The Girl in the Red Coat

25

I make friends with the twins. They go off sometimes and Silver won’t talk to me. But even then Melody comes into the truck and holds my hand. We’re playing with dolls when Grandad takes me outside.

‘I want to know, dear. What you are thinking.’

We’re sitting on the spiky grass and I can feel the pointed ends of it poking through my thin dress. It’ll make holes in my tights, but I don’t care that much.

‘Right this minute? You want to know what I’m thinking right this minute?’

‘Yes, dear.’

I’ve been staring at the white painted side of the van. There’s black words showing through the paint, it says: Drakerton’s Fine Quality … I don’t know fine quality what because the paint’s thicker after that, so you can’t see the words.

‘I’m wondering what the fine quality things were.’

‘Oh.’ Grandad’s voice sounds disappointed, like it’s not a good thing to think about at all. But I have the feeling everything’s about to go speeded up or slowed down again and talking feels like it might be a way of stopping it happening.

‘What do you think, Grandad? There’s biscuits with tartan on that say “fine quality”, d’you think …’

He interrupts. ‘I don’t think you should call me Grandad now.’

I turn to him. ‘But why? You are my grandad, aren’t you?’

‘Yes, of course, dear. Except here, people don’t really … The twins think it’s odd. And other people might, you never know.’

‘But what should I call you then?’ I think of the word Dennis. I don’t like the way that word is shaped.

‘How about Pa? It’s what the twins call me. You could call me that.’

‘Pa?’

‘Mmmm?’ He answers, like I’ve already agreed to say it. But if you say a certain name, a name like Father or Pa for instance, it feels very strong. It could change how they are to you. And how you are to them. My father’s a bit rubbish, he’s a dad who wants to be with his new girlfriend rather than coming to get me in his red Peugeot. It doesn’t stop him being my dad.

I purposely prick my fingers on the spiky grass. ‘No, I don’t think I can do that. I don’t think I can manage that.’

‘Oh.’ His face goes cloudy. ‘Well, what about Grandaddy then?’

This sounds awful.

‘Mmm. Sounds a bit like …’

‘Yes?’

‘… like a daddy-long-legs.’

He sighs, he’s getting annoyed now. ‘Grandpa?’

‘Mmm. Not sure about that …’ I try pulling up a stalk of grass. But it’s too strong and doesn’t want to come out of the ground.

‘What about …?’ I ask.

‘Yes?’

‘What about Gramps? I could call you Gramps. That’s what Sara calls her grandad.’ This makes me think about Sara. ‘D’you think I can send my friend something? I could write a letter to tell her where I am and maybe you could post it?’

He goes quiet and his head turns slowly one way then the other like he’s looking all around for things coming in the distance.

At last he says, ‘Yes, yes. But concentrate on the issue in hand, child. This is much more important.’

‘I said, Gramps.’

‘I guess that’ll have to do then.’ He seems disappointed.

I smile at him, so he’ll feel better about it. ‘I like it. It sounds friendly.’

‘Well, I guess that’s important …’

‘Do I have to call Dorothy anything else?’

‘No.’ He’s sighing again and heaving himself off the ground. I can tell his leg is hurting him bad today. ‘No, I guess Dorothy can be Dorothy. Seems to have been enough trouble calling me by something decent.’

I didn’t mean to be trouble. But I didn’t want to call him Pa.

He’s standing above me, in front of the sun. It makes him black, so I can’t see his mouth moving when he talks.

‘Come, dear. I think we should have a little walk. Just the two of us together.’

I shake my head. I don’t want to be on my own with him.

‘Why, child? Why ever not?’

How can I tell him he gives me the creeps sometimes? It’d be rude, upsetting. Specially after how he’s looked after me.

‘I want to stay here and play.’

He leans down and pulls me up out of the ground — pop! — like a weed. And he keeps hold of my hand and he’s strong.

We set off across the great wide earth and I can feel three lots of eyes in our backs as we go, wondering where we’re off to.

