Last Bus to Everland, page 10
Zahra rushes towards a stall selling bright embroidered blankets and cushions. The table is covered with piles of tiny handwoven people not much bigger than my thumbnail. She picks one up, lifting it higher to see it better in the light cast by the lantern hanging from the roof of the hut.
‘Worry dolls! You know these? You put them under your pillow to take your troubles away. From Guatemala, I think. Maybe I’ll get some for my cousin Salima. She’s doing a PhD; she’s constantly stressed.’
‘My brother could do with some of those, too.’ I clear my throat, trying to think of a way to frame my question without sounding totally nosy. ‘Eh, speaking of trouble . . . what’s up with Nico and Dani?’
Zahra glances at me while she counts out her coins.
‘No idea. Relationships are always complicated in here. Especially with people from different places – makes it harder to bridge the gap between Everland and the outside world, you know?’
‘Right.’ I remember what Nico told me that day we went sketching. ‘Well, I hope they sort it out.’
Zahra gives me a knowing smile. ‘Do you?’
‘Aye, course I do.’ My cheeks start burning. ‘Why?’
‘Come on, Brody. You’re not the most subtle,’ she says, grinning. ‘I mean, I get it. Nico’s very charming.’
Something in her voice tells me she’s not finished. ‘But?’
‘But . . .’ She smiles at the seller sitting behind the stall and pockets the worry dolls. ‘He’s complicated.’
‘How’d you mean?’
Zahra presses her lips together. ‘I mean, he has his issues. I’m pretty sure everybody in here does. Just don’t put him on too much of a pedestal, you know?’
I want to ask her more, but Zahra quickly moves on to a stall trading telescopes and binoculars and other types of optical instruments. She pays a few pounds for a tiny golden kaleidoscope, then trades some pens for three clay egg cups. Payment is a bit of a free-for-all here. Some people have set out tins or jars full of coins – maybe collecting for when they go back to the real world, though there’s so many different currencies mixed together, I don’t know how useful that’d be. Others are trading for different items, or even giving things away for free.
While Zahra’s looking at colourful glass bottles filled with tiny village scenes, the stall owner, a grey-haired man with pocked skin and a couple of teeth missing, holds one out to me. I shake my head.
‘Sorry, I’ve no got anything on me.’
The man smiles. ‘I have a lifetime’s worth of work here,’ he says, in an Eastern European accent. ‘I will never sell them all. Please, take one.’
He pushes it into my hand: a long, thin bottle with a miniscule model village inside. Tiny people walk down a tiny street of thatched cottages; a miniature street lamp glows at one end, casting a yellowish glow on the snowy ground. It’s amazingly detailed – a little world trapped inside the glass. I thank the man, wishing I had something to give him in exchange. There’s nothing in my pockets except my phone and Jake’s bus pass.
By the time we’ve looped around the whole market, I’ve picked up enough freebies to cover all my Christmas shopping: a bright pink purse decorated with tiny mirrors for Keira; a sculpture of a typewriter made from yellowing book pages for Jake; and for Mam, a little pocket watch encased in a bronze locket decorated with a sparrow on one side. I’m tempted to keep the village in a bottle for myself, but I’ll give it to Dad. Seems like the sort of thing he’d like.
I don’t know how long we shop for, but eventually the market slides behind us, and we arrive in a wide field where yellow-tipped grass reaches past our knees. There are mountains to the north and east, a waterfall in the distance. Silence all around. It’s funny how Everland changes depending on who I’m with. When I’m with Nico, we always end up in crowds, at parties or celebrations or festivals. With Zahra, there’s always so much space. When I mention this, she smiles.
‘That’s what I love about this place. The freedom.’
Further ahead, two deer are lazing under a cherry tree. Zahra pauses for a moment, watching them.
‘I haven’t told you about my mum, have I?’
I shake my head. ‘No?’
Zahra takes a deep breath: the air tonight is crisp and smells of pine and woodsmoke. ‘She has MS – multiple sclerosis. My dad works abroad, and now that my sisters have moved out, I’m sometimes the only one around to look after her. I get a lot of help from our neighbours and our community, but still. It’s a lot of pressure.’
