Cowgirl E-Book

G. R. Gemin

• Herausgeber: Nosy Crow Ltd
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 218

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2014

Beschreibung

Growing up on the embattled Mawr Estate in South Wales, all Gemma sees are burglaries, muggings, sadness and boredom. With a dad in prison and a mum who has given up hope, she, like everyone around her, is holding on to memories of the times when happiness wasn't so hard to find. When her search for the scene of a perfect childhood day takes her up into the surrounding hills, Gemma is forced into a meeting with the legendary Cowgirl. Everyone at school knows she's a weirdo: six foot tall and angry, the only conversations she has are with the twelve cows on her dad's farm. But with her abrupt arrival in Gemma's life, everything starts to look different. And with her only friends in mortal danger of the abattoir, it turns out she and Gemma have a mission on their hands. A gently funny story of a community coming together, this is a tale of happy endings in unexpected places. Shortlisted for the Waterstones Prize Winner of the Tir na n-Og Award Cover illustration by Tom Clohosy Cole. Also by G. R. Gemin: Sweet Pizza "The warmth and charm of 'Sweet Pizza' are quite extraordinary; though there are some very moving moments, it is mainly a joyous and eccentric comedy." - Kate Saunders, Guardian Children's Fiction Prize Judge

Leseprobe

For

Papa, Mamma, Barbara and Joe

ONE

I was screaming for my life.

It was a mad thing to do – if something was coming the other way I’d be splattered. I felt the wind was going to pull my face off. The handlebars were juddering like I was going a hundred miles an hour, and the wheels sounded like they were screaming too. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the crash.

Then I heard a moo.

I opened my eyes and saw cows in the road – loads of them.

I pulled hard on the brakes and swerved to avoid them, but the handlebars caught a fence post and I flew off the bike. My leg and arm ripped on the road.

I felt stinging pain creeping through my body as I lay there. My helmet had slipped over my eyes, and I could hear the wheel of my bike clicking as it turned. I heard a loud moo, close by. I pulled the helmet off and saw the cows glaring down at me. There’s something about a cow’s eyes – wild and staring, like they’re going to trample you to death. Petrified, I was.

Slowly I began to get up, then one of them started coming for me – it was gigantic.

I screamed again.

“What you screeching about?”

She was standing behind me, like one of the cows had turned into her. It was Cowgirl. You’d never think she was still at school she’s so big, let alone Year Eight. She always seems angry too – red cheeks and eyes narrow. No one likes her.

“Get ’em away!” I shouted.

“They’re cows not crocodiles,” she said. “They won’t do you any harm.”

She clapped her hands. “C’mon girls. Jane. Rachel. Megan. Away!”

They moved off, just like that – scared of her, most like.

“They shouldn’t be on the road,” I said, as I got up.

“They’re dairy cows, not bulls,” said Cowgirl. “And you were going too fast.”

I started having a go at her as I picked up my bike. I suppose I was more embarrassed than angry. Then a woman came out of nowhere. “Hello,” she said, smiling at me.

“She fell off her bike,” said Cowgirl.

It was her mam, I guessed. “Oh, you’ve hurt your leg, love,” she said to me. “Have you come all this way to see Kate?”

I was cringing, but before I could say anything she was insisting I came into the farmhouse to clean up.

So now I was in Cowgirl’s kitchen eating cake and drinking tea after cycling in the cold. It was lovely, but I wondered what Sian would say.

While her mam was seeing to my cuts Cowgirl didn’t even look at me. She just sat there staring out the window. Then she got up, said she was going to the shed and walked out.

“She’s off to milk the cows,” her mam explained as she finished tying the bandage. “Go and watch her if you like.”

Well, I could hardly have said I don’t like cows or Cowgirl. So I went.

The cows were all waiting patiently to go into the milking shed. Their breath made little puffs of smoke in the cold air. Cowgirl pushed her way through them, like she was shoving aside kids in the school corridor. A couple of the cows gave me the evil eye and I froze.

Cowgirl glanced back at me. “Still scared?”

That annoyed me, so I gritted my teeth and followed her. The cows were as tall as me and wide as a car – massive – and the stink they gave off was rank.

Cowgirl opened a metal gate and the cows followed her in. I kept well back and stood by a big glass tank. The cows went straight to the milking stations, no barging or squabbling, while the others just waited their turn. Cowgirl went round and attached tubes to the udders, one by one. I’d seen it on the telly, like, but in front of you it’s different. I couldn’t keep my eyes away, to be honest. The pumps sucked the milk along tubes, while the cows ate from a trough in front of them, and then milk started gushing into the tank next to me. It wasn’t long before Cowgirl was ready for the next lot. “You wanna put the suckers on?” she asked me.

