Over the Moon
Page 2
“So go by train,” said Hattie.
The train meant getting up earlier, but I knew if I said that she would just tell me not to be lazy and that “nothing comes without a struggle”. And I really really did want to be selected! I mean, apart from anything else, it was a matter of pride.
Humbly, I said, “What about team spirit? I don’t quite get that one.”
Hattie said that team spirit meant joining things. Volunteering for things. Trying out for netball teams and hockey teams. I stared at her, appalled.
“You don’t do any of that!”
“I’m in the choir,” said Hattie.
I wouldn’t have minded being in the choir. Unfortunately, I can’t sing. Tanya can, of course: very gently and sweetly. She always gets to do the solos when it’s anything holy. Hattie has a voice like a bullhorn. She really belts it out! I would love to have a voice like Hattie’s.
“Look, it doesn’t matter if you don’t get in,” said Hattie. “Just show willing. That’s all you have to do. Then,” she added, kindly, “you might get merit marks for general improvement.”
Doubtfully I said, “Do they count?”
“Of course they count! They’re merit marks, aren’t they?”
I said, “Y – yes, I suppose. But I’d need thousands!”
“So get thousands.”
She made it sound so easy. She told me to “Look at it this way … nobody, but nobody, has as much room for improvement as you. You could get marks for improvement in every single area! Go for it, girl!” I staggered as she biffed me on the shoulder. She packs a hefty punch, does Hattie. “You could wipe the board! So long as you do what I tell you. OK?”
Weakly I said, “OK.”
“OK!” She biffed me again, on the other shoulder. “Get started!”
That very same day I added my name to every single list I could find on the notice board. Under-14 netball, Under-14 hockey. Gym, football, basketball. I didn’t actually make any of the teams, but at least I had shown willing. I just hoped the right people were taking note. I pictured Miss Allen, in the staff room, saying, “Scarlett Maguire is trying so hard this term. She’s not really a sporty type, but my goodness, she’s giving it a go!”
I didn’t try out for swimming cos Tanya is on the swimming team and I didn’t want to look stupid in front of her. I mean, I can just barely manage a length doing the doggy paddle. I did try for the choir (truly squirm-making!) and I also volunteered to paint scenery for the drama club, who fortunately said thank you very much but they didn’t need anyone to paint scenery that term as they were doing a production in the round and there wasn’t any scenery to be painted. After that, Hattie said that I had probably shown enough team spirit for the time being.
“You don’t want to overdo it, it’ll be too obvious. They’ll think you’re just trying to get selected.”
“I am,” I said.
“No, you’re not,” said Hattie. “You’re having a complete re-think. Change of heart. Reformed character!”
Somewhat alarmed, I assured her that I was exactly the same character I had always been. “All this change of heart stuff … it’s only temporary!”
“That’s what you think,” said Hattie.
What did she know?
All this effort is really draining me. Paying attention. Showing willing. Doing homework. I can’t relax for even two seconds without Hattie’s beady eye zooming in on me. This morning I was so utterly exhausted that I drifted off in the middle of French. Just a quick nap – Mrs Kershaw would never have noticed. But before I know it Hattie’s angrily jabbing at me with a ruler from across the gangway, pulling a face like a demented gargoyle.
Then when I got in a perfectly justifiable strop with Mr Hinckley, who has had the nerve to give us a THIRD LOT OF HOMEWORK in the same week, she stamped on my foot under the desk and hissed, “Attitude!” I felt like stamping right back, but just in time I happened to catch sight of Tanya simpering away on the other side of the room like a little saintly sunbeam, so instead of stamping I thought very hard of Founder’s Day and stretched my lips into a big smile of gratitude and anticipation, like, thank you S0 MUCH, dear, DEAR Mr Hinckley!
I am S0 looking forward to doing yet another load of history homework!
I really don’t know if I can stand the pace. I am already worn to a frazzle.
Mum was hugely impressed when I started settling down to my homework every evening without any of the usual nagging. The Scarlett-what-about-your-homework-I-can’t-believe-you’ve-already-done-it-and-don’t-try-telling-me-you-haven’t-got-any kind of thing. Leading, inevitably, to Big Bust Ups. Resentment and surliness (according to Mum) on my part, and frayed temper on hers.
“This is so good!” she said. “I’m so pleased! I know it’s a lot of hard work, but Scarlett, it is so important.”
To which I responded with a churlish grunt. I mean, I knew it was churlish but I didn’t want Mum exulting too much; it could only lead to disappointment. This was not the real me! This was just a temporary kind of me. I was glad that Mum was happy, but I feared it was going to make it all the harder when we went back to frayed tempers.
While Mum approved, Dad wasn’t quite so sure. I could tell he was a bit puzzled by the new me and all the sudden sunshine radiating from Mum. He was more used to him and me being in league against her, like winking and joking and taking the mickey when she was trying to be serious. He told me that I didn’t want to work too hard.
“You know what they say … all work and no play!”
“Frank, for goodness’ sake,” said Mum. “Don’t discourage her!”
“Well, but she’s at it every night,” said Dad. “For crying out loud, what do they expect of these kids?”