The sky is so big and the ground with huge rocks sticking out of it seems to go on for ever and ever. Miles away in the distance is a misty blue that could be mountains, or clouds. We pass a tree sometimes, sticking up out of the ground, but each time the tree looks like it really doesn’t want to be there. And some of them are burned, like the one I’ve found myself at when the speeding up happens. Even Grandad — Gramps — seems tiny in this great big place and because the ground is either rocky or covered with bumpy grass he has trouble walking over it with his bad leg. He’s sweating and every now and again he has to stop and wipe his glasses with a hanky. The jolting makes his face screw up with pain. I look back. The truck is a white spot far away and I can’t even see Dorothy and the two girls.

We stop by a tree. It’s bare jagged wood, black and burned. Gramps leans against the tree and closes his eyes. I think he must be resting, so I sit on the grass away from him and flick the seeds off a stem. I keep an eye on him though. Keep looking back over my shoulder.

‘Come here.’ I hear his voice behind me at last.

I sit still.

‘Come here,’ he says again. I don’t want him to get angry so I do, but I can feel my heart going fast inside me. Children are like the zombies I once saw in a film at Dad’s. We have to do as we’re told and obey like our brains have got eaten.

There’s not much room for both of us to lean on the tree. I stand there, a bit away from him, and look down at the dust on my shiny shoes.

He says, ‘C’mon, c’mon,’ and makes me move so we get squashed close together, our sides touching. He’s taken off his glasses and he must have put them in his pocket because I can’t see them anywhere. His pale eyes are shiny-bright.

‘We need to have a very special and unusual talk, Carmel. We need to have a conversation.’

‘What about?’

He looks at me hard. ‘Pain.’

‘Pain?’

‘Yes, dear. Pain. My pain.’ He touches his side. ‘You’ve seen how I walk? Well, sometimes it’s bad. Real bad.’

‘How did you hurt your leg, Gramps?’ I ask.

‘A motor vehicle went into me.’

I have to stop myself from crying out because the picture of a pair of brown boots sticking out from under a truck flashes in my brain.

‘Oh, oh,’ I gasp. ‘How?’

‘That’s not important. What’s important is the here and now.’

He’s looking at me so hard I feel I’m going to fall over. Then he sighs a little, but it’s a happy sigh. Excited.

‘Please, Grandad — Gramps. Can we go back now?’

‘No.’ His voice is sharp. ‘It’s high time, you know.’

‘Please, Gramps.’ I put my arms behind me and cling onto the tree. ‘I don’t know … I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ That comes out wrong.

‘Oh yes? I think you do.’

Behind his eyes reminds me of trees waving about on a stormy night. The muscles on his face are so tight, if I touched it my hand would bounce right off his skin. My short curly head prickles all over.

I suddenly have the idea he could murder me out here.

I don’t know where the idea has come from but it makes my muscles move, to run off, but he catches me by the arm and pulls me back.

He holds my arm tight and I see him moving his face about. Making it nicer.

‘Don’t run away, Carmel. Why did you do that? Promise me you won’t do that again.’

I don’t say anything.

‘Promise?’

I nod. I can’t tell him it’s because I had the idea he was going to murder me.

‘I don’t know if you know it, but you are a very rare person. Exceptional might be the way to name it. Not everyone can see it, but I can. I know how rare and special you are.’ He lets go.

I don’t want to be rare. I rub at my arm where he’s hurt it.

Perhaps Gramps knows about how time keeps changing for me, and that’s what he means. But I haven’t said about it happening and I don’t think he can read my mind. I rack my brains because Gramps is staring like he’s waiting for an answer. The only other secret thing is how I see the energy in people and how it goes up and down, how they can be empty or full like a glass of milk. I haven’t told him about that thing either. Both are private and I wouldn’t know how to start talking about them.

‘I, I don’t understand, Gramps.’

‘Yes, yes, sure you do.’ He’s nodding away to himself.

I can feel myself wanting to cry. ‘I don’t, please. Please can we go and see Dorothy? I’m thirsty.’

‘The first time I saw you, I knew about this rarity and I’ve waited. I’ve waited and waited to talk about these things. I’ve been as patient as Job and it hasn’t been easy, Carmel, knowing how wonderful things can be and having to wait. But sometimes that’s what you have to do until the time has come. This morning, when I woke up and the day was so fresh and clear, it felt like the world had been washed new. And I thought: now’s the time, today’s the day — give me your hand.’

I don’t want to.

‘Carmel, your hand. Give me your hand, stop shallying.’

