Authors: Kathryn James
Gypsy Girl (29 page)
“We are. We’re not doing any harm. It’ll be cleared up afterwards.”
“He’s right,” says Bartley, coming over to them. “Come on, let’s not argue. It won’t take us long.”
But Mr Langton’s not happy. “I’ll call the police. I mean it.”
Which sets my father off. He pokes Langton in the chest. “You do that. See where it gets you.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Oi,” shouts a croaky voice. “What’s going on here?”
Coming across the field is old Mr Langton. He’s being pushed in a wheelchair by Gregory, who looks at everyone except me. “You can’t be shouting and arguing at a time like this,” the old fella says to both men. “Now let’s get going. I’ve come to say farewell to the old lady.”
Which gives my father the chance to stride away striking a match, which he throws into the trailer. It goes up with a
whump
straightaway, the windows smashing and the flames shooting out. Soon the flames are licking into the sky and roaring loudly. Everyone’s standing back because the heat is scorching our faces. None of us imagined the trailer would burn that fiercely. The smoke’s so thick that we can hardly see each other. Which gives Gregory the chance to park the wheelchair by his father, who’s standing with his arms crossed, but not saying anything now.
Gregory creeps to my side under cover of the smoke and takes me hand. I can smile at him now. His bruises are starting to fade. His stitches have healed. But I knew that already. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen him since his parents took him away. When he was spirited away from the hospital, everyone thought I’d never see him again. But I knew I would. It’s as though we’ve got a thin silver chain – so fine it’s invisible to the world – joining us together.
That first night I got out of hospital, I lay in my trailer all alone. Sabrina was with Tyson at last, enjoying being in her new home with her new husband. I didn’t think I would sleep, but I did. I wished I hadn’t. I dreamed of mullos biting on steel, and Pony’s face coming at me, and I woke shivering, wanting to scream, my skin crawling. So I got up and went out in my shorty PJs, with a fleece blanket pulled around my shoulders like one of Granny Kate’s shawls. I made my way to where the yellow police crime-scene tapes fluttered across the wide-open gates of International Express. There were no cars or lorries in there now. The forensic teams had worked on it for days. All the stock had been taken out of the barn and the other buildings. All paperwork and computers had been seized. The place was empty. I ducked under the blowing tape and walked towards the barn.
The night was full of that silvery light you get when the moon’s full and the sky’s clear. More tape criss-crossed the barn doors. I ducked under it and went inside. I had to face my fears. This was where Pony had worked but not any more. He was dead. I stood in the centre and bear-hugged myself, wrapping my fleece blanket tight. The night wasn’t cold, but the atmosphere in here was. Most of the space was taken up with ceiling-high racks to hold all the boxes and crates. But to one side there was an old leather sofa, and a table with mugs and a kettle, where the workers and lorry drivers took their breaks, I supposed.
“Sammy?”
I spun round. It was Gregory, standing in the doorway, one hand clutching the doorpost. He was wearing old joggers and a creased T-shirt, his hair mussed up. It looked like he’d been in bed, too. It was the first time I’d seen him since they whisked him away, but it was like we’d never been apart. He must have felt the tug on that thin invisible chain that bound us.
“You couldn’t sleep, either?” he said.
“Not unless I want to have nightmares.”
He groaned. “Me, too. If I see Pony’s face again, I’ll scratch my eyes out.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“No idea. I just did.”
I folded my arms. “Yeah, right.”
He laughed. “OK. I was lying in bed looking out of my window. I can see the field and the barn from there. I saw you come here and jump the police tape.”
“Good. I’m glad.”
He walked over and put his arms tight around me, and we stood for a long time, bathed in moonlight coming through the high, dusty windows, not having to say a word, until his arms crept up around my neck, and I looked up at him, and he kissed my cheeks and eyes and finally my lips. And Beryl could say what she wanted, but it wasn’t wrong to fall in love with another human being, wherever they came from.
When at last he moved and unwrapped my arms from around him, I said, “Stay with me. Don’t leave yet.”
And he smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to.” He pulled me over to the sofa. I wrapped my blanket around us both, and rested my head on his shoulder, and curled my feet up.
“It’s like staying in a haunted house,” he said, stroking my hair, his warm breath tickling the side of my face. “We’ll get over our fears. We’ll cast out the evil.”
I think he was right. We stayed there all night, and in the end we both slept, and I didn’t dream of mullos biting on steel. I dreamed of Gregory, forbidden dreams of lying beside him, of passion and thrills and him pinning me down but not to fight me, to love me.
I don’t know what he dreamed, but when we both woke with a start as a police car drew into the barn yard, he looked at me for a moment, and in that moment I saw the same love and passion.
Before anyone could discover us, we crept out and ran.
Whatever happens in the future, we had that night together.
And now, as we watch the trailer burn, he squeezes my hand. Maybe he’s remembering that night, too. I can see Beryl peering through the smoke at us, but it’s too thick. It seems to blow our way so that no one can see us. Maybe it’s Granny Kate sticking up for us. She wasn’t that keen on housed people, but I reckon she was sweet on old Langton at one time, so she’d understand.
