First published in 2021 in Great Britain by

  Barrington Stoke Ltd

  18 Walker Street, Edinburgh, EH3 7LP

  This ebook edition first published in 2021

  www.barringtonstoke.co.uk

  Text © 2021 Gill Lewis

  Images © Shutterstock

  The moral right of Gill Lewis to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in any part in any form without the written permission of the publisher

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library upon request

  ISBN: 978-1-80090-030-1

  For the Nerys‑Jane

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  I’m waiting for an angel.

  My angel.

  I even have a long white feather from one of her wings. It’s so bright that it seems to glow with its own light.

  It sounds a bit crazy, I know. I’m sitting here on the edge of the marsh watching the sky, waiting for her to come back to me. The sky is so big here. This is where the river meets the sea. Beyond the marsh are green fields dotted with sheep, and beyond those are the distant mountains.

  I’ve been watching for days, but this evening there’s a cold north wind. It feels as if winter is on its way. The trees are losing their leaves, and the setting sun is turning the sky and the big watery marsh to gold.

  It’s the perfect evening. I know she’ll arrive tonight.

  I suppose she’s not really an angel. Not in the way people think about angels. But she is one to me.

  She changed my life.

  She saved me.

  It’s a long story. But it’s true.

  It all started a year ago, when I was kicked out of school.

  Chapter 1

  “Is there anything you’d like to say before you go?” said the head teacher.

  We were in his office with Asim, Asim’s mother, my mum and me.

  I stared at the trophy cabinet behind him full of gold and silver cups. His walls were decorated with pupils’ artwork, and on the table was a whole book of newspaper cuttings about all the great things that pupils from the school had done. I didn’t fit in there. I wasn’t a team player, as I was often told. I was letting the school down. I was letting everyone else down. I was letting myself down. I was a let-down. A failure. A fail.

  I didn’t want to say anything.

  “Dylan,” said the head teacher again, “is there anything you want to say to Asim before you go? Do you want to say sorry?”

  I looked over at Asim, at his black eye and the stitches above his eyebrow where I’d punched him. Some sticky tape held his broken glasses together.

  “No,” I mumbled. “He deserved it.”

  “Well, I think that says it all,” said the head teacher as he stood up. “I think we all know what is in everyone’s best interests.”

  Mum sniffed, and I could see she was crying. I felt mad with her for crying. I pushed my chair back, got up and walked to the door. I saw Asim’s mum put her arms around my mum and hug her.

  I looked at the head teacher, and he shook his head slowly at me. He didn’t say another thing.

  I had been expelled.

  Permanently excluded.

  I turned and walked out of the school and didn’t look back.

  *

  I got in the car and just stared out of the window. It was a grey day. A no-colour day. One of those days so grey, the whole city seems like it’s in black and white.

  Mum started the car up and pulled away from the school. I wasn’t going back there again. Ever again. I’d got through Year Seven and into Year Eight, and I’d been kicked out before half-term. Maybe I should have been angry or scared, or even happy that it was all over. I should have felt something. But in truth, I didn’t feel anything at all.

  “Well, that’s it then,” said Mum.

  I had nothing to say, and we drove home.

  Mum pulled into the drive, and I walked into the house after her. There were boxes and bags in the hallway that hadn’t been there before.

  “What’s going on?” I said.

  Mum turned to look at me. “We can’t stay here. If I can’t work, I can’t pay the rent.”

  I frowned at her. “What are you talking about?”

  Mum shook her head. “How can I work if you’re not at school?”

  “Just go to work,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  “You have no idea, do you?” snapped Mum. “I can’t leave you on your own. I have to find a way to make sure you don’t miss out on your school work.”

  “I don’t want to do any school work,” I shouted. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to do anything.” I stomped upstairs to my bedroom.

  Mum yelled up after me, “Go on then, walk away. But this isn’t just about you.”

  “Shut up!” I yelled. “Just shut up.” I slammed my door shut.

  I heard Mum storm up the stairs.

  She flung the door open. “What’s happened to you, Dylan? You worked so hard to get into that grammar school, and now you’ve just thrown it all away. How has it come to this?”

  “Get out,” I shouted. I grabbed my Xbox and sat on the bed.

  “Fine,” said Mum. “Play computer games. Waste your life.”

  I slammed the door shut behind her. I picked up the Xbox, but I was so angry I threw the console at the wall. It hit with a loud crunch and smashed into tiny bits. I stared at the pieces on the floor. There was no way it could ever be fixed.

  I had nothing to do now. Nothing. It was only just past lunch-time, but I lay down on the bed, wrapped my duvet around me and tried to sleep. I had nowhere to go and nothing to do.

  I just wanted to sleep and sleep and sleep for ever.

  Chapter 2

  I slept all the way until the next morning. I woke as it was getting light. I looked at my school bag on the floor. I wouldn’t be needing that any more. I sat up and rubbed my eyes.

  The house was silent.

