump on my hands and knees, my schoolbag giving me another bash in the back for good measure. I knelt there, whispering all the swear words I know to try to stop myself crying. Then I picked myself up and limped down the rest of the stairs.
The television crew was still filming, the camera panning the crowd. I kept my head well down and backed away. I ran until I was out of the Latimer Estate altogether, and then I hobbled along to the parade of shops. I went to the chemist’s. I had ten pounds in my school purse. I hoped it would be enough. I smiled at the lady behind the counter.
‘Can I have one of those asthma inhaler things, please?’
‘Have you got your prescription, dear?’
Oh-oh.
‘No, I’ve been very stupid. I’ve lost it. Couldn’t you just give me the inhaler? I can pay, I’ve got my money.’
‘No dear, you have to have the prescription. You’ll have to go back to your doctor.’
‘I can’t. I haven’t got an appointment. I need the inhaler now. I’m going off to stay at a friend’s, you see, and I’m starting to go all wheezy.’
I started to imitate Treasure having an attack. It was quite easy because I was still out of breath from all the running.
‘I’m sorry, we’re not allowed to sell any asthma products over the counter without a prescription,’ she said.
‘Look, can’t you give the inhaler to me now, and I’ll use it and calm down and go and see the doctor and get another prescription and bring it straight back to you, I promise.’
‘No, I’m afraid that’s just not possible.’ She was staring at me, starting to get suspicious. ‘Are you on your own? Is your mother outside in the car?’
‘Oh, never mind,’ I said, giving up and running out of the shop. I hoped the television and newspapers hadn’t said anything about Treasure being asthmatic. I decided to trail all the way into town to see if I could buy anything for asthma at the big Boots in the shopping centre. I thought I’d seem much less conspicuous in a crowded shop. I just hoped they had a different policy.
They didn’t. They wouldn’t sell me an inhaler. They went through the whole we-need-a-prescription rigmarole. So I gave up and spent the ten pounds on treats for Treasure instead: blue sparkly nail varnish and cherry-flavoured lip gloss and butterfly slides and some chocolate – and I bought room freshener too and more tissues.
It was getting horribly late now. I knew Treasure would be wondering where on earth I’d got to. I ran some of the way home but I was tired out and my knees were hurting badly so I wasn’t very fast.
I wanted to rush straight up to Treasure but Wanda was waiting in the hall.
‘This isn’t good enough, India! Why didn’t you ring me from Tiffany’s house? I’ve been so worried.’
‘There’s no need to worry, Wanda.’
Wanda was still looking at me strangely. ‘There’s something going on, India. You’re acting very oddly all of a sudden.’ She paused. ‘You didn’t slip back here at lunchtime, did you?’
I felt my heart thump. I tried not to look anxious. ‘No. Why?’
‘Mrs Winslow seemed sure someone had been in the kitchen.’
‘Oh?’ I said, as if I wasn’t that interested. ‘Anyway, Wanda, I’d better go and get started on my homework, I’ve got heaps.’
I raced upstairs and made a great show of slamming my bedroom door – and then I opened it again very cautiously, scooted along the landing, and up the stairs.
I poked my head up into the attic. It was pitch black!
‘Treasure? What is it? What’s happened?’
I felt for the light switch. I found it but the light didn’t come on.
‘Treasure?’
Why wasn’t she answering me?
I pulled myself up and felt my way in the darkness.
‘Treasure, please! It’s me, India. Where are you?’
I found the armchair but it was empty. Then I nudged into something on the floor. I bent and felt clothes, a limp body, arms, legs. I shook her gently – and to my horror her arm came right off, dangling there in my hands!
Fifteen
Treasure
IT’S BEEN THE longest day ever, ever, ever.
I ate my breakfast. By ten o’clock I’d eaten my lunch too, just for something to do. Then I felt sick and started to worry what I would do if I was sick. I wasn’t sure how much that horrible wastebin would hold. And how could I be sick without making a noise? Wanda might hear, unless she was too busy being sick herself. Fancy India not guessing she’s pregnant. India seems so grown-up and she uses all these la-di-da long words but she’s like a little kid really. Our Patsy knows more than she does.
I mustn’t think about Patsy. Or any of the family. I might start fussing and have an asthma attack. I’m still a bit wheezy. I’m trying to breathe slowly and calmly but when you think about breathing you forget how to do it properly. I can’t help wondering what will happen if I have a really bad asthma attack, like the time Mum had that terrible row with the neighbours when she lived with Big Bill. They set their dog on her and I screamed and then I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t catch my breath, I was just gasp gasp gasp. Mum had to get me to hospital quick. I always needed my inhaler after that.
I need it now.
I do so, so, so hope India goes to see Nan.
