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by Penny Parkes

  Terrifying, thought Anna.

  The school was vast, with endless corridors that smelled of wrinkled apples, sweat and bleach. Huge classrooms with rows of desks, enough for thirty children. In each class. The library was tiny and musty; the computer suite boastfully gleaming in its expensive newness. There were locker rooms and sports fields and a huge swathe of concrete that surrounded the buildings and cut them off from their surroundings: rows and rows of battered, tattered council houses.

  ‘The bus will drop you inside the grounds,’ Jackie had said matter-of-factly. ‘Best not to go wandering around here.’

  So those were the choices that had rattled around in Anna’s head until she’d called time: a school she loved and the constant threat of Dave’s unwanted attentions, or the life with Kara and Ian as their treasured companion, and the prospect of Hinchworth on Monday.

  Not only Hinchworth, the building, but Hinchworth’s thousand-odd pupils judging her, watching her, wondering whether to be her friend. And everybody knew that the smartest kid in class was a target. Should she maybe go in fighting from the front? Maybe they wouldn’t even be surprised – she was a kid in care – maybe fighting came with the territory?

  ‘You can be yourself, here, Anna. And at school,’ Ian insisted, knowing better than to reach for her hand, wounded too many times by the flash of fear and discomfort in her eyes.

  ‘It’s true,’ Kara said, slightly guiltily. ‘The friends you make at school will be a big part of your life. It’s all about…’

  ‘Authenticity,’ finished Ian with a crinkly-eyed smile.

  Anna simply nodded, determined to look up that word as soon as dinner was finished. She wasn’t sure, but it felt as though Ian was calling her a fraud.

  Chapter 21

  Swindon, 2001

  That fraudulent feeling was only endorsed by the start of term at Hinchworth, her new uniform itchy and uncomfortable, name tapes rubbing at the back of her neck and tight leather shoes squeezing her toes after weeks in flip-flops and trainers.

  She’d looked up the word – authenticity – and she could see that, from Ian’s point of view at least, it was a worthy goal.

  But then Ian didn’t have to spend his day with hundreds of twelve-year-olds, each posturing and fraudulent in their own way, trying to be something they weren’t in order to fit in. Anna withdrew a little more into herself with each passing lesson, at first astounded and then despondent at the lack of interest or respect each teacher was afforded.

  ‘We don’t stream in year eight,’ the head of year had told them proudly when they looked around. ‘It discourages a growth mindset.’

  From where Anna was sitting, in the chaos of a maths classroom where half the kids still had no idea what a prime number was, and the other half couldn’t apparently stay in their chairs, it seemed to discourage a learning mindset too.

  She’d raised her hand precisely once.

  The sea of furious faces that pivoted to stare her down was like nothing she’d ever experienced. Lowering her hand, along with her expectations, Anna decided that being fraudulent about who she was, and what she could do, might at least give her the gift of invisibility too.

  Orange squash; getting weaker.

  One day soon, she would just be a glass of water.

  But at least it wouldn’t be thrown in her face.

  Anna learned to seek refuge in the library. Too many conversations about eyeliner and planned trips to New Look were exhausting. Too much bragging from Hannah King – the only girl in the year with a boyfriend. A boyfriend in the year above, at that.

  A boyfriend who made Anna’s skin crawl with the disdainful way he treated Hannah, as though she were an object not a person. His face was inflamed by acne and he smelled oppressively of Lynx body spray, yet Hannah hung smugly from his arm like a prom queen in the movies.

  Anna wanted to pull her away, beg Hannah to value herself just a little more.

  But she didn’t.

  Staying below the radar somehow eclipsed all the morality and pride that Marjorie had drilled into her.

  So the library it was.

  ‘Hi,’ said a quiet voice from behind a row of Penguin Classics. ‘You seeking refuge from the masses too?’

  Anna looked around anxiously, knowing full well that the Lower School weren’t allowed library access during break.

  ‘Relax, if old Brockworth comes back, I’ll just say you’re with me.’ Emerging from the stacks with a Chupa Chups lollipop poking from one corner of her mouth and her arms full of books, Anna’s eyes widened when she saw Lucy Graham: Head Girl, Oxbridge applicant and the source of much hero worship amongst the tiny (and necessarily undercover) nerd population at Hinchworth Comprehensive.

