She had a big bunch of index cards which she kept looking at and then it was her turn to go on and on. First she said how wonderful her supermarket was and how they put so much back into their community and waffle, waffle, waffle … and then I started yawning so Dad nudged me in the ribs.
Eventually the woman got to her last index card and said it was time to announce the winner and could the finalists please make their way to the stage. I followed the other kids and we all stood next to our pictures. I got a closer look at what I was up against then and there were some good ones. One girl had drawn her town’s war memorial statue, and a boy, who must have lived in London, had done an aerial view of St Paul’s Cathedral. I reckon he must have copied that from somewhere unless he’d been up in a helicopter or something. Lady Supermarket began to talk again.
“It gives me great pleasure to announce that in third place, and winning art equipment for their school … is … Isobel Steele for her picture, Allotments from her home town in Devon!”
We all clapped as Isobel came forward. She shook the lady’s hand and took an envelope and then she started to cry but I’m not sure if that was because she was so overwhelmed or just fed up that she hadn’t come first.
“In second place, and winning art and sports equipment for their school … is … Benjamin Durrell – for his picture, Make Me Better.”
Benjamin fist-punched the air and let out a “Yes!” as he made his way to receive his prize. As we clapped politely, I took a quick look at his picture. He’d drawn the outside of a hospital’s Accident and Emergency room and through the windows you could see people covered in blood. It looked like there’d been some massive disaster. One man was clutching his shoulder but his arm was missing and there was blood spurting out all over the floor. I reckoned Benjamin was into gaming quite a bit.
I looked over at Mum, Dad, Bex and Mr Howard. They all gave me a weak smile. There was no way I was going to win against St Paul’s Cathedral, but it had been an OK day and I’d got out of going to school.
“So, now for the big one,” said Lady Supermarket. “All of our finalists have created some truly outstanding pieces of work, each one showing us what makes them proud to live where they do. But this person’s choice was so original and had such light and depth and symbolism that it was actually a unanimous decision for the top prize.”
The whole room fell silent.
“In first place and winning a complete make-over for their school up to the value of £100,000 is … Maxwell Beckett for his picture, wonderfully titled, Reg.”
I gulped. I’d won? I’d actually won? The audience erupted into applause and Mum, Dad, Mr Howard and Bex shot up out of their seats and cheered. I was stunned. I made my way to Lady Supermarket and she shook my hand and handed me an envelope and then some flashes went off as someone started taking photographs. Lady Supermarket let me soak in the applause and someone brought my picture to the front of the stage. When the clapping died down Lady Supermarket began talking into the microphone again.
“Maxwell. Can I ask you what made you choose this subject matter as something that you’re proud of in your town?” She pointed the microphone towards me.
I shrugged.
“I dunno. I guess I like Reg and he lives in my town … so that kind of makes me proud.”
She grimaced a little as I answered, but she quickly turned it into a grin and started clapping. Everyone else joined in again. I ran down the steps and joined Mum, Dad, Bex and Mr Howard and they all patted me on the back and Mum and Dad gave me a big hug. It was brilliant.
After we left the gallery Dad suggested we went to one of those expensive burger places where you get your dinner on a wooden board rather than a plate. Even Mr Howard came with us, which would normally be really weird but this time it was OK.
“I’m so proud of you, Maxwell. I reckon you’ve got a real talent there. You’ve got to keep up the drawing,” said Dad, as he tucked into a chicken burger.
I smiled as I sucked on the straw in my chocolate milkshake.
“Yeah, well done, Max,” said Bex, punching me lightly on the arm.
“I’ve phoned the school and Mrs Lloyd said they are going to make an announcement in assembly tomorrow,” said Mr Howard. “They’ve got big plans for the money already. The school is desperate for some renovations.”
He was right. The playground was full of potholes, the ceiling of the hall leaked and the classrooms were dark and shabby. Every now and then someone from the council came and gave the walls a lick of paint, but it didn’t really make much difference. But now it was going to change for the better and it was all because of me.
Mum and Dad started talking about what train to get home and Mr Howard got his phone out again. I took a peek over his shoulder and saw he had three text messages from Clare, AKA Miss Huxley. I couldn’t read them all but I caught the end of the last one: … you can’t even tell me how you feel?!!? I’d seen Mr Howard and Miss Huxley hanging around together at school, sometimes in the playground and sometimes in the car park. They seemed to orbit around each other like there was some weird magnetic force pulling them together. But about a month earlier they stopped hanging out so much and Miss Huxley announced at the end of our Spanish class that she was leaving to go and work in Australia. Even though it sounded like a great big adventure she didn’t seem very happy about it. I had a feeling that her going away was something to do with Mr Howard being so grumpy. He let out a long sigh, put his phone down on the table and dropped his half-eaten veggie burger on to the plate.
“Mr Howard?” I said. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and turned to me.
“Yes, Maxwell?” he said.
I put my burger down as well.
“You should tell her how you feel, you know.”
Mr Howard looked away and took a slurp of his Coke.