  I walked downstairs to the kitchen, where everything was in boxes. I put some bread in the toaster and flicked on the TV. The local news told of a couple who had raised money by cycling across Europe and of a fire at a factory. It all felt very far away. I didn’t feel part of this world. I spread butter on my toast and flicked through the channels until I found some cartoons.

  “Morning,” said Mum, coming downstairs. She switched the kettle on to boil and put a teabag in a mug.

  It was strange to see her in her pyjamas. Normally at this time she’d be in her office suit, packing her briefcase, brushing her hair and nagging me to get ready. The firm she worked at was on the other side of the city. But neither of us were going anywhere that day. Both our lives had changed.

  I looked at all the boxes packed and taped. “Where are we going?”

  “Your grandfather’s place,” she said.

  “Grandad?” I said. “I thought you hated him.”

  Mum poured boiling water in her mug, sat down and sighed. “I don’t hate him. We’re just not close. Never have been.”

  I could only remember going to Grandad’s years ago when I was about seven. It wasn’t long after Mum and Dad had split up. His house is in Wales near the sea. We were going to stay for a week, but we left after only a day. I remember Mum having an argument with Grandad and getting me quickly back in the car. I didn’t really remember Grandad very well at all.

  “When are we going?” I said.

  “At the weekend,” said Mum. “I’ve got people coming to collect our stuff that has to go into storage. We can only take what we can fit in the car.”

  “What about school?” I asked.

  Mum frowned. “What d’you mean?”

  “Well, don’t they send someone round to see what I’m doing?” I asked.

  “We’re on our own now,” she said. “I’ve told the council you’re going to be home-schooled.”

  “But don’t they check?” I asked. What if people came round banging on our door to make sure Mum was teaching me?

  “No,” said Mum. She stirred her tea angrily. “They won’t check. You’re not their problem any more.”

  I stared at the TV, but I wasn’t really watching. I hadn’t thought everything would happen like this. I couldn’t really remember how it had all gone wrong. I’d been happy in primary school, really happy. But somehow everything changed at secondary school. I had felt so angry and sad – all mixed up. But people only saw me angry. I wouldn’t let them see me cry.

  Mum often had to come and get me from school when I didn’t do what the teachers said or messed about in lessons or was rude. Mum blamed it on Dad leaving us. But I don’t think it was that. It wasn’t like Dad had been around that much anyway. It was as if everything had been building up inside me.

  Teachers kept telling us we had to work hard or we’d fail. They said exams were getting more difficult. I was falling behind with work. My friends were changing too, and I couldn’t hold on to them – or even to who I was. It was like falling down a deep dark hole that kept getting deeper and deeper and darker and darker. I didn’t know when I’d hit the bottom.

  And now I wasn’t a part of school any more. I wasn’t a part of anything. I expect the head teacher was happy to see to me go, and I didn’t know what the other pupils thought of me. It’s not like I had any friends any more. Maybe they’d gossip for a day or two but then forget about me. As if I’d never even existed.

  I never knew how easy it is for people to vanish.

  Chapter 3

  The car was packed full. Mum shut the door on our old life, the place where we’d lived since she and Dad split up. Mum had been so busy with work that she hadn’t got to know the new neighbours, and there was no one my age in the street. So there was no one to wave us goodbye.

  It was just Mum and me.

  I don’t think anyone saw us go.

  I sat with my head propped on pillows and duvets that spilled from the back seat and watched the landscape change from the grey city streets to flat green fields, until at last we were on the motorway busy with traffic.

  Mum hadn’t said a word. She just gripped the steering wheel and looked at the cars ahead of us. We were stuck in a traffic jam behind a massive lorry that puffed out black smoke. Just stuck, not going anywhere, with thick black smoke all around us. We couldn’t move forwards. We couldn’t move backwards. It’s how I felt about everything. I closed my eyes and escaped into sleep.

  I don’t know how long I’d been asleep, but when I woke, the landscape had changed. There were hills rising up on both sides of the road. In the distance were mountains with clouds like dragon’s breath clinging to them.

  I rubbed my neck and looked over at Mum. Her face had set into a frown. We drove on, through small towns and villages, through woods and up onto mountain roads, until we climbed up to the brim of one hill where Mum pulled into a lay-by.

  Below us, a river flowed across a green valley between the hills. The river got wider and wider as it reached the glittering sea. It was late afternoon, and the low October sun was sinking in the west, turning the sea and the river to gold. At the far end of the river, where it opened out into the sea, was a small town, the windows reflecting the setting sun. Smoke drifted from a few of the chimneys. It was so far away from the city. So far away from anywhere. It was a town at the very end of the world.

  I looked over at Mum again, but she was staring down at the town, a scowl across her face.

  “Is that where Grandad lives?” I asked.

  Mum nodded. “I spent so long trying to leave this place,” she said, “and now I have to return.”

  Chapter 4

  I didn’t know what Grandad would be like. Mum never talked about him. Maybe he’d be an angry old man who didn’t want us to be there. Mum must have told him that I’d been expelled from school, so he’d probably hate me already.

