by Mandy Martin
The house had three floors and the boys’ rooms were right at the top. Willow’s legs ached by the time she got there. How did people get used to climbing stairs all day?
She knocked on both doors, calling “Time to get up, boys.”
“Go away!”
That was from Zander’s room.
“You have band practice,” Willow said, remembering Aunt Henry’s list.
“I said, Go Away!”
Willow shrugged and tried Timothy’s door again.
“Come on, Timothy, you have rugby.”
“Not rugby, stupid,” Tim said, coming out of his room dressed in white. “We don’t play rugby in the summer. Don’t you know anything?”
“Obviously not,” Will said, trying not to laugh at his outfit. “What is it then, karate?”
Timothy sniggered. “You really don’t know anything, do you? Haven’t you ever watched cricket?”
Willow shook her head. “Dad listens to it on the radio sometimes. Do you bat or bowl?”
Timothy looked slightly less scornful. “I bowl,” he admitted. “I’m a spinner.” He mimed throwing a ball over arm, twisting his fingers as he released.
Willow ducked as his arm whooshed past her ear. Before she could protest, he pushed by her and ran down the stairs.
“I am so glad I’m an only child,” she said to the empty corridor.
“Lucky, you mean,” a voice replied. She’d forgotten Zander was still in his room. “You’d be even more annoying as a sister than Patience is. Now go away. I’m not going to band practice. I hate it.”
Willow stared at the door, wondering whether she was brave enough to go in. Zander was nearly a teenager, and she knew that made him as volatile as a mother swan.
Mum can handle it, she decided, and ran down the stairs after Timothy.
“He said what?” Mum declared, when Willow repeated Zander’s response. Her face took on the expression that made Willow quail and she marched past, her lips pressed firmly together.
Five minutes later she reappeared, with Zander slouching along behind carrying his trumpet case. Zander glared at Willow, as if Mum’s anger were her fault.
Willow bit back a laugh. He looked just like the sulky teenagers she’d seen on TV.
Will I be like that, when I’m nearly thirteen? Mum would push me off the boat! Willow laughed again and followed behind her cousins, ready to discover what other families did at the weekend.
Chapter Five
“Philippa, my whites need washing. I made the most spectacular save, sliding into the boundary rope. Mum uses something to get the grass stains out.”
Willow stood open-mouthed as Timothy handed Mum his cricket bag.
Mum shouldered the bag, picked up the ballet kit and trumpet case, and staggered back to the car. She looked like one of the children Willow sometimes saw, hiking along the towpath with a rucksack bigger than they were.
All morning her cousins had treated Mum like a hired servant. They handed their bags over without thought and spoke to her so rudely it made Willow cringe. Like a storm in summer, dark clouds were building along the horizon and the air felt heavy. Willow didn’t want to be around when the clouds burst and Mum went torrential.
They reached Aunt Henry’s people carrier and Zander, Timothy and Patience piled in, pushing and yelling. Mum loaded the bags in the boot in silence.
Willow looked at her cousins – the boys thumping each other while Patience screamed. She felt like a mute swan surrounded by honking geese. Coming to a decision, she walked round to the front seat and climbed in.
It was like a cat leaping at a flock of birds. Suddenly all the cousins were yelling at once.
“How come Willow gets to sit in the front!”
“I’m the eldest, if anyone sits in the front it should be me.”
“Waaaaaah” That was Patience.
Mum yanked the driver’s door opened, stuck her head in the back, and bawled, “ENOUGH!”
The silence was total. Four pairs of eyes swivelled to face her and four mouths hung wide open. Mum never yelled.
She started on Willow first. “Go and sit in the back with your cousins.”
“But they’re being stupid…” Willow began. Mum silenced her with a glare.
“And as for you three,” she said, turning to face her niece and nephews. “I have never met such a pack of ill-mannered, inconsiderate, selfish children. And I taught in a senior school for longer than most of you have been alive. Frankly I’m appalled. If this is the way you treat Henry, no wonder she always looks exhausted.”
