Chapter One
It wasnât until we were halfway through France that we noticed Maretta wasnât talking. She sat very still in the back of the van and watched us all with bright eyes.
I crawled across the mattress to her. âMaretta will you tell us a story?â
Maretta sighed and turned her head away.
John was doing the driving. He was driving fast with one hand on the wheel. John was Marettaâs husband. He had brought her along at the last minute only because, I heard him tell my mother, she wasnât well.
Bea glared at me.
âMaretta . . .â I began again dutifully, but Maretta placed her light white hand on the top of my head and held it there until my skull began to creep and I scrambled out from under it.
âYou didnât ask her properly,â Bea hissed. âYou didnât say please.â
âWell, you ask her.â
âItâs not me who wants the story, is it?â
âBut you said to ask. I was asking for you.â
âShhh.â Our mother leaned over from the front seat. âYouâll wake Danny. Come and sit with me and Iâll read you both a story.â
I looked hopefully at Bea. âOh all right,â she relented, and we jumped over Dannyâs sleeping body and clambered up between the two front seats.
ââWill you walk a little faster?â said a whiting to a snail. âThereâs a porpoise close behind us, and heâs treading on my tail.ââ
I sat warm against her and joined in when she got to âWill you, wonât you, will you, wonât you, will you join the dance?â âWill you, wonât you, will you, wonât you, will you join the dance?â until we heard the rustle of Dannyâs sleeping-bag as he sat up in the back.
âDâyou want me to take over soon?â he yawned.
John kept his eyes on the road. âHalf an hour.â
Danny was my special friend. The first time weâd met heâd magicked a sweet, a white sugared almond, out of a pipe for me. I had been waiting ever since for a good opportunity to ask him to do it again. Now he was always either driving or sleeping. Or Bea was there. Bea was two years older than me and there were some things you had to keep secret about. Anyway, I thought, however magic Danny said these almonds were, theyâd be bound to run out like any others.
That evening we stopped to cook. My mother made soup with carrots and potatoes in a metal pot on a camping stove. We sat on the grass verge and ate.
âMaretta?â My mother held out a bowl to her.
Maretta looked at the ground.
âMaretta would you like some soup?â
She turned her face away.
My motherâs hand began to tremble. It made the spoon rattle on the tin side of the bowl as she stretched it out to her.
We waited.
âWell, all the more for us,â she said finally, pouring the soup back into the pot. Her voice was high and tight. Maretta smiled serenely.
A truck roared by. A wave of hot and cold laughter swept over me and I bit my lip and stirred my spoon noisily.
John stood in front of my mother, between her and Maretta. âSheâll be all right once we get to Marrakech. Sheâll be all right.â He put his arm around my motherâs waist. âI was married to her for four years. I should know.â
She let her head rest limply on his shoulder. âI still think we should take her back.â
They stood by the side of the road rocking gently from side to side.
âDanny?â I felt this might be my lucky moment. âWill you magic me a sweet?â
Bea, who was sitting nearer than I thought, raised her arched eyebrows. I screwed up my face in warning.
âDamn and blast.â Danny slapped his hand on his knee. âIâve gone and forgotten my pipe.â He lowered his voice and said with a laugh, âWell maybe we should go back to London after all.â And he squeezed my disappointed face between his fingers.
Late the following afternoon we arrived at Algeciras and drove the van on to the ferry. We got out and stood on deck. Bea and I leant against the railings and waved enthusiastically at the straggle of Spaniards on the quay. The air was thick with the smell of fish and oil. Some men in blue overalls waved back. Almost before we lost sight of Spain, Morocco began to appear at the other end of the boat. A long flat shadow across the water.
âLand ahoy!â Bea shouted out over the sea. âLand ahoy!â
We ran fast from one end of the boat to the other waving goodbye to Spain and shouting âLand ahoy!â to Morocco. The sun was sinking fast and the gulls had stopped circling. As we leant over the railings, Morocco faded into the night and we could only guess at the layers of blackness where the sea stopped and the land began. We went back to the van. Maretta was sitting in the front seat.
âWhere are the others?â I asked, climbing in, forgetting for a minute.
