My Life on Fire E-Book

Cath Howe

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

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

A tense, page-turning story that sensitively deals with themes of family upheaval and kleptomania, by the bestselling author of Ella on the Outside. Ren's family lose their home in a fire. They're living with her grandmother now and things are a bit tense. Ren lost her collection of things, her clothes; her brother lost his little bear and is inconsolable. So Ren starts replacing things with other people's possessions. They've got loads of stuff, after all. But she gets caught and has to strike a terrifying deal to avoid detection...

Leseprobe

1

Chapter 1

Ren

Houses don’t burn down. That’s wrong.

“I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house down,” says the wolf in the story for little kids.

The truth is, houses burn up.

We saw the flames when we were sitting inside our car at the end of our road … leaping orange tongues of fire bigger than a firework display and crowds of people and fire engines.

We thought it was exciting.

But then, as we drove nearer, we all whispered, “That’s our house!”

When we climbed out of the car, there was a 2big cheer from our neighbours because they had thought we were trapped inside. Everyone rushed over and hugged us. We didn’t die or anything. I wouldn’t be telling this if we’d died.

No one knows for certain how the fire began that Sunday evening. Mum and Dad said it might be faulty electrics, but we might never know for sure. We had spent the evening at Mum’s friend Lisa’s house: me, Mum, Dad and my brother Petie. There we were, tucked up on the sofa eating pizza and watching films, and all that time my bedroom at home must have been flickering with orange light. That’s how I picture it: flickering as the fire took hold.

By the time we drove back home and found the crowds and fire engines, our house must have been burning for at least two hours, one of the firemen said. The downstairs study had exploded with a bang everyone had heard down the street. That’s when the people next door called the fire brigade. The Eltons stood in their coats, holding each other. Water was being sprayed on their bungalow too but it was just our house that was blazing because there was a garage in between our two houses.

Mum and Dad were pushed back. We all were. 3We stood there gaping.

A fireman called, “Sorry, no one can go past the tape. Stay back until the area has been made safe!”

More firemen held on to hoses and huge jets of water spurted out into the building. Blue lights flashed, making it almost like day.

“We’re so lucky,” Mum said, holding me close. “Thank God we weren’t inside.”

“So lucky!” Dad echoed, holding Petie. “We’re all OK. That’s all that matters.”

There was a feeling of rushing and shouts but somehow I was closed off, frozen, watching. My eyes had fixed themselves on our burning home. Those blooms of sudden light as things inside caught fire and blazed. Those burning bits that flew and fizzled. Swishing … whishing … Black smoke billowing out from downstairs. Hiss, spit,crack, making me gasp.

Worst of all, our house was already broken. I was looking up into my own bedroom but chopped in half as if someone had sliced it with a giant knife. I could see my bed and chest of drawers, my stool and fallen-over lamp. There were my kite curtains blowing, my otter picture tipping all wonky on the wall. 4

I turned and pushed my face into Dad’s chest to not see. But I had seen.

We watched the fire devour our house like a monster.

Houses don’t burn down. They burn up and up into the sky with huge flames that eat everything until there’s nothing left.

5

Chapter 2

Ren

A woman in a dressing gown opened her front door. She bit her lip. “Two kiddies. It’ll be a bit of a squish, I’m afraid, but it’s all that’s left.”

“Thank you,” Mum and Dad both said.

She pointed and we all followed her up the stairs. “There’s two doubles,” she said. “No noise after ten p.m. Shared bathroom. No cooking in the rooms. No guests. No clothes washing – take it to a launderette.”

The bed blocked the door. Petie and me squeezed through and clambered on to it. Mum and Dad squashed in behind us. The windowpane looked 6milky; you couldn’t see out properly. Once you’d sat on the bed there wasn’t anywhere else to go. There was a wardrobe with a door hanging open. Inside it was just a brown nothing. Dad skirted round the bed and pushed the wardrobe door shut. It made a crunching noise and fell open again.

I couldn’t think properly. Petie and me sat on the bed holding carrier bags.

Mum and Dad said, “Stay there,” and disappeared out into the corridor. We could hear them whispering. We had to go somewhere… Not even clean.

“It smells in here,” Petie said.

He was right; it smelled of old things and smoke. But then I realised the smoky smell was coming from us: our clothes and hair. We were smoke people. Petie had a smudgy mark on his cheek. When I looked down, my trainers were spattered with black dust.