“What do you mean?” He spoke quietly so that Mum, Dad and Bex couldn’t hear.
“Miss Huxley. She’s going to Australia soon, isn’t she?”
He nodded and his forehead creased up.
“I’m just saying you should tell her what she means to you. Before she leaves.”
Mr Howard shook his head.
“I don’t think we need to discuss my private life, do you, Maxwell?” he said.
We sat there in silence for a while as he fiddled with the straw in his glass. The ice cubes jingled round and round.
“Anyway,” he continued. “She’s made plans. She’s paid for a flight and got a job. It’s all been arranged. I can’t compete with Australia. What do I have to offer?”
I was quite surprised he said that. From what I could tell, Mr Howard was a very nice man indeed.
“Well, I don’t know about that,” I said. “But you teachers are always saying that honesty is the best policy, or whatever it is … so all you need to do is tell her the truth. Yeah? She needs to know the facts and then she can decide.”
Mr Howard thought about it for a bit and began to nod. He picked up his mobile and stood up. “Excuse me, everyone, I just need to make a call.”
I didn’t need to ask Mr Howard how it had gone. He sat on the train staring out of the window with a stupid grin on his face all the way home. Later that week there was a school announcement that Miss Huxley had decided to stay at Green Mills High School after all and that they would soon be starting work on important renovations, now that Maxwell Beckett had won some vital funds.
It took about ten months for all of the work to be done, but the money I’d won turned the school from a shabby, run-down mess into a bright, clean, modern building.
*
I remembered all of this as I stood gripping the cold iron railings that surrounded the school. My jaw dropped open and my mouth dried as I blinked at the sight in front of me.
I couldn’t believe it.
Everything had gone back to how it used to be.
I pressed my forehead against the cold, black bars as I stared at the school.
There were the tw
o big doors which led to the main reception area. This was where I had sat just the other day, outside the head teacher’s office, while Charlie had been making all that fuss about his nose. Beyond this was the staff room, some lockers and the main hall.
But the reception was … wrong…
One half of the double doors had been boarded up with a piece of old wood and the paintwork on the window frames had completely peeled away. The sign next to the door should have read:
GREEN MILLS HIGH SCHOOL MAIN RECEPTION
But this sign said:
GREEN MILLS HIGH SCHOOL MAIN RECEPTION
The first thing the school had done with the money I’d won was to smarten up the main entrance. They said they wanted the reception to be a clean, welcoming area for students, staff and visitors. They’d changed the windows, replaced the doors and fixed a shiny new school sign to the wall. But now … it was all back to exactly how it was before.
On the glass of the door that wasn’t broken was a poster:
CENTENARY FUNDRAISING RAFFLE
Help us celebrate reaching 100 years by selling raffle tickets!
(All money raised will go towards vital school renovations.)
I read the poster three times. What raffle? The school was having a ball with a TV crew to celebrate being one hundred years old, not a boring raffle!
The gate was open so I walked in and around to the side of the hall towards the huge glass windows. This was where Jed and Baz had presented the start of their roadshow before I’d humiliated myself and ruined it for everyone. Most of the money had been spent on the main hall because it had been pretty unusable. If it rained the hall was completely out of bounds as the floor would be dotted with orange buckets catching water from the holes in the roof.
I walked over to the tall windows, circled my hands around my eyes and looked in.
I gasped.
The hall was filled with orange buckets.
Hundreds of them.
All ready to catch any rain that came through the roof.
The stage area, where Charlie Geek had stood waiting to play Jed and Baz’s version of “Pin the Tail on the Donkey”, used to be a no-go area. I looked towards the stage now. Across the front there was a rope with a sign pegged to the middle which read: STRICTLY NO ACCESS. I stepped away. Nothing had been repaired at all. My heart pounded as I walked back to the gate. I was frightened and I was confused and I certainly didn’t want to see any more.
“Hey, you! What do you think you’re doing?”
I looked up. There was one car parked in the staff car park and a man was shouting out of the window. I froze.
“You’re not supposed to be on school property on a Sunday,” he shouted again. It was Mr Howard. He had a packet of sandwiches in his hand.
I stood there for a moment and stared at him while he stared back at me. Did he recognize me? And what was he doing here on a Sunday, sitting in his car, eating sandwiches?
“Sorry, sir,” I said, and I put my head down and carried on walking. After a few paces I stopped and turned around and then I headed straight for Mr Howard’s car. I had to be certain about what was going on here, once and for all.
I stood by the passenger window. My form tutor looked up at me, his eyes wide. Pieces of cheese had fallen out of his sandwich on to his lap and his hair was all over the place. On one side of his shirt there was a stain that looked like coffee. He didn’t look smart like he usually did. He glared back at me and then he wound the window down.
“Can I help you?” he said.
“I’m sorry I’m on school property, Mr Howard,” I said. “I had to check something out. Something really important.”
Mr Howard studied my face.
“I see. And what might that be?”
There was a polystyrene cup on the dashboard and he picked it up and slurped from it.