  ‘Hi,’ said Anna, offering a weak smile, embarrassed by the warm flush that coloured her neck, trying not to stare at the beautiful girl in front of her, wanting to ask how it was that Lucy could just ‘own’ herself so completely.

  ‘You know, year eight is utterly foul, and I’d be lying if I said year nine was any better.’ She gave a dramatic shudder. ‘All that one-upmanship and hormones. But trust me when I say that it all gets a little better once you’ve taken your options. At least everyone in the classroom has chosen to be there, and in maths and English – at least it’s streamed to filter out the idiot factor.’

  Anna snorted with laughter, her cheeks pinking even more at the honking sound.

  Lucy just grinned. ‘You know you’ve been thinking it. Is it just awful moving here from a grammar school?’ She said the words as though invoking the Holy Grail. ‘I always wanted to try out but my folks weren’t keen.’ Beneath those words was a multitude of pain and disappointment and Anna felt herself relax.

  ‘How did you—?’

  ‘Head Girl’s privilege – you’d be amazed what I hear in the staffroom,’ Lucy replied with a grin.

  ‘Are you enjoying these?’ Anna asked, feeling a little braver. She picked up Pride and Prejudice and skim-read the cover.

  Lucy shrugged. ‘I think I may have analysed them to death by now. I can tell you all about the pathetic fallacy and anaphora and dramatic irony, but I’ll be damned if I can remember whether I enjoyed it.’

  Anna nodded. ‘Jane Austen gets on my nerves – she’s hardly all that.’

  ‘Is that right?’ Lucy laughed.

  ‘Give me Anne Brontë any day. The Tenant of Wildfell Hall is just so much meatier, don’t you think?’ Anna said, forgetting herself for a moment.

  ‘I do, as a matter of fact,’ Lucy said, sitting down and leaning forward with interest, a poetry compendium in her hand. ‘And what do you make of Emily Dickinson?’

  Anna shrugged. ‘I love the one about hope being the thing with feathers,’ she sighed, ‘because it’s beautiful and spot on, like she really knows how it feels.’ She paused, frowned. ‘But then everybody knows that one.’

  ‘They do,’ conceded Lucy. ‘But that doesn’t make it any less wonderful.’

  ‘I like Maya Angelou,’ Anna said quietly. ‘And I know it’s not even a poem written for girls like me, but every time I read “Still I Rise” I get goosebumps down my back and tears in my eyes.’ It was the first open and honest moment that Anna had dared to share at Hinchworth and she held her breath for a moment, her face breaking into a smile of recognition as Lucy replied with a wistful sigh,

  ‘And that last refrain – Chills. Every time.’

  There was a second of stillness, the light from the tall sash windows catching the dust motes circling lazily in the air, and Anna was once again reminded how books could be the very antidote to loneliness and confusion, loss or frustration.

  ‘Anna, do you think you might like me to be your Big Sister here at school? Everyone gets paired up with somebody higher up the school and, well, to be honest I’ve been dreading it, knowing I’ll get some mouth-breathing idiot to tag around with. And what is with the body spray obsession? But you and me, we could have fun, yes?’

  Anna simply nodd
ed, blown away a little by Lucy’s suggestion, longing to ask why, yet somehow understanding that it was this conversation, this moment of connection. And that made it all the sweeter.

  ‘I don’t know all the poets,’ she said obliquely instead.

  ‘Nobody does,’ Lucy said, shaking her head. ‘But we might have fun talking about them together. You must be bored shitless going over Of Mice and Men line by line.’

  Anna giggled; she couldn’t help herself. It wasn’t that Lucy was swearing – in the library of all places – it was because she could suddenly see all too clearly that Lucy had once been where she was now, in year eight, listening to a beautiful text being murdered into stultifying, mangled chunks.

  ‘It gets easier,’ Lucy promised once again, checking her watch and picking up the teetering pile of textbooks and folders: English, history, psychology. A world of promise.

