Toby winced and glared at Teresa Walsh. ‘Give up, you spasmo!’
‘What?’ Teresa was indignant. ‘I didn’t do anything, you leper. Ouch! Miss, tell him, miss, he stamped on my foot for nothing. Oh, miss, it kills.’
‘Toby Coughlin …?’
‘I didn’t, miss, it was her who stamped on mine. Oh, oh, I’m crippled miss, honest.’
‘All right, that’ll do,’ rapped the teacher, ‘from both of you’.
When everybody was busy Charlotte got up, crept to the board and scrawled a rude word in large letters. She returned to the beanbags and waited. After a minute Cecilia White noticed. Her gasp made everybody look up.
‘Oh, miss, look on the board. It says …’
‘I know what it says, Cecilia White, thank you very much.’ Blushing furiously, the teacher strode to the board and rubbed out the word. ‘Who wrote that? Was it you, Kevin Regan?’
‘No way, miss.’ The boy grinned. ‘I didn’t know you spelled it like that, miss.’
Charlotte chuckled, the sound masked by general laughter. Who said school was a drag? It was going to be a wonderful day.
It all started to go wrong at half past eleven. By then Charlotte had done a few things, like giving Kylie Reid’s hair a sharp tug during Silent Reading, tripping Esau Enright in P.E. so that instead of sailing over the vaulting horse he performed a spectacular sliding dive under it, and transferring the terrapin from its tank into Ms Weekes’ coffee cup. The kids were enjoying an unusual morning and the teacher was starting to look a bit wild-eyed when there was a shy knock on the classroom door and Split le Beau walked in.
Charlotte couldn’t believe it at first. She goggled. Split le Beau, lead singer with Dead Ringer? It certainly looked like him, but why the heck would… ? Ah! She recalled a rumour she’d heard, that Split’s real name was Douglas Murgatroyd and that he’d once been a pupil at Holy Family.
‘Douglas!’ Ms Weekes stood up, smiling, as the world-famous superstar approached her desk. ‘To what do we owe this honour?’ A buzz of excitement rippled through the class, especially among the girls, most of whom had Dead Ringer posters on their bedroom walls.
The lad grinned. ‘I was in the area, miss, so I thought I’d drop in. Hope I’m not wrecking your lesson?’
‘No, no.’ Her old pupil was making her blush harder than Charlotte’s rude word had. ‘It’s lovely to see you, Douglas. Or should I be calling you Split?’
The lad shook his blond head. ‘Oh no, miss – that’s just for the fans.’
‘I suspect you’ve got a few fans among these children, Douglas. Just look at their faces.’
Split grinned at the gobsmacked class. ‘How you doing?’ Sighs and moans rose from the young people. His grin broadened. ‘How about I sign some jotters or something?’ He glanced at the teacher. ‘That all right, miss?’
‘Of course.’ She smiled. ‘I fancy I’d have a riot on my hands if I said no.’
In a flash, everybody had their jotters out and were scraping back their chairs.
Ms Weekes held up a hand. ‘Just a minute!’ Reluctantly they subsided. ‘We’ll do this properly, a table at a time.’ She looked at the superstar. ‘Why don’t you sit at my desk, and we’ll form a queue?’ She stared at the class. ‘An orderly queue.’
And so it was that over the next twenty minutes, every kid in the class got to chat briefly with the scrummy Split le Beau and collect a personalized autograph. Every kid in the class except Charlotte Webb, who had to hover at the back of the room, drooling.
He departed at five to twelve with a grin and a wave, having turned down the teacher’s invitation to stay for a school dinner. The class, twitchy with residual adrenalin, tidied up under Ms Weekes’ eagle eye and filed out to lunch. The teacher remained for a moment, gazing at the signature on her own jotter, then swept off towards the staffroom, leaving Charlotte cold, distraught and alone.
She crept unseen out of school and down the road. Oh, Split – why today, of all days? There was a spiteful wind, and it would be at least four hours before she could retrieve her clothes. She pulled a face. Invisibility? You can keep it.
