“Poor Sam,” says Mr. Lorrimer. “It's a shame you have to hurt him. He's my special pal. A smashing lad.”
“I know he is,” I say. “I keep meaning to make friends, but then something—” someone! “—makes me hateful to him.”
But now I've shut my someone in the changing rooms and she can't dictate what I do. When we get to the playing field I pretend I've got a problem with my trainers. I let Mr. Lorrimer run ahead—and Sam catch up.
“I'm sorry I was such a cow, Sam,” I say quickly, scared to look at him.
There's a little pause. Maybe he's not speaking to me now.
“Sam? Are you in a huff with me?”
“Just … getting my … breath back,” he says. “No huff. No puff !”
“You shouldn't be speaking to me. You were great to me in drama and I was horrible.”
“No. Well. As if you'd want to be my partner!”
“I would. I'll be your partner next time, Sam.”
“Yeah, right,” he says, like he doesn't believe it. I'll show him.
I'll show myself.
I wait till the next drama lesson and then just before the start I go to the girls' cloakrooms and lock Vicky in one of the loos.
“You can't keep me in here!” she screams.
But I can, I can, I can.
I whisper it all the way into the hall where we have drama.
Miss Gilmore claps her hands. “Right, pair up, everyone.”
There's a little rush. Madeleine asks if she can go in a threesome with Jenny and Vicky Two. Some of the boys stand in little gangs, not wanting to look too keen to pair with each other. I want Sam to stand on his own to make it easy but he's right in the middle of a little gang, mucking about as usual, taking no notice whatsoever of me.
So I don't need to do it.
I do.
I can.
I will.
I walk right up to the gang.
“What do you want, Jumpy Jade?” says Ritchie.
So that's what they call me now. Because I start and twitch and mutter whenever Vicky's around. But she's not here now. I stand still as a rock.
“Don't call her that, Ritchie,” Sam mutters.
“He can call me anything he likes. What do I care?”
“Ooh, hoity-toity,” says Liam. “So buzz off, eh? We're the boys' gang.”
“Maybe she's after one of us,” says Ritchie, smirking.
“I know, it's Fatboy,” says Liam, and they all snigger.
“You got it,” I say. “Sam? Be my partner?”
The boys look stunned. The whole hall is hushed. My heart is thudding. I daren't look Sam in the eye. This is his chance to get his own back. He can turn me down in front of everyone. I wouldn't blame him. I did exactly the same to him.
“Right. OK. Sure. I'll be your partner, Jade,” Sam says.
We walk away from the others, Sam and me together. And everyone's staring.
“Wow!” Sam whispers.
I giggle. It sounds a bit strange, almost like a sob. It's the first time I've laughed since …
No. I'm not going to think about her. I'm going to have this whole drama lesson just being me.
We have to do these slightly daft warm-up exercises. Sam messes around a bit, pulling silly faces, making me giggle again. We're told to hold hands for one exercise and I worry about being all hot and sweaty, but Sam takes hold of my hand calmly, his own palm a little damp but his grip pleasantly firm. This hand-holding triggers a few wolf whistles. Miss Gilmore sighs theatrically and then suggests something that makes everyone squeal. All the girls have to pretend to be boys and all the boys girls. Ritchie and Liam and Ryan mince round waggling their bums. Miss Gilmore sighs some more.
“I didn't ask for an Alternative Miss World Show,” she says. “How many girls do you really see like that?”
“Jenny's a pretty fair approximation, miss,” says Ryan, and some of the boys cheer.
Jenny goes red. I do too. Last term they'd have chosen Vicky. I always hated it when they whistled at her (though she didn't ever seem to mind) but now I'm furious they've forgotten her so quickly. It's like she didn't ever exist.
“I still exist!” she shrieks from way down the corridor.
I can't listen or I'll be lost.
“Use your imagination,” Miss Gilmore urges. “Think about it. Subtly.”
“Here goes,” says Sam. His eyes narrow as if he's listening intently. His mouth tightens so that his lips nearly disappear. His face is suddenly so taut it almost looks thin. He bows his head and walks, drifting around as if he has no idea where he's going.
