Eva's Journey (4 page)

A few days later, Mum sold her jeep and came home in a tiny, battered old car.

‘I really like this car,' she said brightly, as she patted the fading red paint. ‘It's got personality.'

I didn't answer. I didn't look for personality in a car – all I wanted was satnav and a super sound system and leather seats.

That wasn't so much to ask for, was it?

A week after that, Dad's business closed down completely.

When he came home and told me, I wasn't even surprised.

Nothing could surprise me any more.

I hugged him. ‘Don't worry,' I said. ‘I'm sure you'll find another job soon.'

He nodded. ‘I'm sure I will,' he said.

I wondered why we were bothering to tell lies, since we were both so bad at it.

Our house was sold very quickly. That's the way the new owners wanted it, and Mum and Dad didn't argue. I knew how they felt. How can you enjoy something when you're just sitting there, waiting for it to be taken away from you forever?

I'm not going to say much about the day we moved out – not because I don't want to, but because it's all a bit of a blur.

I can remember lots of packing cases and lots of tears.

I can remember Dad telling me to grow up, which so wasn't fair, as he's always saying that I'm still his baby girl.

I can remember the slam of the front door, as
we left for the last time.

I can remember Mum, Dad and me piling into Mum's small red car.

I can remember the crunch of the car tyres on the gravel.

I can remember turning back for a last look at the name-plaque on the gate post – Castleville House.

I can remember the dull clang of the electric gates as they closed behind us for the very last time.

I can remember the short, silent car journey.

I can remember pulling up outside the small, ugly house we had rented.

I can remember thinking that my life was over.

Chapter Five

S
oon it was my last day in The Abbey. My form teacher, Mrs Reynolds, was really nice. She shook my hand as I walked out after my last class.

‘You're a bright girl, Eva,' she said. ‘You'll do well wherever you go.'

‘But I don't want to go anywhere'
I felt like crying.
‘I just want to stay here.'

But that would have been too weird, so I just gave Mrs Reynolds' hand one last shake, and went outside to catch my bus.

Most of my friends were in the school yard. We all hugged and kissed and cried.

They all called after me as I climbed on to the school bus for the very last time.

‘We'll still be friends.'

‘Let's keep in touch.'

‘We'll never forget you.'

Most of them did remember me – for the first few days anyway. But they all lived too far away to be proper friends. Even though their fathers' cars hadn't been towed away by evil tow-truck men, they didn't seem to be able to travel the few miles to visit me during the holidays.

Some of the girls texted me – for the first few days anyway. But I had no credit on my phone, so I couldn't reply – and soon the texts stopped coming.

I didn't take it personally.

But that didn't stop it hurting.

The days in the dump that I was supposed to call my new home seemed to go by very slowly. I wandered around the small rooms feeling cross and miserable.

‘Go upstairs and unpack some of your boxes,' said Mum one morning. ‘You're driving me crazy
with your moaning.'

I thought about arguing, but felt sorry when I saw Mum's tired face. This whole thing couldn't have been much fun for her either. So I gave her a quick hug, and then I went upstairs and looked at the boxes stacked in the narrow hallway outside my bedroom.

I tried, I really did. But how can the contents of three wardrobes, two chests of drawers and seven bookshelves, fit into one very small, very narrow cupboard? It was like trying to fit a rugby team into a Mini Cooper – totally impossible.

Dad came in when he heard me crying. He looked at the cupboard that was already stuffed to bursting point, even though I'd only unpacked the first two boxes.

‘You'll get used to it,' he said. ‘My two brothers and I had to share a wardrobe about that size.'

‘But that was so different,' I said. ‘You only owned one set of clothes each.'

‘Didn't do us any harm,' he said. ‘We survived.'

‘But I don't want to just survive,' I wailed. ‘I
want to live.'

I started to cry again, and Dad came over and hugged me. He always hates to see me cry. He patted my hair.

‘There, there, my little Princess,' he said. ‘Please stop crying and I'll buy you a …'

I stopped sobbing and looked up at him hopefully, but he put his hands over his eyes.

‘Just stop crying, please,' he said.

Then one morning I woke up and realised that the next day I'd be starting my new school.

I lay in bed, looking around my small bedroom; even though I still hated my new home, I'd have happily locked myself in there forever, if it meant I could have avoided facing in to Woodpark School all on my own.

I was still in my pyjamas when Victoria called over.

‘Come on, Eva,' she said. ‘It's the last day of the holidays. We should be out having fun.'

‘I'm not sure if I mentioned this before – but
my life is over,' I said. ‘How can you expect me to have fun? I don't do fun any more.'