It stayed dry, so the barbie went ahead as scheduled. While Rosie was at school the two Bears built the oven out of stones borrowed from a nearby crumbling wall, then combed the woods for kindling and sawed up a fallen tree, stacking the logs beside the oven. In the afternoon they drove into Inchlake and loaded up the ambulance with sausages, steaks, fish, rolls and fizzy drinks. They bought firelighters too, just in case. When Rosie got home everything was ready.
‘Looks great, Dad, Mum. The kids’re going to love it.’
Mummy Bear smiled. ‘What time did you tell them, sweetheart?’
‘I said around seven. That OK?’
‘Sure. Change into jeans and jumper, then help me carry chairs out. There’ll be seven of us, is that right?’
‘There’s supposed to be, but I’m not sure about Conrad. He fell last night and knocked himself unconscious. They kept him in hospital overnight so he wasn’t at school today.
‘Oh, dear. What was he doing to fall, Rosie?’
‘Messing about up Inchlake Ring with Carrie. She thinks he’ll come if his mum and dad’ll let him.’
‘I don’t think I’d let him come, sweetheart. Concussion’s a funny thing.’
‘I bet he’s not laughing.’
‘You know what I mean.’
At five to seven the Waugh family Volvo appeared. Carrie got out, then to Rosie’s delight Con emerged with a bandage round his head.
Daddy Bear bent by the driver’s window. ‘We’ll keep an eye on the lad, Mr Waugh.’ He smiled. ‘Unless you want to stay, of course. You’d be very welcome.’
The twins’ father shook his head. ‘Thanks, but my wife’s got a job for me. I’ll collect them around ten if that’s all right.’
‘Certainly is. See you then.’ He gazed after the car as it crunched away down the bit of broken road.
It was five past seven and the kindling was ablaze when Peter arrived on foot. ‘Hey, you’ll never guess who I just saw.’
Rosie looked at him. ‘Who?’
‘Split le Beau.’
‘Did you heck.’
‘I did. He drove right past me in this fantastic Merc.’
Conrad shook his bandaged head. ‘What would Split le Beau be doing in a dead hole like Inchlake, you moron? It was someone who looked like him, that’s all.’
‘No it was him, as close to me as you are now. He looked just like his poster.’
Carrie pulled a face. ‘It’s dark, Pete. You could’ve been mistaken.’
‘He’s not,’ said Charlotte flatly. She’d arrived unnoticed by her friends, though Daddy Bear had seen her.
‘How do you know?’ asked Carrie. ‘Did he pass you in this fantastic Merc as well?’
‘No, he came to school.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘No, he did. He used to go there, that’s why. Miss Weekes was his teacher.’ She could see they didn’t believe her. ‘He signed everyone’s jotter, so there.’
Conrad looked at her. ‘Show us, then.’
‘He didn’t do mine.’
‘Aaah, see.’ He looked at the others. ‘She’s giving us a load of old cobblers.’
‘No I’m not. I couldn’t get mine done because nobody knew I was there. I was flipping invisible, see?’
‘You went to school invisible?’ Carrie chuckled. ‘Wish I’d thought of that.’
‘Well I wish I hadn’t.’
Conrad nodded, fingering his bandage. ‘Know what you mean, Spider. Not always fun, eh?’
‘Hey, you kids!’ Daddy Bear called from beyond the flames. ‘Anyone ready for a sausage?’
Everybody was.
‘They were clever, those neolithic people,’ said Daddy Bear. ‘They knew hundreds of things we don’t – things that are lost now. Forgotten. But they couldn’t understand why invisibility didn’t work any more once they reached the age
of twelve or thirteen. It could have been useful to them in all sorts of ways. Hunting. Avoiding enemies. They kept walking widdershins round fairy rings but it never worked. They thought maybe they needed a bigger circle ’cause they were bigger, so they built stone circles like Inchlake Ring but that didn’t work. They tried other shapes, such as spirals and swastikas and mazes. They carved ’em on rocks, cut ’em into the turf and built ’em out of stones but it was all no use. They never cracked it because it can’t be done, but they left all these elaborate experiments behind and that’s where some of our most famous patterns were copied from. It’s why we have mazes. You know, those puzzles in comics where there’s a tangle of lines and you’ve got to find your way to the centre without crossing one?’
‘Wow!’ Conrad swigged Coke from the bottle. ‘I never knew they had anything to do with the Stone Age.’