Petie nudged me. “Will there be breakfast, Ren?”

“I don’t know.” I felt lost, as if I’d wandered away from life. All that noise and the fire and the rushing people … and now just this gloomy room with a dim lamp flickering over our heads.

Petie swung his legs. “Will we have bacon and eggs, Ren?” 7

“I said I don’t know.”

“If we were on a holiday, there would be a special breakfast.”

By my side of the bed, the carpet had a dark stain.

“Waffles?”

I ignored him, staring at the stain.

Petie scrambled over and stared at it too. “Did the carpet get burned?”

I shrugged. I sat back on the bed. The wallpaper had a brown splodgy pattern. A dark-blue mark on the bottom of the wall looked like a speckled bruise. At home my bedroom walls had fluffy clouds shaped like the backs of sheep with a rainbow behind each one. When she came to say goodnight, Mum sometimes said to me, “Which cloud are you hiding in?” and I always said, “That one over there,” choosing one. I loved my wallpaper. Mum and Dad always said I had my head in the clouds. I liked taking my mind somewhere else. Floating away. “You’re a dreamer, Ren,” they would say.

That’s why I loved my collections inside my little painted cupboard with the glass doors. They were perfect for dreaming. All the shelves were crammed 8with hand-picked animals, souvenirs and birthday presents. There were painted ornaments, shells, glass animals and birds. I liked to move them about and put different ones at the front. “How is the art exhibition?” Dad would say. When I was younger than Petie, I used to imagine my animal collections having their own life, calling to each other, “Quick, she’s coming!” and dashing back into their places a split second before I checked them. Now, sitting in the smelly room, I felt waves of sadness crash over me. Our home. My bedroom and all those special things… Where were my collections now? A horrible twisting feeling gripped me inside and I started crying.

Petie nudged me again. “Will we stay up late?”

“I don’t know. It’s already late. Leave me alone.”

“But will we?”

“I don’t care about staying up!”

The door opened and Mum and Dad appeared. Mum pointed to my carrier bag. Mrs Collis had handed it to Mum while the firemen were rolling up the hoses. “For tonight,” she said. “We’ll get you some proper things tomorrow, love.” The clothes in the bag were from Alice Collis, her daughter. She was thirteen. I dug around. Alice’s pants. Pyjamas. 9A blue jumper and a knitted hat.

My only clothes.

Dad must have seen I was crying. “Shush now,” he said. He hugged me to him. “Come on, love. Tell you what, put your pyjamas on, then you can settle down.”

Mum and Dad talked again quietly by the door. “It’s very, very late. Dad and I are going to be just in the room next door,” Mum said.

But Petie leapt up and stretched his arms out. “Cuddle!” he shouted.

“It’s bedtime,” Mum said.

“Cuddle!” he howled. He jumped into Mum’s arms, sobbing.

“Shush,” said Mum. She and Dad looked at each other.

The landlady’s voice called up from downstairs, sharp and clear. “Try to be quiet, please. Some people are already asleep.”

Mum sighed and said to Dad, “I’ll have Petie. You sleep in here with Ren.” She patted my head and kissed me. “Night-night.” Then the door closed.

Dad stared out of the window. A long sigh came from him that was a groan too. He turned back to me and took the pyjamas out of the carrier bag. 10“Come on, love, bedtime.”

I got ready for bed. My movements seemed strange and slow. Dad stared out of the window, even though it was so dark you couldn’t see a thing.

I put Alice’s jumper on over the pyjamas. It was down to my knees but it made me warm. The sheets were scratchy.

Dad piled the coats on the floor so I could get in bed. He sat beside me and pushed his hair out of his eyes. “Try to sleep. I know you’ve got a lot of questions, Ren, love. We all have. We’ve had a big shock. Things will look better in the morning.”

I kept noticing the weird smell. It was in my nose: sour roses mixed with smoky petrol.

Try to sleep.

The second I closed my eyes, flames jumped in front of them. My little animals, all my precious things, were flying out of my cupboard, like birds. I clutched and grabbed as they disappeared in smoke. The more I clutched handfuls to me, the more they kept dropping out and away and down into swirling dark.

My eyes jerked open. My breath came in little bursts.

