Angel Cake Read online

  ‘You love me really,’ he grins.

  ‘Can’t help myself,’ Frankie laughs. ‘Anyway… speaking of small furry animals, how is Cheesy? Settling in?’

  ‘He’s fine.’

  Frankie glances over at Lily Caldwell, lounging against a radiator, checking her sparkly eyeshadow – blue today – in a little mirror. ‘Lily’s kept quiet about it too,’ she whispers. ‘That’s a miracle. I was expecting blackmail notes at the very least.’

  ‘Lily’s not so bad,’ Kurt says.

  ‘Not so bad?’ Frankie snorts. ‘Have you forgotten what she says about you… and me?’

  ‘Not recently,’ Kurt says.

  ‘Well, no, not in the last few days…’

  Lily has stayed away from Frankie, Kurt and me since that wet afternoon at Heaven, and that’s a good thing. No more quips about Frankie’s weight or Kurt’s clothes. No more comments about sauerkraut. We have become a no-go area for Lily’s barbed tongue, but it’s clear she finds the three of us about as interesting as algebra or drying paint.

  ‘Anyway,’ Kurt says. ‘I’ve nearly finished the secret rat cage…’ Kurt’s gran is terrified of rats, so he needs to keep Cheesy hidden. With this in mind, he is converting his wardrobe into a gigantic rat’s cage. ‘I just need some chicken wire and it’ll be sorted.’

  ‘Kurt,’ Frankie says gently. ‘What if your gran opens the wardrobe door one day to hang up a pair of those scary trousers of yours… and sees Cheesy? Won’t she be a bit… shocked?’

  ‘She won’t find him,’ Kurt insists. ‘I told her I’d be looking after my own clothes from now on. Doing my own washing and ironing and putting away. It’s foolproof.’

  Frankie and I exchange looks, then dissolve into giggles. ‘I hope so,’ I say. ‘Rat in wardrobe… this is not good!’

  A week ago, I was pining for Krakow. I’d given up on Liverpool, but maybe I was wrong?

  After all, back then I’d never hidden a rat in my satchel or had an after-school detention or eaten cake with pink sugar frosting. A week ago, I didn’t dare to hope I might be chatting and giggling with my friends, even if they are kind of geeky and odd, the kind of kids I’d never have given a second glance to back home.

  Well, things move on – Nadia’s letter showed me that much.

  It’s good to laugh, and it’s good to have friends. It’s a start, anyhow.

  Dan Carney is back. It’s Monday morning and he’s swaggering down the school corridor, surrounded by laughing boys in baggy trousers and studded belts, boys with swirling tramlines shaved into their ultra-short hair, boys with expensive trainers and designer-label hoodies. They punch Dan lightly, ruffle his braided hair, tell him he’s the coolest. Nobody, they remind him, ever tried to burn down the school before.

  Dan just laughs.

  And right in the middle of the bad-boy gang, her arm linked through Dan’s, is Lily Caldwell. She is wearing strappy ankle boots with skyscraper heels and a skirt so short it’s more of a very wide belt. Her lashes are so thick with mascara it looks like she has whole families of tarantulas stuck to her eyelids.

  My heart thumps and my cheeks glow pink. I have waited almost a week to see Dan again, and now he’s back, arm in arm with the meanest girl in the year, and I haven’t a clue what to say.

  ‘Hello’ doesn’t really seem to cover it.

  I just stand still, hugging my satchel, as the badboy gang sweeps past. Right at the last moment Dan catches my eye and my heart leaps, but his brown eyes look right through me as if I don’t exist.

  I wasn’t sure what Frankie meant when she told me Dan was bad news, but I know now, and it hurts. It hurts so much that my eyes blur with tears, and I almost miss the smug grin Lily throws me over her shoulder as the whole bunch of them turn the corner and disappear.

  Frankie takes my elbow. ‘Hey, hey,’ she says softly. ‘What did I tell you? Never trust a boy.’

  She hands me a tissue and I wipe my eyes, dredge up a smile. ‘Better?’ she checks. ‘Don’t take it personally, Anya. Kids like Dan and Lily don’t bother with the likes of us, not usually. Maybe outside of school they’ll be OK, once in a while, but inside these walls they have an image to keep up. You’ll never see Lily Caldwell being nice to the likes of you and me, or Dan Carney bothering to notice we’re alive. It’s just the way things are.’

  ‘But… why?’

