Gypsy Girl (4 page)

Gregory Langton wouldn’t get out of my head. I kept daydreaming about him. I kept seeing his fair hair and amber eyes. My daddy would go crazy if I started hanging around with boys. So would me aunts. But daydreams are different. Daydreams are secret. But even so, I felt guilty.

What was I doing dreaming of a gorjer boy?

I love that I’m a Gypsy and a Smith.

I love it when my daddy decides that we’re going visiting, and we pack up and we’re off along the road, our homes coming with us. We live lightly. We wear our wealth around our necks. We go where we like, work when we like. Not all the Smiths are angels, but there’s plenty of people in houses who aren’t angels, either.

I love that we celebrate everything. Birthdays? Let’s dress up, let’s have a party! Weddings? Christenings? Let’s get the brightest dresses we can and dance the night away.

“SAMMY! Are you listening to me?”

Beryl’s voice brought me back to the present. She and the nail girl were staring at me. “Huh?”

“I said, when’re you getting married then, Sammy-Jo? There’s just you left now.”

I flicked my hair back with my free hand. “You know my rules, Beryl. I’ll only go out with a boy who can beat me in a fight.”

“That can’t be much of a challenge to the boys,” said my girl as she filed and shaped my nails. She knew my aunts and sisters because they came in here all the time. She didn’t know me.

“Sammy-Jo’s our fighter,” explained Beryl. “She does kick-boxing and martial arts. She’s a champion, she’s got medals and cups. A whole shelf full of them – haven’t you, Sammy-Jo?”

“Yes. Yes, I have.” I kept my face blank as the nail girl’s eyes widened in surprise.

Queenie leaned forward, her dangling earrings catching the light. “She’s won everything going. British under-sixteens kick-boxing, gold at the UK championships for whats-its-name…” She clicked her fingers, trying to think. “Tie something or other…”

“Tae Kwon do, Queenie,” I said.

“That’s the one! There’s no one left for her to beat.” She gave me a proud look. “Until she turns eighteen and she can enter the adult competitions.”

My father and all my aunts and sisters were right behind me when it came to me winning trophies. They wouldn’t be so proud if they knew about the sneaking out at nights and the secret fights. If they ever found out, they’d lock me up. Luckily, they didn’t know, so all I had to put up with was Beryl and Queenie going on and on about me getting married.

“Nothing wrong with being a champion, except that it puts the boys off,” said Beryl.

“It didn’t put Alfie off,” Star shouted from the back of the shop. “He liked you, Sammy.”

“Well, I didn’t like him,” I said, shortly. Alfie was a cousin of a cousin, and he came to train at our gym last year. He did nothing but hang around me and try to get me to go out with him. Until the day he insisted we do some sparring together – and I beat him.

“Alfie’s a fine boy, but he’s not right for Sammy-Jo,” said Sadie-May, joining in. She’s the cleverest Smith sister, and she actually liked going to school. So if she says something, everyone believes her. There was a general nodding of heads in agreement.

“I remember now – in the end she frightened him to death,” said Savannah. “He ducked every time she went near him.” That made everyone laugh.

“So who’d be right for our Sammy, then?” shouted Star.

There was a pause while everybody tried not to say the one name they all wanted to. Until Beryl couldn’t stand it any longer.

“It has to be Rocky,” she said, and a sly glance went between her and Queenie. I knew it wouldn’t be long before someone mentioned Rocky.

Rocky Quinn is the brother of Tyson, Sabrina’s bridegroom. And just because his brother and my sister are getting married, my aunties seem to think I’ll marry him in a couple of years. So do half his family. They think eighteen is the best age for a girl to get married, and my family are desperate for me to get with Rocky. His family, the Quinns, have got loads of money, and they live in a big house on the other side of town. There’s no mistaking it. It’s got two rearing stone horses on either side of the gateposts. Gypsies and horses go together, and most of our men have a horse or two as a hobby. So the stone horses are there to remind everyone that they might be living in a house now, but they’re still travelling people.

“He’s a lovely boy, Sammy-Jo. So handsome.” Queenie paused as the Thorntons box got handed to her. Her fingers danced over the chocolates. “Oh, go on, then, I’ll just have the one. I can’t resist a strawberry crème.”

Beryl reached over and took the box off her. “Put it back! You know what you told me.”

Queenie quickly stuffed the chocolate in her mouth. “It’s only the one,” she mumbled, guiltily. Queenie’s always on a diet, but she never gets any thinner.

