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  Tosh shakes his head vigorously. He’s not going to tell him and neither am I.

  ‘It’s Tosh,’ Mannis says, grumpily.

  I glare at Mannis. He doesn’t seem to notice.

  Rick reaches into his pocket and my heart leaps into my throat. He’s going for the gun. He’s going to shoot us. But all he does is pull out a handful of toffees wrapped in gold paper. He offers them to us.

  ‘No thank you. We don’t want any,’ I say, imagining the delicious creamy pieces of toffee stuck between my teeth. I can tell Tosh is imagining the same thing by the way he’s staring, goggle-eyed at Rick’s sweet-filled palm.

  ‘You think I’ve put poison in them?’ he asks. He takes a toffee, unwraps it, and pops into his mouth.

  He puts the sweets on the draining board. Tosh eyes them eagerly.

  ‘I’ll leave them here for you,’ says Rick. ‘You’ll eat them when you’ve come to your senses, which won’t be long judging by the tins of crap soup you’ve been eating. If you kids play your cards right, there’ll be more treats on their way to you. So be good.’ He clicks his tongue and throws Mannis a quick glance. ‘Right, I’ll be off. Catch you later.’ He gives the front door one almighty slam on his way out.

  The bungalow walls quake. Mannis expels air from his lungs as if he’s been underwater for a very long time and has just come up for air.

  ‘Is he from the social, Kate?’ Tosh asks, glancing at the draining board.

  ‘No,’ I reply.

  ‘Is he from the Homeless Persons? Is he going to bring us more food?’

  ‘No Tosh,’ I swallow a lump in my throat. ‘Take the sweets to our room.’ I tell him.

  ‘What all of them?’ His face lights up.

  ‘Yeah all of them.’

  He grabs the toffees from the draining board and runs from the kitchen, pounding his fists in the air and cheering.

  ‘Save some for me!’ I yell.

  ‘Sweets Ellie! We’ve got sweets.’ I hear him cry.

  I don’t think much of it. After all, Ellie did love sweets.

  * * *

  Chapter 11

  And Then There Were Two

  And then there were two.

  I pace the floor. Mannis has covered it with a scrap of orange and cream patterned lino he took off a skip. The floorboards beneath are black, mouldy and infested with several years of dirt and grime.

  Mannis stubs his cigarette out on the draining board, picks up a dirty rag from the rickety kitchen table and dabs his forehead.

  ‘Why are you letting Rick stay here?’ I ask.

  I expect him to tell me to get lost and to mind my own business, but he doesn’t. Wearily, he draws a wicker chair up to the table and sits down. The chair sighs from the weight of his bloated body. He belches and scratches his flat crooked nose. I stand in front of him with my arms folded, waiting for his reply.

  But Mannis isn’t all ugly, not inside where it matters. He can’t be. He’s letting us stay here; I try to remind myself of that as often as I can. Except, everyday it gets a little harder.

  ‘You think I want him here, Kate? I don’t want him here any more than you do.’

  ‘Then why not tell him to go?’

  ‘Cause I owe him. Him and me we used to work for this guy called Rossier, years back it was. Rick was a kiddie back then, but he was Rossier’s main boy, quick to heed and slow to fear.

  I did jobs for Rossier, lifting and shifting. I didn’t know what it was I was lifting and shifting most of the time. And I didn’t want to. I got paid, no questions asked. I did a bit of petty thieving before that with no harm done. Rossier and his gang wanted to move into armed robbery. Rick got bored; Rossier greedy. Not me, I wanted out, didn’t I? An easy life, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. So I shot through. Rossier didn’t like it and he ain’t in a hurry to forget it either.’

  ‘Rossier won’t find you.’ It’s a stupid thing to say. The Wolf found Mannis, didn’t he?

  Mannis isn’t listening. He has a habit of talking at me rather than to me. If I walked out now, he’ll probably confide his feelings to the mouldy wall.

  ‘Rick’s a smart one,’ he continues, staring off into the distance. ‘He can afford to be. He’s just in it for the thrill of it. His grandparents left him a whole heap of money when they died. He’s the mastermind behind the big jobs. He done a job last month, gold artefacts from a London museum. One of his gang is under police surveillance. If know I Rick, he’ll have him taken care of, silence him for good, that way no one can question him. Rick don’t trust no one.’

