by Jean Ure
“If-you-ask-me-they-should-all-be-made-to-run-naked-through-the-streets-and-have-raw-sewage-thrown-at-them.”
I giggled. I loved Monica! “What’s she talking about?”
“Politicians,” said Mum. “Oh, listen to her, listen to her! That is too much. She is completely mad! JUST BE QUIET, WOMAN, AND GO AWAY! Honestly, I don’t know why your dad puts up with it.”
“He probably agrees with her,” I said. “He probably thinks it’s a good idea.”
“What? Naked politicians running through the streets?” Mum rolled her eyes. “Heaven forbid! They’re quite bad enough with their clothes on, thank you very much. What are you doing up so bright and early?”
This was it. The moment I was dreading. I sank down on to a chair opposite her.
“Mum,” I said, “there’s something I w—”
“Omigod, there she goes again! Get rid of her, get rid of her!”
“OK.” I leaned over and switched the radio off. Mum gave a shriek.
“What are you doing?”
“You said to get rid of her.”
“I was talking to your dad! I didn’t mean – oh, never mind, it doesn’t matter. I lose all patience with that woman. Did you want to say something?”
She’d noticed. At last! I braced myself against the table.
“You know last night,” I said, “when you were saying how there’d be five of us at Summerfield?”
“Yes! Great fun. But I definitely intend to ask about a reduction.”
“The thing is,” I said, “I—” I stopped. I couldn’t get it out!
“You what?” said Mum.
I gulped. “I don’t want to go there!”
My voice came out in a pathetic squeak. Mum stared, like I had suddenly gone green or turned into some weird kind of thing from outer space.
“You don’t want to go to Summerfield?”
I hung my head.
“You’re not serious?” said Mum. “Please! Tell me you’re not serious?”
I took a deep, trembling breath.
“Omigod,” cried Mum, “you are!”
There was a silence. Long, and awkward. Mum ran a despairing hand through her hair. Mum’s hair is very thick and springy. It was already sticking up from where she’d been sleeping on it. Now she’d made it look like a bird’s nest.
“I’m really sorry,” I whispered.
This was turning out even worse than I’d thought. I had never, ever known Mum be at a loss for words before. She was shaking her head, like she had earwigs crawling in her ears. She seemed totally bewildered.
“Darling,” she said, “what on earth are you talking about? Of course you’re going there! The McBrides always go to Summerfield. It’s all arranged!”
“Yes,” I said. “I know.”
“Coop and Charlie couldn’t be happier. They love it!”
“Yes,” I said. “I know they do.”
“It’s not like you’ll be on your own. They’ll be there to keep an eye on you.”
I stared down at the table.
“And the twins,” said Mum. “They can’t wait to get there!”
I mumbled again that I was sorry.
“Is it something someone’s said? Something that’s put you off?”
I assured her that it wasn’t.
“So… what is it?” said Mum. “I don’t understand! Why all of a sudden don’t you want to go?”
“I just don’t!”
The squeak had turned into a kind of desperate wail. Please don’t keep asking me! Because how could I explain? How could I tell Mum the reason I didn’t want to go to Summerfield was that I needed to be on my own? To be somewhere I could just be me, safely anonymous, without everyone knowing my dad was on the radio and who my brothers and sisters were. I loved my family, I truly did, but sometimes they made me wonder whether I actually really existed or whether I was just this empty space in their midst.
“Darling?” A new idea had obviously struck Mum. She studied me anxiously. “It’s not because of them, is it? Charlie and Coop? Because they’re both doing so well? It’s not that that’s bothering you? Because it really shouldn’t! I mean, Coop and his music… we can’t any of us compete with Coop. Not even your dad. As for Charlie – well! She’s just being Charlie. Centre of attention. That’s her thing, it’s what she does. Not everyone can be like Charlie. We’re all different! And just as well, if you ask me. The world would be a very boring place if we were all the same, don’t you think?”