  Frankie rolls her eyes. ‘There’s this whole king-of-the-jungle thing going on at school,’ she explains. ‘At this school, anyway. The lions are in charge – they’re at the top of the heap. They just have to roar and everyone jumps to attention. That’s what Lily and Dan are, see? Then you get elephants and antelope and herds of wildebeest and stuff, who are all a bit scared of the lions…’

  Jungle, zoo… I was right about the wild animals bit, anyhow.

  ‘What are we?’ I ask, my voice still shaky. ‘What are you, me and Kurt, in this jungle?’

  ‘We’re zebra and lemurs and parrots,’ Frankie says. ‘The cool, interesting ones.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Yeah, but Lily and Dan don’t realize that,’ she frowns. ‘To them, we’re right at the bottom of the pile. Ants and frogs and minnows. And we don’t mix. Mess with the lions and they’ll eat you up!’

  ‘I know Lily does not like me,’ I say. ‘But I thought Dan was different!’

  ‘No,’ Frankie says. ‘He’s not. Don’t kid yourself.’

  I guess that’s exactly what I’ve been doing. I let myself believe in miracles, even though I know they don’t exist. What was I, to Dan? A girl who didn’t understand the language, the rules, the law of the jungle. A girl who didn’t matter, invisible, forgettable.

  ‘What shall I do, Frankie?’ I ask.

  Frankie sighs. ‘Blank him,’ she says. ‘Ignore him. OK?’

  All through maths and French, I doodle in the margins of my exercise books, torturing myself with questions. I’ve heard of girls being dumped after just one date, but just one kiss? It may be a new world record.

  What was so awful about me, anyway? Was I too sad, too silent, too serious for a boy like Dan? Did my breath taste sour or stale? I’m certain it didn’t. Maybe my kissing technique was bad?

  At least Dan isn’t in maths or French to witness my gloom. PSE is a different story.

  ‘Ignore him,’ Frankie tells me as we file into class. ‘He’s not worth it.’

  ‘Not worth what?’ Kurt pipes up, but Frankie tells him he wouldn’t understand. We sit down near the front, and Dan, Lily and a few of the scally-boy crew mooch in late. Dan’s eyes catch mine again, and this time I could swear they flicker with something dark, unspoken, before sliding away.

  Dan and his friends slouch into seats at the back while Miss Matthews clears her throat and tries not to look anxious. The whole lesson is one big joke to the bad-boy gang. ‘Hey, Dan,’ one of them smirks. ‘You’re all fired up today, aren’t you?’

  ‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Dan grins. ‘That’s the burning question!’

  There’s the sound of tearing paper from the back row, and Lily sniggers and asks if anyone has a lighter. Miss Matthews doesn’t relax until the bell goes to signal the end of the lesson – well, maybe she’s just relieved it’s not the fire alarm. At least nothing has been burned, charred, torched or fried – except perhaps her nerves.

  Dan slouches up to the desk and drops a crumpled paper on to it. ‘I’m on report, Miss,’ he says. ‘You have to sign to say I behaved in class.’

  Miss Matthews sighs. ‘And did you behave?’ she asks.

  ‘Erm…’

  ‘Let’s just say you were no angel,’ Frankie mutters, packing her bag. ‘Better hang up your wings, hoodie-boy.’

  Dan dredges up what might be a guilty look.

  ‘I’ll try harder next time,’ he tells the teacher. ‘Can you sign it? Please?’

  Miss Matthews signs the sheet, and Dan slopes off. Frankie, Kurt and I head for the door, but Miss Matthews calls me back.

  ‘Anya?’ she say
s. ‘Can I have a word?’

  I pause by her desk. Miss Matthews takes my exercise book from the pile and opens it. Suddenly I remember writing about my first day here, about kids like wild animals who yell and roar and stampede through the corridors, ranting, frantic teachers, lessons that made no sense at all. Oops.

  ‘I am in trouble?’ I ask.

  ‘Trouble?’ she repeats. ‘No, no, of course not!’

  ‘My English is not good,’ I whisper. ‘I get things wrong…’

  ‘Anya, this is a wonderful piece of writing. The spelling and grammar aren’t perfect, but your feelings jump off the page. It shows a far greater grasp of English than I expected. You have a talent!’

  I blink. ‘I do?’

  ‘You do. And now that we know what you can do, perhaps you will try to take part a little more in other classes? Show all your teachers what you can do?’