Zander recovered first. “You’ve no right to talk to us like that.” He folded his arms.
“Zander, you are twelve years old. You are still a minor, and you are a child under my care. I will speak to you however I choose.”
He opened his mouth to argue.
“If you don’t like it,” Mum continued, “I suggest you telephone your friends and see if any other parent will put up with you for a fortnight until your mother gets back.”
Timothy sniggered. Mum turned on him next. “As for you, Timothy, you might be younger than my daughter, but only by a few months. And I expect her to put her own laundry in the basket and carry her own bags. This is not a hotel, this is a family, and you will do your share.”
Patience squirmed, as if sensing her turn had come. Mum’s face softened a little as she looked at the five-year-old baby of the family.
“Patience, sweetie, I know you have to be loud to be heard over your brothers.” Patience nodded, sensing she wasn’t being told off. “But,” Mum continued, “If you screech like that again I will take Flopsy away until you learn to behave like a civilised human being.”
Patience hugged her raggedy toy bunny to her chest and her lip wobbled. Willow waited for the outburst, but it never came. As Mum stared at the little girl, she swallowed her tears and gave a nod.
“Well done,” Mum said. And then, like the sun breaking through the black clouds, she smiled.
“Right. Who’s for an ice cream before horse-riding?”
“Blimey, your Mum’s a bit scary,” Timothy whispered as Willow climbed into the back seat. It was the first time he’d spoken nicely to her.
“Not normally,” Willow murmured back. She was a bit frightened of this new Mum.
“I bet she was a terrifying teacher,” Zander added. “She’s even louder than Mr Jones, and he used to be in the army!”
Willow looked around at her cousins. When they weren’t fighting and being mean, they didn’t seem so bad. And it must be horrible, having their dad sick and their mum jetting off to care for him.
“At least we’re getting ice cream,” Patience beamed. She was quite cute when her face wasn’t scrunched up and red.
“What’s your favourite flavour?” Will asked kindly.
Patience gave her a withering look, as if it was a stupid question.
“Chocolate, of course.”
Chapter Six
“Why do I have to wear a skirt?” Will frowned and pulled at the pleated material that skimmed her knee. “I’ve seen school girls in trousers before.”
“Not at this school, though, sweetheart,” Mum said distractedly. She was searching the kitchen for something. “Darn this huge house,” she muttered. “Where are my keys?”
“What’s so special about this school,” Willow persisted. “I like trousers, they’re comfortable. Or shorts. Timothy’s wearing shorts – why can’t I wear shorts like he is?”
“The skirt is the only thing that shows you’re a girl,” a voice piped up. Willow turned to glare at Patience, who was twirling around making her skirt flare out.
“The school uniform says skirts for girls,” Mum said firmly. “It’s only for a week or two, Will. If you don’t like it, you can go back and stay with Dad.”
Willow felt the muscles in her tummy twist painfully. Mum never spoke to her like that. As if sensing Willow’s reaction, Mum turned to look at her properly.
“Usually by barking orders at us from the front door,” Timothy said with a shrug.
“Does it work?” Mum’s voice held a glimmer of hope.
“Not until she starts crying,” Patience replied, spinning pirouettes in her scuffed school shoes.
Mum looked like tears might be an option. Willow squeezed her hand. “It’s all right, Mum,” she whispered. “It’s only for a week or two.”
Mum gave a gurgle, somewhere between a chuckled and a sob. “Touché,” she said, ruffling Will’s hair.
Willow’s hands felt clammy as she waved goodbye to Zander and Mum drove them to the junior school. What had she been thinking? She knew nothing about being in school, and everyone in her class would have done this for the last five years.
“Are you all right, Will?” Mum asked, looking at her in the rear-view mirror.
Willow nodded. Mum had enough to deal with, without worrying about her.
“It’ll be okay. New kids start all the time.” Mum smiled. “And you know it’s only for two weeks.”
