No Place Like Home (Part 1 of 2)

         It was Kelly who told me that Santa Claus was really the postman.  He came late at night, she said, because the Christmas card deliveries put him behind.  At the time, I believed her.  But then, I believed everything Kelly told me. 

         Kelly was my best friend when I lived in London.  She was a year younger than me, but she knew lots more than I did about things.  She said there was a tribe of people in India who lived until they were two hundred, eating nothing but apricots.  She said the earth was hollow, and if you dug down deep enough you’d fall to the middle and stop, dangling in space forever.  And she told me that when you move house, your pets sometimes run away and make their way back to the place you left.

            “Really?” I said.  It was springtime, and we were sitting out in my garden.  I was plaiting Kelly’s hair.  Ben, my collie, was lying beside us on the grass, dozing.

         “Yes,” she said.  “One family moved all the way to Australia, and when they got there, their cat disappeared.  They thought it had been kidnapped by a kangaroo.  And then, ages later, they got a letter to say it had turned up at their old house in England.”

         I laughed.  “That’s daft.  How could it?  Australia’s across the sea, and cats can’t even swim.”

         Kelly twitched.  I thought it was because I’d pulled her hair too tight.

         “It wasn’t funny,” she said, a bit crossly.  “The poor little thing almost died.”

         I stopped a moment and rubbed her shoulder.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to laugh.”

         “That’s alright,” she said.  “Anyway… it didn’t swim.  It stowed away on a ship, eating  fish, and the scraps the sailors left.”

         “That’s amazing,” I said.  “And you really think it happened?”

         She tilted her head, and I could see her fingers plucking at the grass.

         “Of course,” she said.  “How could I make up a story like that?”

         Ben roused up then and turned over on his back, groaning lazily.  Kelly patted his chest.  Then she turned her head slightly and I saw the corner of her eye.

         “You’ll never move away, will you Rosie?”

         “Of course not,” I said.  “I like it here.”

         “Good,” she said.

         I didn’t think I ever would move away, either. But then, I’d never really thought about it before.  I loved my house.  I’d lived in it all my life, and I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.  I loved the way it looked at Christmas, with paper chains twirling across the ceiling, and a big Christmas tree in the front window.  I loved the garden, with mum’s tiny flower beds, and the birdhouse on the tree, and the shed that always smelt of coal and sawdust.  I even loved the damp patch on the bathroom wall, because it was shaped like a bird flying.  No… I didn’t want to move from there.  But after Kelly had mentioned it that day, the thought stayed in the back of my mind.  After that, I almost expected it to happen.

         It  was one Sunday teatime, not long after, that mum and dad told me the news.  Dad had been offered a better job, and was thinking about whether to take it.  The only thing was it was in Dorset, which was too far for him to travel every day. 

         “How would you feel if we moved, Rosie?” dad said, squeezing my hand.

         I didn’t know what to say.  Somewhere deep down I felt excited, because we’d always gone to Dorset for our holidays, and I liked it there.  But it’s different when you know you’re coming home again.

         “Alright, I suppose,” I said.  “When will we be going?”

         “Not for a while yet, love,” said mum.  “If we go.  We’ve not decided yet.  There’s a lot to think over first.”

         I looked down at Ben, who was asleep at my feet.  “And what about him?”

         “Ben’ll be in his element,” dad said, putting his hand down to stroke him.  “We’ll be in the country, so he’ll have much more freedom than he does now.”  Then he looked at me and grinned.  “But like mum said, love… it’s only if at the moment.  It may not happen.”

         But I knew it would.  When I went to bed that night, I laid awake for a long time thinking about it.  I thought about leaving my house, and my school, and all my friends.  I thought about Kelly, and how much I’d miss her and her stories.  And I thought about Ben, and felt a twinge in my stomach, remembering what Kelly had told me.  I thought about him running away, frightened and alone, trying to find his way back to London along the motorway.

         I had a horrible dream that night.  I dreamt I was walking Ben along the road where we lived.  He kept dragging at his lead, pulling me the other way.  Then his lead snapped and he ran off.  I chased him for a short way, back past our house, and then he dodged down a turning that I didn’t recognise.  It was full of strange, dark-looking houses.  The road went on for miles, and I could see Ben running along it, already far away.  I kept chasing him, but the houses suddenly came to life and crowded in around me.  Every time I tried to run, the houses slid across my path, laughing at me through their doors, which were gaping like mouths…

         …then I woke up, and it was morning, and I could see Ben curled up on his blanket beside my bed.  He was sound asleep, and his eyelids were twitching with a dream of his own.  I wondered if it was anything like mine.

(to be continued)