  ‘I will try…’

  ‘I can see now how hard these past few weeks have been for you,’ Miss Matthews says. ‘I didn’t quite realize – I don’t think anybody did. But you will settle, Anya. And I’m here for you, if you need to talk, if you ever have any problems. Do you understand?’

  I nod, blinking back my shock as I pick up my satchel. ‘Thank you, Miss Matthews,’ I say. ‘Thank you!’

  I walk out into the corridor, my head high, my heart a little lighter than before. Dan Carney is lurking just outside the classroom, minus his friends. He rakes a hand through unruly black braids, takes a step towards me, but it’s my turn now to look right through him, just like Frankie said.

  I walk on down the corridor, to where Frankie and Kurt are waiting.

  When I get home from school, Dan Carney is leaning against the lamp post just across from the flat, eating chips.

  ‘Hey, Anya,’ he grins.

  I remember this morning, the way Dan’s laughing eyes looked straight through me and turned my heart to ice, and I walk past him as if I didn’t hear. With shaking fingers, I fit my key into the lock and step inside. I run up the stairs, creep into my bedroom and peer out from behind the threadbare curtains.

  He’s still there.

  I let the curtain drop. Today Dan Carney ignored me at school, but now he’s eating chips just across the road from where I live, grinning.

  There are some things I just don’t understand about Britain, and the weirdo language is only one of them. Words, they’re not so complicated… but there’s a whole raft of other stuff going on that is a mystery to me.

  Like how come Kurt is so smart and funny, yet can’t sort himself out a decent pair of trousers. How come Frankie moans that she’s fat and then scoffs chips each lunchtime, with crisps and pudding and Coke as well. And how come Dan Carney kissed me in the rain, as if he really meant it, then changed his mind and cut me dead at school today, left me stranded in the corridor with an ache where my heart should be.

  Maybe I’m trying so hard to work out what people are saying that I am missing the little things, the clues other people pick up on to read between the lines? I met a boy in angel wings and forgot that he was the kind of boy who tears up school books and sets things on fire, the kind of boy you don’t mess with unless you want to get your fingers burnt.

  And now he’s turned into a stalker too.

  Mum and Kazia come in. ‘There’s a boy sitting on the steps,’ Kazia tells me. ‘He’s says he’s a friend of yours.’

  ‘He isn’t,’ I say.

  Mum raises an eyebrow. She looks tired. Cleaning hotel rooms is not the nicest way to make a living, but she never complains. She makes soup for supper, mixes up some sourdough to make rye bread that will be fresh and warm when Dad gets home. By the time he arrives, the bread is cooling on the rack, and it’s been dark for an hour.

  ‘Anya,’ he says, ‘there’s a boy outside who says he’s waiting for you. What’s going on?’

  ‘He’s just a boy from school,’ I say. ‘Nobody.’

  We eat bowls of rich beetroot soup and hunks of warm, tangy bread that tastes like home, and Kazia peers out of the window again.

  ‘He’s still there,’ she reports. ‘Is he your boyfriend?’

  ‘No, he is not! I wish he’d go away!’

  ‘Do you want me to go out and tell him?’ Dad asks.

  I shake my head, defeated. ‘I’ll do it.’

  I drag a comb through my hair, pull on boots and a thick jumper. I run downstairs and open the door.

  Dan Carney is sitting on the step.

  ‘Finally,’ he says, getting to his feet. ‘I thought you’d never come down. I’ve eaten two bags of chips, a portion of curry sauce and four onion rings, but it’s freezing cold and I’m down to my last few pennies. And I think I’ve got indigestion.’

  Those soft brown eyes could melt an iceberg. ‘Why are you here?’ I ask.

  ‘We’re friends, aren’t we?’ Dan says brightly. ‘And you’re new to Liverpool… I thought I might give you a guided tour.’

  ‘No, thank you,’ I say.

  Dan looks hurt. ‘Why not?’ he asks.

  ‘I cannot trust you,’ I tell him. ‘One minute, you try to burn up the school. Then angel wings and cake. Then… nothing!’

  ‘I’m complicated,’ Dan says. ‘Is that a problem?’

  Well, just a bit. I turn to go back inside, but Dan catches my arm.

  ‘Don’t go,’ he says. ‘Look, I’m sorry, OK? Sorry I haven’t been in touch. Sorry about today. Don’t be mad at me!’

  I look up into his melted chocolate eyes, and somehow I forget to be angry.

