unconscious,’ Mum replied.
‘Is she going to die?’
Lydia’s heart lurched violently at Danny’s question, leaving her with a dizzy, nauseous feeling. She didn’t wait for Mum’s answer, but turned away and walked back into the front room. She sat down and curled her legs under her.
‘No, Danny, leave her be. Lydia wants to be alone for a while,’ Mum said softly.
Danny ran upstairs to his bedroom, while Mum disappeared into the kitchen to start a late lunch. Lydia heard pots and pans being banged and bashed and clattered and kitchen cupboard doors being slammed shut. Upstairs, Danny started playing his radio at a volume that soon had Mum hollering up the stairs for Danny to turn it DOWN!
Lydia closed her eyes. There was Frankie losing her balance, her arms spinning frantically. Then they spun more and more slowly until Frankie was moving in slow motion; falling in slow motion. And through it all was the high-pitched screech of brakes, a sound so unbearable that Lydia put her hands over her ears but still it wouldn’t go away. Lydia opened her eyes and shook her head as if to shake the image right out of her mind. It didn’t work.
The long empty minutes dragged by as Lydia sat statue still in her armchair, watching the empty road.
Please let Frankie be all right. Please let her wake up. Please . . .
The words played over in Lydia’s head like an iPod track on repeat.
Unexpectedly, the phone in the hall rang, making Lydia jump. Danny came charging down the stairs.
‘I’ve got it, Danny.’ Mum beat Danny to it. ‘You can go and turn that music down so I can hear myself think.’
Mumbling under his breath, Danny charged back up the stairs.
‘Hello? . . . Hang on a minute. DANNY, TURN THE VOLUME DOWN OR I’LL TURN IT OFF!’
The noise from Danny’s music was instantly reduced to a distant hum.
‘That’s better!’ Mum muttered. ‘Hello? Sorry about that. Hello?’
Lydia didn’t pay much attention to Mum’s conversation until she heard Mum say in a shocked whisper, ‘Who is this?’
Lydia went out into the hall.
‘Who are you? You’ve no right to say such things. You’re sick!’ Mum was livid. She was clenching the phone’s handset so tightly that Lydia wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d snapped it in two. ‘You’re a sick scumbag who needs help. I suggest you phone your doctor but don’t phone here again.’
Mum slammed the phone down so hard that the telephone table rocked for a good few seconds.
‘Who was that, Mum?’ Lydia asked.
‘No one,’ Mum said, tight-lipped.
Danny started down the stairs.
‘Danny, go back to your room – now,’ Mum ordered.
For once, Danny didn’t argue. Mum’s tone made it clear that now wasn’t a good time to whine at her. The phone rang again. Mum snatched it up.
‘Hello?’ Her voice was granite-hard. Mum listened for a few seconds, then slammed the phone down without saying a word. Time stood still as she and Lydia regarded each other. Lydia didn’t know who’d phoned but she could guess what they’d said. It had to be really bad to make Mum see red like that.
A key turned in the front door. Dad stepped into the house. His expression was something to see. Lydia had never seen him so blazing angry.
‘Have you seen the car?’ he asked without preamble.
Without a word, Mum stepped out of the house after Dad. Lydia followed them, a few steps behind. She got to the gate and gasped, horrified. Thick white paint had been thrown all over the bodywork of Mum’s and Dad’s gleaming new midnight-blue car. It covered the bonnet, the windscreen, the roof; it was everywhere. Lydia watched as drops of white fell past the mudguards onto the road. The drops seemed to beat time – drip, drip, drip . . .
Lydia looked around. Net curtains fluttered back into place.
‘Thank you all so much for making us feel so welcome,’ Dad called out bitterly. ‘Welcome to Tarwich!’
And Mum burst into tears.
‘Come on, Roxanne.
‘Is she going to die?’
Lydia’s heart lurched violently at Danny’s question, leaving her with a dizzy, nauseous feeling. She didn’t wait for Mum’s answer, but turned away and walked back into the front room. She sat down and curled her legs under her.
‘No, Danny, leave her be. Lydia wants to be alone for a while,’ Mum said softly.
Danny ran upstairs to his bedroom, while Mum disappeared into the kitchen to start a late lunch. Lydia heard pots and pans being banged and bashed and clattered and kitchen cupboard doors being slammed shut. Upstairs, Danny started playing his radio at a volume that soon had Mum hollering up the stairs for Danny to turn it DOWN!
Lydia closed her eyes. There was Frankie losing her balance, her arms spinning frantically. Then they spun more and more slowly until Frankie was moving in slow motion; falling in slow motion. And through it all was the high-pitched screech of brakes, a sound so unbearable that Lydia put her hands over her ears but still it wouldn’t go away. Lydia opened her eyes and shook her head as if to shake the image right out of her mind. It didn’t work.
The long empty minutes dragged by as Lydia sat statue still in her armchair, watching the empty road.
Please let Frankie be all right. Please let her wake up. Please . . .
The words played over in Lydia’s head like an iPod track on repeat.
Unexpectedly, the phone in the hall rang, making Lydia jump. Danny came charging down the stairs.
‘I’ve got it, Danny.’ Mum beat Danny to it. ‘You can go and turn that music down so I can hear myself think.’
Mumbling under his breath, Danny charged back up the stairs.
‘Hello? . . . Hang on a minute. DANNY, TURN THE VOLUME DOWN OR I’LL TURN IT OFF!’
The noise from Danny’s music was instantly reduced to a distant hum.
‘That’s better!’ Mum muttered. ‘Hello? Sorry about that. Hello?’
Lydia didn’t pay much attention to Mum’s conversation until she heard Mum say in a shocked whisper, ‘Who is this?’
Lydia went out into the hall.
‘Who are you? You’ve no right to say such things. You’re sick!’ Mum was livid. She was clenching the phone’s handset so tightly that Lydia wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d snapped it in two. ‘You’re a sick scumbag who needs help. I suggest you phone your doctor but don’t phone here again.’
Mum slammed the phone down so hard that the telephone table rocked for a good few seconds.
‘Who was that, Mum?’ Lydia asked.
‘No one,’ Mum said, tight-lipped.
Danny started down the stairs.
‘Danny, go back to your room – now,’ Mum ordered.
For once, Danny didn’t argue. Mum’s tone made it clear that now wasn’t a good time to whine at her. The phone rang again. Mum snatched it up.
‘Hello?’ Her voice was granite-hard. Mum listened for a few seconds, then slammed the phone down without saying a word. Time stood still as she and Lydia regarded each other. Lydia didn’t know who’d phoned but she could guess what they’d said. It had to be really bad to make Mum see red like that.
A key turned in the front door. Dad stepped into the house. His expression was something to see. Lydia had never seen him so blazing angry.
‘Have you seen the car?’ he asked without preamble.
Without a word, Mum stepped out of the house after Dad. Lydia followed them, a few steps behind. She got to the gate and gasped, horrified. Thick white paint had been thrown all over the bodywork of Mum’s and Dad’s gleaming new midnight-blue car. It covered the bonnet, the windscreen, the roof; it was everywhere. Lydia watched as drops of white fell past the mudguards onto the road. The drops seemed to beat time – drip, drip, drip . . .
Lydia looked around. Net curtains fluttered back into place.
‘Thank you all so much for making us feel so welcome,’ Dad called out bitterly. ‘Welcome to Tarwich!’
And Mum burst into tears.
‘Come on, Roxanne.
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