I mustn’t think about Nan. I’ll think about . . . Anne Frank. I’ve read her whole diary now. It gets harder towards the end but you keep on reading because you care about her so much. You wonder what she’s going to do with Peter too, though he’s far too dull and boring for Anne.
She never got the chance to meet anyone else. The diary doesn’t finish the way you want it to, with the war ending and Holland liberated
and Anne and her family and all the other Jews free to come out of hiding and all the concentration camps opened up and everyone nursed back to full health. The diary stops and then there are a couple of pages telling you what happens next, if you can bear to read it.
I wonder what it felt like to be stuck in that awful camp?
I wonder if Anne knew she was going to die?
I wonder what it was like to be one of the guards, maybe with his own teenage daughters at home?
I don’t get why people want to hurt other people. I don’t get why Terry wants to hurt me. I don’t get why my mum loves Terry even though he hurts her. If I ever win the Lottery I’m going to buy a great big house – maybe one like this – and it’ll just be for really special people. Nan. India, if she wants. Patsy. Loretta and little Britney. Maybe Willie can hang out with us too. My mum can come, but only if she promises not to bring any blokes with her. Especially not Terry.
It’ll be my house and my rules and the minute anyone hits or hurts or gets drunk or shoots up they’re out, no arguments, immediate eviction.
I’ll draw the house . . .
OK, I’ve done the house and I’ve given everyone their own room. There are no attics, secret or otherwise. I have seen enough attics to last me a lifetime.
I got so fed up by one o’clock and so hungry too, wishing I hadn’t gobbled up all my lunch long ago. I wondered about risking slipping downstairs. I lay down and put my ear to the trapdoor and listened. I couldn’t hear a thing.
I’d heard Wanda come in once, and then she’d gone out again about quarter to one. I was sure she couldn’t have crept back. So I opened up the trapdoor and slipped down the stairs, trembling. I listened on the landing. I felt like I had great flappy elephant ears I was listening so hard.
The house was silent. Well, a tap dripped, a clock ticked, the radiators gurgled, but there was no human noise. I ran along the landing to the bathroom. It was bliss, bliss, bliss to use a proper toilet. I had a wash and cleaned my teeth too. I hoped India wouldn’t mind me using her things.
I went and had another peep in her bedroom, marvelling. I’d wondered if I’d made half of it up, but it was even better than I’d remembered. I stroked the quilt on the fairytale bed and rubbed my cheek against the smooth silky pillow. I longed to climb into the bed and curl up and sleep.
I can’t sleep properly all by myself up in that attic. I wriggled around all night on that tiny camp bed. Every time I started dozing Terry came stalking me, his green eyes gleaming as he undid his leather belt. I’d feel safe in India’s soft bed but if I fell asleep I might not wake up in time. Wanda might come back and find me.
I checked on Wanda’s bedroom. There were a lot of screwed-up tissues on her pillow. It looked like she’d been crying for hours. She was obviously very upset about the baby. Loretta was pleased she had Britney. She said a baby is someone of your very own to love. She certainly loves Britney lots. Maybe Wanda’s worried what her mum and dad in Australia will think. Nan cried when Loretta told her she was going to have a baby. She said she wasn’t mad, she was sad, because Loretta was still such a kid herself. Nan thought Loretta should have waited, finished school, done some training, made something of herself.
‘I’ve made a baby instead,’ said Loretta.
‘You girls,’ said Nan. ‘Maybe it’s my fault. What’s the matter with me, eh? First it’s Tammy, expecting at seventeen, and now it’s you.’
‘I’m not like Tammy,’ said Loretta. ‘She never wanted hers.’
Nan shushed her, but I heard. It didn’t come as any surprise. I know my mum never wanted me.
She didn’t even want to hold me when I was born. She told me. I was all purple and slimy so she couldn’t stand the sight of me. The nurse bathed me and powdered me and brushed my hair and popped me into a pink sleeping suit. I’ve seen a photo. I didn’t look too bad. One of my eyes looks a bit wonky but I’m sort of cute otherwise, with this fluff all over my head like a dandelion.
‘Look at your little baby, your little treasure,’ said this kind nurse. ‘Don’t you want to give her a cuddle?’
‘I’d sooner give her a clip round the head for all the pain she caused me,’ my mum moaned. ‘My little treasure?’
She said it as a joke. She used it as my nickname. So that’s what I got called. I don’t care if she didn’t mean it in a nice way.
Well, I do care. But it’s OK, my mum loves me now. She wants me back. She was crying on the television.
Oh, come off it. That doesn’t mean anything. Terry was crying too.
I wish they’d shown my nan on the telly.