  ‘So what’s all this got to do with you?’ I ask, throwing my hands up in the air.

  ‘Rick wants to lie low for a bit; hide his loot before moving on. He’s been out the country a while. A runaway told him I was out of the nick, and where to find me. Bastard.’

  ‘He’s a murderer and you’re letting him stay here!’ I say, my voice rising.

  Mannis flies out of the chair, his fat belly shuddering like jelly. He grabs my arm and gives it a squeeze. ‘Keep your trap shut!’ he hisses. ‘Rick don’t like to get his hands dirty. He’s not capable of murder.’

  ‘He’s got a gun,’ I blurt out.

  He lets go of my arm. I notice a flicker of panic in his eyes.

  ‘How’d you know?’

  ‘I saw it when Rick gave us the toffees,’ I lie. I don’t want to get Saul in trouble.

  ‘You keep quiet about it. In fact, forget you ever laid eyes on it. Don’t go getting yourself involved. Leave Rick to me. I know how to handle him.’

  ‘Like you know how to handle Saul?’

  ‘Damn it Kate, don’t push it or I’ll put the social on to you myself.’ He spits a great green glob of phlegm onto the floor.

  I storm out of the kitchen. Mannis can’t put the social on to me not without getting himself in trouble. I don’t think he even knows how to contact the social. He’s not that smart.

  I return to Our Room.

  Tosh can’t speak. His mouth’s crammed full of toffees. He looks like a gerbil. He has put a few sweets on Ellie’s pink blanket and some on my pillow.

  I smile, in spite of myself.

  ‘Let’s get washed,’ I tell him. ‘Then we’ll go treasure hunting.’

  Tosh fervently nods. He swallows the toffees, churning in his mouth, in two great gulps. He takes his treasure hunting very seriously.

  In our time here, we’ve had a lot of imaginary adventures. We’ve played Cowboys and Indians, Doctors and Nurses, Captains and Pirates and hide-and-seek. We’ve sailed up the Amazon River, been surrounded by sharks at sea, and set up makeshift tents in the North Pole. Treasure hunting is Tosh’s favourite adventure of all.

  ‘We have to eat breakfast,’ he reminds me. ‘For energy.’

  ‘No, we mustn’t forget breakfast.’

  I turn to see Mannis standing in the doorway holding an unlit cigarette between his stubby fingers and looking at me the way my dad used to, as if he doesn’t know who I am.

  ‘I’m erm...sorry. I didn’t mean to shout,’ he says after a while. ‘I mean we not long ago buried your sister, and there’s me firing hell at you.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ I mumble, averting my gaze to the toffees on my pillow.

  I want to tell him to get lost.

  ‘Well er, erm…o-ok,’ he replies.

  Then he leaves. I listen to the blissful sound of his footsteps receding down the hall.

  I don’t want him to mention my sister’s name to me ever again.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  Envy

  Before our arrival here, we lived with our mum and dad above a tiny off-license in Erin town, miles and miles from the countryside, miles and miles from the bungalow.

  It was a cramped two bedroom flat. I remember the moth-infested green carpets on the floor and the lurid green painted woodchip paper on the walls. I used to prise the little bits of wood from the paper with my nail and flick them onto the floor. I’d trample the wo
odchips into the carpet, convinced the moths ate them. If they didn’t, then where did all the bits of wood go?

  When Ellie wasn’t nestling in mum and dad’s bed, she slept with me.

  But Tosh; Toshua had his own little bed. He wouldn’t let any of us so much as touch it without his permission. Dad had painted a blue racing car on the headboard. He wasn’t a great artist, our dad. The car was lopsided, the front wheel was bigger than the back, and he forgot to paint on the door handles.

  However, dad put so much care and attention into creating that one little car for Tosh; I couldn’t help but feel envious. He had never given me any kind of attention. He seemed only to acknowledge me when I brought him a can of beer, and I brought him cans of beer often in order to wrangle some affection out of him. It never worked. When he took the beer from me, he would look at me coldly, not at all, or worse; as if he didn’t know me. The truth is he didn’t love me. He wasn’t my real father, and he wouldn’t accept me as his daughter. He painted the car out of love for Tosh because Tosh was his only son. And he laughed with joy when Ellie was born. She was his precious baby girl.