I didn’t have the nerve. “Got to get back.”

“Go then,” she said.

Rude cow, I thought.

“I will!”

So I left.

TWO

I came down the last part of Craig-y-Nos hill without pedalling, eyes open this time. I waited for the bike to slow to a complete stop. No one was around, as if there was nobody left on earth ’cept me. I hadn’t found the waterfall place I was looking for so I was fed up.

I got off the bike and lay down in the middle of the road. It was mad, but I was in a mood and didn’t want to go home, not straight away.

The road felt hard and cold as I gazed at clouds and the tops of trees above me. I liked the silence – wasn’t used to it. When it started to rain I still didn’t get up. The raindrops felt cool. My leg and arm throbbed where Cowgirl’s mam had patched me up, and I thought about Cowgirl’s mad, staring cows. They’d be back in the fields by now and I wondered if they minded the rain.

I heard a car coming down the hill. I should’ve got up, but after everything that had happened I didn’t care. Even as it got nearer and louder I still didn’t move. The wheels moaned and groaned as they came to a stop behind me. I heard the car door open.

“You all right?”

A farmer-type was glaring down at me.

“No … I mean, yes.”

I got up. There was something familiar about his face, but he seemed more angry than concerned. As he got back into the truck I picked up my bike and moved out of the way. I watched him drive off, and just as I was about to lie down again my mobile rang. It was Mam.

“Yeah?”

“Where are you?”

No way was I going to tell her what I’d been searching for, or that I’d cycled from the top of the valley with my eyes shut and almost got crushed by a herd of cows. “Out on my bike.”

“Ruby’s dead,” she said, like she was telling me dinner was ready. Ruby was my gran’s dog.

“I said you’d go round and bury it for her.”

“Oh, Mam! You and Darren are nearer.”

“OK, Gemma, I’ll go, shall I? And you can get back here and make dinner with your brother then? You know how much your gran loved that dog…”

“All right, all right. I’ll go!”

I’d been in the countryside, but now it was all concrete and shutters – back on the Bryn Mawr estate after ten minutes’ hard pedalling. I live in the new part of the Mawr, which is a big estate stuck on to the old bit. In between is the Bryn Mawr Common, which is covered in litter and bits of furniture. You don’t want to live here, I tell you. The old part of the Mawr is a bit nicer. There’s rows of terraced streets, where Gran lives, and alleyways that run along the back of them. Gran has a house on one of the terraces. By the time I arrived it was pouring with rain. I went into the backyard. Gran opened the door and gazed up at the grey sky.

“Least it’ll make the digging easier,” she said, as I stood in front of her getting soaked through.

“Don’t ask me in, Gran!”

“Sorry,” she said, which made me feel guilty, as she’d just lost her dog – even though I’d never liked it.

As I dug the hole Gran watched from the back window.

“Remember it’s got to take the shrub too!” she shouted.

“Yes, Gran!” I was freezing and trying to be patient, but I wanted to get it over with. Gran was the only one who’d liked Ruby, because she was the only person it didn’t snarl at or bite. I could feel someone watching me, apart from Gran, and when I glanced up I saw Mr Banerjee staring at me over the wall from next door. He must be ninety, if he’s not a hundred, and he’s got creepy, bulging eyes.

“Dog dead?” he asked.

I nodded, then the back door to the alley swung open and Jamie Thorpe came in. “S’up, Gemma?”

“Burying Ruby.”

“Cool.” He stood there in the rain, as if it was a sunny day.

Gran banged on the window. “Get AWAY!”

Jamie ignored her. “Bit me once, that dog did. Had to have a jab.”

“Yeah, I remember – Ruby hated having that jab.”

“No, me – I had the jab.”

He didn’t get my sark – bit thick he is.

“C’mon Jamie!” someone called from the alley.

Gran came out into the backyard. “Get away, you little hoodie!”

“Not wearing a hood,” Jamie replied.

Gran marched across to me, snatched the shovel out of my hand and turned on him. “You get or I’ll be digging a bigger hole.”

Jamie stared at her – he just wasn’t bothered. So Gran went for him. “You little…” He ducked away just as the shovel crunched on to the doorpost.

“Glad your dog’s dead!” he shouted.

Gran slammed the back door closed and turned on me. “Just stand there why don’t you!”

“He’s not worth it, Gran.”

“I can’t even bury Ruby in peace. And poor Mave getting burgled only yesterday, while she was in her own home…” Gran raised her arms to the sky. “This place is going to Hell!”

