3BALLOONS

My mom once told me that in order to live a life, you must let go of the past, the pain, the anger and move on; otherwise you’ll never live at all. Six-year-old me, Alice. Dancing around the living room with my mom, Sophie, to John Stewart’s Daydream Believer. Looking back, she seemed distant even in those little wholesome moments, almost like she knew something could happen any minute. Maybe she was right. It had always just been the two of us–mom and I, in this cosy little council flat in East London. I was an awkward child, curious to a fault—constantly pushing my mom to tell me about my dad. Despite my relentless badgering, mom was never one to budge, and my childish enquiries were always met with the same reply, “he’s a bad man.” Not very helpful, especially for a six-year-old; I eventually learnt to Page | 9 grow accustomed to her cryptic replies. Here I was one day, age six with no care in the world, floating about the room like a butterfly when there was a knock at the door. I stood on the arm of the sofa, staring at the door as I waited to get a glimpse of the person on the other side. Mom went forward and opened it quietly, immediately slamming it shut before I could even get a peep outside. She turned back around without a word, now holding three balloons in her hand, each one the same blood-drenched shade of crimson. “What are they for, mom?” I asked, eyeing the foreign objects. She replied with a smile, “you’ll figure it out one day.” I couldn’t help but notice my reflection in the balloons–an image of a girl who resembled myself, seeming only a little older. As mom made tea, I sat on the floor with my legs crossed, watching the balloons as they swayed gently in the warm afternoon air. Through the corner of my eye, I could see a photograph of a man, his head cleanly cut out of the picture–by mom, no doubt. Something about mom Page | 10 had always been intriguing–you could tell she had her secrets. Deep secrets that I was never supposed to know. Some say that life is like a puzzle, we’re constantly trying to fit pieces where they don’t belong, simply because we think that they do. But something about my life made me aware, even at six years old, of the fact that secrets are like cancer to a family. Mom might not have made it obvious, but you could see it in her eyes–the pain, the rage and the worry. I wanted to press her for answers, quell my burning questions. But what could I have done? I was only six, after all. As we sat down to eat that day, mom handed me a necklace. “This necklace will keep us together even if we are apart,” she whispered as she clasped it around my neck. Now that I think about it, it’s always reminded me of her in a weird way, how the spirals on the pendant resemble life in that it isn’t a straight line from start to finish. How it’s all over the place, a messy cycle of blunders and lessons learnt a little too late. She didn’t know it Page | 11 yet, but that necklace would be one of the most important things she could have ever given me. Once she put it on me, I knew it would never be coming off. The food was less than scrumptious—as I had come to expect over the years—but the excitement over the necklace made it less of a chore to eat. Maybe things were about to change for us, maybe things would get better. Oh, if only. I was at my friend Maria’s house a week later, to celebrate her turning six. Mom came along. Maria lived with her mother on the floor above ours, which I was thankful for. This meant we could run riot around the estate, knowing that we didn’t have to go back to different homes later in the afternoon. We didn’t have many friends in the area, so the party’s guests consisted entirely of our neighbours— alcoholics and drug addicts alike—not the ideal guest list for a six-year-old’s birthday party. But to us these people were like family. I may not have had a father, but I knew that John who sold cocaine behind the bins would save me from a burning building if ever the need arose. John was a very interesting man, Page | 12 constantly telling us not to get into drugs until we were older, despite selling the best coke in the South West. Just the other week, Maria and I had helped John pack his coke to get it ready for sale. We were made to wear rubber gloves and face masks; he later gave the both of us Wispa bars for the good work. Sally and Jayne were the alcoholics two floors down. Kind souls, they would have done anything to keep me and Maria happy. They were probably the best babysitters around—we had no bedtime, were allowed to watch scary movies all night, and the best part–they always brought us cheesecake. There was also Danny from level five who grew weed—he’d stop anyone who tried to get in our way. Danny had tried dating mom for a while but she wasn’t having any of it, so he had to settle for being my friend instead. Interacting with this motley little crew of outcasts was nothing new to us; they had been the only people I’d known at this point of time. These were the people whose guidance, understanding and love would help me through the dark times coming my way. Maria blew out her birthday candles. We Page | 13 were officially the same age again. I may have only been three days older, but I’d be the first to turn forty—an official oldie! My mom and Maria’s mom, Kat, stood outside the apartment, solemnly discussing something. It seemed to be a concerning talk, but Sally and Jayne kept us company inside. Sally started a competition on how many marshmallows we could fit in our mouths. I managed twelve, Maria had eight, but Sally won with sixteen. I would realise, as I grew up, how adults would use games like these to distract us from important conversations. The discussion I was so deliberately kept out of was one that could have helped me in the future. In retrospect, I’ve also always had a fairly strong intuition, albeit an annoying one. At six-years-old, you shouldn’t have a voice in the back of your head, telling you everything is about to tits up in life. The insane sugar rush from the multiple helpings of cake helped me relax for a while, but the voice still remained; it felt so real. When mom came back to Kat’s apartment, she found me and Maria asleep, hanging off the sofa with chocolate all over our Page | 14 faces. “Alice is a good kid;” Kat said, looking over at us gently, “he won’t get to her”. “I hope so,” replied mom as she picked me up and got ready to head back to our flat, “I don’t know what I’d do if she found out.” She quickly left the apartment as I began to stir in her arms. The following weekend, mom set up another puzzle for me to solve. Maria was there to help me, as usual. Mom handed me a piece of paper that read: “The next clue lies behind