It's totally eerie. I expected him to do a jolly pantomime dame act. So did the others. But he's doing it so seriously. He looks so sad.
“It's Jade!”
I didn't realize I look like that. Of course he's still Sam. He can't change his pink face and his big belly and his boys' clothes. But he's also managing to be me. I look so lost. Hardly there. As if I'm the ghost.
“That's brilliant, Sam,” says Miss Gilmore. She sounds surprised. Then she looks at me. “You have a go, Jade. Get your own back. Be Sam!”
I haven't joined in a single drama lesson since Vicky died. I didn't really do much when she was alive. Vicky always wanted us to muck about and act the fool. Miss Gilmore stops looking at me, ready to pick on someone else. The teachers obviously have a pact not to force me to do anything just yet.
But maybe I want to have a go. I stop being Jade and step into Sam. I take one stride and I'm a fat boy, swaggering, legs well apart, sending myself up. I've got a big grin on my face because I laugh first so that everyone else laughs with me, not at me. Do anything for a laugh, that's me, fat boys can't risk being serious, so it's banana-skin time, whoops, act like I'm tripping, teeter totter, legs up at daft angles, that's it, laugh your silly heads off—though I suppose the last laugh's on me.
Sam's staring at me as if I've undressed him. Everyone's staring.
“How did you do that, Jade?” says Vicky Two. “You kind of became Sam.”
“It's called acting,” says Miss Gilmore crisply.
She doesn't say anything else to me during the drama class but when the bell goes she calls us both over.
“Well, Jade and Sam, you seem to be a starry partnership.”
We both go twinkle twinkle.
“I don't suppose you fancy joining the Drama Club? You might find it fun. We're a friendly bunch. How about giving it a try?”
Sam looks at me. I look at him.
I want to. But I can't. Not now. Especially not now.
But Mrs. Wainwright says life has to go on. I must learn to think for myself. I don't have to do what Vicky says now. Even though …
“Let's, Jade,” says Sam.
“OK!”
“Great!” says Sam. When we're out in the corridor he gives me a little nudge. “You don't mind going with me?”
“I want to go with you, idiot.”
“You won't change your mind?”
“No, it's settled,” I say, but of course it's not settled at all, not with Vicky.
I walk into the girls' cloakroom, taking a deep breath, ready to face her. But Madeleine and Jenny and Vicky Two are there, discussing me.
“She's the weirdest girl.”
“I think she's off her head.”
“Yes, but she can't really help it. Because of what happened to Vicky.”
“I always thought she was a bit creepy before Vicky died.”
“I liked her. But I didn't realize she can be really mean and moody—” Madeleine goes pink when she suddenly spots me.
“Jade! Oh! I was … I was just talking about this girl down my road—”
“No you weren't. You were all talking about me.”
“That's it, Jade! You tell them where to get off. The nerve of them! Let rip!” Vicky says, bursting out of a cubicle.
But I close my eyes until I've managed to will her back inside, lips sealed.
I open my eyes an
d face Madeleine. “I know I've been horrible. I'm sorry, Maddy. You've been really nice to me, you all have. I can't seem to be nice back, not since Vicky …”
“Oh, Jade,” says Madeleine, and she gives me a big hug.
Vicky makes mock vomit noises behind her door but I won't pay her any attention. I can't let her spoil things again. I need to be friends with Maddy. She'll never replace Vicky. She's too soft, too warm, like a big pink duvet. But she's a kind sweet girl and I know she'll be a good friend.
Vicky isn't soft and warm and kind and sweet and good. She is hard and cold and mean and sour and very bad. I might be able to lock her up more and more during the day but she gets her own back on me at night.
I can forget things during the day but at night she makes me remember.
Mum's taken to having breakfast with me. She never used to bother with breakfast at all, just gulped a cup of coffee while she was doing her hair and makeup. I always ate a bowl of cereal standing at the sink, looking at the little portable telly on the kitchen unit, worrying about my unfinished homework. But now I don't bother with homework and I don't bother with eating much either. Something's still wrong with my throat. There's no point eating cornflakes because I just get stuck with a mouthful of orange mush.
