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That’s when Mr Levington’s front door flew open and he strode down the front path waving his broom threateningly at Matt.
‘As for you … you vagrant! Bringing scum into this street. You get packing — out of there this very day …’
‘Look … About last night, I’m sorry it wasn’t … I mean, I didn’t …’
‘Sorry! Sorry! Is that all you can say? I’ll give you sorry …’
‘I didn’t even know those people …’
‘Filth, that’s what they were …’ He took a threatening step forward and stabbed with his broom at some greasy pizza boxes that were littering the pavement.
‘I’m going to get you out of there if it’s the last thing I …’ He moved another threatening step forward.
‘Look, I’m going to clear up a bit — OK?’ Matt leaned down and snatched up a handful of litter.
‘Clear up! You know what you can do — you can clear out …’
‘Like them?’ said Matt gesturing towards the martins’ nest. ‘Clean the place up … Is that what you’re going to do? Want to stick your broom through my house? Nice attitude I must say … Do you know how few house-martins there are left?’
I chimed in, ‘He’s right you know. It’s because of pesticides and drought … Soon there won’t be any at all …’
Mr Levington scowled. ‘I want you out of there by the end of the day … Do you hear?’
‘You know what you are, don’t you?’
‘Huh,’ said Mr Levington, turning back towards the house.
That was the point at which he caught sight of the graffiti on his front wall.
He rocked on his feet for a moment while the vision before him sank in. Then his face seemed to grow even redder if that was possible. He looked as if he was about to have a heart attack. ‘Fascist!’ he gasped.
‘You said it, not me,’ said Matt and he turned on his heel and started to walk back across the road.
Then he paused and turned back. ‘Come on,’ he said to me. ‘I think we’ve made our point.’
‘We.’ It was the way he said ‘we’ like that. It made my heart turn over with a thump.
It wasn’t how I’d planned to meet up. Ideally, I’d have liked to have decent clothes on and some make-up maybe. I knew I was looking an absolute mess but that didn’t seem to matter right now.
I followed him into the back garden of number twenty-five. He paused outside the back door.
‘I’d ask you in, but the place is not exactly fit for entertaining at present,’ he said.
He didn’t seem arrogant at all. In fact, the way he was looking at me, with the sun catching in his eyes like that (those gorgeous eyes, flecked with hazel — the eyes that had met mine that cringe-making morning in Sainsbury’s) — he seemed almost shy. I glanced through the open door. Poor guy. The place was totally trashed. It stank of sour spilled beer and cigarette smoke. It would take him forever to clean up.
‘You had quite a party last night,’ I said.
‘Yeah well, you should’ve come over.’
‘You should’ve asked me.’
‘I would have,’ he said. ‘But I didn’t think it would be quite your scene.’
There it was. He’d practically spelt it out. He thought I was just a kid and nowhere near old or cool enough to party with his friends. It wasn’t surprising — he’d only seen me in school uniform. Or going to see a kids’ film — it was so unfair. But I’d show him. Just give me time.
‘Look, I’d better be going,’ I said.
But he didn’t seem to want me to go. He was being really friendly for some reason.
‘Don’t go for a minute. You live at number twenty-two don’t you?’
I nodded.
‘Name’s Matt,’ he said, holding out a hand.
We stood in that totally trashed garden and shook hands really formally. Like some funny old-fashioned couple. I liked the feel of his hand, liked it too much. I mean, he had a girlfriend for God’s sake — I’d seen them getting off together.
I mumbled my name and then there was a ghastly pause. I stood there feeling awkward.
‘Who is it who that plays a … clarinet, is it?’
‘Oboe.’ I felt myself flush scarlet. He must have heard me practising. This was just so galling. Now he thought I was a nerd as well.
At that moment I heard Dad’s voice calling me. ‘Natasha!’
‘I’ve got to get back, for breakfast …’ I said.
‘Don’t go yet.’
‘Look, I’ve got to.’
‘Think the old bastard will leave those birds alone now?’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Tasha? Did you hear me?’ Dad was standing at the side gate of number twenty-five — frowning.
‘Looks like you really had better go,’ said Matt.
‘Yeah, OK. Bye.’
I made my way back across the road as fast as I could.
I stormed through the front door with Dad hot on my heels.
‘I just can’t believe you did that …’
Dad looked unrepentant. ‘Did what?’
‘Humiliated me, in front of that guy.’
‘I beg your pardon. I did nothing to humiliate you.’
‘Treating me like a child like that.’
‘I merely pointed out it was breakfast time.’
‘You know very well what I mean.’
Mum and Dad ganged up on me after that. They made a real scene over breakfast.
‘I just don’t believe it,’ Mum was saying. ‘After last night. God knows what those people were on …’
‘And there you were standing talking to the bloke — after I expressly asked you to keep away,’ added Dad.
‘Keep away. What do you think he is — an axe-murderer? You’re mad. If you actually bothered to speak to him you’d find out — he’s really nice …’
‘He doesn’t have very nice friends,’ Mum pointed out.
‘How can you tell?’
‘Certain things I found in the flower bed, when I emptied the rubbish this morning.’