I want to put my hand behind my back and not let him touch it even. I want to run off to Dorothy, even though I know she doesn’t want me now she’s got her twins back. But if I try to run he’ll grab me again so I’m trapped. I start to cry little sniffling sobs.

Slowly, he crouches down. It hurts him a lot to do.

‘Carmel, dear. This is not a time for sadness. It’s a joyful, joyful thing, this gift you have.’

His face is close to mine. ‘What gift?’ I sob.

He sighs. ‘Calm down, will you? I can’t tell you. I can only show you.’

He stands up again and his face has to scrunch up because it hurts him so much. He takes my hand, very slow and gentle. His hand feels cracked and rough at the fingertips, then very smooth on his palm.

‘In this hand …’ He stops and seems to get stuck with his eyes raised to the sky.

After a while I must be fidgeting because he snaps out of it and bends over me.

‘Carmel, stay still. You’re jumping around like a cricket. How can I concentrate?’

‘What are you doing, Gramps?’

He looks right at me then with his eyes gone big. My head starts prickling again. My hair feels now like it’s waving about on its own like tentacles.

‘Put your hands on me, child. Oh Lord, see this girl who is a vessel of your grace …’ He stops and mumbles to himself.

I reach out and put my hand on his arm, scared everything will slow down and I’ll be stuck in this awful time forever. It’ll be like when Dad’s video gets put on pause and the picture stops, but jumps from side to side.

‘Now, not there. On my leg, on the site of my pain. Oh God …’

And I do as he says because I know the sooner I do, the sooner I’ll be allowed back with Dorothy. I put my hand very light and soft where he’s showed me. On the rough black stuff his trousers are made of, by the side of his hip. He goes quiet and screws his eyes up tight.

Then everything does speed up, like I was scared of, in a terrible way. Clouds rush overhead and the sun chases them across the sky. It gets hot as the sun flies up to the top of the sky then cool again as it falls down. The grass flaps and waves, following the sun and everything grows — even the tree waggles its branches and goes upwards.

When time goes back to normal the air is orange. The glowing sun is halfway past the edge of the world, so there’s only its huge top half shining at us. Gramps’s face has sweat on it. Slowly, he opens his eyes.

‘Take your hand away now, Carmel.’

My hand’s gone stiff and clamped to his side like it’s been there for hours. I try to wiggle my fingers around but my hand’s turned into a claw. It waves uselessly in the air with the fingers curled up.

Now Gramps has got a different face — he’s so calm and smiling. Like there’d never been any pain in his whole life.

‘Now we’ll see how I’ve been right all along. How I’ve ignored the railings of my wife because I’ve known in my heart what’s true. What we’re about to witness, here together, is beyond mortal powers. It comes from heaven, child. It comes from heaven.’

I’m hoping what he says means this is nearly over. I don’t think I can stand being here with him, all alone, for much longer.

‘Don’t look upset, dear.’ He puts his hand down and strokes my cheek. ‘We should be jubilating. It’s a fine and a tender thing. Now then.’

He makes some grunting noises. He’s got stiff too, leaning against the tree for so long.

‘That’s the way.’ He stands up proper and straight and puts his shoulders right back. ‘Now then.’

He pats himself up and down and then smoothes his hair back with both hands. He puts one brown lace-up shoe in front of the other like he’s testing something out.

‘With the grace.’ Then his voice goes very low and quiet so I can’t hear what he’s saying.

He starts taking steps away from the tree, slow and stiff. He walks five steps, stops and smoothes back his hair, and starts off again back towards the way we came.

But his limp is worse now. The ground’s so bumpy it’s jolting through his whole body. He gets slower and slower and I think, if I was on the other side of him, I’d see his head pressing out tight into the garlic bulb.

He stops and slowly turns round until he’s looking at me.

‘What are you, child?’ My legs start shaking so much I think they’re going to crumple up underneath me.

He limps towards me with his feet slipping everywhere and his face ugly with temper. I can hear little whimper noises coming out of me even though I didn’t know I was making them. I’m pressed into the tree so hard it’s hurting.

‘Are you really a child?’ he yells over to me, his voice scattering over the rocks. ‘Are you really?’

‘Of course I am. You know I am. I’m your granddaughter.’