the place a friend hides.” I grabbed the note and ran straight for Maria’s door. We both stared at the sentence before running to the bin that John sold his coke from. Once we reached the bin, Maria found a small box with a key ring of a green car in it. “Doesn’t Sally have a green car?” I asked. Maria smiled, “So do the Cranks from twelve B.” We searched every green car on the block. On the steering wheel of Sally’s car was a sticky note that said: “The final clue lies in the place that children aren’t allowed at night.” This clue would take some brainstorming to figure out. It took me and Maria a while to consider anything. Suddenly Maria looked Page | 15 over at the pub across the street, where Kat worked. She immediately grabbed my hand and pulled me over the road and into the pub, flinging open the doors with a slam. Kat was behind the bar, a smile on her face and a stopwatch in her hand. “Two minutes off your best score, you’ll get it next time girls,” she chided with a grin. “You going to tell us what we were looking for?” Maria asked with a huff. Kat took two packets of salt and vinegar crisps from behind the bar and whispered, “Walkers special, don’t eat them all at once.” Maria and I tried to look happy with the prize of crisps, but truth be told, sometimes we wished we had more expensive prizes, like a bike. Quietly, we sat at our normal booth and ate the crisps. Our booth had our initials carved onto the table and cute stickers dotting the entire structure. Sally and Jayne walked over and joined us at our booth, putting some sweets on the table. You could smell the stench of alcohol on them, vaguely masked by a spritz of cheap perfume. “Alice, don’t tell your mom about this,” Jayne pleaded. “I won’t,” I replied, “it’s our secret.” Little had I known Page | 16 how dangerous secrets could be; how they’re all meant to come out in the end. School wasn’t something that I used to enjoy. Maria wasn’t in any of my classes, so I only got to play with her during our breaks. But this short period did give us a chance to slander teachers behind their backs, besides our other childish shenanigans. Maria said, “I learned a new word today.” I replied “What’s the word?” “Wanker,” she whispered. The two of us giggled. “I learned Fuck,” I added. “Where did you hear that one?” “The HeadMaster said it when I caught him with his trousers down in the office with the receptionist bent down in front of him.” Maria looked at me, eyes wide with curiosity. “Why was the lady on her knees?” she pondered. “I don’t know, maybe she was checking his willy.” Maria laughed, “Checking his willy for what?” I gave her a puzzled look, “Maybe he has something wrong with it?” Before Maria could speak, the Head Master’s voice boomed from across the playground, “Alice Lacey! Come here!” I stood up and skipped over to him with a smile on my face. He ushered me into the staff room, his face red with rage. I wasn’t sure Page | 17 what was about to happen or why he was so angry with me. To my surprise, he sat me down with a juice box and a cookie. The receptionist sat opposite to me, next to the Head Master. I slurped on my juice box as he muttered in a thick Scottish accent, “Alice, did you see me with this lady earlier?” I looked at the receptionist and replied, “Yes, why was she on her knees?” A flash of fear swirled in his eyes as he answered nervously, “Mabel is a top receptionist here, so she was just checking something for me.” I curiously looked at Mabel and said, “Maybe you should lock the door next time you check his tinkle.” The Headmaster groaned, putting his face in his hands. A few moments went by, and no words were exchanged. Mabel broke the silence, “You aren’t going to tell your mom, are you?” “Mom wouldn’t find it as funny as Maria did,” I replied. The Headmaster realised what I said and left the room in a hurry. He came back into the room with Maria. She sat next to me. He looked at Maria and me and said, nearly choking on his spit, “What happened has to stay Page | 18 between the four of us, okay? It’s our little secret.” Maria and I looked at each other then back at Mabel and the Headmaster. “Okay,” I said. He smiled and said “You girls will be rewarded for this.” Maria’s eyes gleamed. “I hope we get something cool, like a bike!” Mable spotted the excitement in our eyes and gave the Head a nudge with her elbow. That day we walked back to the flats with a brand-new bike. The bike was a Raleigh bike, blue and yellow. Straight from the eighties–a dream come true. We carried the bike together up to our apartment, where mom and Kat were sitting, beers in hand. No sooner had mom glanced at the bike than she asked pointedly, “Whose bike did you steal?” “My brother had a bike like that when we were kids,” said Kat, her eyes hovering over the two of us. Maria handed my mom the note from the Headmaster. It said: “Dear Mrs. Lacey and Ms. Bateman, This bike is for your daughters to share. Due to their outstanding academic performance over the last term, the academy has decided to present them with a gift. Here’s to hoping that they continue to soar and achieve new heights. Thanks. Mark, Head.” Mom Page | 19 and Kat checked the bike carefully. “Can we keep it please?” I pleaded. Kat nodded to mom, and they agreed, we could keep the bike. This bike would be embarking on quite a few adventures over the next fifteen years. Kat and Maria went back to their apartment, leaving the bike with us. I spent the rest of my evening cleaning it and building a helmet with mom. The helmet was made from old pillows, polystyrene, and coconut shells. Who knew keeping a secret about your Headmaster getting ahem, head, in an office would get you a free bike? Regardless, the point I had yet to realise was how dangerous secrets can be. The truth always comes out, whether you like it or not. It rained heavily that night. I was in bed, with the door slightly open. I could vaguely see mom talking to a strange, tall man, but it was hard to hear what they were talking about. Money was exchanging hands. “She’s not here,” was the first thing I heard my mom say. I sat up in bed with a start, and through the sliver of a gap between the door and the frame, I locked eyes with the man. He stared back at me, his cloudy irises fixated on mine, and my breath hitched in my throat. We continued staring at each other until he was hastily ushered out of my line of sight. I could hear mom moving things around in the kitchen, and instinctively knew she was trying to hide something from me. All I could think about was who the man was, why mom had lied about where I was and most importantly– what else was she hiding from me? This, as I would learn, was just the beginning of a very bumpy and confusing life.