Tell Me No Lies

by Malorie Blackman

  Mike couldn’t believe it. She wasn’t really going to give him fifty pounds, was she? He opened the envelope. Inside was one crisp, new-looking five pound note. Somehow she’d managed to pocket the rest! Mike turned in his chair to look at Gemma.

  ‘Is it all there?’ Gemma asked.

  ‘Everything you owe me – yes,’ Mike replied.

  ‘So we’re all square now?’

  ‘Not even close,’ Mike whispered.

  ‘No, I guess not,’ Gemma said seriously.

  Ignoring the speculative look Kane was giving him, Mike turned back to face the front of the classroom.

  49

  Gemma

  To Find Mum

  ‘Dad, can I talk to you?’

  Gemma’s father looked up from the kitchen table where he was reading his newspaper.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘First of all, here’s the money you lent me.’

  Dad took the envelope and counted the notes. ‘It’s five pounds short,’ he said, frowning.

  ‘Yeah, I know. Can I owe you?’

  ‘Looks like I don’t have much choice in the matter.’ Dad raised his eyebrows. ‘So are you going to tell me why you needed to borrow fifty pounds for just one day.’

  Gemma shook her head.

  ‘Did it get you out of trouble like you said it would?’

  ‘It helped,’ Gemma replied.

  Dad sighed. ‘I wish I knew what you were up to.’

  Gemma shrugged. She sat down opposite him.

  ‘I’ve got something to tell you, Dad.’

  ‘Oh yes?’ Dad folded up his paper and put it on the table before him. ‘This sounds ominous.’

  Gemma took a deep breath. ‘I’m going to look for – and find – Mum.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I don’t mean I’m going to go marching up and down the streets looking for her,’ Gemma rushed on. ‘But I want you to help me put an ad in the local papers around where we used to live. I’ll start that way and take it from there.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So are you going to help me?’

  ‘You really want to do this?’

  ‘Yes. And I will, with or without you – but I would like your help.’

  ‘I see.’ Whilst her father didn’t say yes, Gemma noticed that he didn’t exactly say no either.

  ‘And I’d like a favour.’

  ‘I’m not giving you any more money.’

  ‘No, it’s not that. I want you . . . Could you tell me about my mum, please?’

  Gemma watched as her dad slowly put down his newspaper.

  ‘What d’you want to know?’

  ‘Everything.’

  ‘Fancy a pizza whilst we talk?’ Dad said carefully.

  ‘I’d like that.’ Gemma smiled.

  ‘D’you want to order one in or shall we go out?’

  Gemma considered. ‘Let’s go out.’

  ‘Can I come with you?’ Tarwin piped up from behind Gemma, making her jump. ‘I’d like to hear this too.’

  ‘How long have you been standing there?’ asked Dad.

  ‘Long enough!’

  ‘Don’t sneak up on people like that,’ Gemma said, annoyed.

  ‘What’s the matter? Got a guilty conscience?’ Tarwin grinned.

  Not any more. At least . . . not so much any more, Gemma thought.

  ‘OK then. Get your jackets and we’ll set off,’ said Dad.

  50

  Mike

  Something To Tell You

  Mike sat on the sofa in between Gramps and Nan. Nan was watching the news. Gramps was reading a historical novel. Mike picked up the remote control and switched off the telly.

  ‘Nan, Gramps, I have something to tell you.’ Mike rushed out the words before he could change his mind.

  ‘What is it, dear?’ Nan asked.

  Silence.

  ‘It’s the truth about Mum and Dad and me,’ Mike said at last. ‘It’s the truth about what happened that night.’

  Gramps and Nan looked at each other.

  ‘We’re listening,’ said Gramps slowly.

  51

  Gemma

  Out

  It was late by the time Gemma, Tarwin and Dad returned home but it didn’t matter. Gemma had more energy than she’d had in a long, long time.

  Her dad had given her a lot to think about. He had told her everything, some of which didn’t paint him in a very sympathetic light at all. But Gemma had never felt closer to him or her brother. They’d even managed to share a few jokes and smiles. Over the last couple of years they had shared a lot of shouting and unhappiness but this was the first time in a long while that they had shared laughter.

  Gemma entered her room and immediately saw her scrapbooks, sitting on top of the wardrobe collecting dust. She stood on her bedroom chair and brought them down in the heaviest piles she could manage. First thing tomorrow she was going to put them all in the dustbin. First thing tomorrow.

  Well . . . maybe not scrapbook number seven! That was the one with all the smiling mums and the happy endings. It would go – but not quite yet. The rest were definitely on their way out!

  52

  Mike

  Suspicions

  ‘So now you know the truth,’ Mike said, his head bent.

  He’d spent the last half-hour telling his grandparents all about living with Mum and Dad since Dad lost his job, right up the moment where he’d killed his own father and let his mum take the blame for it. Now he waited for the axe to fall. All that was left now was for Gramps or Nan to speak and tell him that he could no longer live under their roof. He waited.

  ‘So now we know,’ Nan sighed.

