Chapter 2: Liar! Liar!

So my life of hand-to-mouth normality had been shattered by the death of my parents. Now I’d been diverted onto a new path, not to the children’s scrapyard as I’d feared, but to a new family home in London.

When we got to the hotel in Sheffield where Grandpa was staying, it seemed posh. I think Caity and I both felt uncomfortable, like fish out of water, as we obviously didn’t belong there. He had a suite of rooms, not just one. And when we went to dinner in the hotel restaurant we felt underdressed and overwhelmed, not least by the menu full of things we’d never heard of with funny foreign names.

Thankfully, Grandpa pointed out a few dishes that were simple enough that we might like, and in the end, Caity and I both had pasta. Mum had often done pasta at home, and her spaghetti was always lots of fun and very messy! I didn’t dare choose spaghetti this time as I didn’t want to make a mess in the restaurant, so I had ravioli. It was delicious but very different to what mum got from a tin.

The rest of the evening was spent just lazing around, and Caity and I had a long talk about the orphanage. She told me about the friends she had made there and that she was sad to be leaving them. I told her about Harry and that I was sad too, but that I thought we could try and talk Grandpa into letting us have some friends come and stay with us during the summer holidays. She liked that idea as much as I did.

The next day was nasty. Grandpa told us at breakfast that we were going to our old house. We had to pack all the toys and clothes we wanted to take to London, and the things belonging to mum and dad that we wanted to keep as mementoes.

When we parked outside the house and got out, Mrs Collins was waiting and quickly corralled Caity and me into a hug. I’d known Mrs Collins my whole life, and she’d become like an unofficial aunt. She was visibly upset. She explained that she’d tried to get the social worker lady to let us stay with her, and had let rip at her when she’d refused.

I stage-whispered to Caity, “I wish I’d seen that”, which earned me a wagging finger from Mrs Collins and a little smile that she tried to hide. She shook Grandpa’s hand and then let us into the house with her spare key.

Memories of our home came flooding over me like a tidal wave. They were all happy memories but were somehow now sad because of mum and dad. Caity and I were both silent as we climbed the stairs to the bedroom we shared in this little two-up, two-down house.

We started stuffing clothes and toys into big black rubbish bags. I didn’t know how we were going to fit everything into the boot of Grandpa’s car, but he seemed to manage it. Meanwhile, Grandpa was rummaging through the rest of the house, picking out photo albums and old souvenirs, and anything else he thought might have sentimental value. He told us later that he would have a company come in to pack up everything else and take it to charity shops or the tip.

We hadn’t finished by lunchtime, so we went next-door where Mrs Collins had a veritable banquet prepared. By the time we’d finished packing that afternoon, kids and parents were arriving home from school. Everyone knows everyone else’s business in a village like ours, so I wasn’t surprised that lots of people came round to say how sorry they were about mum and dad. A few of my friends came to say hi, but by that point, I was emotionally numb and just wanted to go back to the hotel.

My best friend Luke, whom I’d known since we were babies, gave me a hug and asked if we were moving away. I had to tell him yes, and then wondered why I’d felt more upset saying goodbye to Harry at the orphanage than I did with Luke, whom I’d known so much longer. Maybe it’s because Luke still had both his parents. Or maybe it’s because, like the house, Luke was associated with all my bittersweet memories.

As people came and went, Grandpa was telling them that the funeral would be on Friday at our village church. That was news to me. Our family had never gone to church much. We went on Christmas Day and at Easter when they had an Easter Egg hunt. Other than that, it was just a pretty building in the village.

That night we went out for dinner, getting fish and chips, which was much more our level of cuisine.

On Wednesday, Grandpa said we had two jobs that day. We had to go to our schools to pick up our school records to take to London, and we had to go and buy some smart clothes for the funeral. Neither job was much fun. At school, it was a repeat of people saying how sorry they were, which I just wanted to stop hearing. Lessons were going on while we were there, so at least I didn’t have hundreds of kids saying it too.