“I-I wanted to see how the hall was looking and if the buckets were in position ready for the rain tonight.”
He nodded.
“And is there going to be rain tonight?”
I shrugged.
“I dunno. But I thought I’d better check. You know. Just in case.”
As I spoke I turned my face this way and that so that he could get a good look at me but I think it just made me look a bit weird.
“Well. Now you’ve done your checking you’d better head home.”
He frowned. I knew he was trying to place me. I just knew it.
“Why are you here on a Sunday, sir?”
Mr Howard went to take a big bite of his sandwich and he stopped.
“I didn’t have any plans … so I thought I’d come here and catch up with some work.”
I frowned.
“In your car?” I said.
Mr Howard blinked at me.
“The staff room feels too … empty,” he said. His eyes went a bit watery and then he shook himself out of it. “Anyway, this is none of your business now, is it, er, erm…”
I blinked at him. Say it! It’s Maxwell! Just say it! I’m in your class every day. Please say it!
He took a big bite of his sandwich as he studied my face.
“Whose form are you in again?” he said, through a mouthful of food.
My heart shrivelled to the size of an acorn. He didn’t know me. Mr Howard, my very own form tutor, had no idea who I was.
“I … I’ve got to go,” I said, and I turned and ran out of the car park.
For the rest of the day I walked. I walked for miles and miles and miles. I wanted to see everything; to check on everything that I’d ever done. And the first place I checked was the swimming pool.
Every Sunday morning, when we were little, Mum and Dad would take me and Bex to “Family Fun Swim”. Our local pool would be transformed with brightly coloured inflatables and large foam floats and we’d jump in with all the other families. Dad came up with this game where he pretended he was a hungry shark and wanted to eat us. We’d start at the side of the pool and he’d count to ten while me, Bex and Mum swam off towards the floats to try and reach safety before Dad snapped at our ankles. Mum was a slow swimmer so Bex and I would get to the float first and clamber up, squealing at Mum to hurry up as Dad was right behind her. When Mum got to the float she would laugh so much she couldn’t pull herself out of the water. Dad would slide up beside her with his hand over his head like a shark’s fin.
“Hmmm, someone looks tasty… Yum, yum, yum!” he’d say and pretend to chomp on Mum’s shoulder.
“Stop making me laugh, Eddie! I’m trying to get on the float! Give me a push up!”
Bex and I would help heave Mum on to the float and then Dad would duck under the water and bang against the bottom, making us all squeal again.
That was a good memory. One of the best, in fact. I must have only been around seven. That was when they used to like each other and before they started arguing and putting stupid sticky labels on their food. I can’t even remember when it all changed. They just seemed to start getting on each other’s nerves all the time and it never got better.
When I got to the swimming pool the car park was really busy. I hadn’t been there for years. There were loads of excited kids around with little rucksacks on their backs and I saw one girl was already wearing her swimming goggles. I remembered doing that in the car on the way there. It made everyone laugh.
After one of our Family Fun Swim sessions, me, Dad and Bex waited outside the pool while Mum queued for milkshakes in the café. It was a hot, sunny day – too hot to sit in the car, so the three of us perched on the low red-brick wall that surrounded the car park. While we waited, Dad checked his phone and Bex weaved her damp hair into two plaits. I was bored so I climbed up on to the wall and began to walk along. Dad glanced up at me.
“Be careful, Maxwell,” he said, looking back down at his phone.
I walked along with my arms stretched out at my sides to help with my balance. Back then the wall had felt quite high and I took my time reaching the end. There were brown,
square tiles cemented on the top of the wall, and when I reached the corner I went to turn back but a tile beneath my foot wobbled and crashed to the concrete floor. I looked down. It had broken into five pieces. I waited for Dad to yell but he was still scrolling through his phone and Bex was still plaiting her hair; they hadn’t heard a thing. I was worried I’d get into trouble so I jumped down from the wall and quickly picked up the pieces and hid them underneath a bush. I was just standing up when a voice shouted across the car park.
“Maxwell! Milkshake!”
Mum was standing by Dad and Bex and waving a pink cup at me. I skipped back to my family and never told them what had happened to the tile.
We went to the swimming pool every Sunday for quite a while, and every now and then I took a quick walk along the wall to see if the broken tile had been replaced. It never had. In fact, no one ever seemed to notice that had gone missing.
Now it was time to take another look.
I stood by the automatic door of the swimming pool, far enough away so it didn’t keep opening but close enough to make it look like I was just waiting for someone. I pretended to check my watch, and then I began to walk along the wall that I used to balance on all those years ago. This time I didn’t need to put my arms out at the sides.
A baby was crying as its mum took it out of its car seat, and a man with huge shoulders was padlocking his bike to a stand. I stared at my feet as I walked. Under my breath I whispered to myself;
“Please be missing. Please be missing.”
I reached the end of the wall and then I took a deep breath and looked.
I shivered.
It was there.
The end tile that I’d knocked off and smashed into five pieces was back and completely unbroken.
The Day I Was Erased Page 8