  ‘I thought it was something like that,’ said Gramps. ‘But before all that trial business, every time we asked your mum how things were, she’d smile and shrug and say fine. I wish she’d trusted us. I wish she’d confided in us. Michael, it was an accident. You must never, ever blame yourself – d’you hear me?’

  ‘She probably thought that because we’re Richard’s parents, we wouldn’t believe her,’ Nan said sadly. ‘But I knew Richard had changed. After he lost his job, every time I talked to him on the phone he was brusque and impatient. And there was that time we arrived just before Christmas and your mum was in tears.’

  Gramps nodded. ‘I knew then that things weren’t right at your house, but none of you would say a word and we didn’t want to interfere. I’ll regret that until my dying day.’

  Mike looked up with a deep frown. What was going on? ‘Don’t you understand? Dad’s dead because of me. I pushed him. If I’d stopped to call an ambulance or told Mum what had happened, Dad might still be alive today.’

  ‘That’s not your fault,’ Nan said at once. ‘It was an accident. In your shoes I would’ve probably done the same thing.’

  Mike had never believed that it was possible to feel like laughing and crying at the same time, but now he did. He hadn’t expected Nan and Gramps to be so . . . understanding. He’d thought they’d only known what had been revealed in court, but they obviously knew a lot more than he’d given them credit for. Gramps moved to sit beside him. To Mike’s surprise, he took one of Mike’s hands in both of his and smiled sadly.

  ‘When I think of your poor mum pleading guilty to the manslaughter charge so she wouldn’t be charged with murder.’ Gramps sighed. ‘There must be something we can do . . ’

  ‘Mum tried to tell the court about Dad’s behaviour and sometimes he did hit her, but Mum would never let anyone know, so it ended up working against her because she had no proof.’ Mike shook his head as he remembered all the things, the terrible things, the judge had said about his mum – as if Mum would make up a story like that. If the judge only knew how hard it was for his mum to admit in the first place that everything at home wasn’t wonderful.

  ‘I don’t know how your mum coped for so long, I really don’t,’ said Nan. ‘I would’ve upped and left long before she did.’

  ‘But Dad was your so
n.’

  ‘Yes, and we loved him very much and we always will. But that doesn’t change what he did to you and your mum,’ said Gramps. ‘And we could never condone that.’

  Mike looked from Gramps to Nan and back again. He didn’t trust himself to speak. He had a lump the size of a football in his throat and if he attempted one word, one sound, one murmur, he’d burst into tears.

  ‘We did write to your mum, Mikey,’ Nan said gently. ‘But your mum blames herself for not getting both of you away sooner. All she wants is the best for you and she reckons that seeing her in prison would upset you too much.’

  ‘But I want to see her. I really do,’ said Mike.

  ‘I’ll tell you what.’ Nan smiled. ‘Let’s all write to her. Maybe between the three of us we can persuade her that we really want to see her.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Mike could feel tears pricking at his eyes. ‘You don’t hate me?’

  ‘Mike, whatever happened in the past or happens in the future, you’re our grandson and we love you,’ Gramps told him gently. ‘Don’t you know that by now?’

  Tears spilt out on to Mike’s cheeks. Horribly embarrassed, he brushed them away but they wouldn’t stop coming. Then Gramps put his arm around Mike’s shoulder and hugged him – and Mike knew he wouldn’t stop crying for a long, long time.

  53

  Gemma

  Going On

  Gemma entered the classroom and started walking to her desk. She slowed when she reached the middle of the room.

  ‘Morning, Robyn and Sarah.’ Gemma smiled.

  The two girls looked up, stunned.

  ‘Morning,’ Gemma repeated.

  ‘Hi!’ said Robyn.

  ‘Hello.’ Sarah frowned.

  Gemma’s smile brightened. She walked to her table. On the way she saw Mike. He was already sitting down. She stopped and looked at him. He looked at her. Neither of them said a word. Gemma went to her table and sat down.

  Mike dug into his bag to get out his pencil case.

  ‘What’s got into Gemma this morning?’ Kane whispered to him.

  ‘Maybe she got out of bed on the right side for a change.’ Mike shrugged. ‘Ouch!’

  Gemma had poked him in the back with her ruler. ‘I heard that!’ she told them. ‘And next time, if you’ve got something to say about me, say it to my face. OK?’

  ‘Don’t be so nosy. We were talking about you, not to you,’ Kane told her.

  ‘Well, I’m right behind you. And my ears work.’ Gemma turned from Kane to Mike. ‘So how are you today?’

  ‘I’ve been better.’ Mike shrugged. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’ve been worse,’ Gemma replied.

  Gemma and Mike looked at each other. There were no stars, no sparks, no smiles, but they understood each other. Mike was the first to look away. Gemma sighed. She had a long, long way to go, but she’d taken the first steps. Maybe one day she and Mike could be . . . friends. Maybe one day. Gemma looked around. She was getting curious looks from some others in the class. She smiled at them. They turned away. Gemma sighed again. This was going to take time and a lot of hard work. Her hands twisted and turned in her lap. Now that she no longer had newspapers to read and cut up, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Still, that itself was progress of a sort.