‘Wow. I bet,’ I mumble. I’ve had to look after dad a couple of times, when he’s had panic attacks and that. But that’s not the same as being an actual carer.
Zahra runs her fingers across the top of the long grass. ‘I found this place after one of Mum’s bad episodes. She’d fallen in the kitchen and hit her head, and I had to call an ambulance. My dad was in Texas for work, so it was the first time I’d had to do that by myself, and it was . . . pretty overwhelming. She was OK, but they kept her in overnight just in case, so one of my aunties came to get me and took me back to hers for the evening. I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk and somehow ended up on Calton Hill. I noticed Nico and Kasia by the monument, saw the door appear, then followed them in. I’ve been here every week since. I felt bad about it at first, but it’s not like I’m doing anything wrong. Our flat is only a four-minute walk away, so I’m never gone long.’
‘I had no idea,’ I say quietly. ‘I’m sorry, Zahr.’
She smiles. ‘Thanks. I’m OK – this place gives me the space I need. I think I might have gone a bit off the rails without it.’
We walk in silence for a while, watching the deer graze. I didn’t know about any of this, just like I didn’t know about Dani’s story. It makes me even more grateful for Everland: that so many people can find what they need here.
Some time later, we arrive back where we originally set off from: a wide square dotted here and there with palm trees, and a red door with a silver moon tucked between rustic white buildings. Miyumi is sitting cross-legged under one of the trees reading a book, and Esther and the band are setting up to play on the other side of the square. Just seeing it makes my chest swell with contentment. I don’t care about Kasia’s theory that you’re supposed to find this place yourself. This is where I belong.
I turn to Zahra, about to ask her to keep hold of my gifts while I play. Then I hesitate.
‘I cannae actually give my family any of this,’ I say. ‘It all looks too expensive. They’ll wonder where I got the money to pay for it.’
It’s only once I’ve said it out loud that I realize it’s true. Mam already thinks I’m some sort of junkie – don’t want her to add theft to my supposed life of crime. To my surprise, a lump rises in my throat. I would have liked to give her and Dad something nice for Christmas. Especially with all the crap they’re going through at the moment.
‘You could say you made them,’ Zahra suggests. ‘I’ve seen your masks. They’re well good.’
‘Bit of a jump from that to this,’ I say, holding up the bottle.
‘Well, hang on to them anyway. Maybe you can give them as gifts another time.’ She holds out her arms, and I gently place the presents in her hands. ‘Things won’t always be like this, Brody.’
I nod, but it’s not until I’m halfway across the square that I realize I don’t know what she means: life, or Everland, or both.
When I get home from school the following Thursday, our living room is being torn apart by Hurricane Keira. I’ve seen my sister pull some Category Five tantrums before, but this is a whole new level: her face is streaked with black mascara tears, and her screams are so hysterical, I can’t make out a word of what she’s saying. This is way past the point where either Mam or Dad usually loses their rag and starts yelling back at her, but tonight both of their faces are stony. Dad’s eyes are firmly on the TV, and Mam keeps shaking her head and saying she’s sorry.
‘. . . no choice,’ I hear her say, when Keira eventually pauses to take a breath. ‘I wouldn’t do it unless –’
Mam takes a step forward, her arms outstretched in the offer of a hug, but Keira bats her hands away. Her blue eyes are icy with anger. Even Jake has stopped typing to watch. He usually treats Keira like an annoying puppy, but right now he looks almost sorry for her.
‘I hate you,’ Keira says, her voice bubbling up. ‘I hate you.’
She storms off to her room, slamming the door so hard the walls shake. Mrs McAskill instantly starts banging on the ceiling; Jake stamps his foot on the carpet in reply. Mam sinks on to the sofa, her head in her hands. After a moment, Dad reaches over and squeezes her knee.
‘She’ll come around, Sal. Give it two weeks – she’ll have found some new hobby and forgotten all about it.’