  But Grandad smiled at us when he came to the door. He stood there in his jeans and an old chunky jumper that was as white as his hair and welcomed us in.

  “Dylan,” he smiled. “Good to see you.”

  “Hi,” I mumbled.

  Mum stood in the doorway and didn’t go in right away. “Hi, Dad.”

  Grandad took her coat. “You’ve had a long journey. Come in, love. I’ve got a pot of tea on the go.”

  Grandad lived in a small house on the end of a terrace at the end of the town. It was the last house before the sea. A smell of baking and fresh paint filled the house. He didn’t have much furniture inside. He didn’t have much at all. He didn’t even seem to have a TV. We sat down on the sofa, and Grandad poured tea for himself and Mum and a glass of water for me. He cut a cake into slices for us.

  “Spiced apple cake,” said Grandad. “Made with apples from the tree.”

  “You’ve been painting,” said Mum.

  Grandad nodded. “I’ve freshened up your old room and cleared out the attic room for Dylan. Hope they’re OK for you.”

  Mum nodded and ate in silence after that.

  Grandad brushed the cake crumbs from his trousers and stood up. “There’s a lasagne in the oven for you to heat up tonight. I’m afraid I can’t eat with you as I’ve got choir practice.”

  “Choir practice?” said Mum. “I didn’t know you sang.”

  Grandad smiled. “I give it a go. I took it up a few years back.” He pulled on his cap and headed to the door. “See you later.”

  Mum went to wash the plates and heat up the lasagne. I looked around the living room. Apart from a bookcase, a sofa and an armchair, the room was bare. There weren’t any pictures on the walls, but there was a photo in a silver frame on the shelf above the fire. I picked it up and looked at it. It was a picture of three people in a small boat.

  One of them was Grandad. I knew it was him, but he was a lot younger with dark hair. A woman was standing next to him, her arm linked in his. There was a young girl sitting cross-legged and grinning at the camera. When I looked closely, I could see it was Mum.

  I heard Mum coming back into the room, so I shoved the photo back on the shelf, but it fell and the glass smashed on the hard corner of the fire grate.

  “What are you doing?” said Mum.

  “Nothing,” I said. “It fell.”

  “Dylan!” snapped Mum. She picked up the photo and stared at it.

  I peered at the picture too. “Is that you?”

  “Yes,” she said. She put the photo down and started picking up the bits of glass.

  “Is that your mum with you?” I said.

  Mum turned to me. “Why don’t you go up to your room? I’ll call you when supper’s ready.”

  I headed out of the room. I could tell she didn’t want to talk about it. But when I looked back, I saw Mum pick up the photo again and stare at it.

  It felt odd being in this house where Mum had grown up, not knowing anything about it, or knowing anything about her past.

  Chapter 5

  The attic room was small with a little window in the roof. Grandad had painted the walls bright white. There was a bed and a chest of drawers and a small table and chair. I could only stand full height right in the middle. But it was my own space at least. I stood on tiptoes and stared out of the window. It looked towards the sea across fields and marsh. The sun had set, but the sky glowed yellow on the horizon.

  After supper, I went to bed with the little window wide open and listened to the wild bird cries. A breeze came in through the window smelling of salt and damp earth. There wasn’t the orange glow of city lights I had in my old room. The night was so dark that the stars seemed extra bright. I felt so far away from the house we had left and my school and the city. It really felt as if we were at the very end of the world.

  I lay in bed and heard Grandad return, humming as he walked up the street. Mum was in the garden smoking. I don’t think they knew I could hear their voices. I lay in bed and listened as their words drifted up with the cigarette smoke through the open window.

  “You can stay as long as you want, Gwyn,” said Grandad.

  “I never wanted to come back,” said Mum.

  “I know,” said Grandad.

  I heard Mum sniff.

  “I miss Mum,” Mum said. “It feels strange being here again.”

  “I miss her too,” said Grandad. He was silent for a moment. “I should have talked to you after she died. I found it too hard to speak about. But I should have tried.”

  “We both should have talked,” agreed Mum. “I couldn’t face coming back here. I felt stuck. I just wanted to get away.”

  “I wish I could turn the clock back and start again,” said Grandad. “It’s not easy being a parent, is it? I wish I’d known what to do at the time.”

  “I don’t know what to do about Dylan,” said Mum.

  “Tell me about him,” said Grandad. “I’d like to know him better.”

  I climbed out of bed and tiptoed to the window, wanting and not wanting to hear what she was going to say.

  There was a pause before Mum went on. “We used to be really close, him and me. We did everything together. I was proud of him. He was a lovely kid. He was good and kind. Had loads of friends. He worked so hard to get into the grammar school. Then it was like a switch had been flipped. He lost interest in everything. Stopped working. Messed about in class. Swore at teachers and then,” she paused again, “he punched a boy.”

 

1 2 3 4 5