After Iris: the Diaries of Bluebell Gadsby (17 page)

‘Well what do you think?’

‘I think you do only you never say.
Nobody
ever says. It’s not right.’

My little brother, growing up.

‘Of course I miss her,’ I said. ‘Every day. I miss the parents too.’

‘I wish they’d come home,’ he said.

He stayed for ages while I wrote, sitting with his head against my bed, staring at the door. He only got up to leave when I told him I wanted to go to sleep.

‘I’ll get them back,’ he said before he left my room. ‘Somehow. I will.’

And then he was gone.

It snowed in the night. I knew as soon as I woke up. The light in my room was different, pale and filtered, and there was no sound from outside at all. I jumped out of bed and drew the curtains and sure enough, the world had disappeared under a thick carpet of white. It was freezing. I pulled on a jumper and some socks and ran next door to tell Twig and Jas.

They weren’t in their room so I went down to the kitchen. Flora was sitting slumped at the breakfast counter looking miserable, and Grandma, was making toast looking long-suffering.

‘Is everything OK?’ I asked.

Flora slumped even lower.

‘Something about Facebook,’ said Grandma.

‘What’s happened now?’ I asked.

‘What do you care?’ Flora cried, and she ran out of the room.

Grandma looked baffled. Suddenly I really, really missed Zoran. If he was here, I thought, I would tell him about my solo skateboarding session with Jake, about how it felt like flying. I thought how Zoran, who has never liked Joss, probably would like Jake.

And then it started. I asked, ‘Where are the Babes?’ and Grandma said, ‘In bed, go and get them up, they shouldn’t miss this,’ and I said, ‘They’re not in bed, I just checked’ and Grandma said, ‘Well they’re not down here.’ And then I thought they might be in the garden, but the door was locked, and Grandma thought they might be upstairs watching TV, but they weren’t, and then Flora stopped crying and joined in and we looked everywhere including the loft and the cellar but there was no sign of them. And then Grandma noticed that their coats and boots had gone, as well as all the ginger cookies from the tree and all the housekeeping money. And I remembered Twig last night saying ‘I’ll get them back.’

‘Oh my God,’ cried Flora when I told her. ‘The little monsters have run away!’

Grandma went white and said no, they had probably gone to the park to build a snowman.

‘There are no footprints outside!’ shouted Flora. ‘They must have gone out ages ago!’

‘GO AND LOOK FOR THEM!’ yelled Grandma. ‘RUN! WHILE I CALL THE POLICE!’

So Flora and I pulled on snow boots and anoraks over our pyjamas and we ran out into the street, and as we ran we phoned everyone we know, Jake and Dodi and all of Flora’s friends, to ask them if they could help us look, but I knew and Flora knew that it was pointless. And we were right. By the time we finished searching there were loads of us scouring the park, and the Babes weren’t there.

Jake and Dodi came home with us, and when we got back we found Grandma on the doorstep talking to a policeman named Constable Roberts. He was very short, had a moustache and looked very unhappy.

‘YOU MUST DO SOMETHING!’ boomed Grandma. ‘YOU MUST INSTIGATE A NATIONAL SEARCH!’

‘But do you have any idea where they might be?’

‘WOULD WE BE STANDING HERE IF WE DID?’

We sat in the kitchen, where Dodi made tea for everybody. Grandma poured brandy into hers from the hipflask she always carries in her bag. She offered some to Constable Roberts but he said no thank you very much, he
was working, and then he asked when the Babes went missing, and were there any relatives they might have gone to?

‘YES, ME,’ Grandma hollered. ‘BUT I AM HERE.’

‘We think they may have gone to find Dad,’ I said.

‘Where does he live?’ asked Constable Roberts.

‘He lives here, but most of the time he is in
Warwick
,’ I said.

‘Where is your mother?’ asked Constable Roberts.

‘She also lives here but most of the time she is abroad,’ said Flora.

‘So who looks after you?’ asked Constable Roberts.

‘Zoran,’ said Flora. ‘He’s actually gone to Paris.’

Constable Roberts asked us for photographs of the Babes and he said they would put out a missing person alert for both of them. He said they would pay particular attention to coach and train routes to Warwick, and that the transport police would be on red alert but that we had to understand that two feet of snow fell last night in some parts of the country and that it was absolute chaos out there. He also said he would have to alert Social Services. He said this was standard procedure, but he looked very disapproving when he said it. He said we should keep trying to get in touch with our parents and to let him know as soon as we had made contact.

‘WHAT, AND THAT’S IT?’ asked Grandma.

‘We will do all we possibly can,’ said Constable Roberts, and then he left. Dodi hugged me and then she and Jake left too.

That was at half-past ten this morning. Since then we have learned that most but not all of the trains to Warwick were cancelled this morning, that some left London but never arrived, and that some were diverted on to other lines, so if Twig and Jas did try to catch one of them, they could be anywhere. Their photograph has been emailed to stations up and down both lines, but nobody has reported seeing two unaccompanied minors along either route.

It is late now, and dark outside. We have spent the whole day waiting. We kept trying to call Dad, but only got his answerphone. The snow which seemed so magical this morning has become unbearable and the silence is deafening. There are no cars because of the snow, and no planes either. Mum has called several times, each time sounding more hysterical than the last. She is stuck at the airport in New York, crying and wailing in the departure lounge because her plane can’t land at Heathrow. We have had to face the possibility that she might not be here in time for Christmas at all. We are all doing a grand job of pretending the Babes will be, but secretly I know we are all terrified that they won’t. We don’t say anything but we are all thinking about three years ago, when Iris went out alone in the dark.

Dad finally called and spoke to Grandma. We heard her from all the way upstairs. ‘WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN ALL DAY? YOU ARE UTTERLY SELFISH! I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU ARE NOT AT HOME!’

‘It’s not Dad’s fault,’ said Flora. We stood together at the window in the Babes’ room. It stopped snowing late this afternoon and now the sky is completely clear.

‘No,’ I agreed. ‘It isn’t.’

‘It’s nobody’s fault, is it?’ said Flora. ‘Iris died and it was an accident and none of us have ever got over it. So in the end, we just lost the plot.’

‘This isn’t the end,’ I said. I breathed on the window pane and it steamed up. Without thinking, I drew a heart with an arrow through it.

‘Joss was at a party with Kiera last night,’ said Flora. ‘CJ posted photos on Facebook.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘No, I’m sorry. You were friends, and then I stole him. I didn’t mean to – it just felt like such a long time since I’d been happy, you know?’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ I said.

‘You must hate me.’

‘I don’t hate you,’ I said. I looked at her, my crazy big sister, sitting in her striped pyjamas and old cardigan with her weirdo hair piled up on her head, and I almost smiled. ‘I really, really don’t,’ I repeated, and she almost smiled back.

Grandma went to bed at eight o’clock, though she said she couldn’t possibly sleep. I tiptoed in a few minutes ago and she was sitting upright in bed with her book on her lap and her hipflask on her bedside table, snoring.  Flora is in her room talking to Tamsin on the landline. She has switched off her cell because she doesn’t want to speak to Joss. I have been talking to Iris, wherever she is, asking her to look after Jas and Twig, who wherever
they
are right now will surely need all the help they can get.

There are only three of us in the house, when there should be at least nine.

 My video camera lies on the bed where I left it this morning, ready to film the snow. My fingers are itching for it. It feels wrong, somehow, to film at a moment like this, and yet now the thought has entered my head I can’t get it out.

It’s too quiet. I am going out, and I am taking my camera with me.