Scarlett - Cathy Cassidy [6]
‘Scarlett, it’s Ireland, not Outer Mongolia,’ she says.
‘Please don’t, Mum,’ I beg. ‘I’ll be different, I’ll be better, I won’t break the rules or get into fights, I promise. One last, last chance. I won’t let you down. Don’t send me away, OK?’
She pulls out a drawer, folding summer shorts and little black vest-tops into the case.
‘Not yet then, OK?’ I appeal, changing tack. ‘I can go in the summer holidays, ready for the autumn term. Not now!’
‘Your dad’s expecting you,’ she says, and my heart sinks to my boots. ‘He’s enrolled you in the local school, sorted out a room for you, everything. There’s no point delaying things.’
I turn away, lift a neatly folded jumper from the bed and hug the soft black mohair against my skin.
‘C’mon, Scarlett,’ she says, putting an arm round my shoulders. ‘The break will do us good. We can write, and email, and call, can’t we? Look – I bought you a present!’
Mum is good at presents. She is a top advertising executive and she earns a small fortune, so money is not a problem. In spite of myself, I take the box-shaped parcel, tear off the silver tissue paper. It’s a mobile, a new colour-screen model with video messaging. A week ago I’d have squealed and laughed and told her I loved it, but today I just feel empty, hollowed out, and I can’t even find the words to say thanks.
A mobile phone, so my mum can keep in touch when she sends me to live a million miles away, with the enemy. Hundreds of miles, anyhow. Am I meant to be grateful?
‘Give it a try, Scarlett?’ she says. ‘See how it goes? Your dad still loves you. I was the one he wanted to leave, not you, never you. I was wrong to let you think otherwise, but I was hurt, I guess, and I wasn’t thinking straight. He’s so happy that you’re coming over, really he is.’
‘This is such a bad idea,’ I whisper, sinking down on to the bed beside the suitcase. ‘Don’t make me do it.’
‘Choices, Scarlett,’ says Mum. ‘I’ll miss you like mad, but I think it’s for the best. It’s a fresh start. A last, last chance, if you like. Don’t waste it. Don’t throw it away. OK?’
‘But I hate him,’ I protest. ‘Seriously.’
Mum puts her arms round me and hugs me tight, and I think of the smiling face in the torn-up photograph, the little girl who didn’t know her dad was going to leave and pull her whole world to pieces as he went. I take a deep breath in, my voice all raggedy and sad. ‘I hate you too.’
Mum holds me tighter, rocking me, stroking my back. ‘I know, sweetheart,’ she whispers into my hair. ‘I know.’
The picture on my passport shows a brown-haired girl with bunches and sparkly eyes, and the girl at the airport check-in desk squints at it hard, trying to make the connection between that kid and me. I scowl at her, stony-faced, and she swallows hard, checking in my bag without another word.
Mum gets permission to come through to the departures lounge with me, because twelve is kind of young to be on the loose in an airport, on your own. I think she just wants to be sure I get on that plane.
‘Now, Scarlett, your dad doesn’t know you got your tongue pierced,’ Mum says briskly. ‘Let’s face it, he’d have a fit if he knew – blame me, probably. How about you take it out, put it away for a couple of days?’
I grin, tapping the gold stud against my teeth. If Dad’s going to hate my piercing, it’s staying for sure.
‘Well, how about you just keep your mouth shut for a few days?’ Mum suggests. ‘First impressions count. No sense asking for trouble, is there? For me, Scarlett?’
‘OK.’ I sigh.
‘I’ve packed some goodies for your lunch,’ Mum says as we walk up to the departure gate. ‘Your dad will meet you by the main exit at Knock Airport. Just collect your suitcase and go through, OK? Scarlett, don’t be like that – you know it’s for the best.’
I nod listlessly. I don’t have the strength left to argue. It’s a fight I can’t win, a risk I can’t take. I don’t want to fall apart, right here in the middle of the Stansted Airport departures lounge, with snotty businessmen in pinstriped suits looking on. That would never