‘No, she won’t. She loves those classes.’
She rubs her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, clearly trying to fight back one of her headaches. I look at her, and it’s one of those weird moments when you realize that you’ve seen someone every day for months but haven’t really seen them at all. She looks different. Older. There are flyaway grey hairs framing her face that weren’t there before, and the lines around her mouth have deepened. When she looks up and sees me standing by the door, her face freezes.
‘Brody – when did you get home?’
‘Uh, the now. What’s going on?’
She takes a long breath, steeling herself for something. Dad folds his arms, his attention fixed on the TV again. I look at Jake, but he’s already gone back to his essay. Mam nods towards the table.
‘Sit down, love.’
I sink into the nearest seat, letting my school bag drop to the carpet. This is starting to feel . . . oddly familiar. Mam takes the seat beside mine and leans forward, her elbows on the table, a worried expression on her face. She’s always been good at hiding how she feels about stuff. Like when Dad was in hospital. Like the past few years, with his agoraphobia getting worse and worse. Maybe it’s because we’re older now that she feels she can finally be honest about what’s going on. Or maybe it’s because things are getting too bad for her to hide any more.
The thought scares me a bit.
‘Mind I told you that we’d need to cut back a bit, until we get this issue with Dad’s benefits sorted out?’ she says. ‘Well, we can’t really afford Keira’s musical theatre classes right now.’
‘Oh. Right.’
That explains the dramatics. Keira lives for that class. She’s good at it, too. We went to see their production of Annie last term. Keira played Duffy, one of the orphans, and she was brilliant – totally over-the-top but really funny. She redid the whole thing as a one-woman show in the living room for Dad afterwards. She knew every single line – her Miss Hannigan was better than the film version, if you ask me.
‘It’s just so expensive, and we’ve got other things to worry about.’ Mam’s gaze drops to the table. She scratches at a bit of dried ketchup on the wood. ‘I know it’s hard, but we all need to make some sacrifices.’
‘Just give her some time.’ As usual, my sister is acting like a total diva, and a bit of a brat, but she’s a good kid deep down. Her temper never lasts long. ‘She’ll be fine.’
Mam keeps scratching at the ketchup. There’s a long pause. I swear Jake’s typing gets faster and louder, like he’s trying to fill the silence. Eventually, Mam sighs and looks up at me.
‘Brody . . . I think we need to find a new home for Tink, love.’
For a second, I don’t get what she means. Like a moron, I actually think she means we’re all going to have to move flats again. When I realize what she’s actually saying, my jaw drops.
‘What? Mam, no! Why?’
She wrings her hangs together. ‘We’re not even supposed to have pets in this flat, Brodes. We should really have given him away before we moved in here, but you were so attached to him, and you were only eleven . . . I couldn’t bring myself to do it.’
‘So, what? That makes it OK that you’re doing it now? I’ve had him long enough, is that it?’
Dad turns the volume on the TV up. Jake’s shoulders twitch, but he doesn’t look away from his essay. Mam shakes her head.
‘I’m sorry, Brody. I really am. We’ll keep him until the New Year, but after that, he’ll have to go.’
‘But I told you I’ll get a job. I’ve applied for tons of stuff,’ I say. It’s true – I haven’t had a single reply yet, but I’ll keep trying. ‘I can pay for his food with the money from that.’
‘Food’s not really the issue. Tink’s getting old. What if he needs an operation or medicine, something like that? Besides, we can’t risk being made to leave this flat for a pet.’
We’ve had a handful of inspections since we moved in here. Each time, we left Tink with Keira’s friend Amanda upstairs, hoovered up the cat hairs, and hid his bowl and litter tray under the sink. The guy from the letting agency barely stayed five minutes, let alone long enough to go hunting for evidence of animal contraband. I remind Mam of all this, but she just keeps shaking her head.
‘Brody, this is serious. I’ve asked and asked, but I’m just not getting the hours at work that I need. I’ve had to go to the food bank twice. The only reason we had anything to eat last night is because Mrs Adebayo upstairs brought us some of her curry.’
