Indigo Blue by Cathy Cassidy

Author:Cathy Cassidy [Cassidy, Cathy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: General Fiction
ISBN: 9780142407035
Barnesnoble:
Goodreads: 1218081
Publisher: Puffin
Published: 2005-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Mum’s not well. She stays in bed all Saturday, curled up and crying, and I can’t find any money for milk or bread or cheese or cereal. When I ask, Mum says she’ll sort it, but she doesn’t.

‘Mu-um,’ I say, and I can’t help it if there’s no sympathy or understanding in my voice. I can’t help it if I sound hacked off and angry, because I am.

‘We need money, Mum,’ I say. ‘Come on, there has to be some cash, somewhere. I need to buy stuff. Misti needs to eat. I need to eat. And if you’re not going to talk to me, not going to look after us, then I need to ring Jane, because I’m scared.’

My voice has risen to a high-pitched, tantrum-style whine.

‘DO something, Mum!’ I scream. I want to chuck Mum’s mug of stone-cold coffee across the flat. I want to shake her, slap her, wake her up.

My mum is sick and I’m shouting at her, scaring her, scaring Misti. I’m a spoilt, selfish brat. I feel awful.

I sink down on the edge of the single bed, shaking. ‘Sorry,’ I whisper.

Mum just looks at me, her eyes wide, her lips quivering.

‘Me too,’ she says. Then she hugs me tight and the tears come again, making a wet patch on my top.

Misti and I play with play dough and teddies all day, and I heat a tin of tomato soup at lunchtime, but Mum won’t eat any and Misti’s still hungry. I can’t ring Jane because I haven’t any money, and it’s too far to walk to her place, even if I knew the way from here. I’d have to take Misti and I’d have to leave Mum, and neither option sounds great.

In the end, I hear Ian Turner’s red Fiat scrunch up the driveway and I run out and tell him Mum’s not well, and ask if he has a phone I can use.

‘Course you can,’ Ian says, taking me up the steps to the big front door of number 33, across the dingy hallway that smells of polish and up the creaking staircase. ‘There’s a nasty flu bug going round at work. Loads of people off. Is that what’s up with Anna?’

‘Probably,’ I say vaguely. ‘I’m not sure.’

Ian’s flat is tucked into the roof of the house, and though it’s small, it’s messy and bright and it doesn’t smell of damp. He points to the phone and I dial Jane’s number shakily.

She’s there. Relief floods through me and I’m babbling about Mum being ill and Misti being hungry and Jane says she’ll be with us in half an hour, hang on, keep smiling.

When I replace the receiver, Ian Turner comes out of the kitchen with a box packed with Lemsip, milk, cheese, bread, oranges, Jaffa Cakes and chocolate.

‘Emergency rations,’ he says, smiling, and even though I know Mum’ll be cross, I let him follow me down the creaky stairs and round to the back.

Misti’s sitting on the steps, wailing like her heart will break,

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