I rolled over. Next to me, Dad lay curled up. 11His breathing was a big sound in the room, low and rumbly. In the dim light I realised he was still wearing his shirt from today. He should have had Alice’s pyjamas – they would have fitted him better than me.

I lay there and listened to his loud breathing. It helped. My eyes closed again.

Next thing I knew I was waking up and it was morning.

But Dad was wrong when he said everything would look better. Everything looked just as horrible as it had last night.

Our house had gone.

We had fallen off the edge of the world.

12

Chapter 3

Caspar

My name is Caspar.

I’ve decided to begin by explaining about our teacher.

She arrived at the start of this autumn term.

She was called Miss Chatto. I liked her name. It sounded friendly already. And she was.

My dad said, “That woman looks about twelve, far too young to be a teacher.” But Miss Chatto was actually twenty-six. This was her first teaching job and we were her first class. I heard Mr Winkworth telling Miss Allen. Not the age bit; I worked out her age when Miss Chatto mentioned 13a song that had come out the year she was born. I looked it up when I got home.

Miss Chatto smiled a lot for a teacher and she had a little laugh that seemed to float up to the top of the classroom. There were four notes in it: haha, ha, haaa. “Welcome. I hope you will be really happy.”

People started volunteering for things. We were all clamouring to be noticed by Miss Chatto.

She said, “Could a few of you come in sometimes and sort out the room ready for the afternoon?” and when lots of hands went up she laughed and said, “Goodness! That’s amazing, guys.” I liked that she called us guys. It sounded older and more like we were all part of a fun plan.

I wanted to know everything about Miss Chatto. I already knew her birthday and her car, the red Mini in the car park, two years old. I thought her favourite colour was probably purple because she wore purple jumpers.

I started helping at lunchtime. We piled up the literacy books and tidied the reading corner or sharpened pencils. Sometimes, when she was in the classroom, she called us the team. “Hi, team!” She wore rings on her thumb and a sparkly pink 14one on the middle finger of her right hand. Her fingers were long and elegant, like someone who played the piano. She laughed and we talked about all kinds of things like films and books and sandwich fillings. She preferred sushi for lunch. She brought it in a lunch box with a flowery lid. She made the sushi herself. I said I would like to try to make some and she said she would teach us. Her head did a little roll when she was pleased about something, like someone in warm sunshine enjoying a moment of it.

Things can happen suddenly. If you were a boat, you could be sailing along on a bright sunny day, waving at dolphins, and then, woomph, a storm could blow up and suddenly you could be fighting to stay on the sea, or even to stay alive. Life’s strange.

When term began, our class were all making papier mâché balloons for our topic about world geography. You should try it. You take an actual balloon, inflate it and cover it with strips of newspaper soaked in glue. There need to be several layers and you have to leave your balloon to dry between layers before you can paint it. But the finished thing is amazing. You can add a 15basket to make a hot-air balloon.

Miss Chatto opened a packet and handed out balloons. “So, we’ve only got the correct number of balloons, everyone,” she said. “You have to look after your balloon and not burst it.” I think this was a wise move because lots of people think it’s funny to burst balloons and this put us on our guard. We all wanted to get on to the decorating stage and if we popped our balloons we would never get there. I took extreme care with my balloon and was actually quite slow and Mr Charles, who helps in our class, said, “Caspar, speed up. The glued strips don’t have to be perfect; they just have to cover all of it.” If someone gives me an instruction, I try to follow it, but I also liked watching everyone else and that slowed me down.

We worked in pairs. My partner was Sohail. Teachers came round to encourage us. I got a lot of glue on my sleeves because they wriggled down and got soaked. I got a lot on my hands obviously. We were having a great time. We put our covered balloons on a table at the back. Next day, in the afternoon, we did another layer of gluing. Some people in my class would be quite 16happy to do papier mâché and gluing practically every day. We all got to chat and make a mess. It was pretty much perfect.

The plan was to hang our finished hot-air balloons all along the corridor before parents’ evening. After the second day of working really hard, we were back outside the classrooms, early in the morning on day three, ready to start painting our finished balloons. Our classrooms face the playground on one side, with glass doors and a bench.

When we lined up, we saw that the door to our classroom was already wide open, even though the teachers were still coming out from the side door by the hall to collect us. All the parents had waved and gone away and we were standing chatting when … crash!