Daddy Bear chuckled. ‘Oh, you’d be amazed how much we owe to those guys, Con. Their forest clearance and farming formed a lot of our landscape. The countryside wouldn’t look the way it does if they’d never lived.’ He smiled round the circle of tired faces. ‘They were here and then they were gone, and we must go too.’
There were mumbled protests as the big traveller clambered to his feet. ‘Aw – can’t we just have five more minutes, Daddy Bear? Three then? One? Fifteen seconds?’
He shook his head. ‘Everything comes to an end, kids. Even the good stuff. Mr Waugh will be along any minute, and then Mummy Bear’ll drive Charlotte and Peter home while Rosie and I clear up here.’ He grinned. ‘Hands up if you’ve had a rotten time.’
There were no hands.
Nothing much happened for a few days after the barbie. Saturday they all slept late. Sunday they discussed what they should do about Kippax and decided gloomily that there wasn’t much they could do without proof. Conrad’s bandage came off on Tuesday. Thursday night Charlotte brought Teresa Walsh’s jotter to prove Split le Beau had visited his old school, and then it was Friday. Friday’s always the best day at school, but this one was going to be really special.
While the children were at lunch a blue van came nosing into the yard. On its side in white letters were the words ROBERT KIPPAX – JOINERY & GENERAL PROPERTY REPAIRS. Kippax senior was an old pupil of Inchlake School, and the van called about once a month to drop off a sack or two of nogs and offcuts the children could use in Design and Technology. When he saw the vehicle arrive, Mr Beecroft strode into the dining area and chose four volunteers to carry the wood into the DT store. One of these volunteers was Rosie.
The driver was sliding sacks out of the back of the van and dumping them on the tarmac. Rosie was relieved to see it wasn’t Kippax himself, but one of his workers.
‘Right.’ The Bee organized his posse. ‘Two to a sack. Four sacks. That’s two journeys each. Don’t try to carry one by yourself – there are no Arnold Schwarzeneggers at Inchlake School.’ The volunteers tittered dutifully. The Bee smiled at the driver. ‘Thanks. And thank Mr Kippax for me, will you?’
‘I will. Tarra.’ The man swung himself into the cab and drove off, anxious to be clear of the yard before the kids came swarming out.
Rosie’s partner was Carl Foxcroft. She’d tried to team up with the other girl, but The Bee had suggested girl-boy pairs and he was the boss. Carl smiled nastily as they lugged their burden through a side door. ‘You wanna take this lot home, gipsy. Make a lot of clothes-pegs, this would.’
‘We don’t do pegs, you moron, and we’re not gipsies.’ She eyeballed him. ‘You could use it though – fill that empty space between your ears.’
As they dumped the heavy sack on the floor it collapsed sideways, spilling a few nogs. Rosie squatted and scooped them up. As she went to tip them back in the bag, she saw a strip of gold-painted wood sticking out. It was pretty, with a pattern of curly leaves glistening along its length. She pulled it out. It was about a metre long. At either end was a short, ungilded section cut at an angle. It reminded her of…
‘What is it?’ Carl Foxcroft peered at the strip.
Rosie shrugged, though her heart was racing. ‘Dunno. Nice though, isn’t it? Think I’ll have it.’ She straightened up.
The boy leered. ‘I’ll get you done.’
Rosie stared at him. ‘You’ve got a short memory, Foxy. Remember that day on the field?’
‘What day? What you on about, gipsy?’
‘Oh come on – you remember. Clothes, walking by themselves?’
‘Oh … yeah.’ He looked uncomfortable, as though he’d been reminded of something he’d rather forget. ‘What about it?’
‘This about it, moron.’ She thrust her face into his. ‘That stuff’s nothing – absolutely nothing, compared to what’ll happen if you grass me up to The Bee. You got that?’
‘Uh … yeah. Yeah, OK.’
‘It better be OK.’ She hid the gilded strip in a corner, right at the back of the store where it was dark. She leaned it against the wall behind a stack of cardboard boxes. The place wasn’t kept locked. She could slip back later and get it.
She smiled to herself, going back for the second load. I could be wrong I suppose, but I think that strip’s what we’ve been waiting for. I think we’ve got our proof.