She was losing it, and I was a bit freaked. She went back inside and came out with the dog wrapped in a blanket. I went to take it off her.

“No. I want to do it.”

The back-alley door opened again. Gran turned around sharp, but it was Mr Banerjee standing there in his long Indian gown. He stepped forward and laid some flowers on Ruby’s body. “For your dog’s soul,” he said.

That set Gran off crying. “Thank you.”

She knelt down and placed Ruby in the hole, taking ages to make sure it wasn’t squashed. Mr Banerjee was muttering prayers in Indian, I think, while I just stood there getting soaked.

Gran pointed at the shrub she had bought. I took it to her. She placed it into the hole and pushed the earth all around, pressing it down gently. She stayed on her knees for ages – saying goodbye to Ruby, I guessed. Finally, she stood up with a groan and looked up at the sky. Rain pitter-pattered on her face. Her chin crumpled and she let out a sob. I touched her arm. “Gran?”

She looked at me in a funny way. “Stay and have something to eat with me.”

It was like she was begging. I felt sorry for her, so I nodded. Though to be honest, I preferred to eat with Gran than go home.

THREE

Gran’s got a lovely real fire. It’s one of her “busies” as she calls it. She always says, “If you don’t keep busy, you’ll fade and die.”

I was stoking the fire as Gran came back in. I sneezed.

“Come on, girl. Get yourself upstairs,” she said. “Dry yourself and put on one of your granddad’s jumpers.”

I wasn’t going to argue with her in the mood she was in.

It’d been ages since I was in Gran’s bedroom. I dried myself down and looked for something to wear. Gran keeps everything. I opened a drawer and there were Granddad’s jumpers. I could hardly remember him, but I suddenly felt sad – Gran was clanking around downstairs and Granddad was as dead as Ruby. The jumpers smelled rank, but I wanted to get back to the fire, so I grabbed the top one and pulled it on.

Just before I went I heard whistling. For a moment I thought it was Gran’s kettle, but it was coming from next door – the Banerjees’ side. I put my ear to the wall. Someone was playing a flute. You could tell it wasn’t a record – it was someone playing properly.

“Gemma!” Gran shouted from downstairs. “What you doing up there?”

By the time I got down the table was laid with bread, ham, cheese and Gran’s own pickle. “Need any help?” I asked.

She came through with a pot of tea. “No. Sit.”

She sat down and started spreading butter on the bread. I’d never seen Gran so quiet and serious.

“I’m starving,” I said.

All you could hear was the clink of her knife against the plate, and she just stared at the table as she ate.

“What happened to Mave then?” I asked.

“Burgled in her own home,” she said, still staring. “She answers the front door and there’s this boy asking for odd jobs. ‘No,’ she says, but he keeps her talking. Then she hears a crash indoors. So she goes back inside and catches some boys red-handed, looking through her cupboards. They got away with her jar of pound coins.”

“Terrible,” I said.

Gran sighed. “It’s getting worse on the Bryn Mawr. We all go down the post office as a mob to get our pensions, frightened something might happen on the way back. This estate is ugly, like it’s in the middle of a war. We’re all scared on this terrace – scared of opening the door to a stranger. Like prisoners, we are.”

She seemed well depressed.

“Heard someone playing the flute next door,” I said to change the subject.

“Mr Banerjee’s grandson. His family are back in the area.”

“Oh yeah?” I said. Not that I was interested – don’t have much to do with the Banerjees. “Funny lot, aren’t they?” I said.

“No,” Gran snapped. “They’re lovely people. As far as I’m concerned my own family could take a leaf or two out of their book. They moved back just to be near Mr Banerjee. They look out for each other, and me – more than my own daughter.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“And when was the last time you all came round?”

“Last Sunday.”

“No. Sunday before.”

“Oh.”

We ate in silence.

“I hate cows,” I said.

Gran looked up, her forehead crinkled. “What’s a cow ever done to you?”

“Something frightening about them,” I said. “The way they glare at you.” I had her attention, so I told her about what happened with Cowgirl, acting it out big time. “One of the cows was going to trample me to death!”

Gran clucked her tongue.

“Suddenly Cowgirl come from nowhere…”

“Who?”

“Weird girl at school. Cowgirl, we call her. Huge and scary, like her cows. ‘Do you no harm,’ she says.”

“She’s right,” said Gran.

She was listening and I was glad, even if she must have thought I was a wimp. I told her about Cowgirl’s mam cleaning up my cuts at the farm and then watching Cowgirl milk the cows. When I finished Gran said, “What’s this girl’s name?”

“Kate Thomas.”

She nodded. “I think I knew her grandfather.”

