Lucky Star Page 10

  She snuggles down against the slanted roof, peeping out over the top. Eden is looking especially gorgeous tonight. Last week someone – not me – painted a vivid sunrise on the long wall opposite, and overnight a scattering of stencilled silver stars sprang up on the cracked concrete around the old playground.

  The Phoenix ruins are stuffed with plants, and flowers have started to appear all along the footpath that snakes through the estate. It’s almost December, but it’s still mild and there’ve been no frosts. Some of the flowers have been scuffed up, but most are still there. They make old ladies smile and little girls bend down to pick them, and day by day there are more.

  ‘Did your mum do that?’ Cat wants to know. ‘With the flowers?’

  ‘No. Could be anybody – or lots of people, maybe. It’s like someone looted a garden centre – actually, knowing this place, maybe they did?’ ‘The copycat graffiti is cool too,’ Cat says. ‘And the lifts …’

  Cat and I added metres of silver tinsel to the spray-painted lifts just last week. Eden Estate is changing. It started as a few flowers, a protest about the torching of the Phoenix, but it’s turning into more than that. It’s about the people turning a sad, grey dump into somewhere less grim, less scary.

  A couple of women wander up to the bus stop. We stay quiet, grinning, but although one of them wonders out loud where the music is coming from, they assume it must be from one of the tower block balconies. When the bus comes, a blaze of light sweeping through the estate, they get on without a backward glance. It’s only when an old man glances out from a top-deck window that we’re spotted. Cat blows him a kiss, and his startled face has us snorting with laughter as the bus swoops off into the night.

  A moped putters to a halt below and a carrier bag appears on the edge of the bus shelter roof. Chan’s uncle is a pizza delivery man. I ordered cheese and pineapple, with Coke instead of champagne, and Mars bars for afterwards.

  ‘You thought of everything!’ Cat laughs. She spots the tail end of my school tie dangling from a pocket where I stuffed it earlier. ‘What’s this, a tie? If I’d known we were dressing up, I’d have worn my party dress!’

  ‘I like you as you are,’ I tell her.

  Cat hooks the school tie round my neck and reels me in. ‘You too,’ she says. ‘You’re very cute in a tie. Wish I went to your school.’

  ‘You don’t, Cat. It’s a dump.’

  ‘A cool dump, though,’ Cat argues. ‘At our school, nothing exciting ever happens. You could die of boredom in assembly one morning and nobody would even notice for hours. It’s that exciting.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ I say. ‘I can see how that might be difficult for you.’

  ‘Maybe I’ll ask for a transfer, turn up at your school one of these days … that’d be a laugh. Or you could come to mine.’

  ‘Thought you said it was all girls?’ I frown.

  ‘It is,’ Cat grins. ‘Trust me, they’d love you.’

  We duck down as a gang of kids swagger past, laughing and clowning around just inches from our heads.

  ‘How’s Josh?’ I ask, quietly, once the kids have gone. ‘Is he any better? I was thinking, if you want, I could come in and meet him. I know how rotten it is to be stuck in hospital –’

  ‘No,’ Cat says.

  ‘No?’

  ‘I don’t want you to see him like that,’ she says softly. ‘They’re doing more tests before they let him home, but it’s just a temporary setback. He’ll be home soon – you can meet him then.’

  I shrug. ‘OK.’

  ‘He’d like you,’ Cat says.

  ‘I’d like him, I bet.’

  We finish our pizza. In the distance, I can see three shadowy figures moving about in the darkness. One of them gives me a thumbs-up sign – Fitz.

  ‘All that’s missing is the stars,’ I tell Cat.

  ‘Well, even you can’t organize that.’

  ‘You think?’

  We look up at the dark, velvet sky, and right on cue, there’s a soft, whooshing sound and the darkness explodes into a fountain of tiny white diamonds.

  ‘Oh!’ Cat gasps. ‘Fireworks! How did you …’

  I put a finger to her lips as another shower of stars erupts, followed by a couple of rockets, complete with wailing sound effects. Lucky leans against me for reassurance, but he’s got used to fireworks – all through November, the kids on the estate have been setting off bangers and rockets every chance they got.

  More fountains of light and colour appear, blurring and sinking into the night sky like drops of bright watercolour on wet paper.