She didnât answer. Bea stood by the door.
âCome on. Letâs go and find them.â
âWould you like to come?â I touched Marettaâs hair. It was thick and damp with dirt.
Bea pulled my arm. âIâll race you to the deck.â
Maretta didnât move. Not even her eyes.
âAll right then,â I said, and I started after her on a hopeless challenge.
The ship was lit now by the white froth of the waves. We edged along where earlier we had run. At the front of the boat we heard laughter and snatches of familiar voices. We crept forward, our eyes on the red tips of cigarettes.
âLand ahoy!â Bea jumped out of the darkness and put her hands over my motherâs eyes. She screamed with mock alarm.
âYour money or your life.â
Mum put her hands in the air and pleaded for mercy. âI donât have any money,â she said. And everybody laughed.
A slow, low hoot rose into the air and we all jumped. Danny picked me up and swung me over his shoulder. âRight. Back to the van,â he said.
I called to Bea as I hung, the blood rushing to my head, âIâll race you,â and I drummed my hands on Dannyâs back to make him go faster.
We sat in the dark in a queue of cars waiting for our turn to drive off the ferry. My mother showed us our photographs under hers in a black leather passport.
âIn a minute a man will come to check that itâs really us,â she said, tucking my hair behind my ears. John was in the driving seat, and Danny and Maretta were awake in the back. The line moved slowly forward car by car.
âOnce weâre through customs it should only take a couple of hours along the coast road and weâll be in Tangier,â Danny said. He talked with a rolled cigarette unlit and hanging between his lips. âI just wish theyâd get on with it.â
We were edging now towards a white barrier. Two men in uniform inspected each car before the barrier lifted into the sky and let them through.
There was a tapping on the glass. We sat very still and John rolled down the window, letting in a blast of cold and salty air and a whiskery face with bright blue eyes. âHi, where you heading?â he said, sticking his head right in and peering at us in the semi-darkness.
âTangier tonight . . . and then on to Marrakech.â
âHey, Iâm heading that way myself. Dave. Call me Dave.â And he rested his elbows in the open window and smiled.
Dave ambled along beside us as we neared the barrier. âSo this is your first trip, youâll love it, you wonât want to leave. Where you from? Let me guess? London. Forget London, man. Marrakech. Thatâs where itâs at.â He had a scarf tied round his head and his pale ginger hair hung over it in strands. He had no bag and no coat. âHey brother,â he slapped John on the shoulder, âyouâre going to need some introductions. Iâll tell you what. Iâll ride into Tangier with you. What do you say?â And he whipped open the van door and leapt in.
Dave settled himself in the back.
âHey lady, how you doing?â he grinned at Maretta.
She didnât answer.
Another face appeared at the window. A dark, serious face with a thick moustache. My mother leant over and handed him our stack of passports. He flicked through them and glanced at us each in turn. A quick flick of a glance and he handed them back. The customs man nodded towards Dave who was hovering on a mound of cushions by the back doors. He said something I didnât understand. John and my mother both shook their heads but Dave stuck out his long white neck and nodded. The officer was silent for a moment and then he jerked his thumb backwards. He was telling the van to turn around. Back, round, and on to the boat. Back towards Spain.
The barrier stayed firmly closed.
We ate our breakfast in Algeciras. Bread rolls and Fanta. Maretta sipped a cup of black coffee and forgot to wipe away the marks it left on either side of her mouth. Mum said it was lucky they hadnât stamped âundesirablesâ in our passports. She said if we saw Dave or anyone who looked like Dave at the barrier at Tangier we mustnât talk to him.
âIs it very hideous to be an undesirable?â Bea asked. Hideous was Beaâs and my favourite word. âHideousâ and âKinkyâ. They were the only words we could remember Maretta ever having said.
âHideous kinky. Hideous kinky,â I chanted to myself.
âIt is . . . if you want to get into Morocco,â Mum answered.
When we arrived in Tangier later that day after a short and sunny second crossing there was no Dave in sight. The officers waved us through with only a glance at our passports and everyone except Maretta shouted and yelled as loud as they could to celebrate.