I looked inside the classroom and saw a sudden movement: a jagged black shape swishing across the window in a big diagonal.

The teachers crept to the door and paused on the step. They looked around and disappeared inside. It felt like a brave thing to do!

Our tidy line disintegrated, and we crowded round the window to peer in, getting really close 17in moments of bravery, then leaping back. No one followed the teachers inside.

“What’s in there?” we asked each other.

Then there was a massive commotion with jagged shapes and beating sounds and things crashing. Miss Chatto burst out, calling, “Stay back, everyone! There’s a bird in there.”

A bird… My heart hammered. Poor bird! It must be completely panicking.

Lots of things happened then like Mr Collins the caretaker running round and disappearing inside, odd high cries and things hitting the window and a terrible feeling of disaster.

Miss Chatto came back out. Inside the classroom, the lights went off. Mr Charles came out too. They shushed us with fingers on their lips and made us stand further away.

I kept thinking of the bird and its wings hitting things. Every so often there would be a moment where you saw a flash of black as the bird crashed into the window. Somebody said it was a crow. They’re nosy birds; we get them in my garden. If its wings were spread wide, they would take up so much air space.

This bit didn’t actually last that long, maybe five minutes, but it felt long because we were all 18shocked. The next thing we knew, the caretaker came out of our classroom carrying a box wrapped in an art overall. It was the kind of box the photocopying paper comes in. The bird must be inside. We stepped away, like miles away, to make sure we didn’t get hit by feathers or something. Mr Collins carried the box across the playground and up on to the field. Then he put it down and stood back.

As we watched, movements began underneath the cloth: wriggling, poking and then, in a great burst, the crow took off and flew with the cloth wrapped round its leg for a few seconds, then the cloth fell off on to the grass. The bird soared up and up and was gone.

It was very exciting. We were thrilled. Until we got into our classroom and saw, well, devastation really. Broken balloons, equipment on the floor, paint bottles tipped and spilled, great slithery stains up the windows. Our classroom was a wreck.

We were taken to the small hall where we sat, dazed, while the adults cleaned. “Silent reading,” they said. No one read. It wasn’t silent. 19

When we were finally allowed back, a lot of things had been thrown away or put away and there was a strong smell of cleaning spray. Out on the tables, many people’s balloons lay in bits.

Theo held up the crushed remains of his balloon. “I spent hours on this,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s totally ruined!”

Ellie was in tears. “Can I glue mine back together?”

Miss Chatto shook her head. “You’d be better off starting a new one. So sorry, honey.”

It was like the massacre of the balloons. Our teachers kept trying to soothe everybody. My balloon was actually OK. I checked it carefully, pressing on the hard surface all over. It can’t have been one of the ones the desperate bird had struck.

Miss Chatto said, “We need to have a chat about this. You all know no one is allowed inside school before the day starts and yet someone must have come inside for something and then left the glass door wide open. That person is in this room and knows who they are. Someone needs to own up. Did one of you come in to get a football? Or put away a coat?” She was doing 20that thing of staring at each person slowly, going right round the room.

“Why did the crow come inside anyway?” I asked.

“It may have thought there was food inside. We have no way of knowing. Please … someone just own up. Which of you came inside before school and left the door wide open?”

“Can I ask a bit more about the bird?” I said.

“No, Caspar,” Miss Chatto said. “We’ve already talked about it.”

“It’s just … I’m wondering if it was injured?”

Her mouth went tight. “I’m not discussing it, Caspar.”

Nobody else said anything. The room felt like a miserable place. Everyone looked at everyone else like after a murder on TV when the detective is waiting for someone to crack. There were so many ruined balloons, like precious broken eggshells after a giant had had a big breakfast.

Someone was going to have to own up and say they did it. You couldn’t blame the crow. Someone must be feeling really terrible. This person would always be the balloon smasher. What a horrible feeling. And just for making a little mistake. At 21 that moment it felt like all of us were bad. Once someone owned up, it would feel like everyone could breathe again. The feeling in the room was too horrible.

I stood up. “I’m owning up,” I said.

The teachers looked at each other, frowning. There was a murmur of comments around the room.

“Do you mean it was you?” our teacher asked.

“Well … it could have been,” I said.

Miss Chatto sighed. “This has happened before, hasn’t it, Caspar? This owning-up thing. It wasn’t you who left the door wide open, was it?”