Victoria ignored me, and I couldn't really blame her. I'd done nothing but moan ever since I'd moved house.

‘Come on,' she repeated. ‘Let's go.'

‘Go where?' I asked sulkily.

‘Town?'

‘That sounds like loads of fun,' I said bitterly. ‘We can stand outside restaurants and smell the food I can't afford to eat. After that we can look in the shop windows at the clothes I can't afford to buy. It'll be a total blast.'

Once again she ignored me.

‘We'll go to the park in town. That doesn't cost anything. It's a nice day, and there's always stuff going on in the park.'

I felt like punching her.

Did I
look
like the kind of girl who liked hanging out doing stuff in a park?

But I didn't say this. I had just remembered that this was my new life.

My new life where everything was different.

I pulled on my clothes, called to Mum and Dad that I was going out, and followed Victoria outside.

She was right, it was a nice day, and even though I wouldn't have admitted it to Victoria, being outside did make me feel a bit better.

‘I know a short-cut to town,' she said. ‘It's just down this street.'

I looked at her, surprised.

‘I'm the one who lives here. So how come you're the one who knows the short-cuts?'

She made a face.

‘If you spent less time crying in your bedroom, you might get to know the short-cuts too.'

Once again she was right.

‘I'm sorry, Victoria,' I said. ‘I've been a right pain these last few weeks.'

She smiled at me.

‘That's OK. Everyone gets to feel sorry for themselves for a while, and then the time comes when you have to just get on with your life.'

‘And I'm guessing that time has come?'

She nodded.

‘Exactly.'

I followed her as she led the way through a maze of small streets. Then as we turned a corner, I stumbled on a sign that was propped up against a garden wall. I rubbed my leg, and then bent to pick up the sign that had gone flying into the street.

Madame Margarita
it read, in wobbly gold lettering.

Then underneath that, in even wobblier red letters, it said.
I can tell your fortune. The secrets of the future will be yours. For ten euro you can change your life.

I put the sign back where it had been, wondering for a second why my fingers were stained with red and gold. Then I stood there and looked at the sign for a long time.

‘Let's go,' said Victoria.

I shook my head.

‘Hang on a sec,' I said. ‘Look at this sign. It says
you can change your life. Do you have
any
idea how much I need to change my life?'

Victoria sighed.

‘I know you want to change your life, but surely you don't believe in that stuff?'

I shrugged.

‘I don't know. I used to believe in all kinds of stuff that turned out not to be true. Maybe it's time I found different stuff to believe in.'

Victoria shook her head.

‘Forget it, Eva. It's crazy. No-one with a brain believes in fortune tellers, and last time I checked, you had a brain.'

‘Thanks,' I muttered.

‘And besides,' she continued. ‘Even if this Madam Margarita could tell you your future, how would that help you?'

I thought for a minute.

‘I just think it would. If I knew how long it would take for my life to get back to normal, maybe I could cope better.'

‘But, what if … what if Madam Margarita told
you that your life isn't going to get back to normal? What if this is as good as it gets?'

‘Well, at least then I'd know, wouldn't I? You couldn't possibly understand, Victoria. These last few months have been crazy for me. It's like being in one of those fairground crazy-houses – the ground under my feet is suddenly all wobbly. If I don't find something to hold on to, I'm going to go crashing down in a heap. Nothing seems right any more. I want to know what's going to happen next. I
have
to know what's going to happen next.'

Then I put my head down.

‘It doesn't matter anyway. It costs ten euro to see Madam Margarita. I don't have ten euro. I don't have ten cents. I don't have any money at all.'

Victoria smiled.

‘I have ten euro. I was going to buy you a present in town – to wish you luck for your first day in your new school. You can have the money instead if you like.'

‘Really?'

She nodded.

‘Really. I still think this whole fortune-telling thing is total rubbish, but if it's what you want …'

I hugged her.

‘It is
so
what I want. Thank you so, so much Victoria. Will you come in with me?'

She shook her head.

‘No way. That future stuff freaks me out. The present is more than enough for me to cope with. Here, take the ten euro before I change my mind. And I'll wait out here, just in case Madam Margarita decides to eat you or something.'

‘And if she does, will you come in and rescue me?'

Victoria shook her head.

‘No! I'd be too scared. But at least I'll be able to go home and tell your parents what happened to you.'

‘You're a true friend,' I said, and we both laughed.

Then I took the ten euro from Victoria, and watched as she went to sit on a wall at the other side of the road.

‘You know you could buy a really nice t-shirt with that ten euro,' she called.

‘No, thanks,' I called back, and then I walked slowly up the path to Madam Margarita's house.