“Look!” Gregory points through the smoke to a couple of tall trees near the hedgerow.
There’s a whole bunch of magpies sitting in a line on the top branch, as though they’re watching the trailer burning. Not four of them this time, more than that.
“There’s ten of them,” I tell him. “I don’t know what that means. Granny only told me the rhyme up to number four.”
“There’s lots of different versions. I asked my mum. She says there used to be this television programme when she was younger, called
Magpie
. Everyone knew the rhyme back then. Her version goes like this: “One for sorrow, two for joy, three for a girl, four for a boy, five for silver, six for gold, seven for a secret never to be told, eight for a wish, nine for a kiss, ten for a time of joyous bliss.”
“So this is going to be a time of joyous bliss.”
“It was the other night,” he says, playing with a strand of my hair.
“And now I’ve got to make my mind up about my future. There’s nothing blissful about that.”
The fire is dying down. Old Mr Langton has started to cough. I think the smoke’s got to him. And people are going to see me and Gregory standing together. Already Gregory’s father is looking over here, his face like thunder.
“I better take Pops home.” Gregory reluctantly lets go of me hand. “I’ll see you around.”
“I’ll be gone later today,” I warn him.
He doesn’t look convinced. “And I start at college next week. It’s twenty miles away. But this isn’t over. They can’t stop you being here, in my heart.” He gives me one of his deep, deep looks. He crosses his fingers. “Me and you. We’re entwined now. You won’t get rid of me that easily.”
And he leaves me. It’s only just in time. Beryl and Queenie are on their way over, with Bartley.
Before they reach me, I say goodbye to Granny Kate. I watch the last of the flames licking through the trailer windows. And just for a moment everything goes quiet around us. And I hear very faintly the clip-clop of hooves as the vardo comes to take Granny away.
“Did you hear that?” I ask Beryl as she reaches me.
“What?”
“The sound of a wagon and a horse.”
She looks at me as if I’m going crazy. I’m not. Granny Kate told me I was the seventh of the seventh, and that I was special. Maybe I see and hear more than others.
“Never mind that,” says Beryl. “Have you made up your mind? Bartley’s all ready to get you a ticket.”
Behind them I can see Rocky and Miss Stroud watching. Everyone wants me to go to America.
“How tough is this boot camp?” I ask Bartley.
“You think you’re fit and strong now, this will make you unbeatable.”
That’s what I wanted to hear.
“OK. I’ll go.” Rocky looks surprised. Beryl looks relieved. “But only if my friend Kimmy can come with me.”
Beryl doesn’t look pleased. “She’s the one who helped you go to those fights – and kept it a secret!”
But Queenie nudges her. “Shut up and let her take a friend with her. Stop being mean.” She turns to Bartley. “Quick, go and get the tickets before she changes her mind. You’ll have to make sure neither of them get into any trouble over there.”
He gives me a smug smile. “After the
C
AGED
boot camp, she and her mate won’t have any energy left to get into trouble.”
That’s what he thinks.
He wants to drag me off and sort the flight out straightaway, but I hear the peep of a horn from the road.
“’Scuse. I’ve got to go and speak to someone.”
I leave them discussing my trip. A car has drawn up at the entrance to Gypsy’s Acre. It’s a battered old Golf. I make my way to it and get in.
“You didn’t make it to the funeral, or the burning,” I say to Kimmy.
She grins at me. “I watched. I was keeping out of your dad’s way. He’s still mad at me. He says if he ever catches me taking you to fights, he’ll ban me from his gym for ever.”
“Good job there’s more exciting things for us to be doing.”
She’s dying to ask me. She can’t wait any longer. “So are we going?”
“We are.”
“Yes!”
Everyone is trying to order my life for me. But I’m going to do things my way.
“And when I get back, and I’m stronger than ever, I’ll go and find Hudson, and make him pay for what he did to Gregory and me.”
Gypsy Girl doesn’t exist any more. No more fighting in cages for me. I’ve got boot camp training to get through. And after that I’ve got a war to fight against Hudson McCloud.
I’m Soldier Girl now.
Kathryn James has worked with Gypsy and Traveller children, driving around in a converted bus with a rainbow on the side, doing video and photography projects and documenting Travelling lives. She also writes scripts for a local video production company, mostly for children, teenagers and schools. Kathryn lives in Leicester.
Visit Kathryn’s website at
www.KathrynJames.co.uk
or follow her on Twitter,
@Kathryn_James
.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. All statements, activities, stunts, descriptions, information and material of any other kind contained herein are included for entertainment purposes only and should not be relied on for accuracy or replicated as they may result in injury.
First published in Great Britain 2015 by Walker Books Ltd
87 Vauxhall Walk, London SE11 5HJ
Text © 2015 Kathryn James
Cover photographs © 2015 Getty Images / Hero Images
Getty Images / JGI / Jamie Grill
The right of Kathryn James to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, taping and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data:
a catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 978-1-4063-6385-2 (ePub)