Something Invisible Read Online Free

to think of it, she knew Daisy’s name. Did you tell her that?’
    â€œNo,” said Jake. “It was a few days ago. She was still Marguerite then. That’s odd, Mum. You have to admit that’s, like, strange?”
    â€œWell, she’s a nice enough girl. Though I have to say, that dress, in this weather. ”
    â€œIt’s June, though,” said Jake, suddenly changing sides. His mother had that effect on him sometimes.
    â€œTheoretically,” said his mother.
    She was so illogical.
    â€œNo!” said Jake. “It’s actually June. Not theoretically.”
    â€œYou know what I mean. The weather’s dreadful.”
    â€œIt’s weird about the name, though,” Jake said. “Maybe we should go back to calling her Marguerite. Just to be on the safe side.”
    â€œWe can’t do that. I’ve got to like Daisy. Anyway, we can’t keep changing her name. She’d get confused.”
    â€œMum, she’s a week old!”
    â€œTen days. And she knows her name,” his mother insisted. “She turns her head when I call her. Watch! Daisy, Daisy?”
    The baby turned her head and stared a big wet blue stare at her mother. She parted her lips and blew a soft bubble.
    â€œSee?” said his mother triumphantly.
    Jake shook his head. Mothers were so unscientific. Or maybe it was poets.
    â€œOh, she left her address,” his mother said suddenly, producing a crumpled piece of lined paper, torn out of a copybook, out of her pocket.
    â€œHer address?”
    â€œYes, she said you’d be wanting it.”
    â€œI don’t want it!” said Jake, pushing the scrap of paper across the table, as if it were infected.
    â€œWell, neither do I,” said his mother. “I’ve only just met the girl. Put it in the bin, if you don’t want it.”
    Jake picked it up reluctantly by one corner, using his nails, and held it at arm’s length. He couldn’t help noticing what it said, all the same. She had very clear, flowing handwriting, and she wrote in large, black letters—not like most girls, who went in for mauve and silver and wrote tiny little swirly words, like snails, and put little circles instead of dots over their i’s. Her address was almost the same as his. They were in Mount Gregor Road; she was in Mount Gregor Park. In number ten—same house number as them.
    Funny that, he thought, as he stepped down hard on the bin pedal and dropped the paper in on top of eggshells and coffee grounds and a nappy neatly rolled up and wrapped in a drawstring nappy bag.

CHAPTER
    13
    Well, you can’t forget somebody’s house number if it’s the same as your own, can you? Which is how Jake came to be standing outside Stella’s house, thinking it looked a bit small for all those children. Just two windows with a door in between and no upstairs. There was a small gate in front, which was closed, and a big one at the side, for cars, which was wide open.
    â€œIt’s not as small as it looks,” Stella said.
    She was doing it again! Witching about the place. Jake spun around.
    â€œI never heard you coming,” he said accusingly.
    â€œDancing pumps,” she answered, lifting one foot, in a pink ballet shoe, and pointing it in the air. “Nice, huh? I don’t dance, though, I just like the pumps. I got them in the Oxfam shop. I wouldn’t like you to think I’m some sort of ballerina person. I’m more a football sort of person, actually. Not that I have anything against ballerinas, it’s just not me. But you have to admit that pink satin shoes are cool. Even a boy can see that, I imagine.”
    Jake was just about to say he liked football too, but she took off again before he could get more than a grunt out.
    â€œThat’s the right word, you know, ‘pumps,’ but it’s terribly ugly, isn’t it? I am in a dilemma about it.”
    Jake stared at her. What was she