“You’re so lucky, not having to go to school,” Timothy said suddenly. “No school dinners, no homework, no assemblies, no French lessons, no sitting outside the headmistress’s office.”
Willow laughed. “I still get homework. The rest sounds fun. Well, apart from the last bit. What did you do, to end up being sent to the headmistress?”
Timothy flushed. “I accidentally threw a ball through a classroom window. I have a strong over-arm,” he added in justification.
Willow laughed. “No worries for me then, I can’t throw at all. Not much point having a ball on a boat.”
“What’s it like, living on a boat?” Timothy asked. “I mean, really? It must be hard without a TV, or a shower, or a garden.”
Will’s eyebrows shot up. “Who told you all that? We have those things. Our garden is on the roof; it’s where we grow vegetables. Plus I have all the fields and tow paths to play on. And we have a shower and washing machine and TV, just like you. Ours are just smaller.”
“So you do wash?” Patience piped up.
Willow spluttered into silence. Was that what they really thought?
“You should come and stay on the boat, see what it’s really like.” She regretted the words as soon as they were said. But she needn’t have worried.
“No way!” Timothy snapped, as Patience pulled a face like she’d stepped in dog muck.
“The boat would be a bit cramped with three extra people,” Mum agreed. “But maybe you could come for a day trip?”
Timothy and Patience looked horrified but stayed quiet. They’d treated Mum like an unexploded bomb since her outburst on Saturday. Willow wondered how long the truce would last.
“Is that why you don’t have any brothers or sisters?” Patience asked. “Because there’s no room on your little boat?”
Mum threw Patience a glance. She had a strange expression on her face, Willow thought. She’d never really wondered why Mum and Dad only had her.
“Maybe they decided they couldn’t face having more kids, after having Willow,” Timothy said spitefully.
“Timothy! Don’t speak to your cousin like that!” Mum’s voice sounded scratchy.
“I’m glad I don’t have any brothers, if they’re anything like you,” Willow spat. Timothy stuck his tongue out. Willow wanted to respond, but she sensed Mum watching her in the rear-view mirror.
She turned and looked out the window in time to see them pull into the school car park.
She fidgeted and pulled at the collar of her new school shirt. Her feet ached in the shoes Mum had reluctantly bought. Willow didn’t usually wear shoes on the boat and it felt strange to have them on all the time.
Hopefully shoes are the only thing I have to worry about today.
Chapter Seven
“Class, this is Willow Irvine. She’ll be with us for a few weeks. Make her feel welcome.”
Willow stared at the room of faces and fought the urge to run. They looked like a matching flock of birds, in their blue and red uniform. The girls all had ponytails and hairclips keeping their hair tidy, apart from one girl who had black plaits in rows across her head. Willow put her hand up to pat her short hair and understood what Patience meant – if it wasn’t for her skirt, she was certain they’d take her for a boy.
“Chloe, please can you look after Willow today?”
A girl with two neat yellow plaits snaking down to her shoulders nodded but she didn’t look happy. The teacher, Miss Brice, pointed at a chair next to Chloe and Willow walked reluctantly towards it, her new shoes pinching her feet.
Chloe looked down her snub little nose at Willow and then turned back to face the front. Willow had seen the same look on the faces of some of the people who walked past her boat and peered in the windows. She felt like her face must be dirty.
The whispering started as soon as the teacher turned her back. Willow caught snippets of it.
“Look at her hair!”
“Maybe she’s been sick. You know, like cancer?”
“Her legs are covered in bruises.”
“She looks like a boy.”
Willow felt her neck redden as the words fluttered around her like thunder bugs.
“Quiet please,” Miss Brice said. If she’d heard the whispering, she didn’t comment on it.
“Books out. Spelling test.”
Willow looked at Chloe in dismay. “Spelling test?” she said in a strangled voice.
Chloe nodded. “We always start on a Monday with a spelling test.”
