Invisible Threads by Annie Dalton

Author:Annie Dalton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780307433497
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2009-04-08T00:00:00+00:00

Naomi

“Oh, God, Judd Nelson!” says Kumara.

I’m in my favorite phone box in broad daylight, inhaling stale phone-box smells, twisting the telephone cord around my fingers, listening to Kumara rave about the video of The Breakfast Club.

“It sounds great,” I say halfheartedly.

“Come round and watch it with me,” she offers. “We’ll have a Brat Pack orgy. Pretty in Pink. Sixteen Candles.”

“I can’t. Mum would kill me if she knew I was even talking to you.”

“So don’t tell her. You needn’t worry about my mum. She adores you. She was really worried about you after they had that row. She said she had a good mind to kidnap you and bring you up herself.”

I feel myself going hot with embarrassment. “Mum’s heart is in the right place,” I say defensively. “She’s just going through a bad patch. She and Maurice have split up. For good this time.”

“You don’t believe her, do you?” says Kumara scornfully.

I’m not sure I’m a hundred percent over my mononucleosis, because suddenly I have to lean my forehead against the smeary glass.

“I do believe her, actually,” I say. “She met Maurice when she was feeling really vulnerable, but she’s finally seen through him. But they’ve been going out together for three years, so naturally she’s upset. Also we’ve got to move house again, which adds to the stress.”

Kumara sounds horrified. “She’s making you move in the middle of your O levels!”

“It’s not Mum’s fault,” I say quickly. “The landlord put the rent up. But it’s OK, she’s found a flat. And she’s not taking our old phone number, so creepy Maurice won’t know where we’ve gone.”

Mum and I have moved so often we could practically do it in our sleep. Wrapping crockery in newspaper, taking down pictures, packing books in Walkers crisp boxes, systematically stripping rooms of all the objects that make them home, and starting again somewhere new.

This latest move frightens Mum, I can tell.

She looks bewildered, almost like a little girl. And I can tell what she’s thinking. She’s thinking, This is how it’s going to be from now on, slipping slowly downhill; each place smaller and more depressing than the last, until finally she’s a lonely old lady watching soaps in a poky bedsit.

I’m sorry for her. But I’m careful to keep my distance. I’m not a total sucker, whatever Kumara thinks. Besides, she hasn’t seen my mother for ages. She doesn’t know how much she’s changed. For three years she’s been under an evil Maurice spell, but it’s wearing off. Someday soon she’ll be her true self again.

Last time, we had two adults and three children to help. This time, we just rent a man with a van. Both are nerverackingly decrepit. The guy has some kind of heart condition. Twice he goes completely white and has to sit down. We end up shifting the heavy stuff ourselves. By the time he goes it’s almost dark.

We watch anxiously, as he drives off in the empty van, rattling and bouncing down the street.

“Hope the poor bastard makes it back home,” Mum mutters.

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