“You won’t get in your dress,” Beryl scolded. “It’s your own fault. I told you not to buy the size sixteen.” She rolled her eyes. “Sixteen! As if!”

That started them arguing, as usual, which gave me the chance to relax and pray that they’d forgotten about Rocky. But a couple of minutes later, Beryl turned back to me, her eyes glittering, and my heart sank because I could see she’d not finished with me yet.

“You like Rocky, don’t you?”

Before I could say anything, Savannah shouted, “Aw, leave her alone, Beryl!”

Savannah, my second-eldest sister, had finished having her nails done, and she was sitting on the easy chairs with her feet up, near to our table. “Sammy-Jo’s not interested in boys, thank goodness. She should wait until she’s older.” She glanced at her sister. “Not like Sabrina.”

Sabrina whirled round, nearly causing her girl to paint a silver stripe across her hand instead of her nail. “You got married young as well, Sav!” she howled. “So you can shut up!”

Savannah pulled a face. “I know! And I wouldn’t do it a second time, I’m telling you that for a fact. I’d have waited a few years.”

“I’m not saying Sammy-Jo needs to get married soon, but she could be dating,” Beryl persisted. Her eyes narrowed. “And Rocky could do with a girlfriend. A good Gypsy girl, that’s what he needs.” She and Queenie exchanged glances.

“Don’t start,” muttered Queenie. “We don’t know anything for sure.”

I smiled to myself but kept quiet. So they’d heard some rumours about Rocky as well.

Beryl patted my arm, as my girl put the finishing touches to my nails. “Stay here with me on the site for the rest of the summer,” she said, eagerly. “You’d like him better if you saw more of him.”

Most of my aunts and sisters live in houses now, but Beryl and Star live on the Langton Traveller site. All towns have to have somewhere for Travellers to stop, even though there’s never enough places. I pushed Beryl’s hand away.

“I keep telling you. I don’t want to get married. And Rocky’s too old for me.”

I used to idolize Rocky when I was twelve. He was four years older. He was handsome. He was rascally. Who wouldn’t fall for someone like that? He never even noticed me. I was this fierce little fighter girl who hung around and got in the way. But now I’m grown I don’t idolize him any more. I know things about Rocky that my aunties only suspect.

“He’s not that much older than you! And he won’t wait around for ever,” said Beryl, shaking her head. Like most of my aunties, she couldn’t believe anything could occupy a girl other than thinking about getting married.

“I don’t care.” I stood up. My nails were finished, thank goodness. But Beryl wasn’t finished with me.

Before I could escape, she gave me this fond but sad look. “Ah, look at you, baby girl. You’re sixteen, seventeen soon. You can’t spend your time fighting and training and running your daddy’s gym for him.”

“She can. She can do what she wants,” called Sadie-May, sensibly, ignoring Beryl’s glare.

I agreed. I didn’t see why I couldn’t carry on living my life how I wanted, but it’s no use arguing with Beryl. So I grabbed the chocolate box that was still doing the rounds and handed it to Queenie. “Here you go. The last chocolate!”

As Queenie reached for it, Beryl’s attention left me and homed in on her. “Hey, that’s mine. Give it to me!”

Too late. Queenie nabbed it. “It’s coffee! You don’t like coffee, so I might as well finish it. It would be unlucky not to!”

While they argued, I made my escape. Sabrina hadn’t finished yet. Her nail design was complicated and trimmed with tiny diamonds. It would take another half an hour before she started yelling for me again.

“I’ll wait for you in the street,” I told her. “Then we’ll go and look at those earrings you want.”

I thought that outside I’d be able to relax and stop thinking about Gregory. But as soon as I stepped out into the busy, bustling street I stopped dead, as though I’d walked into an invisible force field.

Something was wrong.

I turned round slowly, spinning on my heel, taking in everything. The high street was lined with all the usual shops, Boots, WH Smith, Topshop, Costa Coffee, McDonald’s. People were going in and out of them, hands full of bags, or walking along, talking on their phones. Not far away, a
Big Issue
seller was trying to attract customers. So far, so normal. But however normal and everyday it looked on the surface, I could feel danger lurking near by.

All my life I’ve loved the tingle that comes with knowing that something’s about to happen. I live for the moments when the adrenaline surges through my veins, my eyes go as sharp as a wolf’s, and my ears hear the quietest footfall – or on one occasion, the tiny
shhhting
of a knife being pulled. When I was little, I used to hunt out the older bullies in the school playground and taunt them. When I was older, I deliberately walked home through streets where gangs of big boys lurked. I could fight them all.