“Urgh, how awful.” Willow grimaced. Spelling wasn’t one of her talents. Dad always said that writing fluidly was more important than fussing about spelling – that was what spell-check was for.
Miss Brice read out a list of words and everyone wrote them down. Willow did her best, but she knew some of them were wrong. They looked wonky.
“Okay, everyone,” Miss Brice said, as she pressed a button on her laptop. “Swap books with the person next to you. The correct answers are on the board.”
Chloe slid her book towards Willow, and took hers in return. As she read what Willow had written she snorted.
Willow watched as Chloe marked her test. 4/20! Four? She only got four right? She looked up at the whiteboard and checked Chloe’s list against the answers. She’d written every word correctly.
When Miss Brice came to check the scores she tutted quietly when she saw Willow’s. Then she forced a smile.
“Never mind, Willow, we’ll make sure you have the list on Friday, so you can practice for next week.”
Willow felt twenty-eight pairs of eyes stare at her, and wished she could wake up from the horrible dream.
It was even worse in Numeracy. The class trooped down an endless corridor to a room full of computers. As each child sat down and logged on, Miss Brice told them which challenge to complete.
Logging in wasn’t so bad: Dad sometimes let Willow use his laptop to write stories so the keyboard was familiar. But the questions on the screen might as well have been written in Gaelic for all Willow understood them.
And every time Willow got an answer wrong, her computer made an angry beep. It happened so often, the class began to snigger each time it sounded.
“That’s enough, class,” Miss Brice said eventually. “It is Willow’s first day – I expect you to be more understanding. We all have things we’re not good at.”
The words were meant to make Willow feel better, but they didn’t. She didn’t want pity, she wanted friends. Maybe she would have better luck at break time.
When she went outside after Numeracy, however, Willow stared in dismay. The quiet courtyard she’d walked through that morning, gripping Mum’s hand tightly, was now a writhing mass of
colour and movement.
And the noise! It felt like being battered by a storm while riding on deck. Louder than rain on the boat roof, louder than twenty boat engines roaring together. How did they stand it? She put her hands over her ears, unsure where to go.
She spotted Timothy, playing cricket with a group of Year Three boys. He waved, but didn’t invite her over. A quick search failed to reveal Patience. The girl might be more annoying than a swarm of midges, but at least she was family.
Finding her was like reading a Where’s Wally book. Even with her cousin’s glossy blonde hair Will couldn’t see her anywhere. Eventually she walked over to a grown-up who was surveying the playground like a referee.
“Excuse me, Miss?” Will said quietly. The woman didn’t hear. “Excuse me!” Will yelled. The woman turned and smiled.
“Yes, dear?”
“Where are the Reception children?”
The woman pointed to a corner of the playground. “It’s their turn to be in the quiet garden today.”
Will nodded, as if that meant something to her, and wandered off in the direction the woman had indicated.
She found the quiet garden in the corner of the playground. Tall willow trees waved their leaves languidly in the breeze and sunflowers bobbed brilliant yellow heads in greeting. Will felt a pressure release inside her as she breathed in the scent of the plants and flowers.
Patience looked like a delicate white lily, surrounded by giggling summer flowers in shades of red, yellow, and brown. Willow smiled at the image and wished it was her.
Hoping that Patience would include her in the group, Will put her hand on the gate to go into the garden.
Just then a boy yelled, “Hey, New Girl! It’s not Year Four’s day in there. Don’t you know anything?” It was a boy from her class. One of the ones who had laughed the loudest at her in Numeracy.
Willow hesitated. Then she saw Patience glance in her direction. Will raised her hand in greeting, but Patience just giggled and turned back to her friends.
As Willow slouched away, she heard Patience whisper loudly, “I know! She does look like a boy. And she lives on a boat!” The flower bed of giggling girls all chittered and sniggered.
Willow wrapped her arms tightly around her middle and stared over the wall at the trees dancing in the sunlight. School wasn’t quite the adventure she had thought it would be.