He charges right up to me and puts his hands on my shoulders and his face right in front of mine. I can’t see anything except his eyes and the two of them keep joining up and making one great big purple-blue one. I can’t help it, I scream. I scream right into his face.

For a second I think he’s going to slap me. But he doesn’t. He straightens up.

‘You will reveal yourself.’

‘Please, Gramps, you’re squashing my shoulders …’

‘Tell me who you are.’

‘I’m Carmel. You know who I am. Gramps, let’s go back …’

‘You will show yourself as we all have to in the end. I wasn’t mistaken in you, I know I was not. What I’ve gone through — I mustn’t be wrongfooted. I’ve gone through hell. I’ve been tested to the limit. I’ve committed sins …’

He lets me go and I nearly fall.

‘When I first saw you …’ He’s looking at me hard, up and down and side to side. He’d cut me open and look inside if he could. ‘What can that mean? What does it all mean?’

‘I don’t know, Gramps. I really don’t.’

‘You stay there and think about it. Contemplate, Carmel, contemplate.’

‘Don’t leave me.’

‘Yes. You need to think hard, to contemplate and pray. That’s the only thing that can be done for you now. When I think of …’

He limps off but it’s an angry limp, skidding over the stones, and worse than ever. He shouts something angry back but he’s too far away for me to hear. Then something really awful happens: he falls and crashes to the ground and lies there on his back like an insect that’s got stuck.

My legs and hands are shaking and I know I should go and help him. But it would be like going up to a scorpion that might sting you if you get too close. He rolls around trying to get straight and I think he must be swearing and cursing even though I don’t hear the exact words.

Then: ‘Carmel. Carmel — come here.’ I can hear that, he’s roaring it.

I stay where I am and cling onto the tree, watching him rolling around until he manages to heave himself up by his arms and get to standing.

And he stares at me, the garlic bulb bit of his head stuck forward, until he turns and limps off, scattering stones he’s going so fast.

After a while everything goes silent. He’s a dot far away and I can’t hear his footsteps any more. All I can hear is the wind. I turn to the tree. It’s got three main branches and where they meet in the middle they make a sort of dish, or a cup.

‘The crying cup,’ I say. Because sometimes it makes me feel better to give names to things. I lean over and let the tears fall down there. They splash onto the hot dry wood and it makes the burn smell stronger. The little puddle there is like Tara’s puddle on her desk. And I try not to let them, but thoughts of Mum come rushing into my head and I can’t make them stop. Only now she’s not saying Courage, Carmel, courage or anything like that.

She can’t say anything because she’s dead.

*

When there’s only a slice of sun showing above the ground I walk back to the truck. The white dot of it gets bigger and bigger until I’m there. Melody comes rushing up and puts her arms round me and hugs me tight.

‘Oh Carmel, I’ve been so worried about you.’

I put my head deep into her neck and hug her back.

‘It’s OK,’ she says. ‘He isn’t mad any more. He came back and couldn’t talk for a while. But he’s fine now.’

I look over my shoulder and Gramps is there. He shuffles around, looking at his shoes.

‘C’mon,’ says Melody. ‘Come inside and we’ll play.’

*

Gramps is extra nice to me after. He says he’s sorry he got ‘carried away’. But every now and again he tries to get me to put my hands on his side.

I say, ‘That’s not how people get better. They have to go to the doctor.’

‘Yes, Carmel, they can. It’s something that can happen and it’s a gift — a gift you should not keep to yourself. That would be a selfish act. Would you like to try again?’

‘No, thank you.’

I cry and tell him I don’t want to do it any more. I put my hands behind my back. I say, ‘Gramps, I don’t think I can make you better.’

He smiles at me and says, ‘But I know you can.’ Maybe he’s right. I start feeling guilty that I can’t help him, like he says I can. I hold out my hands in front of me to see if they look different to other people’s. They don’t, but looking at them so hard seems to make them float like they don’t belong to me.

Gramps sometimes makes me feel I don’t do it on purpose. And he looks after me — I don’t know what would happen if he didn’t, or where I’d go. He starts seeming more like a dad than a grandad and I wonder whether to start calling him Pa like the twins. But then I change my mind again and I don’t.

One day we wake up and everything is getting packed.