“How?”

“When I was a land girl during the war. I was scared of cows too, at first. Did my best to avoid them, until I had no choice. Then in no time I realised they’re lovely, gentle creatures. I had to milk them – by hand, mind you – none of this machinery business…”

I’d heard her talk before about working on a farm during the war, but I suppose this time I was interested. She was only sixteen. Milking the cows, helping out in the fields and all sorts.

“…I was shattered every night,” she said. “Went to bed straight after dinner, sometimes as early as nine o’clock. Then in no time the farmer’s wife was knocking at the door again. ‘C’mon girls! Up you get.’ It never seemed to stop. But after a couple of weeks I got into the stride of it and loved it, like it was in my nature. There was one farm worker I remember – strong, and hardly said a word – a few years older than me he was then. His name was Gareth Thomas. I think he might have been this Kate’s granddad.”

She was miles away for a few seconds, then she snapped out of it and started stacking the plates. “You need to be getting back to your mam.”

“’S’all right,” I said, as I preferred staying with Gran after the day I’d had.

“No. You get home, but I want you to invite Kate here for lunch.”

I couldn’t believe it. “No way, Gran,” I said in a panic.

She banged the plates down and stuck her finger out at me. “I just buried my Ruby, Gemma. Have you forgotten? I don’t ask much of you, and if you want that fiver now and again, behind your mam’s back, you’ll do as I say.”

“But I don’t know her, Gran!”

“No, that’s right – only been to her place for tea, had her mam patch you up and watched her milk cows. Aye, don’t know her at all, do you?”

“But…”

“You’re scared of her, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“She’s a girl, Gemma, just like you. And you shouldn’t call her Cowgirl – her name’s Kate. I like the sound of her, so I want you to invite her for lunch, day after tomorrow. You can be here and back to school in no time.” I opened my mouth but Gran raised her hand. “You’ll invite her and that’s that.”

Great, I thought. Totally fab’lous.

FOUR

“Where you been?” Mam asked.

“Gran’s.”

“Till now?”

“Mam! What d’you expect me to do? Bury Ruby and go?”

“You been ages, Jamma,” said Darren, sprawled out on the settee. “How long’s it take to bury a dog?”

“Shut it, you, and don’t call me Jamma.”

He grinned. “Maybe she was with her boyfriend, Mam?”

“What’s this? What boyfriend?”

I felt my face go red, and I haven’t even got a boyfriend. “Ignore him, Mam.” Darren was trying to wind me up; always does.

“Did she say she was getting another dog?” Mam asked.

“No. She’s just buried Ruby.”

“Well, I hope she doesn’t.”

“Why? What’s wrong with her having another dog?”

“Gemma, does it not cross your mind that since your father has been inside, like the plank he is, I need all the help I can get – money-wise and everything else-wise. I don’t want your gran throwing her money away on another dog, or cat.”

“Why? Cos you want it?”

Mam’s eyes became black slits. “What did you say?”

“She said, ‘Cos you want it!’, Mam,” said Darren, leaping to his feet.

“Don’t you ever give me that lip, Gemma.”

“Yeah!” said Darren with a smirk.

That did it. I grabbed him and pushed him back until he crashed against the sideboard. “You shut your nasty, stirring gob.”

“Mam!” he called. I banged him against the sideboard again and Dad’s statue of Tom Jones rattled. Darren tried to reach my face but my arms are longer.

“Leave him be, Gemma!” Mam shouted, but I didn’t.

“I’m fed up of your creeping, your greasy hair, your disgusting pants on the bathroom floor. A rat’s cleaner than you…”

“Mam! Get her off.”

He pushed me. I pushed him back, and Tom Jones rocked.

“…the way you slurp your cereal, your finger always up your nose in front of the TV…” I was making everything Darren’s fault – Dad in prison, Mam always having a go, Gran feeling scared to go out.

“That’s enough, Gemma!”

Darren snatched at my hair, so I grabbed at his. Mam had her arms round me. “Let him go!” All three of us were wrestling, like we were in a big, angry hug. We crashed into the sideboard. Tom Jones dropped to the floor and smashed. I gave Darren’s hair a final, satisfying yank and we all fell down in a pile.

“I’ve had it with him,” I said as I got to my feet.

“She’s a nutter!” Darren yelled.

Mam just lay there.

“You all right, Mam?” said Darren. “Shall I call an ambulance?”

“Don’t be stupid!” I said.

“Almost killed Mam, you did,” said Darren, helping her up.

Mam groaned. “Why are you always fighting, eh?”

“It takes two to fight, Mam,” I said.

