She’s Not There. Tamsin Grey

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       17

      They found some ice cream in the freezer, and a pizza, which they cooked in the microwave, so it came out more like a Frisbee than a pizza. Jonah tried cutting into it and it splintered into bits. He chopped up the mango instead, which was difficult, and he cut his finger, and the blood mingled with the mango juice on the kitchen table. The mango was completely delicious, but they still felt hungry so they ate the ice cream, which was butterscotch. They ate it straight from the tub, and finished it, and then they felt sick and went and lay on the sofa in the sitting room. The cricket was finished so they watched the Tour de France, but Bradley Wiggins wasn’t in it, and it was hard to work out what was going on.

      ‘Where is she?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      Raff sighed. ‘She must be dead.’

      ‘Don’t say that, Raff. Of course she’s not dead.’

      ‘Dead, or a bad man’s got her. Otherwise she would of come back by now.’

      Jonah felt in his pocket for her phone, and held it, feeling its solidness. ‘The thing is, she might come back at any minute.’

      Raff got up and went and opened the front door, and looked left and right. Then he slumped down onto the doorstep. Jonah went and sat next to him. Shadows had started to fall across the road, and it felt quiet and sleepy. The sky was still very blue, and Jonah thought about the gods in Jason and the Argonauts again, looking down, deciding what would happen next. Then Alison, Greta and Mabel appeared, from the direction of the park. Alison was carrying a big bag with a towel trailing out of it, so they’d probably been to the paddling pool. They were all quite pink, and Greta and Mabel were arguing. Alison was telling them not to, but then she noticed the boys and shaded her eyes to look at them. Jonah waved, but Greta hit Mabel, who burst out crying, and Alison was distracted from waving back. They went into their house and the road was quiet again, and Jonah felt a deep sadness steal up on him.

      ‘Jonah.’ Raff’s voice was thoughtful, and he was sitting very still.

      ‘What?’

      ‘Why doesn’t Alison like us?’

      ‘Because she’s not a very nice person.’

      ‘Is it because of Angry Saturday?’

      Jonah stared at Alison’s dark green shiny door. ‘I think she already didn’t like us. Or didn’t like Lucy.’ He was remembering long ago, the itch of his spots and Raff crying all the time, and Lucy crying too, though she’d tried to hide it. ‘Lucy invited them to tea once.’

      ‘Really?’ Raff sounded like he didn’t believe it.

      ‘We both had chicken pox and we couldn’t go out anywhere, and it was really boring, and Daddy said Mabel and Greta had already had chicken pox and to invite them all over.’ Roland was always telling her she should make more of an effort with people.

      ‘I don’t remember them coming to tea.’

      ‘You were just a toddler. And anyway, they didn’t.’

      ‘Why not?’

      Jonah stared at the green door. It had been lovely weather and Raff had been crying and crying, and Lucy had seen Alison coming out of the Green Shop with the girls in their buggy, and had put Raff down and run and opened the front door. He closed his eyes, remembering Alison looking down at him, commenting on his spots, and saying they’d got that one over with a few months ago.

      ‘So you can come in for a coffee!’ Lucy had cried, but they were off to the park to meet up with some friends. ‘Pop in later, then! Come for tea! 5 p.m.!’ And Alison had replied, over her shoulder, that that would be lovely. Lucy had spent all day tidying up and had even managed to make a cake, in between walking Raff up and down.

      ‘Because of Angry Saturday?’

      ‘I already told you, Raff, it was before Angry Saturday.’

      ‘So why didn’t they, then?’

      Jonah closed his eyes again. They hadn’t come at 5 p.m., and they’d waited and waited, and then they’d gone to sit on the step to look out for them. And when they did finally appear, with lots of other mums with buggies, and Lucy had stood up, Raff on her hip, waving and smiling, Alison had waved back – but then she’d opened her own front door and all the mums and buggies had gone inside and the door had shut. And Lucy had sat back down, staring, with her sad, tired eyes, at Alison’s dark green door; and Raff had started crying again.

      ‘Is Alison racist?’

      Jonah opened his eyes. Opposite, one of the squatters, the one with the bald head, came out and sat on the doorstep, just like them. The squatter was the opposite of the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò, he realised, the Yonghy-Bonghy-Bò being tiny, with a huge head, and the squatter being big and tall, with a tiny head.

      ‘Is she?’ Raff nudged him.

      ‘I don’t know, Raff. Probably not.’

      The squatter looked across and nodded at them, and got out his tobacco and rolling papers. It was finally starting to cool down.

      ‘She’s not coming,’ Raff said.

      Jonah watched the squatter light his smoke. The sadness was making his stomach hurt. He looked back at Alison’s front door. Alison doesn’t like you, Lucy. No one likes you. Even Dora doesn’t like you any more. The squatter sucked. Jonah watched the smoke billowing out of his nostrils.