  In the light from above, I can see Cat’s face, tilted up towards the sky, her lips parted, smiling. On the ground, a couple of kids on bikes and a couple walking a dog have stopped to watch the show. On and on the fireworks go, colours drifting, stars fading into nothing, sparks of silver and gold raining down to earth. When it’s finally over, there are a few ragged claps, a whistle of approval from the kids on bikes. Cat hugs me.

  ‘Thanks,’ she whispers. ‘That was the coolest thing, Mouse. The best night ever.’

  Lucky and I walk Cat home, then slouch back across the estate just after eleven. It’s quiet now, with a soft drizzle starting to fall, and we’re mooching past Eagle Heights when suddenly, Lucky sits down in the middle of the footpath and refuses to move. I tug his washing-line lead, try to reason with him.

  ‘C’mon. What’s the problem? You can’t just stop!’

  I tug on the lead again, but Lucky digs his heels in, leaning back stubbornly. He has never been disobedient or awkward before. His eyes look wild and anxious, and his grin has slipped into a lopsided grimace.

  ‘We’re nearly home,’ I tell him. ‘Come on!’ The air smells of fireworks, but I can’t see anything that would spook Lucky. The estate is quiet – unusually quiet. ‘Lucky, come on!’

  Still he won’t move. I bend down and pick him up, but he struggles, his little legs scrabbling against me as if trying to escape from an unseen enemy.

  ‘Shh,’ I tell him, holding him tight as I walk on.

  Suddenly there’s a movement just ahead of me, and a rough voice calls out, ‘Hey, stupid!’

  I keep walking, head down, a little bit faster, but a stooped, scrawny figure steps out from the shadows, a can of beer in his tattooed hand. ‘Hello, Mouse,’ says Scully. ‘Long time no see.’

  ‘I thought …’

  ‘That I was still in the nick?’ he sneers. ‘Well, I was, of course, thanks to your mum. But I’m out now – I got bail. And I’m not happy, Mouse. I’m not happy at all.’

  I take a step back, but Scully grabs on to my sleeve. He’s right up in my face, his eyes bloodshot, his chin dark with stubble, snarling. He’s stronger than he looks. I can feel his breath, sour and stale against my skin, and I remember that this guy carries a knife. Lucky is crying now, a high-pitched whimper, his whole body wriggling and writhing to get free.

  ‘Thief!’ Scully hisses, and a fleck of spit lands on my cheek. A couple of kids walking past keep their eyes firmly on the gutter, keen to stay out of trouble. I don’t blame them. I’m keen to stay out of trouble too, yet here it is, staring me in the face.

  ‘D’you hear me?’ Scully yells. ‘D’you freakin’ hear me? You nicked my dog!’

  ‘I didn’t,’ I argue. ‘I found him, on Clapham High Street. He was in an accident. I knew he wasn’t mine, but I thought I’d hold on to him for you, while you were away …’

  Lucky stops struggling and lies still in my arms, like he knows I just betrayed him. Scully grabs on to his neckerchief, and the little pirate dog bares his teeth, shuddering so hard his whole body shakes. Whatever I told Mum, whatever I said to Scully, there’s no way I can give Lucky up. I just can’t.

  ‘I can keep hold of him, if you like,’ I say, my voice calm and low. ‘Till everything’s sorted out. You don’t need the hassle of looking after a dog, not at a time like this.’

  Scully leans into my face. ‘You’re right, kid,’ he snarls. ‘Time
s are bad. Still, my mates have had a gentle word with a couple of the witnesses – Mark and JJ – and it turns out they don’t remember much at all about what happened at the Phoenix. They’ve withdrawn their statements. That’s good news, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I echo, dully. ‘Good news for you.’

  ‘I reckon your mum might be better off keeping her mouth shut too. She really doesn’t want to get mixed up in a court case. Messy business. You can tell your mum that, from me.’

  I swallow, nodding. ‘I’ll tell her.’

  ‘I bet you’ve got to like my dog,’ Scully says. ‘While I’ve been away. Maybe you’d like to keep him?’

  ‘Yes. I’d like that.’

  ‘I wouldn’t miss him,’ he says. ‘Lousy little mongrel, always whining and moaning. Nothin’ but trouble. But he’s my dog, see. I have a responsibility.’

  Scully laughs. He wrenches Lucky from me and drops him on to the pavement, where he darts behind my legs, whimpering. ‘Let’s see, shall we? Let’s see where the little rat really wants to be? We’ll let him choose.’

  I stare down at Lucky, and he gazes back at me, terrified.