Bob Kippax was agitated. He kept coming outside, glancing around and going back in the Portakabin which served as his office. After a bit he called across the yard to a young man in overalls who was stacking new timber. ‘Where’s Leonard gone with the van, Malcolm?’
The young man slid a board onto the stack and turned. ‘It’s the first of the month, Mr Kippax. He’s down the school with the offcuts.’
‘Ah, right. Where did he take ’em from, d’you know?’
‘Well – all over, I suppose, same as usual. I mean, this delivery had just come in so I wasn’t taking much notice. Why?’
Kippax ignored the question, gesturing towards a dilapidated shed. ‘Did he take anything out of there?’
‘He might have. Like I say, I wasn’t watching him. I was busy.’
‘OK.’
He was halfway up the office steps when he heard a motor. The van swung into the yard. He waited while the driver parked and got out. ‘Leonard?’
‘Yes, boss?’
‘The stuff for the school. Did you get any of it from the shed?’
‘A few bits, yeah.’
‘Any old stuff?’
‘Don’t remember, could’ve been. Why – is something up?’
‘The frames from those flipping pictures’re in the shed, only there’s a piece missing. You’ve not taken that to the school, have you?’
Leonard shook his head. ‘Don’t think so, boss, but I couldn’t swear to it.’
‘You couldn’t swear to it?’ Kippax glared at the hapless driver. ‘You know what’ll happen if you have and somebody spots it, don’t you?’
‘Sure, boss, big trouble. Want me to go back there and check?’
‘Oh yeah. What you gonna say? Excuse me Mr Beecroft, d’you think I could take a look at those off-cuts I brought just now – I might have put stolen property in by mistake? No.’ He continued up the steps. ‘You’ve screwed up enough for one day, Leonard. Get back to your work. I’ll sort it.’ He went in the office and picked up the phone.
First period after lunch one of the little kids knocked on the classroom door and came in. ‘Please, miss, can Lee Kippax go to the office? He’s wanted on the phone.’
Miss Blackburn sighed. ‘Yes, all right. Off you go, Lee, but don’t be all afternoon.’
‘Hello?’ The school secretary had left the office to give him privacy.
‘That you, Lee?’
‘Dad. What’s up?’
‘Listen. Do you know where they keep the wood?’
‘What wood?’
‘The wood I send round for CDT or whatever they call it nowadays.’
‘Oh, yeah. The DT store. It’s sort of round the side of the …’
‘I don’t want to know how to find it, you dummy. Can you get in th
ere?’
‘Well yeah, but…’
‘It’s not locked?’
‘No.’
‘Right. Get yourself round there, now. Leonard’s just dropped a load off. Four bags. I want you to search ’em. You’re looking for a piece of picture frame, gilded, about a metre long. You got that?’
‘Yes, Dad, but I can’t go now. We’re in the middle of Geography.’
‘I don’t care if you’re in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, you cretin. Get round there and find that wood, unless you want to be visiting me in jail.’
The prospect of seeing his father locked up for a year or two appealed to the boy, but he was a dutiful son. ‘I… I’ll do my best, Dad. Tarra.’ He hung up.
I can’t go now. Old Blackbum’d come looking for me. She’d think I was either dodging her lesson or nicking from the store. Both, probably. I’ll go at half three.
‘Finished?’ asked the secretary as Lee emerged.
‘Oh – yes, miss. Thanks.’
‘Not trouble at home, I hope?’
‘No, miss.’ He returned to the classroom. Dad’s trouble is, he panics. Never get anywhere if you panic. He picked up his pencil, made a dot in the middle of the Pacific Ocean and smiled.
Me.
Half past three. The moment Miss Blackburn dismissed the class, Rosie headed for the DT store. She’d just slipped inside and pulled the door to behind her when it opened again to admit Lee Kippax. He scowled at her.
‘What’s your game, gipsy?’
Rosie looked at him. ‘What’s yours?’
‘The Bee sent me to tidy up in here.’
‘Oh. Well, I was just looking for something.’
‘What?’
‘Doesn’t matter, it’s not here. See you.’ She slipped past him.
Blast! Now what do I do? She went out into the yard. The Bee never sent him, he’s after that bit of wood. That’s why he was wanted on the phone. Our bit of proof’s about to disappear.
Invisible! Page 8