  ‘See you later, Anna-Banana,’ said Lucy with a smile, tousling Anna’s hair as she left, a bloom of happiness and optimism in her wake.

  * * *

  ‘Don’t you look a picture?’ said Ian that evening, as he took in the sight of Anna, textbooks and notepads strewn all over the dining table. ‘Maybe we really should sort out that desk for your bedroom if we ever want to eat at the table again?’ He was smiling and for a moment, Anna could have sworn she saw a flicker of pride on his face.

  ‘Can we really?’ Anna asked. ‘And I don’t mind having the bookcase upstairs too if it’s taking up too much space.’

  He shook his head. ‘Neither you nor the bookcase are taking up too much space, Anna. I just thought you might need somewhere quiet to study your,’ he picked up the book that Anna had taken out of the library that afternoon, ‘Poems of Emily Dickinson.’

  Anna nodded. ‘I’d like that, but…’ She paused for a moment. ‘I quite like working down here too.’

  ‘I like the company,’ Kara called through from the kitchen. ‘Leave her alone, Ian, there’ll be time enough for her to barricade herself in her room when she’s a teenager!’

  Ian laughed. ‘Four months and counting. Are you going to be utterly vile?’ he asked, mock-seriously. ‘Just that a heads-up would be appreciated, so I can build my man shed in the garden.’

  Kara walked through and flicked at her husband with a tea-towel. ‘Of course she won’t be vile, will you, Anna? More likely we’ll end up with a reverse curfew for this one.’

  ‘A what?’ Anna looked up, intrigued.

  Kara shrugged happily. ‘Oh you know, “You can have your book back, but first you have to go to this party for two hours!” or something like that.’

  Ian and Anna caught each other’s gaze and laughed, shaking their heads, a new solidarity building between them that made Anna so happy.

  ‘Or maybe,’ Kara continued, ‘this new friend of yours will lead you astray for me?’

  ‘What’s this, now?’ Ian said, pulling off his tie and sitting down at the table.

  Anna coloured again, as she had telling Kara earlier. She hadn’t planned to say anything at all, but apparently the pleasure of that chance encounter in the library had been ‘written all over her face’ when she walked in the door.

  ‘I made a friend, I think. She’s called Lucy,’ Anna said quietly, noticing the look of relief that passed between Kara and Ian.

  ‘Brilliant. Did you join a club?’ Ian asked, unable to disguise the hope in his voice that she might finally be settling in.

  Anna shook her head. ‘She was in the library. But we got to talk about how full of herself Jane Austen is and everyone loves her, but Anne Brontë gets ignored all the time. And poetry.’ She caught her breath, reeling off the list. ‘And Oxford applications too.’

  Kara looked a little bemused. ‘Well that’s lovely, sweetheart, but isn’t it a bit, well, soon for all that?’

  ‘Lucy’s in the sixth form, so it’s probably all she’s thinking about at the moment.’

  Ian shook his head. ‘Now, why am I not surprised? Only you, Anna. Only you.’

  Anna paused, unsure how to take his comment. ‘We have lots in common. Like you said, it is so much easier to talk to people when they care about the same things. And she’s going to be my Big Sister at school – like a mentor or something…’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ said Kara. ‘And maybe she’d like to come round one day? I could bake something?’

  Ian and Anna exchanged indulgent looks at Kara’s enthusiasm once again. ‘She might not want to do that,’ said Anna apologetically.

  It was all she could do to finish her homework, and dinner took an age. For once, Anna wasn’t starved of conversation and she counted down the hours until bedtime, until she could be alone with her thoughts and replay her day over and over again in her head.

  Lying on her bed in the dark, Anna felt all mixed up. There had been such a pure and innocent joy in talking about books with Lucy and yet, still, her mind returned to the wicked flash of fun in Lucy’s eye, her readiness to laugh, the swear words she scattered so liberally in her conversation and the way her hair fell so smoothly into waves all down her back.

  She glanced over at the teen magazines still sitting in the corner, barely flicked through, wondering if they might yet contain answers she’d never needed before.

  She couldn’t be sure what this elusive yet all-encompassing feeling was, let alone name it. Was this what it felt like to make a true friend, or was it simply the relief of finding someone who shared her interests?