“She’s got a lot of catching up to do,” said Mum. “She spent the whole of her first year messing around … I’m just glad she’s come to her senses in time.”
Dad muttered, “In time for what?”
I said, “In time for Founder’s Day!”
Mum got it immediately. There aren’t any flies on Mum! “Oh,” she said, “so that’s what it’s all about … I might have known there was an ulterior motive!”
Dad still hadn’t caught on. He said, “What’s Founder’s Day got to do with it?”
“The Dinner and Dance?” said Mum.
“I want so much to go!” I said.
“Well, you will,” said Dad. “Of course you will!”
“Not if she’s not selected,” said Mum.
“She’ll be selected!”
“Dad,” I said, “I won’t.”
“What do you mean, you won’t? Don’t sell yourself short!”
“Frank, they do it on merit,” said Mum. “Merit marks. Right?”
“So? She can get merit marks! Brains aren’t the only thing. What about looks? Don’t they count for something?”
Dad was just blustering; it’s what he always does when he’s pushed into a corner. Mum made an impatient tutting sound and turned away.
“You don’t get merit marks for the way you look,” I said.
“Well, you darned well ought to!” said Dad. “You’d be a credit to the school!”
I said, “Hattie will be a credit to the school.”
“In her own way,” said Dad. “In her own way.”
He knew better than to come straight out and say anything derogatory about Hattie’s looks; Mum would have been down on him like a ton of bricks. It’s true that Hattie is not beautiful. It is also true that she is a rather solid kind of person. Sort of square-shaped. But she has a really good face, very strong and full of character, and it wasn’t kind of Dad to say some of the things that he did. He never dared in front of Mum, cos he knew she wouldn’t stand for it, but sometimes when it was just him and me he’d have these little digs like, “Poor old Hat, she’s as broad as she is long!” Or one time, I remember, he said that she would make a great sumo wrestler, which is totally unfair, as sumo wrestlers are fat. Hattie is not fat.
It was our thing that we did; we enjoyed it. Mum said it was very superficial, judging others by the way they looked, but me and Dad never took any notice. We just laughed.
All the same, I did agree with Mum on one thing: I certainly didn’t need Dad discouraging me from doing my homework. I was having enough of a struggle as it was.
Mum said to me later that I mustn’t let Dad put me off.
“You know he has a problem with women asserting themselves.”
I really didn’t think I could be accused of asserting myself, just doing my homework, but Mum reminded me how Dad had been brought up. His mum had been quite old when he was born and had these really old-fashioned views, like a woman’s place being in the home and men not having to lift a finger to help with domestic chores. Dad wasn’t as bad as that, but I had to admit, he wasn’t exactly a modern man.
“You just stick to your guns,” said Mum. “I don’t care what your reasons are; anything that motivates you has to be a good thing. I’m speaking here from experience. It’s taken me the better part of thirty years to get motivated. I wasted a large chunk of my life, I’d hate to see you waste yours.”
I wasn’t sure what Mum meant when she said about wasting her life. She’d got married, she’d had me, she’d helped Dad build up the business. When they’d started out he’d been a penniless nobody; now he owned his own company. How could Mum say that was a waste?
“What was a waste,” said Mum, “was leaving school at sixteen with no qualifications. It severely limits your choices. They say it’s never too late, but take it from me … the longer you leave it, the harder it becomes. So please, Scarlett, I know you love your dad, I know you’re his pride and joy, but don’t let him talk you out of it! OK?”
I said OK, feeling a bit shaken – Mum had never spoken to me like this before, I’d had no idea how she felt – but I wailed at Hattie later that week that I didn’t seem to be getting anywhere. Hattie, in her sensible way, said it was because I was out of practice. She said, “You’ve lost the habit. Don’t worry! It’ll come back.” Glumly I said, “If I ever had it in the first place.”
“Well, you did,” said Hattie, “cos I remember once you beat me in a spelling test and I was jealous for simply days.”
I said, “Really?” It cheered me up for about a second, but then I lapsed once again into gloom. I told Hattie that it must have been a fluke. “Either that or I cheated.”
“You didn’t cheat! You didn’t need to. Miss Marx once said you were one of her best pupils.”
I said, “Miss Marx was in Year 2!”
“Year 3, actually,” said Hattie.
“Well, anyway.” I was feeling particularly down that day. I had just had a piece of homework returned with Unsatisfactory! scrawled at the bottom of it in rude red ink. I didn’t mind getting bad marks when I hadn’t bothered to work, but I had spent hours on that essay. It was very dispiriting; I had always thought I was in control of my life. I wasn’t used to being inadequate.
“I don’t know why I’m bothering,” I said. “I obviously haven’t got enough brain cells.”
“That,” said Hattie, “is one of the most insulting things you have ever said to me.”
“What???” I blinked. “What are you talking about? I’m not insulting you!”
“Yes, you are! You’re saying that I have chosen to be best friends with a moron. Well, thank you very much! Do you think it’s likely,” said Hattie, “that you and me would still be hanging out with each other if that were the case? People without brains,” said Hattie (she is prone to making these kind of sweeping statements) “are just totally dead boring.”