There was a phone in the kitchen. I dialled 141 so the call couldn’t be traced and then punched in Nan’s number. It was answered at the first ring. It wasn’t Nan.
It was Terry!
‘Hello?’ he said into my ear. ‘Hello, hello? Who’s that? Look if it’s one of you journalists playing silly beggars I’ve told you, we’ve got an exclusive with another paper.’
There was another voice telling Terry to hand the phone over – maybe a policeman? Than I heard Nan!
‘Shut up! It could be Treasure. Let me speak to her! Treasure? Is it you, darling? Are you all right? Where are you?’
‘I’m hiding, Nan!’ I whispered, and then I put the phone down quick in case someone else snatched it.
My throat was dry. I poured myself a glass of water. My hands were so shaky I spilt half of it down my front. I wandered round the huge kitchen seeing little bug-eyed Treasures in every shiny surface. What would Nan think of a kitchen like this! The fridge had all sorts of fancy food but I didn’t dare help myself. The larder was easier. I had a handful of raisins, a licked finger of sugar, and then I got started on a packet of cornflakes. They made me cough. Then I started wheezing. I put my hands on my tight chest and told myself to take it e-a-s-y – but then I saw a dark shape through the mottled glass of the kitchen door, and the sound of a key in the lock!
I ran like the wind, out of the kitchen, up the two flights of stairs, up the attic ladder and through the trapdoor. I lay on the floor of the attic, gasping. Blood drummed in my head. It was so loud I couldn’t hear properly. Oh God, there were footsteps! Coming along the landing, getting nearer and nearer.
‘Come out!’ someone called. An oldish voice. ‘I heard you! I’ll call the police!’
I lay there, my hand over my mouth. I heard the ladder creaking. They were coming up after me!
I reached out and found the light switch. I flicked it off quickly and lay still in the dark. I hate not being able to see but it meant they wouldn’t be able to see me if they stuck their head through the trapdoor.
It was opening! I clamped my lips together, in agony.
‘Are you in there? It’s not you, is it, India?’
I waited for her to work out where the light switch was.
‘India?’ she said again, but with less conviction. She sighed – and then went back down the ladder, pausing to put the trapdoor back in place. I heard her down on the landing, muttering to herself.
I waited until I heard distant hoovering. I sat up, wheezing, and switched the light back on. I kept telling myself that it was OK, she hadn’t found me. But I couldn’t stop feeling scared.
I’m still scared. If only India would come back! I need my inhaler. I can’t breathe. It’s getting worse.
Footsteps. India? But what if it’s the cleaning lady? I’d better switch the light off quick.
* * *
I tried to switch the light back on but the light bulb’s broken! I’m in the dark. I’m so scared. I’m trying to write this but I can’t see what I’m doing.
The footsteps went away ages ago. Where’s India? It must be so late now. Maybe it’s night-time already?
I want Nan. Did she hear me? Does she know I’m all right? But I’m not all right. I’m getting so scared. I can’t breathe. Ican’tbreatheIcan’tbreatheIcan’tbreathe.
Sixteen
India
DEAR KIT
TY
I bet I’ve kept you on tenterhooks!
I screamed as Treasure fell apart in my arms.
‘Treasure!’
‘I’m here – I – can’t – breathe!’
I felt my way towards her. I’d been holding the clothes doll she’d made for company! The real Treasure was huddled up in a corner of the black attic. She clutched hold of me.
‘Have – you – got – my—’
‘Your inhaler? No, I tried. I’ve been everywhere. But it’s OK, Treasure, I’ll help you breathe.’
Treasure sucked in a breath and then said something very rude. I didn’t think she was being fair. I’d tried so hard. But I held her and straightened her shoulders in the dark and after a bit she stopped wheezing so much. She started telling me about going downstairs and nearly being caught by Mrs Winslow – I told her not to come out the attic! – and the light bulb going and how she panicked in the dark and then passed out. I felt she might just have gone to sleep but I didn’t like to contradict her.
I gave her the bag of presents and told her to feel each one and see if she could tell what it is while I nipped downstairs and tried to find a new light bulb. She didn’t want me to go and leave her alone in the dark again.
‘I’ll just be a minute, I promise,’ I said – but I got waylaid.
Wanda was in her bedroom, so I helped myself to all sorts of stuff in the kitchen, including a 100 watt light bulb. I shoved everything on a tray and started carrying it upstairs. But Dad suddenly came bursting through the front door, home from work a good hour early.
‘How’s my little girl then?’ he called up the stairs after me. He sounded friendly for once but there was something odd about his voice. It was thicker, as if he was getting a cold.
‘Hi, Dad,’ I said, and carried on up the stairs.
‘Hey, hey! Come and give your old dad a kiss then!’