The Alibi Girl. C.J. Skuse

take you out flying kites again, or maybe some fishing down at the stream. How about that?’

      I’m so excited I could burst but I settle for kicking my heels against my chair.

      ‘Can they take us to the cinema as well?’ asks Foy.

      ‘Yes, I’m sure they can,’ says Chelle, sipping her Coke and looking at the time.

      ‘We can go to that burger place they took us to last time,’ I say. ‘Where we got the free Frisbees.’ The Frisbees that kept going over the beer garden wall into the stream and Isaac had to keep climbing over the wall to fish them out.

      Paddy and Isaac are the two best boy cousins I could ask for. Isaac’s fifteen and sporty, and always working out on the machines in the old stable behind the cellar. Paddy’s twelve and he’s more into art and styling his hair. Isaac’ll be starting his GCSEs soon. I hope he still has time to chase us around the car park on the bikes.

      ‘Can we have chicken pie and mash one night please, Auntie Chelle?’

      ‘I don’t see why not.’

      I love it when that’s the answer.

      ‘And chocolate sponge and alien sauce?’ says Foy.

      ‘Yeah, baby! Oh that reminds me, I’ve got to nip in the comic shop and pick up Stuart’s birthday present.’

      ‘What is it?’

      Chelle rolls her eyes. ‘His dream Tardis.’

      ‘Not a big Tardis though,’ says Foy. ‘A little one with a little Doctor Who inside and a Dalek and it plays the theme tune when you open the door.’

      ‘He’s had his eye on it for a while,’ says Chelle.

      ‘Can I buy him something as well?’ I ask. ‘Maybe a Doctor Who comic?’

      ‘Yeah he’d love that. Do you want me to look after your pocket money?’

      ‘Dad’s looking after it for me.’

      ‘Okay,’ she smiles, looking towards the door as a family with pushchairs struggle in out of the rain. ‘How is he at the moment, sweetheart?’

      ‘He’s okay.’

      ‘How much did he get for the car in the end, do you know?’

      Foy dances her little unicorn pencil topper along my arm. ‘How much?’

      ‘Yeah. He’s sold it, hasn’t he? That’s why you came on the train.’

      ‘He said it was having a service today.’

      ‘Ah, right. My mistake. Finish your burger, love.’

      All the ice in Dad’s drink melts and his chips go cold so Chelle tips them in the trash. He sends a text to Chelle that he’ll meet us at the car at 3 p.m. instead. So we do Woolworths for the eggs and Chelle banks the takings at NatWest and me and Foy steal armfuls of leaflets for our bank, which the castle doubles up as sometimes.

      We’re back at the car by 2.55 p.m., but Dad isn’t there. By 3.15 p.m. we’ve played I-Spy, Yellow Car, the memory game, and Foy and me have planned all the things we’re going to do in the castle when we get back – first paint the walls, then we must clean the carpet and deadhead the window box. Then play Banks. And then we have to do a supermarket run because the dinosaurs are getting low on tins of Jurassic Chum.

      At 3.25 p.m. Chelle puts another hour on the car cos there’s still no sign of him.

      ‘I’m sorry, hon, I know he’s your dad but he does my bloody head in sometimes. Why is he so unreliable?’ she huffs. ‘There’s nothing consistent about him at all.’

      Foy picks up Miss Whiskers and makes her growl and roar around Chelle’s neck until she reacts, turning round in the driver’s seat and swatting it away.

      ‘Will you stop that, please? I’m not in the mood.’

      Then we see Dad coming.

      ‘Uh-oh,’ says Foy, and Auntie Chelle slams the driver’s door when she gets out. Me and Foy laugh at first but then we see her shouting at him and they both stand in front of the car, him being barked at like a stranger at the gate. Foy winds down the back window so we can hear what they’re saying. Chelle’s patting down his jacket and she wrenches something out of his grasp and holds it up – small pieces of paper.

      ‘Can’t fucking stay away from them, can you? You utter loser.’

      We aren’t laughing then. The F word makes Foy go quiet and then cry.

      I hold her hand. She grips mine tightly.

      ‘She bought Stuart a birthday present,’ says Chelle. ‘So you owe me a fiver.’

      ‘I haven’t got it, Chelle.’

      ‘You spent your ten-year-old daughter’s pocket money? Jesus Christ.’

      Foy buzzes the window up. ‘I don’t like it when Mum gets stressy.’

      ‘It’s always Dad that makes her stress.’

      Chelle deep-breathes and gets in the car. He follows and she starts the engine. None of us say a word until we get back to the station. Chelle leaves the engine running. Dad pokes his head through my window and fist-bumps Foy, making the sound of starburst sprinkles coming out of his hand. He kisses me on the nose.

      ‘You be good, Squish, alright? Call me every night.’

      By the time we get out of town and the car’s streaming along through the green countryside towards Carew St Nicholas, I’ve forgotten about the row between Chelle and Dad – my mind’s too full up with the possibilities that lie ahead. As we turn the corner down into the village and round the bend into the vast car park at the back of The Besom Inn, I spy Paddy and Isaac on their bikes, doing wheelies and bunny hops.

      ‘Isaac’s got a new bike!’ I say. I can’t wait to get out of the car.

      ‘Yeah,’ says Chelle. ‘It’s a Hellcat Something Something with front suspension and something-else splashbacks, apparently. He got it for his birthday. He said you could have his old one.’

      ‘REALLY?!’ I cry. ‘Ah wow!’ I spy it straight away, leaning up against the skittle alley wall, all shining silver and red with the word Apollo written on the downtube.

      ‘He’s pumped up the tyres for you specially,’ says Foy.

      I leap out of the car and run across to Apollo, wheeling it over to Isaac.

      ‘Hey, Ellis. Like your new bike?’

      ‘Yeah! I love it! Can I really have it?’

      ‘Yeah, no sweat. I pumped the tyres up for you.’

      ‘Not you again, Smellis,’ says Paddy, wheeling over and skidding to a halt beside me. He tickles my ribs and chases me across the car park but lets me win, like always.

      After an hour of wheeling around we go inside the pub and find Uncle Stu closing up the bar for the afternoon. I give him a hug and we help ourselves to crisps and cans of Rio. The pub is a rabbit warren of low ceilings, oak beams and a warm orange glow from every doorway. There’s a pervading smell of old log fire and spilled beer and somewhere a fruit machine plinks and whooshes.

      Upstairs, there are four main bedrooms and two unused ones called the back bedrooms, housing old toys and various pub bric-a-brac, old tankards and unused bar stuff like beer mats and ice buckets. My hands run along the wallpaper, bumping over the little chips and dents. I want this holiday to last forever.

      And once Foy’s changed out of her ballet stuff, we ride, four of us into nature, along the lanes towards the playing fields, me and Foy stopping every so often to pick up dinosaur food, or petrol for the Lamborghini or the Ferrari, or new school shoes for some of our kids. We have forty in all, but we live in a castle so there’s definitely room.