  My mum said she didn’t know who my real dad was and that was “the honest truth.” I think if she could, mum would have let me grow up believing that the man I called “dad” was my real father. The thing is, I don’t look anything like him.

  The difference was apparent from an early age. We all have mum’s brown eyes; Tosh and Ellie have their dad’s curly brown hair, coffee-coloured skin and round faces. My hair’s black and coarse like mum’s. My skin is chestnut brown and I have my real father’s face, whoever he is, long, thin and unattractive.

  I love Tosh with all my heart and he was over the moon with his lopsided car. I should have been happy for him, but the envy I felt caught me unaware. It’s the kind of envy you’re ashamed to admit to; the kind that is likely to stay with you for the rest of your life if you dwell on it long enough.

  I was ten years old when dad left. Three days went by before mum noticed he was missing. Another month passed before she realised he wasn’t coming back. Tosh cried for another three months after that. I didn’t though and neither did Ellie, she was just a baby.

  And besides, I didn’t have time to cry.

  Mum needed me. She woke with a bottle in her hand and slept with a bottle in her hand. It was always the same clear bottle, and like magic it would empty and refill itself over and over. Mum was friendly with the man who owned the off license downstairs same as dad was.

  I helped out with Tosh and Ellie. I bathed and fed them. I helped with the shopping and the cleaning.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  We lost our home. Mum fell behind with the rent and the landlord kicked us out after she cracked open her bottle of gin on his head.

  We spent one night all huddled together on a park bench hoping the landlord hadn’t put the police on to us. When I woke the next morning she was gone. She didn’t leave a note or any money. Mum was never good with words and as for money, well, we never really had any to begin with.

  She thought I could take care of Tosh and Ellie as I had done when we were at home. Tosh is eight, but he’s a bit slow. Ellie was the bright one. She liked to read and draw pictures of farm animals. She was always sickly with colds and coughs. I remember sprinting to the chemists to pick up her asthma pump and her cough medicine.

  That was why I knew she’d never make it.

  At least we’re not alone now, at least we have shelter…

  * * *

  Chapter 13

  Tar Soap

  Tosh and I devour two cans of vegetable soup between us before heading to the washroom.

  The washroom is built on to the back of the kitchen and can only be accessed from outside. It’s a box room with grey-green walls and rusty pipes. A huge sink stands at one end with a single cold-running water tap. The sun’s out this morning so the water’s lukewarm. In the winter, the water feels like ice.

  We wash our clothes once a week with tar soap and hang them out to dry on a plastic cord suspended from one wall of the washroom to the other. After my wash, I drag on a pair of faded blue jeans and a hooded grey sweater.

  ‘I hate tar soap,’ Tosh says wrinkling his nose. ‘Why can’t we make our own soap?’

  He’s stood in his underpants, fidgeting, while I do his hair. I pause every few seconds to flick bits of broken tooth comb from his unruly mane. By the time I’m through, I doubt the comb will have any teeth left.

  ‘I don’t know anything about making soap,’ I say, gritting my teeth with the effort of tugging the comb through the back of his hair. ‘Now hold still.’

  Tosh sneezes twice, and his head bobs up and, down taking the comb and my hand with him.

  ‘There could be some soap in one of the junk rooms,’ he says, running his hand over his nose.

  ‘There could be,’ I agree. ‘That can be our job for today, looking for soap.’

  ‘Soap’s not treasure.’ He shoves me out the way, takes a stiff pair of jeans from the line and struggles into them.

  ‘Put a vest on. It’s cold,’ I tell him. ‘Better put on two.’

  ‘Why don’t we clear out one of the junk rooms. We can pretend we’re clearing a ship full of treasure.’

  ‘I don’t know Tosh,’ I say slowly, unable to share his enthusiasm.

  ‘If we wait for Mannis to do it, we’ll be waiting forever.’ He pulls his vest down over his head.

  He hasn’t talked this much since we buried Ellie and he’s right; we will be waiting forever.

  ‘It’s a lot of work.’

