Uncle Vic had gone through the wall. With my mum. It was like having a really weird dream that you can’t wake yourself up from.
Clearly, I was not going to be able to push myself through the hall wall. It wasn’t even worth trying.
Just at that moment, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key in the lock and in walked my dad.
“Dad?” I exclaimed. I must have sounded deranged but was trying to disguise the panic in my voice. “You’re early…”
“Not really, Rosemary, it’s twenty to eight. You should be in bed by now. Where’s Mum?”
He hung his coat at the bottom of the stairs and saw me glance nervously upstairs. He might not be able to see Frances, but what if he heard her? Suddenly my face fell. There, hovering above his head looking grey and threatening, was his cloud. It was back.
He started to go up the stairs.
“She’s upstairs, is she? That’s where you motioned to when I just asked you.”
“No, no, no,” I interjected and pushed past him. “I mean, yes, she might be.”
“Steady on, there’s no rush. Anyway, I need a wee first.”
I made it to the bathroom just before him and thanked God we didn’t have a lock on our door. So, though it was shut, I knew I could sneak in.
“Sorry, Dad, desperate. Won’t be a mo,” I said as I pushed the door open a crack and slid my slim body around it.
The bathroom was empty. She had gone.
“Hellooooo. John, are you up there?”
I heard the slightly breathless voice of my mother coming from the bottom of the stairs. Then her footsteps on the stair carpet. Relief flooded me. At least I wouldn’t have to explain Mum’s absence.
“Rosie, it’s bedtime now, darling.” She looked exactly the same, no bruises evident, no dishevelled clothing, just two tiny pink dots in the middle of her cheeks giving her an air of being a bit flushed, like she’d been rushing.
I eyed her suspiciously as she strolled out of their bedroom after having given my dad a quick peck on the cheek.
“Go on into bed, Rosemary. I’ll come back up and say goodnight once I’ve got our dinner on. Quick now, please, it’s getting late.”
“Where have you been, Mum?” I asked her quietly.
“I’ve finally found that play on our bookshelf so I can swot up ready for my audition tomorrow. Darling, it’s too late for you to help me with the lines now.” She hadn’t answered my question.
Then I saw it. A five-pointed star attached to the heel of her shoe as if by static. As she descended down the staircase, a gust of warm air seemed to rise up from the hall, twirl itself around my mother and swoop down again towards the front door, taking with it the silver and black star, which fluttered precariously.
I could see the thin material it was made from as it plunged forth; its finale was a steep dive downwards, and then the star disintegrated into glitter that scattered every which way across the hall-floor tiles. It was like a rocket torpedoing to earth and smashing into tiny particles when it hit the ground.
Whatever it had been, it had gone.
It was time to tell Adi.
5
Adi the Maths Genius
The next morning at breakfast, you could be forgiven for thinking everything seemed much as it always had been. Dad showered, hugged us all, and left. His raincloud though was still very much in evidence, and I wondered what I could do to help. Phyllis, who always had a solution to every problem, hadn’t yet appeared, which was strange. She was often around when the others weren’t, as, unlike them, she never seemed to leave the house. Well, never by the front door anyway. Mum was surrounded by bright purple with little sparks flying off at all angles, so I could tell she was excited.
Then I remembered: The Audition. We had just gone out the front door and were trying to get into the car when out came Frances, Uncle Vic, and Mr Foggerty — all together, which was most unusual. Mr Foggerty looked his normal, untidy self, though I noticed his shoes looked clean and he was wearing the addition of a yellow-spotted tie. Mmm, perhaps he was going somewhere important?
Frances looked brighter today and was wearing her best bottle-green velvet dress. It made her look like a bauble from a Christmas tree. I did feel a bit sorry for her though after yesterday. Uncle Vic had his suit on. I was worried that his crossed eyes made it difficult for him to see, as it now had a scattering of stains on it. It looked like egg yolk on his jacket lapel, chocolate on the neck of his shirt, and dried custard on his knees.
I was so busy staring at Uncle Vic’s stains that I didn’t realise Frances was speaking to me.
“Thank you, Rosie, for all your help yesterday. You are a little treasure.” I went to open my mouth to ask her where she had disappeared to so suddenly last night, when I remembered I still hadn’t seen Phyllis. As I watched them walk briskly up the road, I was struck again by the fact that none of them had colours around them. I looked at Mum’s white sparks shooting out from the purple surrounding her. I saw Lois with orange and yellow pulsating gently all around her. I remembered how Adi’s changed from electric blue to bright white when he got a maths problem right or the teacher praised him. (I couldn’t see my own.) Our houseguests lack of colour had been something I had never really questioned, yet in the light of yesterday’s strange goings-on, I realised how different from us they really were.
“Come on, Rosemary, get in the car. We’re going to be late,” Mum called.
“Mum, where’s Phyllis?” I asked, still puzzled as to why she hadn’t appeared this morning.
Silence.
“Mum, where’s Phyllis?”
“Yes, I did hear you darling, I’m just concentrating on driving.”
The tell-tale sign of brown smoke radiating from Mum’s lips told me that this was a lie. Mum never concentrated on driving. She would chat pretty much constantly, looking at us in the rear-view mirror and then suddenly break or swerve to avoid cars or animals or pavements.
“She’s gone on her holidays for a while.” More brown smoke.
“On her own, Mum? I’ve never seen her go anywhere.”
“Mmmm, well sometimes people do need time alone… Don’t worry, she’ll be back. They’ll find her — erm, I mean, they’ll pick her up from the station when she returns. Now who’s going to wish me luck for my audition today?”
“Me, me, me!” Lois shouted excitedly.
Bless her, she probably didn’t even know what an audition was.
“Can I come with you to your medition, Mum, please?” Lois pleaded.
“It’s ‘audition’, Lois, you dufus, not ‘medition’, and you’re at school.”
“I don’t want to go to school. I want a weekend,” she replied sulkily.
“That’s enough please, both of you. Firstly, Lois, no you can’t come. Mummy has to do this on her own. It’s like a chat where they decide whether or not to give you a job. And secondly, Rosie, stop winding her up.”
“I don’t want you to get a job,” Lois mumbled.
First sensible thing she’s said all year, I thought.
“If — and it’s a big IF — I were to get this job, my love, you would still see Mummy every day. I don’t have to go away, and I’d still be able to take you to school. And once the show is up and running, I’d be able to pick you up, too.”