Her voice wobbles, and something inside me with it. I knew things were bad, but not that bad.
‘What the hell are we going to do if the landlord chucks us out for breaking his rules?’ Mam asks. ‘We’ve got no chance of finding anything cheaper around here, and it’d be years before we could get a council house. I’m sorry, but Tink is a luxury that we just can’t afford right now.’
‘A luxury?’ I can’t even look at her. There’s too much whirling around my head. I stand up and snatch my bag off the floor. ‘This is bloody ridiculous.’
Finally, Dad decides to chime in. ‘Don’t talk to your mother like that. She’s doing her best.’
That’s all he says. He shuffles on the sofa and goes back to his TV show, like all this has nothing to do with him. And for a second, I hate him for it. I know that’s unfair. I know it’s a disease, that he’s sick, that he can’t help it, but lately it feels like he’s not even trying to get better. That he’d rather sink into his documentaries – get swept up in true-crime stories or deep-sea explorations – than take any interest in what’s going on around him.
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Give him away. Do what you like.’
Following Keira’s lead, I go to my room and slam the door like I haven’t since I was about eight. Tink is stretched out on the square of sun pouring in from the window, his ginger fur fiery in the afternoon light. I flop down on the carpet beside him. Anger is throbbing at my throat, my chest, my wrists. This is the worst thing they could have taken away from me.
Well, no – Everland is. But Tink is a close second.
‘This is bullshit,’ I tell him. ‘Fucking bullshit.’
I stroke his back, but he’s not in the mood. He gives an angry yelp and makes for the door, scratching at the wood until I open it and let him into the living room. That’s not unusual; he’s always in a bad mood. But today, it actually hurts.
It’s not even four o’clock yet, but I’m too pissed off to stay in. I get changed and head out before tea, ignoring Mam when she asks me where I’m going. I wander through the streets for a while, kicking at stones and litter on the pavement. Mam’s words echo in my head, with all the arguments I could have made for Tink coming to me too late. After a while, I text Nico and ask if he’s about. He calls me back. Nico’s the only person I know under forty who prefers to call rather than text.
‘Brody! I was just thinking about you.’
Hearing his voice makes mine choke up. I don’t know why. It’s just nice to listen to him talk, even if I can’t get any words out in response. Nico says my name a few times, but I can’t answer.
‘Where are you?’ he asks. ‘Come to mine. I’ll text you the address.’
* * *
It takes me half an hour to walk up to New Town. Nico answers the door wearing Adidas trousers and a paint-stained white T-shirt. Before he says anything, he gives me a hug. I let my hands linger around him just a beat too long, my face pressed against his shoulder, his hand rubbing my back.
‘This is a surprise, Brody,’ he says gently. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I’m fine. It’s just . . .’
My voice fades out again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Nico’s face falls, but he doesn’t ask any more questions. He moves aside to let me in.
‘Come up. My dad and Jenny are still at work; they won’t be back for ages.’
I shuffle in and kick my shoes off. Their flat is like something off Grand Designs: shiny wooden floorboards, high ceilings with those carved wooden edges, a skylight. Nico grabs two Diet Cokes from the kitchen – the fridge alone is about the size of Keira’s bedroom – then leads me upstairs. There are two paintings on the walls – a still life and a seascape of the Firth of Forth – but no family photos.
‘Sorry about my room. I’m finishing up a piece for my portfolio.’ Nico nudges a door at the end of the corridor open with his foot. ‘So it’s a bit of a mess.’
It’s not what I’d expected. I’d pictured Nico’s bedroom to have cobalt-blue walls, clothes and costumes scattered all across the floor, an entire wall covered in sketches and pages cut from fashion magazines. It’s nothing like that. There are pencils, paints and sketchbooks on the desk, but the only drawings and photos are contained within a white-framed pinboard. His wings are propped up by the wardrobe, and there’s some pale gold material spread across the bed, but not the piles of costumes I’d expected. The walls are cream, the blinds beige, the duvet and carpet different shades of grey. It doesn’t feel like Nico at all.