  Scully takes a step back, into the shadows. ‘C’mon, stupid,’ he says, his voice cold and hard. ‘C’mon, boy.’

  Lucky steps out from behind my legs, takes a step towards Scully. ‘Lucky, here,’ I say, but he doesn’t seem to hear me. He slinks forward, his body hunched, shivering, like he’s walking to the gallows.

  ‘OK, stupid,’ Scully says. ‘OK.’

  And finally I get it; Stupid is Lucky’s real name.

  ‘Lucky!’ I plead, but the little pirate dog doesn’t look round. He walks right up to Scully, who jabs him with the toe of his trainer and makes him yelp. Lucky runs behind him, cowering.

  I don’t get it. I don’t understand why any dog would go back to someone who treats him like dirt. ‘Push off then, kid!’ Scully yells. ‘Your little mutt don’t want you any more, OK? He knows where he belongs. And don’t forget to tell your mum I’m out – and I’m watching her!’

  He chucks his empty can at me. It hits my leg, spilling dregs of stale beer down my jeans. I stand still on the pavement, staring at Lucky. He stares back, lost, shivering, his eyes huge. He’s not grinning. He may never grin again. Then he turns after Scully and disappears into the night.

  There’s a light on in Jake’s workshop and I hammer on the door until he unlocks it, opening it a crack. ‘Mouse?’ he says, frowning. ‘What’s up, kid?’

  ‘Can I come in?’

  Jake holds the door wide and I slip inside. ‘So. Girlfriend like the fireworks?’

  I nod woodenly, but the rooftop picnic seems about a million years ago. All I can think about is Lucky – how he abandoned me to be with some thug who calls him Stupid. How I abandoned him.

  ‘I’ve got a problem,’ I blurt out. ‘A big problem, Jake.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Scully,’ I say.

  ‘Ah.’ Jake puts the kettle on, spoons out dried milk and coffee. ‘I heard he was back.’

  It all pours out then, about the threats to Mum, about Lucky choosing Scully over me. ‘Why did he do that?’ I demand. ‘Why would he leave me for that jerk? I’ve never been mean to him. I’ve made sure he was fed, walked him twice a day, let him sleep on the end of my bed. So why?’

  Jake shrugs. ‘Dogs are loyal,’ he tells me. ‘Scully had Stupid – sorry, Lucky – from a pup. Dog probably felt like he didn’t have a choice.’

  ‘Scully doesn’t even care about Lucky,’ I say.

  ‘Maybe not,’ Jake agrees. ‘But he’s Scully’s dog – you knew that right from the start. I’m not saying it’s fair, Mouse, but there’s not a whole lot you can do.’

  I blow on my coffee, drinking it slowly. I think about Lucky and Scully and I think about me and my dad, and I wonder how come the people who are supposed to love and look after us can sometimes let us down so badly. Like Lucky, I know I’d go to Dad in a minute if he picked up the phone and asked me to, or wrote, or turned up out of the blue. He won’t, though. He doesn’t love me enough, and there’s nothing I can do about that.

  Maybe it’s better that way.

  ‘Scully’s going to get away with it, isn’t he?’ I ask. ‘The drug-pushing, the knife threat, all of it.’

  Jake sighs.

  ‘I don’t know, Mouse,’ he says.

  In the lobby of Nightingale House, a couple of strings of icicle lights have appeared, draped across the ceiling. It looks cool, and it’s dimmer than the strip light, so you can’t see the peeling paint or the empty fag packets in the corner. An hour ago, they’d have made me smile, made me think that things were changing for the better. Now, I know that things will never change.

  Up on the ninth floor, I turn the key in the lock at number 114. It’s a moment before I realize that Mum is sitting in the living room in the dark, under the leafy plants. I switch the light on.

  ‘Mum?’ I say. ‘Are you OK?’

  She looks up, arranging her face into a smile that doesn’t fool anyone.

  ‘Jake just rang,’ she says, her voice sad and heavy. ‘He told me about Scully – and about Lucky. I’m sorry, Mouse.’

  I sink down beside her. ‘I’ll get Lucky back,’ I say. ‘I have to.’

  Mum bites her lip. ‘I think maybe you should leave it. We’ve known all along that Lucky was Scully’s dog. Try taking him back and you’ll make even more of an enemy of Scully – and Mouse, we really don’t need that.’