Then the shopping. I HATE shopping, and clothes shopping is the worst of all. Mum used to drag us around the shops for hours at a time, and Grandpa wasn’t much better. At one point Grandpa looked at me, gave me a little smirk that he then tried to hide, and said: “I know how much you hate shopping, but it’s important this time, okay?” I wondered how he knew. Maybe mum had told him.

I ended up with matching trousers and jacket, plus a smart white shirt and plain black tie. I had told grandpa that I already had a shirt and trousers, but he bought new ones regardless. Caity got a black dress and a black coat to go over it, as her usual pink coat apparently wasn’t suitable for a funeral.

Thursday we mostly hung around the hotel. The undertaker came to visit Grandpa mid-morning, but Caity and I didn’t have to sit through that.

Friday morning it was more hanging around with nothing to do. Grandpa explained what would happen during the funeral that afternoon, then we all played some card games for a while to distract ourselves. It didn’t work.

After lunch, we had to get dressed up in our new clothes, which Grandpa supervised. When we were all looking smart, he sat us down for a talk. “This is going to be upsetting, this afternoon, and that’s okay, alright? This is our last chance to say goodbye to your mum and dad. Don’t worry if you want to cry. Nobody will laugh at you or think worse of you. It’s much better to let tears of sadness come out than it is to try and bottle them up. I expect I’ll cry too.”

When we went down to the hotel entrance, there was a man in a black suit and top hat who greeted Grandpa respectfully and led us to a fancy car. When we got to the church, it was packed full. The front pew was reserved for us, but every other seat was taken, and there were even people standing. That made me think about how popular mum and dad had been. I found my eyes were starting to leak, and for the rest of the afternoon it was a battle not to break down.

Everything was a bit of a blur. I remember the two coffins being carried in on the shoulders of a dozen more men in black suits. The service was long, with several people getting up to talk about what wonderful people my parents were. Some of them I knew, some I didn’t. When we went to the cemetery afterwards and put the coffins in the ground, my knees started to wobble, and my lip quiver. I was thankful when we got back into the car and had a few moments of privacy.

Back at the church hall, Mrs Collins and the ladies from the village had organised food for everyone. Lots of people spoke to me during the wake, but I don’t remember much of it. All my friends were there, and I do remember explaining over and over and over again that we were leaving for London the next day. My friend Luke was by my side most of the time, and I did feel sorry that he was losing his best friend. I felt a bit guilty that I was glad to be leaving the village.

Saturday’s journey down to London was long but exciting. I had never been outside Yorkshire before, and driving fast on the three-lane motorway was a thrill. Caity and I played lots of games on the journey, like ‘I Spy’ and counting the number of cars we saw of particular colours. When Grandpa said we were nearly there I kept an eager lookout for Buckingham Palace and Tower Bridge, but disappointingly didn’t see either. Grandpa did point out Wimbledon Common when we passed it, which is an expansive area of grass and woods in London.

Our tummies were rumbling by that point, so I was glad when we turned off the main road, just south of the Common, and onto a much smaller gravel one. A sturdy wooden gate blocked the road, and a guard appeared from the little building beside it. He spoke to Grandpa briefly, then called to another guard inside the building, and the gate started opening on its own.

As the driveway ahead was revealed, I saw three normal-sized houses spread out on each side of it, and one big one at the end. As we pulled up to the house at the end, I thought it looked like a very pretty little country cottage that had been magically enlarged and extended to be humungous. It was red brick, with cream stone window surrounds, ivy climbing the walls and lots of tall chimneys. It wasn’t big like a posh palace, but big and pretty and cosy.

As we stopped in front of it, Grandpa just said: “Welcome to your new home”.

The first order of business was lunch, and that was when we met a lovely old lady called Mrs O’Keef, who was the housekeeper and cook. She had a funny accent but asked us about our favourite foods and treats, so we both took to her immediately.