I told her that that was a horrible thing to say. “People can’t help whether they have brains or not.”
“They can help whether they use them or not.”
I said, “Huh!”
“Don’t you go huh to me,” said Hattie. “I know you, Scarlett Maguire! You think just because you’re pretty you can swan through life without bothering, but this time you can’t! Not if you really really really want to go to Founder’s Day!”
It is terrible, how well Hattie knows me. And the things she dares to say! She only gets away with it because we have been friends for so long. She is always right, of course; that is what makes her so absolutely maddening!
Bumped into Mrs O’Donnell on the way home from school today. She asked me how I was getting on. It seems she’d heard from Mum that I was desperate to be selected for Founder’s Day. I wish Mum wouldn’t go round telling people! It will be just sooo humiliating when it doesn’t happen.
I told Mrs O’Donnell that I wasn’t holding out much hope, and she said how you never know your luck and to keep at it. ‘Work hard! That’s the ticket.”
What does she mean, that’s the ticket? What ticket? Ticket to founder’s Day? I don’t think so. I said this to Mrs O’Donnell. I said, “I really don’t stand an earthly … who wants to go, anyway? It’s only a status thing.” At which Mrs O’Donnell got excited and screeched out, really loud, in that embarrassing way that she has, telling me that I’d got it all wrong, it was a lovely, lovely event!
It turns out that she was there, about a hundred years aqo. Mrs O’Donnell, at the founder’s Day Dinner! Un-be-lieveable! She’s said I can go round and look at her photos if I want, so I think I might. It would be interesting to see her as a young girl … I can’t imagine it!
That was an entry I made shortly after my conversation with Hattie, when she had a go at me for not using my brain. Hattie had sort of bucked me up, a little bit, but I was still feeling sore about that unsatisfactory scrawled at the bottom of my homework. I just couldn’t see that I was ever going to get enough merit marks. All this effort, and all for nothing! And then I bumped into Mrs O’Donnell and everything changed.
Mrs O’Donnell is this big jolly person that lives near us. I knew she’d been to Dame Elizabeth’s some time back in the dark ages, cos she was always telling me about it, but I never knew she’d been selected for Founder’s Day. It came as a bit of a shock, to be quite honest. Like, Mrs O’Donnell? How special is she! Pur-lease! She may be extremely pleasant and friendly, but there is absolutely nothing exceptional about her. Not as far as I can see.
I made the mistake of saying this to Mum, who rolled her eyes and said, “There you go! Making judgements again.”
I said, “But she’s never done anything!”
“How do you know?” said Mum. “How do you know what Mrs O’Donnell may or may not have done?”
I didn’t, of course. All I knew was that she was a fat woman with a grown-up family and a husband who played golf with my dad. But I went to look at her photographs, just out of curiosity, and I got another shock, cos when she was my age Mrs O’Donnell was really skinny and attractive, and Mr O’Donnell, who is now completely bald and looks, when seen from a please people when I can, so I enthusiastically agreed, saying that he was really fit, cos I guessed that’s what she’d meant by saying he was a dish. Unfortunately, it was like we spoke in different languages. Mrs O’Donnell said, “He was fit, right enough! Used to run crosscountry for the school … and old fat woman here used to play hockey for the first eleven, if you can imagine that!”
I couldn’t. I just could not identify the Mrs O’Donnell that I knew with the girl in the photograph. Altogether it was a sobering experience and made me reflect on what time does to people. But it also renewed my flagging spirits. In spite of Hattie and her bullying ways, I’d almost been on the point of giving up.
I mean, three lots of history homework in one week, I ask you! It was the photograph of Mrs O’Donnell at Founder’s Day with her beau that did it. That’s what she called him: her beau! In other words, Mr O’Donnell, dressed to kill with all his hair. They had been young and beautiful once, just like me!
Mrs O’Donnell said, “Those were the days …” She told me to make the most of my youth while I had it, “Because once it’s gone, it’s gone.” I get really uncomfortable when old people start talking like that. I don’t like to think of myself all lumpy and shapeless and saggy-bummed! As quick as I could, I got her off the subject and asked her, instead, how she’d managed to get enough merit marks.
She said, “For Founder’s Day, you mean? I’ll tell you the secret: I knuckled down. True as I stand here … I worked hard, I played hard, and I resisted temptation.”
“Was it a struggle?” I said.
“Nearly killed me! But I was absolutely determined to be chosen and that was for one reason and one reason only: so that I could ask Jack O’Donnell to come as my partner.” She nodded at me, and winked, like it was the two of us in some kind of conspiracy against the opposite sex. “Never knew what hit him, poor man! How about you? Who are you planning to ask?”
I told her that I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.
“Come on!” she said. “You expect me to believe that? A pretty girl like you? You could take your pick!”
I always used to preen when people said things like that to me, I really basked in admiration. Now I find it quite embarrassing; I am nowhere near as vain as I used to be. But what Mrs O’Donnell said started me furiously thinking, so that that night in bed I lay awake making a mental list of all the boys I knew, scoring them out of ten, trying to decide which one I would pick if I ever got to be selected.
Jason Francis – not bad. Six or seven.