‘I reckon those people were gatecrashers. Let’s face it — they didn’t do any real damage …’
‘What about Mr Levington’s wall?’
‘Mr Levington deserved it. He is a fascist — do you know what he was doing this morning?’
‘Apparently that boy was being really abusive to him.’
‘He rang us up in a real state,’ said Mum.
‘I’ll tell you what he was doing — trying to knock down the house-martins’ nest. And there are baby birds in it.’
‘That’s awful. Dad, you’ve got to do something,’ said Gemma
‘He wasn’t, was he?’ asked Dad.
‘Yes he was. That’s how I got talking to Matt — that’s his name. He was trying to stop Mr Levington too.’
Mum and Dad exchanged glances.
‘So that’s what old Levington was going on about,’ said Mum.
‘I’ll go and have a word with him,’ said Dad.
When Dad came back we were all waiting expectantly.
‘Well, I put the fear of God into Levington. Said they were protected and I’d report him to the RSPB.’
‘Are they?’ asked Mum.
‘Don’t know. But if they’re not they should be. Think it did the trick though. Don’t think he’ll be touching that nest again. But he’s been on to the police about our squatter. Seems to think after last night, it shouldn’t be too much of a problem to get him evicted.’
Gemma’s gaze met mine. I sent her a silencing frown.
Chapter Ten (#ulink_f990970d-874b-5f94-aa0b-9f01c0da875a)
Dad took us on one of our London-wide cycle tours that Sunday. We were meant to be checking the cycle paths along the Thames to Richmond and back again, so we were out all day.
I was at my least enthusiastic. I hadn’t had that much sleep the night before and cycling was the last thing I felt like. I do have a life of my own actually, in spite of all appearances to the contrary. And I wouldn’t have minded keeping an eye on what was going on across the road. As far as I knew, a load of council bailiffs were breaking into number twenty-five and Matt was being forcibly evicted. I kept going over and over in my mind the events of the last twenty four hours. Each time I ended on — and lingered over — our meeting earlier that morning.
Dad kept on stopping and noting things down about the state of the paths on his Psion and I was supposed to be keeping my eye on the number and frequency of cycle-path signs. I had a pad fixed to my handlebars and a pen on a string — God, I must have looked naff. It had rained during the night and a splattering of mud up my legs added the finishing touch to my appearance.
As our bikes sloshed through the puddles, I was deep into a soul-searching examination of the conversation I’d had with Matt. I know it hadn’t been much but I could remember each and every word. He’d been really nice about the house-martins — but maybe he was just getting his own back at Mr Levington. I went hot and cold, recalling things I’d said. Adding everything up, I’d probably come across as some lost, sad oboe-playing birdwatcher. Or worse — a pathetic school kid with an obsessively protective Dad …
‘Missed one,’ said Dad, as we rode under the shadow of Hammersmith Bridge. He came to a stop standing on his pedals, idling his bike.
I took out my pencil and stabbed at the pad. I was feeling hot and cross and my cycle helmet was driving me mad.
‘What’s up, Tash?’ asked Dad.
‘I didn’t ask to come.’
‘Sunday cycle rides are meant to be a treat. I’ve made a really special picnic,’ said Mum.
‘Oh great, yum-mee,’ I said in a really flat voice. I know I was being a pain. Gemma and Jamie were riding on ahead making whoops and screams that echoed under the bridge. I guess it was a big treat — for them.
Mum frowned at Dad. But Dad just swung his bike round and started after them.
We cycled on past the smelly bit where the sewage farm butts up to the towpath. Gem and Jamie were making their usual exaggerated ‘I’m-going-to-be-sick’ noises. But I just pedalled on stoically. It was a crummy day, I felt like death warmed up and the delightful smell of sewage really topped the lot.
It rained throughout our picnic at Ham House. We all clustered together under a tree but the rain still got through and the crusty loaf Mum had bought went disgusting and soggy. The rain really set in after lunch so we had to put on our gross waterproof kagouls. We rode home as fast as we could. I had my hood on underneath my helmet. I must’ve looked as though I belonged to some strange cult. My fringe was sticking to my forehead in flat spikes and my face felt red and hot. That’s the thing about rainwear — it doesn’t let the rain in but it doesn’t let anything out either. By the time we reached Frensham Avenue it felt like a tropical rainforest inside mine. I steamed up to the house just praying that Matt wasn’t looking out of his window at that precise moment.
I made a bee-line for the bathroom before anyone else could get in there. Then I ran a deep hot bath with bubble bath in and ignored Jamie and Gemma beating on the bathroom door. Eventually Mum joined in.
‘Rosie’s here to see you. Hurry up and leave the water in — they can go in after you.’
‘Honestly,’ I shouted back. ‘Anyone would think we were living in the Third World!’
‘What’s that about the Third World?’ It was Rosie’s voice. She was standing outside the bathroom waiting for me.
I climbed out of the bath and put on my towelling robe.
‘Re-using bathwater. Its Mum’s bid to save the world from drought and disaster,’ I said.
I could hear Jamie through the bathroom door. ‘Did you know we’ve got a hippo in our lavatory?’ he said importantly.