  ‘Watch out, world! I’m coming!’ Gemma said softly.

  Mike turned to give her a puzzled look. ‘Did you say something?’

  ‘Yeah!’ Gemma replied at once. ‘I said, “Watch out, world! I’m coming!” ’

  Kane and a few others turned at that.

  ‘Gemma, I wonder about you sometimes.’ Kane shook his head.

  ‘How sweet! But there’s no need to, Kane. I’m fine.’ Gemma smiled. ‘Or at least, I’m heading that way.’ And that was the strange, bizarre, wonderful, glorious truth!

  Mr Butterworth entered the classroom – and the lesson began.

  Praise for Tell Me No Lies

  ‘Pacy and hard-hitting . . . This is a brave novel about true courage. Malorie Blackman doesn’t compromise with trite solutions to overwhelming problems’

  Lindsey Fraser, Scottish Book Trust

  ‘A powerful and ultimately heartening novel’

  Lindsey Fraser, Scotsman

  ‘This story goes at a fast pace and has a nightmare logic that is gripping and disturbing’

  Nicholas Tucker, Independent

  ‘Blackman’s tightly paced thrillers never lose momentum, which makes her ideal for children who usually give up on books halfway through’

  Sunday Telegraph

  ‘A psychologically probing novel, developed with all this author’s proven power to establish tense, choice-packed situations’

  Michael Thorn, Literary Review

  ‘A knife-edge, leave-the-light-on thriller from the award-winning author of Hacker and Thief hits the mark once again . . . Pacy, chilling, thought-provoking and unforgettable entertainment’

  etcetera

  ‘This fast-moving story tells the stories of two children at once. An absorbing and moving thriller, it successfully evokes our sympathy for both of the victims, Gemma and Mike’

  Books for Keeps

  ‘A powerful, thought-provoking and highly readable novel by one of today’s most talented writers for children. The pace is headlong, and atmosphere is richly created’

  Books magazine

  Also by Malorie Blackman

  Hacker

  Operation Gadgetman

  Thief!

  A.N.T.I.D.O.T.E

  Pig-Heart Boy

  Dangerous Reality

  Dead Gorgeous

  Cloud Busting

  Noughts and Crosses

  Knife Edge

  Check Mate

  Double Cross

  Tell Me No Lies

  Malorie Blackman is an ex-computer programmer who now writes full-time. She has had a number of jobs – database manager, systems programmer, receptionist, catering assistant and shop assistant. Malorie has published over fifty books and has won a number of awards, including the Children’s Book Award for Noughts and Crosses and the Young Telegraph Children’s Book of the Year Award for Hacker (1994) and Thief! (1996). Hacker also won the WH Smith Mind Boggling Books Award in 1994, and Tell Me No Lies was the winner of the Stockport Book Award. Pig-Heart Boy was shortlisted for the Carnegie Medal in 1998 and was turned into a BAFTA-winning children’s drama.

  When she isn’t writing, Malorie loves reading, messing about with her piano, watching films and playing computer games. She lives in Kent with her husband and daughter.

  From Malorie Blackman

  Tell Me No Lies was inspired by two incidents from my childhood, both of which involved bullying. The first one involved a group of ten-year-old girls (including me, I regret to say) in a bullying incident where we said something incredibly mean to another girl about her family and made her cry. The girl was the class bully and had made the lives of all the girls in the class a misery up until that point, so at the time I tried to justify our behaviour by saying the bully was only getting dose of her own medicine. My maths has never been brilliant, but even I know that two wrongs don’t make a right. As I watched the girl in question run off in floods of tears, I swore to myself I’d never be involved in bullying anyone ever again.

  The second incident involved a girl in my secondary school who put up with being systematically bullied by three other girls in our class for years before she finally broke down and told someone what was going on. I still remember how shocked I was to hear about the abuse my classmate had had to put up with, not just once or twice but regularly, year in, year out.

  Bullying is serious. Recently someone said to me that bullying is ‘something every child has to go through at some point and it’s part of growing up’. Well, it shouldn’t be. Bullying ruins lives. It leaves scars that may never heal. Bullying isn’t necessarily physical either. I wanted to write a story about bullying from both the victim and the bully’s point of vie
w. And I wanted my story to be about emotional rather than physical abuse. So that’s how Tell Me No Lies came about.

  If you’re being bullied, don’t keep it bottled up inside. Tell someone – a teacher, a parent/guardian or phone someone who can help, like ChildLine on 0800 1111. ChildLine is a completely free and confidential service.

  And if you’re bullying someone, stop. Just stop.

  First published 1999 by Macmillan Children's Books

  This edition published 2006 by Macmillan Children's Books

  This electronic edition published 2011 by Macmillan Children's Books

  a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited

  Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR

  Basingstoke and Oxford

  Associated companies throughout the world

  www.panmacmillan.com

  ISBN 978-0-330-54314-9 EPUB

  Copyright © Oneta Malorie Blackman 1999

  The right of Oneta Malorie Blackman to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

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