  Chapter 22

  Swindon, 2001

  It was hard to explain how meeting Lucy Graham changed Anna’s perspective on Hinchworth Comprehensive. It wasn’t simply that lunchtimes now held an unfamiliar allure, or that she jumped out of bed in the morning with genuine enthusiasm for the first time in months. No, on some level, it was the reassurance of seeing that, grammar school or no, cream could always rise.

  Leaving King James had been such a bitter blow that Anna had buried her hurt, anger and frustration, unwilling to acknowledge how deeply its loss affected her. Not willing to give Dave the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  And no matter how welcoming and kind Kara and Ian had been – always, always going above and beyond to get her settled – on some level she now realised that she had resented them for taking her away from her grammar school and the prospect of a different future. A better future, where her own hard work and effort might finally give her the security she craved.

  Blame was childish, she knew that. Yet for a while there it had felt good to be angry. Not just with lecherous Dave, but conversely with Kara and Ian for being so unerringly, constantly nice. And of course, there were her greatest hits, to be returned to time and time again: her mum and dad.

  Being angry always felt better than being a victim; it had become an old friend in times of upheaval. Anger gave her a sense of choice and ownership, as her life changed around her yet again without any say-so or approval from Anna herself.

  Yet only a fool would stay furious in the light of the life in which she had currently landed. Two foster parents, who not only appeared to like each other, but also treated her with affection and encouragement. A school that could offer up Lucy Graham as an example of what was possible with enough hard work and application. There was even the promise of a puppy – once they could all decide which breed might suit them best.

  There were definitely worse ways to start the week.

  ‘Hi,’ said Anna, still, as ever, a little shy when approaching the sixth formers in the library. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’

  Kevin and Gus, Lucy’s English lit classmates, were about to say something scathing, but Lucy thumped them firmly. ‘Pull up a chair, Anna, and then you can put these two eejits to shame with your knowledge of all things Eliot.’ She grinned and scooched over so there was room for Anna to slide in beside her.

  Heart racing, palms a little sweaty, Anna did just that, blocking out the gurning faces of the two boys opposite. ‘Too lazy for their own good,’ Lucy had whispered w
hen she’d first introduced them. ‘But annoyingly clever when they can be arsed.’ In short, the worst kind of wastefulness.

  But Anna was already learning: nobody liked a prig, or a know-it-all.

  Lucy got by with aplomb thanks to her natural effervescence and just a hint of flirtation. Although surely it was against the uniform code to wear a skirt that short, even if you did have the legs to pull it off?

  Anna discreetly rolled over the waistband of her skirt, and pushed back her sleeves. She could do nothing about her height or her hair, but maybe there was no harm in emulating Lucy, who seemed to have life sorted aged seventeen and three-quarters, just a little?

  ‘I haven’t read any Eliot.’ She shrugged.

  She had.

  ‘So I wouldn’t know what to tell you.’

  She did. But what was the point with these two leering buffoons in the way? It was different when it was just her and Lucy, chatting easily about all things literature, with only a sense of a kindred spirit and not a hint of judgement.

  Lucy narrowed her gaze and stared at Anna, making her feel all kinds of uncomfortable. ‘Hmm. Well, let’s say I believe you. D’you reckon you could read my essay anyway? Feels like I’m missing something.’

  ‘Me?’ suggested Gus, grabbing at his crotch provocatively, his broad Glaswegian accent somehow making everything he said sound menacing.

  ‘Fuck off, Gus. You’re not my type,’ Lucy said lightly, turning to open her folder for Anna.

  ‘Come on, Lucy. What the feck are you doing with this little scrote anyway?’ Kevin chimed in, apparently not to be outdone on the massive wanker front, even if his delivery was that of a mamma’s boy play-acting ‘hard’.

  Lucy rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t worry, Anna. At some point their balls will drop and they won’t be such colossal cunts to live with.’

  Anna started back in surprise. She was all for learning new words – quite a lot of new words – at Hinchworth but there were still some that she knew, deep down, were not good words, or words to be repeated. They definitely weren’t going in her notebook, put it that way.