Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
T he scenery of Birmingham was soon replaced by motorway as the school party headed towards the south coast and the Channel Tunnel. For some of the children it was their first time out of Birmingham, and for many their first time out of the country. Chrissie tried to distract herself from the enormity of what she was doing by chatting to Dan, who was sitting beside her, but it quickly became clear he had an agenda.
“When are you two going to patch things up?” he asked in a stage whisper.
“Who?” said Chrissie, playing for time. She knew exactly what he meant.
“You and Nisha. You’ve both been wandering around the school like a reception kid who misses her mum.”
Chrissie sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“Blah blah, yeah yeah, stuff happened a hundred years ago and then there was some kind of fumble in the rain and now everything’s weird. Is that about right?” he asked, folding his arms.
“What has she said to you?” asked Chrissie, surprised Nisha had shared anything about what had happened. The only person she’d told was Rae.
“Not much,” said Dan. “She was looking a bit glum the other night after the staff meeting, so I took her for a pint. She wouldn’t tell me the gory details, more’s the pity.”
Chrissie harrumphed. “I should hope not. Honestly, I don’t know how all this became such a mess. What did you say to her?”
“I told her to just talk to you and sort it out. Pretty much what I’m saying to you now,” he said, before turning in his seat and shouting, “I can smell prawn cocktail crisps being eaten. The regulations of this coach company stipulate that prawn cocktail crisps are not to be consumed before the hour of ten am. It is currently seventeen minutes past six, and I must therefore inform you that you are in breach.” The coach had fallen silent. “Put them away, please.” They heard rustling behind them, and then silence resumed.
“What the heck was that?” asked Chrissie.
“God I can’t bear the smell, and definitely not at this hour of the day. Anyway, stop distracting me. Speak to Nisha. I think it may go better than you think.”
“Well, it was actually her who shut things down last time,” said Chrissie. “But we’ll see.”
A small voice emerged from behind them. “Miss Anderson, when we’re in the tunnel, will we be able to see the fish swimming round above our heads?”
“Um, no, Hardev, the tunnel doesn’t have windows, I’m afraid,” said Chrissie, stifling a smile. Approximately fifteen children sighed in disappointment.
“But,” added Nisha, a few rows back, “the cool thing about the train we go on in the tunnel is that the whole bus drives onto it, and we just stay here in our seats, prawn cocktail crisps notwithstanding.”
A few children mustered an “ooh” in response.
“Yes,” said Francis, who until now hadn’t said a word. “And actually, the Channel Tunnel is fifty point five kilometres long and seventy-six metres deep, so putting windows in might compromise its structural integrity.”
“Yes,” said Dan, “that’s exactly what I was about to say.”
Chrissie jabbed him in the ribs. “Liar,” she whispered.
“Who? Me? I’m affronted by the very suggestion,” he replied with faux offence.
Chrissie allowed herself to drift off into thought as the miles sped by.
She remembered the morning Nisha had vanished from her garden. They’d been inseparable for weeks, so her unexplained absence alone was enough to confuse Chrissie. The fact that it had come after the night they’d shared together made it worse. Chrissie couldn’t help wondering if she’d done something wrong.
Her dad was busying himself with builder’s tea, complete with two sugars, when she stumbled into the house, shell-shocked.
“Did you see Nisha before she went?” she asked, her pyjama bottoms carrying dewy blades of grass into the kitchen.
“No, love, sorry. Everything ok?”
“Yeah, sure. I just didn’t think she’d leave so early,” said Chrissie, dropping her head to hide the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes.
“I’m sure you’ll sort it out, bab, whatever it is,” he said. “I know how close the two of you are.” He left the words floating in the air, concentrating his gaze on the teapot in front of him on the kitchen table. “And, well, if you ever wanted to tell me anything, you know you could.” He paused. “Anything.”
“There’s nothing I need to tell you, Dad,” said Chrissie, her voice breaking. She got the sense she’d been rumbled, but somehow that made it harder to admit that Nisha had just left without saying goodbye. After all they’d shared. “I’m going to have a shower.”
Under the hot water, alone, she finally allowed herself to cry.
Chrissie loved her dad for wanting to help, and part of her wanted to tell him everything. But inside, she didn’t know what that everything was. Her brain and body were bursting with excitement and passion and fear and anxiety. She felt full and empty all at once, and couldn’t make sense of what had happened and why. If she couldn’t explain it to herself, she definitely couldn’t explain it to him. And while he had said she could tell him ‘anything’, did he really mean that? Did he really know what he was asking?
She waited in vain for Nisha to come back and explain herself. Maybe she’d just had to pop home for something and didn’t want to wake Chrissie. But by lunchtime, there was no word, the phone hadn’t rung, and Chrissie felt lost.
After a few days, Chrissie gathered all her courage and finally phoned Nisha’s house. Her mum answered the phone, and after some muffled whispering, reported that Nisha was out. Chrissie didn’t believe her. She was pretty sure she was being avoided.
The next time she saw her friend was at school on A level results day, at the other end of the hall, where she spotted Nisha with her mum, gripping an envelope. Chrissie found her own envelope, but by the time she looked again Nisha was gone.