Mum gave me this bright, hopeful smile, like begging me to agree with her. I smiled rather tremulously back, but was saved from having to say anything by the whirlwind arrival of Dad, who came crashing noisily through the door. Dad is quite a large person; he does a lot of crashing.
Mum said, “Alastair, we need to t—”
She never got to finish the sentence. With a howl, Dad lunged at the radio.
“Why isn’t this on? Why aren’t we listening to my highlights?”
“I was,” said Mum. “Peachy turned it off. We n—”
But Dad had already switched the radio back on. His rich fruity tones came booming out across the kitchen.
“Hah!” he said. “I knew they’d play this bit!”
Mum pulled a face. I sort of sympathised with her. Dad does tend to drown people out. But then Mum does a fair bit of drowning herself.
“This next guy was a right plonker,” said Dad. “How about mad Monica? Did they play her?”
“Never mind mad Monica,” said Mum rather grimly. “We have a problem on our hands.”
“Really?” Dad helped himself to a cup of coffee. “What’s that?”
“Just Peachy,” said Mum. “She doesn’t want to go to Summerfield.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” said Mum. “She doesn’t want to go to—”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” yelled Dad, “kill that damn radio!”
For the second time, I leaned across and turned it off.
“What do you mean, she doesn’t want to go to Summerfield?”
“What I said. She doesn’t want to go there.”
If I’d thought Mum’s reaction was bad, Dad’s was a thousand times worse. It was like his mouth opened and a bomb exploded, shooting words all over the kitchen. They bounced off the walls, banged against the windows. Mum waited patiently, drinking her coffee. I sat hunched on my chair, feet on the rung, elbows on table, chin propped in hands, my face covered. You can’t interrupt Dad when he is in full flow; you just have to take shelter until the storm has passed. As soon as it has, Dad becomes calm again. His temper is massive, but it usually dies down as quickly as it flares up.
Mum said, “Right! Can we talk now?”
“We’d better,” said Dad.
“If you’ll just stop moving about and sit yourself down.”
“I am sitting down,” said Dad. He pulled out a chair. “I’m in a state of shock. What is all this nonsense?”
Mum said that unfortunately she didn’t think it was nonsense. “I think she’s serious… she doesn’t want to go there.”
“I got that bit,” said Dad. “What I want to know is why?”
“I think,” said Mum, “it’s because she feels scared of being overshadowed by Charlie and Coop. What with Charlie hogging all the limelight and Coop being some kind of prodigy – and then, of course, there’s the twins, when they come along. They’re not exactly shrinking violets, bless them!”
Dad said, “You can say that again.” He gave one of his throaty chuckles. “Talk about a double act!”
“Exactly,” said Mum. “You can understand if she feels a bit overwhelmed.”
They were going on about me like I was deaf, or in another room. They did that sometimes. Just stopped noticing that I was there.
“I don’t think we should push her, if she really doesn’t want to. I would hate her to end up with some kind of complex.”
“It is the curse of coming from a gifted family,” agreed Dad
. “There’s bound to be a bit of…” He waved a hand. “Well! A bit of… you know. Difficulty.”
“Although she does have her own thing. Just because it’s not showy doesn’t mean it’s not as valid.”
“All the same.” Dad slurped his coffee. “Hard act to follow.”
“Very hard,” said Mum.
“So! What do we do?”
There was a pause. I waited for Mum to say something but she just sat there, munching her top lip.
“Well?” Dad was getting worked up again. He slapped his hand on the table. “Say something!”
Since it seemed that Mum wasn’t going to, I thought that perhaps I should.
“You could always send me somewhere else,” I said.
Their heads snapped round, like, Ooh, she’s there! She’s been there all the time!
“We could.” Mum said it slowly, considering the idea. “But where would we send you?”
“That,” said Dad, “is the question.”
Eagerly I leaned forward. I’d been doing a lot of thinking about where I’d like to go. “What about Winterbourne?” I said.