  I have a feeling it’s kind of too late for that. ‘He told me to say he’d be watching you,’ I say. ‘Already his mates have got Mark and JJ to take back their police statements – that means you’re the only witness, Mum. People would understand if you chose not to go to court. Nobody’d blame you …’

  ‘I’m going to testify,’ Mum says calmly. ‘It’s the right thing to do.’

  I feel cold all over. If Scully’s mates decide to have a ‘talk’ with Mum – well, she’s not the kind to back down easily. And that spells trouble.

  A handpainted paper banner emblazoned with the words reach for the stars has been draped across the school corridor, just along from Mr Brown’s office. Wonky stars snipped from gold foil paper are collaged across it, plus a sprinkling of silver glitter. This is odd. We are not usually asked to reach for anything at Green Vale Comp, unless it’s a plate of chips in the school canteen or a rope swing in the gym. Stars? Yeah, right. Looks like Mr Brown has finally lost it.

  ‘Kavanagh!’ yells the man himself, through the scrum of early morning pupils. He is waving his arms around like a drowning man, and his face has that desperate, manic glare that all teachers at Green Vale develop after a while.

  ‘What’ve you done now?’ Fitz asks, impressed. ‘Sounds like trouble!’

  ‘Where’s your tie?’ Chan asks.

  ‘Dangling from a bus shelter roof on the Eden Estate,’ I snap. ‘OK?’

  I couldn’t find my tie this morning, but that’s the least of my troubles. I’m trying so hard to hold it all together today that I really don’t think I can face a telling off from Mr Brown. I keep on walking.

  ‘MARTIN KAVANAGH!’ he roars again. ‘I want to see you! My office, breaktime!’

  ‘Everything OK?’ Fitz asks, as we file into class. ‘You seem kind of touchy.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I snarl. ‘Just leave it.’ I can’t even get my head round what happened last night, let alone explain it to Fitz and Chan. Not yet, anyway.

  ‘Girl trouble,’ I hear them mutter. ‘Miaow!’

  At breaktime, I hide out in the art room to avoid Mr Brown, then slouch over to the Learning Support Unit. This is the low point of my week. It’s where they put the kids who don’t speak English too well yet, or the ones like me who have dyslexia and problems with reading, writing and spelling. Our regular teacher has been off work for months with stress-related depression, so we have an endless stream of supply teachers instead. Sometimes they are keen and well-meaning. Mostly they co
uldn’t care less.

  Three Polish girls in the corner are playing Junior Scrabble, which is kind of educational, only I think they’re playing it in Polish. Kiran Jamal is drawing rude pictures on the desk, and Ceri Lloyd is touching up her peach-coloured lipstick. The supply teacher pretends not to notice, even when paper planes and chewing-gum wrappers sail above his head.

  I slump across the table, doodling stars and spirals across a worksheet illustrated with cartoons. It looks like it was designed for a six-year-old, and I bet most six-year-olds would have it finished by now too. I’ve barely started. So what? My life’s a mess, and one unfinished worksheet won’t make a bit of difference.

  There’s a loud knock on the door, and everyone turns to look as a girl walks in, a pretty, mixed-race girl with ringlet curls and slanting eyes. She’s wearing a short black skirt, a little white shirt and a Green Vale Comp tie with the end all frayed and worn, exactly like the one I lost last night. My jaw drops so far it just about hits the tabletop.

  It’s Cat.

  She gives me a little wave and winks and grins, and the boys at the back gawp and make wolf-whistle noises under their breath.

  ‘Can I help you?’ the supply teacher asks.

  ‘My name is Catrin Thomas and I just started at Green Vale today. I’m supposed to be working here?’

  ‘Oh? I’m afraid I don’t know anything about that. I don’t know –’

  ‘I’ll just sit here, shall I?’ Cat says, nodding towards my desk. ‘Do one of these worksheets, see how I get on. Yeah?’

  ‘Sit with us,’ the boys at the back leer. ‘We can show you everything you need to know! Stay away from Kavanagh, he’s weird.’

  ‘Just my type.’ She smiles sweetly and slides into the seat beside me. ‘Surprise!’ she says.

  Surprise? It’s that, all right. I try to dredge up a smile, but fail. My chest feels tight, and my hands have clenched into fists. It’s not a good surprise, that’s for sure. ‘What are you playing at?’ I hiss.

  ‘Schools,’ Cat says. ‘Isn’t it obvious?’

  ‘You’re wearing my tie,’ I accuse.