  ‘Can we talk? Please, Anya?’ he says.

  The two of us sit on the doorstep. Little kids are riding their bikes up and down the street, steering with one hand or no hands at all, swooping out into the lamplight, then skidding back into the darkness.

  ‘I’m all the things you said,’ Dan admits. ‘I just – well, I don’t much like school. And I get angry, sometimes.’

  ‘Why?’ I ask.

  Dan shrugs. ‘Just… stuff. I’ll tell you, some day. I’m not all bad, honest.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘You can trust me,’ he says.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘So, am I forgiven?’ Dan smiles, and every last bit of resistance melts away. I grin at him.

  ‘C’mon,’ he says, dragging me to my feet. A curtain twitches in my bedroom, and I catch a glimpse of Kazia, peeking out. ‘A guided tour of Liverpool,’ Dan is saying. ‘Let’s go!’

  ‘No, Dan,’ I laugh. ‘Not tonight. It is late, and dark. I have homework –’

  ‘Homework?’ Dan frowns, as if he’s never heard of such a thing.

  ‘I have lots of work to do,’ I tell him. ‘I must practise my English, catch up with lessons…’

  ‘Seriously?’ Dan asks. ‘You’re not coming out?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Tomorrow then?’ he tries instead. ‘We’ll start tomorrow! I want to show you that Liverpool can be fun!’

  ‘Dan, I…’

  I want to tell him that this is a bad idea. We are too different to be friends, the bad boy and the quiet girl who can’t even string a few sentences together. And I don’t want to risk being hurt again, which means that going anywhere with Dan Carney would be a bad, bad idea. My head aches, trying to put together the verbs and adjectives, and when my mouth opens, everything goes wrong.

  ‘OK,’ I tell him. ‘This sounds… good!’

  ‘Cool!’ His soft brown eyes twinkle. ‘See you then,’ he says.

  Never trust a boy, isn’t that what Frankie said? I guess I should have listened.

  Dan Carney is not in school the next day, and although I’m half expecting to find him camped out on my doorstep after 3.30, there’s no sign of him.

  I start some maths homework, then some art. Still no Dan.

  ‘Why d’you keep looking out of the window?’ Kazia wants to know. ‘Are you looking for that weird boy?’

  ‘No,’ I snap. ‘I’m not looking for anyone!’


  I don’t have any more homework, but I remember Miss Matthews’s advice. I open my exercise book and write a couple of pages about Krakow. Still no Dan.

  Dad is even later home tonight, so we don’t eat supper till eight. Kazia and I wash up, then I iron some clothes for school and go to bed, wishing I had never heard of Dan Carney.

  There’s a faint ringing noise, like the sound of a demented mobile, tugging me from sleep. Then silence. I sigh and stretch and drag the blankets over my head, and then it’s back, a shrill, chirpy sound, nagging, persistent.

  I sit up. The room is still, except for Kazia’s muffled breathing in the bed across from me. The noise must be coming from outside. It’s too thin and reedy to be a car alarm. It sounds like… a bicycle bell.

  I slide out of bed and run over to the window, lifting up the corner of the threadbare curtain. There on the pavement, in a pool of yellow light from the street lamp, is Dan Carney, wearing angel wings, astride a big old-fashioned bike with a basket fixed to the front of it. He rings the bell again, grinning up at me.

  I pull on my pink fluffy slippers and grab a coat, creep past Mum and Dad’s bedroom and down the creaky stairs. I open the door and slip outside, shivering in the cold night air.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I whisper. ‘It’s the middle of the night!’

  ‘You said you liked the angel wings,’ Dan shrugs. ‘So here I am. Just didn’t want people to think I make a habit of all this feathery stuff, OK? I have a reputation to keep up. So… well, I figured there wouldn’t be many people around to see me at this time of night.’

  He notices my fluffy slippers and spotty pyjamas, frowning. ‘Um… are you ready?’

  ‘Ready?’ I echo.

  Dan looks confused. ‘The guided tour,’ he says. ‘It was all arranged. You agreed!’

  ‘But it is so late!’ I protest. ‘Everyone is asleep!’

  Dan laughs. ‘Exactly,’ he tells me. ‘We have the whole city to ourselves, practically. C’mon!’

  ‘I cannot!’ I argue. ‘My family!’

  ‘They’re asleep, you said so yourself,’ Dan says. ‘Besides, you promised. And I borrowed the bike specially. C’mon!’