“Oh, darling, no!” Mum gave a little shudder. “Not Winterbourne! You’d be completely lost. You’d never survive! It’s far too big. And anyway, it doesn’t have a good reputation at all.”
I didn’t care that it was big. I didn’t care about its reputation. All that interested me was that Winterbourne High was just about as far as you could possibly get from somewhere like Summerfield. Nobody would know me. Nobody would know my family. I could just be me.
“It’s only down the road,” I pleaded. “I could walk there!”
“But why would you want to?” said Dad. He seemed genuinely puzzled. Why would anyone in their right senses choose Winterbourne High over Summerfield? “Give me one good reason!”
“You wouldn’t have to pay for me?” I suggested.
Dad gave an angry roar. “Don’t you try pulling that one, my girl! There’s a little thing called equality in this house, yes? If we pay for the others, we pay for you. You’ll have to come up with something a bit better than that!”
“I like the uniform?” I said.
“Darling, it’s grey,” said Mum. Summerfield’s is bright red. Far more to Mum’s taste.
I said, “I like grey.”
“Nonsense!” said Mum.
“Rubbish!” said Dad.
“It wouldn’t suit you at all,” said Mum. “You need a bit of colour. Something bright. Put you in grey, you’d just fade into the background.”
“Not,” said Dad, “that one chooses a school by its uniform.”
“Well, no, of course. Absolutely not! But I don’t think it helps if it makes one look a total fright. And you know, darling, you do need all the help you can get. You don’t want to fade. How about Sacred Heart? That’s a nice school!”
“They wear kilts,” I said.
“I know. So sweet! That blue would really suit you. Bring out the colour of your eyes. Of course – ” a note of doubt crept into Mum’s voice – “it is all girls. I’m never too sure about that. On the other hand, you do have brothers, so maybe it wouldn’t matter too much.” Mum turned enthusiastically to Dad. “Do you know, I really think Sacred Heart would be a good choice!”
“Bring out the colour of her eyes,” said Dad sarcastically.
“Oh, don’t be silly! That’s neither here nor there,” said Mum. “I was just thinking how it was exactly the sort of school that would suit her… small classes, no pressure… no one to compete with. And all those lovely nuns! Let’s check out their website.”
It seemed that my fate was sealed.
“We are assuming,” said Dad, “that they can take her.”
“Oh, I’m sure they will,” said Mum.
Mum is always sure about everything, and it has to be said, she is usually right. She has this gift of bending people to her will.
“Just leave it to me,” she said.
She broke the news to the others later that day when we all went up the road for Sunday lunch.
“Everybody! A little bit of hush,” she said. “Hot news!”
“About what?” said Coop. “Dad’s won another radio award?”
“I wish!” said Dad.
“Right,” said Charlie, “cos you’ve only got about a dozen of them.”
“Can’t have too many.”
“Will you please HUSH?” said Mum. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
“Ooh!” Coop gave a little shiver. “Sounds important!”
“Not desperately,” said Dad. “It’s just Peachy.”
Dad was still quite cross. And nobody else cared all that much. There wasn’t any reason they should. Like Dad said, it wasn’t really important. Not like Dad getting a radio award, or Charlie getting a lead in the school play. Just Peachy, being silly and awkward.
Mum patted my hand. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Your dad will get over it. And I do actually think you’ll be far better off on your own. There won’t be all that stress of trying to keep up; you can just quietly concentrate on doing your own thing. I’m so glad I thought of it!”
“…just a bit insecure, which isn’t really surprising, I suppose, when you come to think about it.”
The voice was Mum’s. She was speaking to someone on the phone. Who? I wondered. And who was she talking about?
“The others are doing almost frighteningly well.”
I froze, in the hall on the other side of the door. I hadn’t meant to eavesdrop but I couldn’t help hearing. Mum’s voice is very clear and penetrating.
“All that high-flying. Enough to make anyone insecure.” She gave a little tinkle of laughter. “Even me!”
