Free Indigo Blue by Cathy Cassidy Page A

driveway and I run out and tell him Mum’s not well, and ask if he has a phone I can use.
    ‘Course you can,’ Ian says, taking me up the steps to the big front door of number 33, across the dingy hallway that smells of polish and up the creaking staircase. ‘There’s a nasty flu bug going round at work. Loads of people off. Is that what’s up with Anna?’
    ‘Probably,’ I say vaguely. ‘I’m not sure.’
    Ian’s flat is tucked into the roof of the house, and though it’s small, it’s messy and bright and it doesn’t smell of damp. He points to the phone and I dial Jane’s number shakily.
    She’s there. Relief floods through me and I’m babbling about Mum being ill and Misti being hungry and Jane says she’ll be with us in half an hour, hang on, keep smiling.
    When I replace the receiver, Ian Turner comes out of the kitchen with a box packed with Lemsip, milk, cheese, bread, oranges, Jaffa Cakes and chocolate.
    ‘Emergency rations,’ he says, smiling, and even though I know Mum’ll be cross, I let him follow me down the creaky stairs and round to the back.
    Misti’s sitting on the steps, wailing like her heart will break, and I scoop her up and breathe in her baby-powder smell and the scent of the cheap shampoo we’re all using these days.
    Inside, Mum is up, looking pale and sad and beautiful, her blue Chinese wrap tied round her, fair hair falling in limp corkscrew curls around her shoulders.
    ‘Mr Turner… you really shouldn’t have. You’re very, very kind.’
    She collapses into one of the brown armchairs and holds her arms out for Misti.
    ‘No problem.’ Ian Turner looks for the kettle, fills it and switches it on. He produces a Lemsip sachet and shakes the powder into a clean mug. ‘Flu is a rotten thing, especially at this time of year. You have to just give in to it, I’m afraid.’
    ‘I don’t seem to have much choice…’ Mum shrugs and leans back in the chair. Misti’s quiet now, sitting on her lap, possibly because Ian’s given her a Jaffa Cake.
    ‘Jane’s coming,’ I say to Mum. ‘I rang her.’
    ‘I see,’ Mum says. ‘Well, help is at hand, Mr Turner. Thank you for everything, and don’t worry, I’ll replace the food as soon as I’m up and about…’
    ‘No, no, I won’t even miss it,’ he says. ‘Really, I don’t eat much, living alone. If you like, I could stick around, fix you all a bite to eat…’
    ‘No, thank you, Mr Turner. We’ll be fine.’
    ‘Ian,’ he says. ‘We’re neighbours, after all.’
    ‘Ian.’
    He smiles and nods and backs away, letting himself out of the flat.
    ‘Indie…’ Mum starts, but I interrupt.
    ‘I know, I know, but what was I supposed to do? No money, no food, and you just keep on crying… We’re hungry, Mum. I had to ring Jane, and how else was I meant to do it? What d’you expect?’
    Mum leans forward in the armchair, so that her hair screens her face. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispers. ‘I don’t know…’
    ‘Mum – look, just drink the medicine, OK?’ I tell her. ‘You’ll feel better.’
    ‘I won’t,’ she says into Misti’s blonde curls. ‘I won’t, Indie, because it’s not flu, and this won’t cure it. Nothing will.’
    The doorbell shrills, and Misti squirms free of Mum’s hug and tumbles over to the door with me.
    ‘Jane, Jane, Jane!’ she squeals as I open the door and Jane bustles in, carrying a huge, flat box smelling gorgeously of pizza. We fall on the food like we haven’t eaten for a week, except for Mum, who picks up a slice and stares at it like she’s trying to identify an alien species.
    ‘Hey, come on, Anna, you have to eat,’ Jane says. She prods at the untouched Lemsip, still warm, and frowns. ‘We have to get you better. This’ll help.’
    ‘It’s not flu,’ I say.
    ‘Oh? What is it?’
    A fat tear rolls down Mum’s cheek.
    Jane shoves her pizza to one side and grabs Misti’s tartan blanket from the floor. She drapes it gently round Mum’s shoulders and settles