And now? Now I sneak off and I fight in the “no rules” cage fights. The ones held in the back streets, where a door has to be knocked and you ask for Maltese Joey, but you never get to see him or meet him because he’s clever enough to keep himself a mystery, even though he runs a string of clubs where fights have no time limit and no referee. Fighters go there hoping to win big money, while their supporters stand at the cage bars and shout and scream and bet on them. I’m getting to be known in those places. The name of “Gypsy Girl” is becoming famous. Me daddy would go crazy if he knew, but he doesn’t. Only one person in the whole world knows what I do – Kimmy. And she would never give me away because she’s my best friend and we’re closer than sisters. It’s a dangerous and thrilling game, and I can’t stop.

That’s why, as I stood in the street and looked around, I smiled to myself. I could feel the danger crackling like static in the air. Granny Kate was right. There was trouble ahead, and it was aimed straight at me. But until it showed up, I couldn’t do anything to stop it. So, for now, I had to wait. I got meself a coffee from the Costa place and perched on the back of a bench.

I checked up and down the street again. To my left there were shoppers milling about, looking in windows, hurrying into shops. Nothing wrong there. Nor with the group of girls sitting on a bench across from me, swinging their legs and whispering to one another.

I looked the other way, towards the little clock tower that marked the centre of the street and –
zing
– straightaway I got an adrenaline buzz.

Three boys were hanging around the steps at the bottom of the tower, hoods pulled up, jeans so low they were nearly tripping over them. They were the sort of feral boys who made people walk in a big circle around them, rather than risk being sworn at, mocked or barged into for no reason. And they were glancing at me but trying not to let me notice. So that’s what I’d felt. Most of us can tell when we’re being watched. Some animal instinct that’s beyond our eyes and ears takes over. They’ve done experiments, and it’s true. But some people are more sensitive to it than others.

The danger was coming from them. No surprise there. I might’ve gone over to them there and then if a more amazing sight hadn’t been coming down the high street. If the feral boys gave off signals of danger, then the boy strolling towards me was giving off signals of, “Look at me, aren’t I wonderful?” You couldn’t miss him, what with his looks and the fact he was hollering something to Sabrina’s boyfriend, Tyson, who was hurrying into Hollisters. People turned to look at him, but he ignored them.

It was Rocky, and it was too late for me to try and get away.

What can I say about Rocky Quinn?

I reckon there’s two sorts of bad boys. The ones like the feral boys who look like they’d mug a granny and knock her down without a worry. And there’s the sort who’d make a girl fall in love with them and then let them down. Or, they’d be your best friend for a while, until they suddenly forgot all about you.

Rocky’s the second kind. He’s handsome, his eyes sparkle, his shiny hair is cut just right, his smile is cheeky. He looks like he’d get up to all sorts of bad things. He gazes at girls like he’d drag them off to his lair there and then, if the whole world wasn’t watching him. But the whole world does look at him when he’s out and about. He doesn’t just stroll, he swaggers. He looks like he should be banging on his chest like King Kong. I checked the girls on the bench. Sure enough, they’d stopped playing with their phones and were watching Rocky now. He was wearing a tight T-shirt with very short sleeves to show off his arm muscles and abs. He’s got muscles because he’s a good boxer, like his brother, Tyson. Tyson’s gone professional and he’s a celebrity in Langton now, which is why there’s lots of buzz about Sabrina’s wedding and it has to be the best.

But Rocky’s different. I grew up watching Rocky fight at me daddy’s gym. He’s got a rascally streak in him. In the past he’s fought as well as Tyson, but he was never dedicated. Sometimes he’d win, but sometimes he’d just forget to turn up or not bother fighting properly if he did. He was like that with his training, some weeks he’d train from morning to night, and the next month lounge around eating junk. Then last year he stopped going to the gym altogether and stopped pretending to compete. He started getting into trouble, twocking cars and stupid stuff like that, even though his daddy makes loads of money and he could’ve had his own car. We thought he’d be going to the young offenders’ prison, but somehow he got away with it. Don’t ask me how, because the police don’t usually let bad boys like him go. Them going easy on him didn’t make him behave, because now he’s always going off somewhere on his own, disappearing for a couple of days, saying he’s got to meet someone in London. I think he’s up to something again, although everyone else is blinded by him being so handsome.