  ‘I can do it.’ He sets his jaw determinedly and looks me in the eye.

  I gaze doubtfully at his red eyes and streaming nose. Mannis would do his nut if he knew we were clearing out one of the rooms by ourselves.

  Tosh reads my mind.

  ‘We don’t have to tell Mannis.’

  I nod. ‘I guess not. We can work through the night.’

  ‘We can clear in the day as well,’ says Tosh happily, putting on his second vest. ‘When Mannis goes out, or-or when he’s asleep.’

  I don’t want to dash Tosh’s hopes, but I can’t see us clearing the junk room in the middle of the night. The thought of doing that gives me the creeps. And Mannis isn’t the only one we have to watch out for during the day, there’s Rick, The Wolf.

  ‘Kate? Tosh?’ A muffled voice whispers from the other side of the door.

  ‘Coming!’ Tosh calls. Hoisting his jeans up to his waist, he makes a dash for the door. I grab him by the arm and force a blue sweater over his head.

  His arms flail about impatiently. His hair’s all messed up again. I pat it down with my hands and then quickly rake a comb through my own wiry hair.

  Tosh meanwhile, opens the door.

  Saul’s stands with both hands jammed in his pockets. His angelic face is filled with misery. He’s not wearing his green woolly hat. His auburn hair spills over the top of his ears and down his neck.

  ‘Rick’s coming to pick me up in an hour,’ he informs us.

  ‘Where’s he taking you?’ Tosh asks, fumbling with his trouser belt.

  ‘Dunno. Fenway I expect.’

  ‘You coming back?’ Tosh asks.

  ‘Sure I’m coming back,’ he says with a shrug of his shoulders.

  Saul doesn’t sound too convinced. Fenway’s a big city, hours away from here. Days on foot. I wonder if Rick has a fast car. Something tells me he has.

  Saul changes the subject. ‘Dock’s out cold.’

  I lean in the doorway, pulling strands of hair from the comb. ‘Oh,’ I say, as if the revelation startles me.

  Dock often passes out or throws up when he’s had too much to drink. I often wonder why Mannis lets him stay here. It can’t be for his conversation. Nothing Dock says makes any sense. His mind’s gone.

  Saul shifts from one foot to the other and looks back over his shoulder.

  ‘So what are you doing today?’ he asks.

 
‘We’re clearing out one of the rooms,’ I tell him.

  ‘You can have a corner if you want,’ Tosh pipes.

  ‘No, you’re all right,’ he says. He belches softly. ‘I’ve got my spot in the kitchen. I’ll help you to clear it, if you want.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I mumble.

  I lower my eyes. I don’t want Saul to go with Rick and I can’t stop him. It’s not my decision to make and unfortunately for Saul, it’s not his either.

  Saul hardly ever confides his thoughts and feelings to me. I wish he would. He keeps all of that stuff wrapped as tight as a knotted bundle of cloth to his chest. I can’t get past it. Try, and all I’m confronted with is a brick wall that’s too high for me to climb.

  Right now, I don’t have to guess what he’s thinking or feeling. I know. I try to think of something to say to make him feel better, to make him feel less… afraid.

  ‘You’ll be ok,’ I tell him. Lifting my head, I catch his eye.

  He stares at me blankly for what seems like ages, and then slowly walks away.

  ‘He is coming back, isn’t he?’ Tosh asks as he watches Saul disappear around the side of the house.

  ‘Course he’s coming back,’ I say, forcing a smile. ‘This is his home.’

  * * *

  Chapter 14

  Runaways

  Mannis says its takes a certain kind of courage to survive the streets. A man can make it on the streets, if he’s smart, if he has street savvy, if he knows how to duck and dive. Obviously, Mannis isn’t one of these men.

  A man can come off the streets in the blink of an eye. I’ve seen it happen.

  I once saw a man convulsing; choking on his own vomit. I watched people walk past him. Some looked bewildered, some frightened and others just plain disgusted. A few passers-by showed some concern: enough to hesitate then walk away.

  I was one of those people, standing on the sidelines, scanning for the nearest phone box so I could call for an ambulance while at the same time thinking: is he really sick? Did he do this thing to himself? Does he deserve my help, my time? Does he even want it?