Who? Who? Who was she talking about? I hovered guiltily, unable to tear myself away.
“I don’t think I’d say she was jealous,” said Mum. “A bit envious perhaps – which is only to be expected. More a sense of… not being able to compete? Which you can perfectly understand. It all just comes so easily to the rest of them.”
She was talking about me. I knew she was. But who was she talking to?
“Oh, yes, much better,” said Mum. “Far happier now she’s at Sacred Heart. I always felt that Summerfield wouldn’t be quite right for her. An excellent school – the others just love it – but—” Mum broke off as I pushed open the door. “Ah, Peachy!” she said. “Do you want a word with Big Gran?”
Big Gran is Dad’s mum. She is quite a large person, like Dad, but unlike Dad she is not a bully. Dad is known for being a bully. He was once called the rudest man on the radio. Big Gran is quite sweet. She has always tried really hard to make me feel good about myself. Sometimes she tries a bit too hard, and then it is embarrassing. But I know she means well.
I said, “Hi, Gran.”
Gran said, “Hello, sweetheart! I’m so glad to hear you’re getting on all right at your new school. It’s a pity about Summerfield, but don’t let it bother you. I mean, your dad being upset and all that. He’ll get over it. What’s important is that you should never be made to feel you have to do things simply because your brothers and sisters do them. You just concentrate on being your own person.”
It was what Gran was always telling me to do. I promised her that I was concentrating like mad.
“Good,” said Gran. “That’s good. Always remember that simply because something’s right for the others doesn’t necessarily mean it’s right for you. You mustn’t let yourself be put under any pressure.”
I assured her that I wouldn’t.
“Well, I certainly hope not,” said Gran. “It’s not as if you’re in competition. I know it can be difficult at times. I’ve been there! I’ll never forget the day your dad’s Auntie Esther got into the Royal Ballet School.”
Auntie Esther is Gran’s sister. She was a famous ballet dancer in her time.
“Oh, such a to-do!” said Gran. “Big, big celebration! WELL DONE, ESTHER! Huge great banner, special cake in the shape of a ball
et shoe, all over the local paper, called up on stage in morning assembly… Oh, dear, I was so jealous I can’t tell you! Not that I had any ambitions in that direction. At my size?” Gran laughed. A rich, fruity laugh like Dad’s. “Forget it! But I wouldn’t have minded some of the attention, I don’t mind admitting. It was a bit of a rough time. Dear little Esther, so dainty and talented, and great lumping Elinor who couldn’t even walk into a room without tripping over her size-seven feet. But then, you see, we both grew up and I did my own thing and couldn’t have been happier. So it just goes to show, doesn’t it?”
I made a vague mumbling sound of agreement.
“That’s the spirit!” said Gran. “Now—” she settled down for a cosy chat. “Tell me a bit more about this new school. Sacred Heart. I don’t know it. What is it like?”
“It’s all right,” I said.
“You mean, really all right? Or just all right, not bad?”
I said, “Really all right. Really!”
I’d been at Sacred Heart for over a fortnight now. I hadn’t been too sure at first. I’d wanted to go to Winterbourne because Winterbourne was huge. Nearly 1,500 pupils. Enough to swallow me up and keep me safely anonymous. Sacred Heart was hardly any bigger than primary school, where I hadn’t been anonymous at all. Everybody had known who my dad was. Everybody could remember Charlie and Coop. Everybody knew the twins. And everybody, but everybody, was always expecting me to be just as high-powered and talented as they were. Until they discovered that I wasn’t, and then it was like, “Oh, that’s just Peachy. She’s not a bit like her sister.”
So just at the beginning, when I started at Sacred Heart, I was really anxious, because suppose someone discovered about Dad, or knew someone who knew Charlie or Coop? In the whole of Year 7 there were only thirty people. Once one person found out, everybody would know, and I might just as well have gone to Summerfield and not caused Dad all that grief. Cos he was still a bit cross about it, even now.
