Free The Moon King by Siobhan Parkinson Page B

name.’
    â€˜Hah!’ said Rosheen, ‘Helly Kelly, you’re a poem!’
    â€˜Girls, girls, stop squabbling. Helen, will you go and find Ricky please. He needs to be here. I have Mrs O’ Loughlin in the kitchen now and she wants to talk to him.’
    â€˜I’ll go, I’ll go,’ Rosheen offered. ‘I know where to find him.’
    She didn’t want to mention the moon-chair room, though she was pretty sure that’s where she’d find him. She couldn’t bear the thought of the grown-ups charging up to the top of the house and raiding Ricky’s special room. She could just imagine Mammy Kelly poking around in the crystal chandelier box, stirring the crystals with her pudgy fingers until they shivered; tripping over the lady with the lampshade hat and not even knowing to say ‘Excuse me’; smashing her way around that treasure trove that was Ricky’s special place, without even understanding about the moon king or anything, without knowing what it all meant. No, the best thing was to go after him herself and get him down, before anyone else started poking around up there.
    â€˜No, I’ll go,’ said Helen.
    â€˜No, let me,’ Rosheen pleaded.
    â€˜Ma told me to go,’ said Helen, elbowing Rosheen out of the way, ‘and I know where to find him too. In fact, I’d like to find him. I want to tell him he’s wanted down in the kitchen by Mrs O’Loughlin.’
    â€˜Oh, let her go, Rosheen,’ said Mammy Kelly. ‘It’s not a big deal, after all. It’s just a routine visit.’
    â€˜Oh, I think Ricky thinks it’s a big deal,’ said Helen.
    â€˜I hope Ricky is happy with us,’ said Mammy Kelly with a worried look, taking Billy back from Rosheen and hoisting him up on her hip. ‘I thought he had settled in very well. He doesn’t want to tell Mrs O’Loughlin that he doesn’t like it here, does he?’
    â€˜I couldn’t tell you what he wants to tell her,’ said Helen with a toss of her head. ‘But whatever it is, he’ll have to do it in sign language, won’t he?’ And she flounced out of the room, calling, ‘Ricky! Ricky! You’re wanted! It’s your social worker!’
    Mammy Kelly shook her head and left the room with Billy, a frown puckering her forehead. She knew Helen had been dead set against Ricky when he first came, but she’d had a long chat with her about it all, and she thought Helen had got over it. But now it didn’t look as if they’d made peace at all.
    Helen barrelled up the stairs, still singing out ‘Ricky! Ricky! It’s your social worker!’ That should get him good and worried, she thought meanly.
    She arrived on the first half-landing where the rocking-chair was nodding away like some demented old person. She put out a hand to steady it because it was making her seasick and anyway, she needed to stop for a rest. It was true she didn’t get enough exercise.
    On the first full landing she stopped again to get her breath and then lumbered on, up past the bird-mobile, which was swinging and dipping slowly, to the second full landing. She stopped again. It was very quiet up here. Shehad been able to hear the voices of the other children playing in the front garden on the last landing, but they were completely inaudible now. The top part of the house was like a different country, still and deserted, the air warm and heavy, the carpet muffling Helen’s footsteps. She toiled on up to the last landing before the attic floor and then took the final flight of stairs slowly.
    On the attic level, Helen was met by perfect stillness and two shut doors. She knocked loudly on Ricky’s bedroom door and marched in, still calling Ricky’s name.
    But he wasn’t there. The room was tidy and orderly and perfectly still. She stepped over to the wardrobe and took a quick look inside. Ricky didn’t have many