Mum kept nagging at me and then she read some article in one of her magazines, and now she makes breakfast and sits down with me. She tried a fry-up at first but the smell made me feel sick and Mum didn't like the flat reeking of fried bacon all day either. She tried boiled eggs and toast soldiers, treating me like a toddler, but that wasn't a good idea either. The egg was too runny, glistening like yellow phlegm, and the toast caught in my throat and made me cough.
Mum got narked and said I was just messing her about and I'd eat it even if she had to prize open my mouth and force-feed me. I cried and then she cried. She went on about me starving myself to death. I kept trying to explain that I wasn't doing it deliberately, that I always felt so choked up that I couldn't swallow properly. Mum said I was just making excuses, but the next morning she put a bowl of Greek yogurt in front of me, with a spoonful of honey spelling a sticky golden “J” on top.
“Go on, Jade, eat it,” she said. “Yogurt can't stick in your throat.”
“It's ever so kind of you, Mum, but—”
“No buts,” she said. She took a spoon, coated it with yogurt and honey, and held it to my mouth. Not angrily. Tenderly, the way you feed a little kid. “Come on, baby,” she said.
I opened my mouth. The yogurt was smooth and sweet and slipped down my throat.
“N-i-c-e!” Mum said, licking her own lips.
“More!” I said, playing this baby game.
She fed me several spoonfuls while I went “Yum-yum-yum,” and then we both got the giggles because we were acting so daft—but it worked. The next day I ate my yogurt and honey breakfast myself, practically scraping the bowl.
I've started looking forward to breakfast with Mum. But this morning the post comes just as I take my first spoonful. There's a telephone bill, a letter for Mum, and a letter for me. We don't usually get letters. Mine is typed and official-looking. Perhaps it's from school. Maybe it's some kind of warning because I'm not working properly? No, they wouldn't do that. Maybe it's about my counseling sessions with Mrs. Wainwright? I'd better not open it in front of Mum. Though she's not paying much attention. She's reading her own letter, holding it close to her face as if she's having difficulty focusing. She's gone very pink.
“Is it from him?” I say. “Your bloke?”
Mum jumps. She peers in the direction of the bedroom in case Dad might be listening. But he's snoring steadily, oblivious.
“No. No, it's not from him,” Mum whispers. She puts the palm of her hand to her forehead as if she's got a headache. “No, it's … it's from his wife.”
I stare at Mum. We sit for a few seconds listening to the hum of the fridge and the tick of the kitchen clock.
“I didn't realize he was married too,” I say eventually.
“Shhh! I—I did know, but I thought—I thought it wasn't really working. He said it had all gone flat and stale and they'd been leading separate lives.”
“Oh, Mum ! And you believed him?”
“I know, I know. Maybe I just wanted to believe him. Anyway, his wife doesn't look at it that way. She's found out. I don't know how. Maybe someone from work tipped her off. She's—she's very upset.”
“Does she want to leave him?”
“No, no. She loves him. And there are the kids. Two little toddlers. She's written pages about her kids and how they love their dad.” Mum gives a little sob, and then puts her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Jade, I feel so bad. I don't know how I could have done this to her.”
“What are you going to do?”
“God knows. I suppose I'll have to break it off with him. I mean, I don't want to break up his marriage, hurt his kids—though how am I going to see him every day at work and act like it's never happened? Maybe I'll have to change jobs? Oh God, what a mess.”
“Do you really love him, Mum?”
She considers, stirring her yogurt round and round the bowl.
“No, I don't think I do. That's the worst thing. Maybe I'd have some kind of excuse if I truly loved him but if I'm totally honest he's just someone for a bit of excitement, to make me feel romantic and special, like a girl again. I can't say I love him. Sometimes he really gets on my nerves and I wonder why I ever started it. So it's time I finished it, right?”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, Jade. I shouldn't be telling you all this stuff. You're only a kid. But I don't know, you've had to cope with so much lately, what with Vicky and everything. In some ways I feel we're much closer now, you and me.”