I sighed too. “OK then, no. I just wanted everyone to feel better. If I own up, at least nobody else will get blamed. And tomorrow I’m going to bring in buns. I’m going to make some at home, as soon as I get back.”

Miss Chatto gazed at me. “Buns?”

“I want to help,” I said.

She shook her head. “Caspar, you can’t help.”

“Oh,” I said, “but they’ll be good buns.”

Her mouth turned to a flat line. “SIT DOWN, CASPAR.”

It must be hard being a teacher. 22

When Dad collected me later in the day, Miss Chatto had a little chat with him and as we waited for the bus, he said, “Caspar, I know you meant well, but you can’t own up to something you didn’t do.”

“Never?” I asked.

“No. You just have to be truthful.”

“I just wanted everyone to feel better.”

“That was kind of you but sometimes, when someone does something wrong, it’s not your problem to fix.”

All the time I was making the buns at home, I thought about the crow. It must have been truly scared to be inside our classroom. There was still a splodge high up where a wing must have crashed into the wall: a grey “V”, almost like a flying bird. It looked a tiny bit bloody. I don’t think anyone could reach high enough to clean off the mark. Birds can’t figure out windows, Dad told me. Some birds crash into them when they’re stressed or if the windows are very clean and they don’t realise they’re there. Dad said it’s a good excuse for not cleaning your windows.

I got out all the ingredients and made enough buns for each person in my class and finished 23them with orange icing and a jelly sweet in the middle.

The next day my class were told that someone had owned up about the door, told their parents and said sorry to the teachers and now we were drawing a line under it. Our class still didn’t know who was responsible. The person must have sat there and not given themselves away. There was lots of discussion about who that person might be, but it got a bit boring. So we all made our balloons again. Mine was solid and dry now so I painted it yellow.

I was allowed to give out my buns at break. You should do what you can to fix a bad thing. I couldn’t help with the bird that crashed and hurt itself inside our classroom, but I could do something to make my class feel better.

Miss Chatto chose a bun and took it away with her to the staffroom to have with some tea. “I think you might be a one-off, Caspar,” she told me, frowning and smiling and frowning again.

I liked Miss Chatto even more after the bird-balloon incident.

24

Chapter 4

Ren

The morning after the fire, we had to wear the same clothes again. All we had was in the carrier bags.

We sat on the bed. At home I loved looking over at the tree close to my bedroom window. Now, through the milky glass, we looked out at some bins. After we were dressed, Mum and Dad were ringing people and talking in hushed voices. “This is a nightmare,” I heard Mum say.

Last night she had said we were lucky, but I think the luck had drained away.

My stomach kept churning and churning and 25Mum and Dad kept talking on their phones and then to each other and then back on their phones again. I had some sweets in the bottom of my fleece pocket. I gave one to Petie so he wouldn’t whinge.

They didn’t really talk to us. There were loads of people to tell and the business to sort out. It was a huge mess because they’d been pitching for a big contract that would start in a couple of months’ time, and now they might miss out.

“It’s unthinkable,” Dad said. He kept being put on hold and swearing. “We need an appointment now. Yes, I’ll hold on. Can we come in and see someone about that? Is there someone available? No, we’re in rented accommodation. The address. Hang on a minute.”

Petie kept asking me things I couldn’t answer. And stupid things. “Where’s the special breakfast?” he asked.

I shrugged.

“Dad!” Petie grabbed Dad’s arm.

Dad swung round and paused from tapping on his phone. “What?”

“Ren said there was a special breakfast.”

Dad sighed. “We’ll get you some breakfast in a minute.” 26

“What about school?” I asked.

Mum rolled her eyes. “Not today,” she said. “Not on top of everything else!”

We waited. We peered out of the milky window again. Below us were grey paving slabs and bins piled up with packaging. There was a broken vacuum cleaner leaning up against a bin. And a picture frame.

Petie nudged me. A rat had gone to sit on one of the bin lids. It started clawing round the lid, sticking its head inside. Its long tail waved about like a rope. It dived inside and the lid flipped shut.

We looked at each other.

“Let’s get it out, Ren,” Petie said. “It’s trapped. Let’s go and help it?”

“No,” I said. “You shouldn’t help rats.”

“Why?”

“They aren’t clean.”

“That’s not their fault. We could go down and prop the lid open.”