“Doesn’t,” said Darren, hiding behind her.

“I don’t know what’s got into you, Gemma, honest to God I don’t, but you go to your room now. No supper.”

“Had supper at Gran’s,” I said with a totally-not-bothered look on my face. As I climbed the stairs I heard Darren say, “She’s proper mad, isn’t she, Mam?”

He’s such a creep.

I didn’t switch the light on in my bedroom – just lay on the bed and thought about having to ask Cowgirl to Gran’s for lunch. But I didn’t want to think about it, so I thought of what Dad would be doing in his cell right now. But I didn’t want to think about that either. With everything that had happened – not finding the waterfall place, the cows attacking me, Ruby dying on Gran, and me fighting with Mam and Darren – I was suddenly angry, but I didn’t want to cry.

I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t.

So I smashed the mattress with my fists and screamed as loud as I could.

FIVE

It was freezing on the bus and we were packed together like cows waiting to be milked. Cowgirl was sat at the window staring through a circle she’d wiped on the steamed-up glass. I noticed her hands were red and puffy – maybe that’s what happened if you milked cows all the time. I’ve never seen her smile, not that I go around grinning all day myself.

“Look at her,” said Sian, jabbing her chin towards Cowgirl. “How are your cows, girl?” she shouted.

Cowgirl carried on looking out the window.

We all laughed. Sian Jenkins had a nerve. No one messed with her. She thinks it’s cool I’ve got a dad in prison, and she’s always asking about him, though I wish she wouldn’t. I didn’t tell her about meeting Cowgirl an’ everything – easier not to.

“OK,” said Sian, not letting up. “How are your girls, cow?”

There were more laughs. Cowgirl glanced at me. I could tell what she was thinking – patched you up and gave you tea, and now you’re back on the other side with Sian and the gang.

We got off the bus, outside school, and Sian waited for her. I could tell she was on one and I didn’t like the way it was going. “C’mon Sian!” I said.

“Wait,” she said, with her eyes on the bus doors.

Cowgirl was the last to get off.

“I don’t like being ignored,” Sian said to her.

Cowgirl didn’t seem at all scared of her – probably wasn’t scared of anyone.

“We’ll be late for school,” she said.

When she tried to walk on Sian blocked her way and shoved her. Cowgirl hardly moved, like she was a wall.

Just then I spotted Darren with the Tobin brothers.

What’s he up to? I thought. The Tobins were well suspect, and hardly ever in school they’re excluded so much. Then I heard a yell.

I looked back. Sian was hanging over Cowgirl’s shoulders, kicking her legs and shouting. I couldn’t believe it – Cowgirl was actually carrying her.

“Put me down, you cow!”

“Thanks for the compliment!” Cowgirl said as she marched off.

We tried to get her to put Sian down, but Cowgirl just palmed us off like a rugby forward. She’s so strong. Sian went on struggling and screaming. Kids were laughing, and I’ve got to say it was funny, but I had to pretend I was angry. Then Cowgirl turned in to the shop by the school.

The shop assistant’s face dropped at the sight of her with a girl over her shoulder. “Banana milk, please,” Cowgirl asked.

“PUT ME DOWN!” screamed Sian.

“She hates school,” Cowgirl said to the assistant as she paid.

Outside, kids had gathered in the street, and as we went along more and more followed us – like a parade, it was. When we entered school we were surrounded. Mr Beale pushed his way through. “What’s going on?”

“I was worried we were going to be late for school, sir,” said Cowgirl.

“C’mon now, put her down.”

As soon as Sian had her feet on the ground she took a wild swing at Cowgirl, who caught her arm and twisted it. Sian yelled.

“That’s enough,” said Beale. “Now, what’s all this about?”

“She’s a cow,” said Sian.

“Bit ungrateful, don’t you think, sir?” Cowgirl said. “I made sure she didn’t miss her first lesson and this is all the thanks I get.”

What got me was that most girls would have said Sian did this or said that, but not Cowgirl. It was nothing to her. I’ve got to say, she was fearless.

During the lunch break I watched her roaming around, like she was on guard duty. She didn’t speak to anyone, but I had to make sure Sian didn’t see me talking to her. When I saw her go into the loo it was my chance.

There was a girl at the sink inspecting herself in the mirror and two cubicle doors were closed. I went into the third one. I heard a flush go. A girl came out and left with the girl at the sink, so I went for it.

“My gran wants you to come to lunch tomorrow.”

There was silence. I banged on the cubicle wall.

“Who’s that?”

“Gemma. My gran wants you to come to lunch tomorrow.”

“Why?”

“Dunno.”

“How does she know me then?”