pictures. Books with covers the colour of dust. Ella thinks he must be very clever. She’s impressed and irritated by the thought. She thinks Robert must look down on them – all of two years younger than him – as simple creatures. Ella wants to prove to him that she’s not a baby, but also wants to know what’s so interesting in all those books.
‘We’d get in trouble,’ Rene says.
‘I’m already in trouble …’ Ella lets this point hang in the air, leaves the ‘for you’ unspoken.
‘Yes,’ Rene concedes. ‘But … why do you want to be late? We could play in front of the fire. Mama might make us griddle cakes.’
This is a good point. The house alternates, and today it should be Rene’s house. Rene’s mother makes them hot cakes with butter, or brings out biscuits and cheese. Sometimes, she will fry them each a sausage, which they eat with slices of bread dipped in the fat. They have to share with Robert, but he doesn’t talk much and offers Ella the biscuit tin first. If the food is not as good at Ella’s house, Rene never says anything about it.
Her stomach rumbles, and for a moment Ella thinks about ditching her plan. But no – the note weighs heavy in her pocket, tugging one side of her cardigan lower than the other. Her father is a quiet man, which makes his temper all the more frightening. Ella wishes he would just yell at her, but his anger stays bottled up. The sandstone tenements tower either side of them like a canyon, and she can’t escape the feeling that this tide of bodies is washing her to her doom.
‘No, we should go to the park. Not far, just over the hill.’
Rene’s hand loosens on hers for a second, and Ella thinks she will lose her to the tide. But then she grips tight again.
‘Okay. We’ll go to the park.’
Ella smiles – she feels better right away. She’s sure that this plan is a good one. It’s so good, it’s like she didn’t even think of it herself. They will go to the park. They will hide until Ella is sure they’re going to be missed. Then they will go home. Her mum will be so relieved to see her that she won’t care about the note from the headmistress. She’ll just be happy that they’re safe.
* * *
‘Can we go now?’ Rene asks, for the fifth time.
‘Just five more minutes,’ Ella says, for the fifth time.
The park is empty, or near enough. It’s not really a park, just some open land at the top of Bedlay Street which crests into a small hill. Down on the other side are more tenements and Sighthill Church, where they go on a Sunday to hear about God. To the east, separated by a metal fence, is Petershill Football Ground. There aren’t any trees here, but everybody knows it as ‘Paddy’s Park’ and nobody knows why.
They aren’t far from Springburn Park, with its bandstand, Winter Gardens, and overflowing baskets of flowers. But even Ella wouldn’t dream of wandering that far. In Paddy’s Park they look like what they are – a couple of kids playing out after school.
Ella isn’t sure how much time has passed. It feels like hours, but there’s no clock in sight. She’s good at reading the time and likes clocks. She likes pressing her ear to her dad’s watch, listening to the ticking inside, the invisible mechanism hammering away like a tiny factory, forging the present moment.
Ella looks at her friend, who is sitting on the hill facing north, away from Bedlay Street, playing with the buckles on her satchel. They can see the church from where they are, and it’s hard not to feel that it’s watching them back. Ella believes in Him but is still on the fence about His rules and regulations. She thinks the priest might be exaggerating to stop her having any fun.
Rene coughs.
Rene Mauchlen is everything that Ella isn’t – blonde, rosy-cheeked, and (to Ella’s mind at least) rich. In later years, it will seem ridiculous to Ella that she ever thought of Rene’s family as wealthy. They live on the same street, in the same kind of two-room tenement flat. But in addition to a radio they have a gramophone, and more than a dozen shiny black records to play. They always have powdered chocolate in the cupboard for cocoa, and biscuits in the tin. The door on their cast iron range has brass hinges, which shine like gold ingots in the gaslight, whereas the hob in Ella’s house is dull black.
And there’s the guitar, of course.
Every minute or so Rene coughs again, but Ella is used to it. Rene always coughs or wheezes, especially in the winter. She has something called asthma, which is like having a cold except it doesn’t really ever go away. She has to take medicine for it every morning – a treacly syrup which is supposed to taste like strawberries, but which Rene says is like licking a penny. Sometimes, when it’s bad, she doesn’t come to school. Ella thinks this is pretty good, but Rene says it’s no fun. When the wind doesn’t blow, all the smoke from the houses and factories curls up on the city like a cat on a rug. That’s when it’s worst. Rene will sit at the edge of the playground with a look of concentration.
‘We should play a game,’ Ella says, though her mind is elsewhere. She needs to keep Rene here for now.
‘Hmm …’ Rene looks around, at the empty park. ‘What sort of game?’
Ella sighs and sits down next to her friend. ‘I Spy?’
‘Aye, okay. I’ll go first.’ She thinks for a long moment. ‘I spy with my little eye, something beginning with … G.’
Ella fixes her gaze on the grey horizon.
* * *
When they finally leave, the light has gone from the sky and the lamps are all lit down Bedlay Street. At regular intervals down the roofs on either side of them, chimney rows smoulder. Rene has gone very quiet with the cold and is breathing quickly. Her arms are hugged around her. Ella is clenching her jaw shut to stop her teeth chattering. They go up the steps to Ella’s front door, into the gas-lit close. The light wavers over the bottle-green tiles covering the walls, which are scrubbed clean every Tuesday. They could go to Rene’s first, where they’re expected, but Eleanor wants Rene there to back up her story if her mum doesn’t believe her.
They climb the stairs to the third floor and knock. There are noises inside, and the door opens to reveal Ella’s mum, framed in golden light. She’s wearing her apron, and her hair is up in curlers and paper.
‘Girls? Isn’t it your day with Lorna?’
Lorna is Rene’s mum. With a sinking feeling, Ella realizes that her plan hasn’t worked – they’ve been gone all this time, and her mum hasn’t even missed them. Neither of them says anything, stunned by the warmth coming through the door and their own failure.
‘Well, you better come in before you let all the heat out. Come on now. I’ll make you some tea.’
Ella and Rene follow dumbly. There are two rooms in Ella’s house, unless you count the passage. The first room on their right is Ella’s bedroom. The second is the main room, where they cook and eat their meals. Her parents sleep in here on the fold-down bed. They step into the main room and Ella feels shivers of heat running up her spine. The fire is built up, and there’s something bubbling in a pan on the hob. The room smells of ironing.
‘What do you want, girls? Has Lorna already given you something to eat?’
She turns and speaks directly to Rene, who seems unable to say anything. Ella wants to say something to salvage her plan but can’t come up with anything before her mum speaks again.
‘Rene? Are you all right, hen? You look pale.’
Ella looks to her friend, whose eyes have gone wide. She thinks it must be because she has been caught in their lie. Rene opens and closes her mouth a few times, like a fish gulping on a riverbank, then takes a step forward.
‘Rene?’
Ella’s mum steps forward at the same moment, just in time to catch Rene. She holds under her arms, but Rene’s head rolls on her shoulders. She’s out cold.