“I know, Mum.”
“You're a good girl. Well. What's your letter then?”
I open it up reluctantly. It's nothing to do with school. It's worse. One word leaps out at me. INQUEST.
“Jade?” Mum comes and leans over my shoulder. “Oh Lord! What's this? You've got to give evidence!”
“I don't want to, Mum. I don't have to, do I?”
“Of course not, lovie. It doesn't seem right. It'll just stir everything up. No, we'll just say you're not very well—tummyache or something. Don't you worry.”
I do worry.
“Too right you're worried! We can't miss my inquest!” Vicky says indignantly. “What's the matter with you, Jade?”
She takes hold of me by the shoulders. I can't feel her but it's as if she's shaking me inside. I try to shut her away but I'm not strong enough today.
I need to talk about it to Mrs. Wainwright but I'm not seeing her till Friday. I don't go near Sam or Madeleine because Vicky is so cross with me I'm scared she'll make me say something spiteful.
I don't go out at lunchtime. I lurk in a corner of the corridors, hunching up on a bench by the pegs, long science lab coats hanging round me like curtains. I think I'm hidden but Mrs. Cambridge spots my feet as she walks past to the staff room.
“Jade?”
She might tell me off. We're not allowed to hang out in the cloakrooms at lunchtime. But she doesn't look cross. She swats the lab coats out of the way and sits down beside me.
“Poor Jade,” she says softly. “Are you feeling really sad today?”
I nod.
“Though Mrs. Wainwright says she feels you're working through things well. You're getting on OK with her?”
“Oh yes. She's very nice. I wish I could see her today.”
“I think she's tied up somewhere else today. But maybe you could phone her tonight?”
“I don't want to say stuff with Mum listening.” I pause. “You know what my mum's like.”
Mrs. Cambridge nods. We don't quite meet each other's eyes, embarrassed.
“I'm sorry my mum and dad were so …” I can't think of the right word.
“It's OK, Jade, really.”
She's being so sweet to me I decide to ask her.
“I've bee
n sent a letter, Mrs. Cambridge. About Vicky's inquest. They've asked me to come to give evidence. And I don't want to. Mum says I don't have to. Is that right?”
Mrs. Cambridge takes a deep breath.
“I rather think you'll have to go, Jade.”
“Can't I say I'm ill?”
“They need you there, Jade. But I'm sure it won't be too much of an ordeal. They'll be very kind and gentle. I shouldn't think there'd be any cross-examining. They'll just ask you to say what happened in your own words.”
“But that's it. I can't remember. I've tried, but it all gets muddled. I can't stand to think about it.” I'm starting to think about it now and it's making me shake.
“They'll understand. Your mum will be able to go with you. If she can't get off from her work then I'll see if Mrs. Wainwright can come. Or I could try to arrange for someone to take my classes and come myself.”
I want to give her a hug because she's being so kind, but Vicky has bobbed back and I daren't give her a chance to make mischief.
I just blurt out “Thanks” and make a dash for it. I'm not in my PE kit or trainers but I go for a run on the playing field. My feet burn in my school shoes and my blouse is too tight under my arms but I speed along all the same. I haven't warmed up, I'm doing it all wrong, but weirdly it's working, I'm not having to think about my arms and my head position and my pounding legs. It's all just happening, as if I'm floating. I can do it. I can run. I've learnt. It's something I've done by myself.
“Rubbish! I've been with you. It was all my idea in the first place. And you're useless at running anyway. Look at me!” Vicky flies in front, nimbly running a foot above the ground. She peers back at me mockingly.
I keep on running steadily, trying to ignore her.
“Look at you! You're bright red in the face. And yuck, you're all sweaty! You'll stink the classroom out this afternoon. No one will want to sit next to you. Not even Madeleine Marshmallow. Not even Fatboy Sam,” Vicky jeers, circling me.
“Why do you always have to be so horrible to me? We're supposed to be friends!”
“Great friend you were!” says Vicky.
“What do you mean?” I stop, my heart pounding.
Vicky Angel Page 11
