Girls and horses. I’ll never get it.
While Mum was out with Selina, I sat at the peninsula, working on my blood project. I could hear Dad moving beneath me as he cleared out the cellar. He shuffled, he grunted. He muttered an occasional bollocks or arse.
Dad isn’t normally grumpy. But there’s something about weekend tasks – the kind of tasks that need cellars and big boxes and tools – that brings out the moody in both my parents.
When Mum let herself back in after the lesson, she tossed a newspaper onto the peninsula. ‘For you. The business section’s at the back.’
She was making a joke but I said, ‘Thanks,’ like she meant it. I opened the paper up to a random page.
Mum put the kettle on.
I gave a fake sigh. ‘Looks like Radovan Karadžić’s up to something again. But then, there’s talk of him’ – I practised the word in my head – ‘relinquishing power.’
‘Who?’
‘Radovan Karadžić. You know, leader of the Bosnian Serbs.’ I closed the paper. ‘But I’ll look later. I don’t like to read too much at once. I like to give the news a chance to sink in.’
I pulled my exercise book towards me and drew a table, concentrating on keeping my ruler straight.
Mum re-clipped her hair back. ‘What are you doing now?’
‘My blood project.’
‘It always makes me shudder when you say it.’ Mum pulled up a stool. ‘I take it you chose that topic yourself, my little vampire?’
I nodded. I wrote the headings in the first row of boxes: Me, Mother, Father, Sibling One. Under Me, I wrote O positive. ‘But I’m writing about blood, not making blood.’ I pushed my ruler to the side. ‘What’s your blood type?’
‘AB, I think.’ She tipped her head slightly to the side. ‘AB positive.’
Under Mother in my table, I wrote AB positive.
‘What about Dad?’
Mum sat back in her chair. ‘I don’t remember, darling. You’ll have to ask him. Is he still in the cellar? I hope so.’
‘How come you don’t just know?’
‘Fi. How is it I disappoint you so often, and in so many ways?’ Mum kicked off her shoes and let them fall beneath her stool. ‘Most people don’t just go around knowing each other’s blood types.’
I looked at my chart. ‘Can you give blood to me, an O positive?’
‘God knows!’ Mum went to the sink and filled a glass of water. ‘Though I can promise you if any of us need emergency blood, Fiona, there will be doctors to take charge. They won’t be looking to us to decide what to do with the needle.’ Mum gulped her water and refilled the glass. ‘So you’re interested in Bosnia now?’
‘I’ve always been interested in Bosnia. Can you go and ask Dad his blood type?’
‘Can’t you ask him?’
I looked down at the floor. ‘He’s in the cellar,’ I said quietly. I never went down there; it was a rule I had. I didn’t like not knowing where a spider would spring from and scuttle across the floor.
Mum smiled like I was cute. She pushed herself off the stool. ‘I’ll go.’
I should point out: I’m not scared of spiders. Being scared of spiders is a girl thing. I just don’t like being taken by surprise, that’s all.
I heard some conversation beneath me and, a minute later, Mum came back upstairs. ‘Dad’s A positive. He said to tell you he’s A positive influence.’
I wasn’t sure if that was meant to be a joke, so I let it pass. I wrote A positive in the box under Father.
I looked at the next box. Sibling One. ‘And Danielle? What was her blood type?’
Mum’s smile stayed there for a second, all relaxed.
And then everything was different. Mum’s face. The air of the room.
I realised my mistake. I stared at my exercise book.
‘I—’ Mum said. ‘I—’
I kept staring.
Her words had a waver in them. ‘I don’t remember.’
I smoothed my page with my hand. ‘I don’t really need to know. It’s not a problem.’
‘I’ll ask your dad.’ She ran down to the cellar again. I could hear Mum’s voice now, through the floor, going high-pitched as she fired questions at Dad. ‘But how could we just forget?’
She ran back up the stairs. ‘Your dad doesn’t remember either.’ She tried to smile, but when she picked up her glass again, her hand was shaking.
‘It doesn’t matter, it’s—’
Mum slammed her glass down. ‘NHS records. But where did I put them?’ She jabbed both hands into her hair.
‘I don’t need to fill in anything for Sibling One. I can say I haven’t got any siblings, it’s fine. It’s even true.’
‘As long as your dad hasn’t thrown the records out.’
Mum threw the cellar door open and ran down the steps. I heard the high up-and-down of voices as Mum took the fizzed-up air from the kitchen down there again.
I turned the page on my blood project and tried to focus on the next topic.
Mum hurried back up the stairs and into the room with a box in her arms. She dumped it onto the peninsula, next to me and my stuff.
I watched her pull files out of the box and scatter them on the table. The box shifted with the movement, scuffing the top page of my textbook.
‘If they’re not in here’ – she pulled out a file marked Boiler and dumped it on the file called Wills – ‘they’ll be in the attic.’
I picked up my books. ‘I’ll finish this upstairs.’
I tucked the newspaper under my arm so she could see me taking it. But she didn’t notice.
20
Sometimes, it’s good to be a girl.
(paradox)
Eighteen days to the fair
Lewis still wasn’t there when I got to the lamppost on Monday morning.
I stood and looked at 56 George Street for a while. The front lawn was the size of my bedroom and untidy, grass and higgledy-piggledy bushes all crossed over each other. The wooden boards on the top half of the house were different shades of brown, where the paint had faded in patches.
I looked at the For Sale sign – desirable property, with early viewing recommended – and looked back at the house.
The net curtain in the front window had gone, so I could see inside the room. I could just make out an old wood-coloured telly and high-backed sofa, an ugly shade between green, grey and brown.
When Lewis wasn’t there by 8.30, I walked to school.
Tell the truth, I was getting sick of this.
But maybe it was a good thing Lewis was angry at me. If I was going to be normal, I needed normal friends. If I was going to be spun on the Waltzers, I needed different friends. Friends who the boy on the Waltzers would want to push.
There was nothing for it. That meant—
Girls.
Thing is, boys are better than girls. They just are.
And I can say that because I am one. Though I’m not a proper girl – not really.
Why I’m Not a Proper Girl
1)I talk back
2)I get angry
3)I throw overarm
4)I’d make a good boss
5)I don’t like cleaning or cooking
6)I don’t care about stationery*
7)I like camping, not making jam**
*apart from Candy’s pencil topper. That was a one-off.
**In Monkford, the scouts go camping and the guides make jam. And everybody else is fine with this.
The best things you can say to a girl end with like a boy. You throw like a boy. You ride your bike like a boy. You fight like a boy. If you’re a girl, that’s all you can hope for. You might still wear make-up and have long hair – you have to, if you want to be with boys when you’re older – but you have to pretend
that ‘looking pretty’ stuff just happened, without you doing anything about it.
And in the areas that really matter – like rounders and throwing and knowing the names of the third-division football stadiums – you can’t let the boys beat you. Even if that means practising throwing against a wall on your own in the garden, or learning names and places in football annuals in bed with a torch in the dark.
But you mustn’t let people know you practise in the dark because then they’d know you cared. You have to make it all look easy and natural, like a boy would.
And if you do what boys do, as well as they do, and make it look easy and natural, then it’s like you’re not a girl anymore, but somewhere in between. A Girl Plus or a Boy Minus.
I looked round the playground. How to choose my new friends?
I hitched my bag on my shoulder and started walking.
The first group I walked past were the worst kind of girls. They sat on the school field, making daisy chains and friendship bracelets. Brushing each other’s hair.
Never. Ever.
I passed the sea witches. They normally stood in three equal corners – an equilateral triangle – but the bigger two had just taken a book triumphantly from the third sea witch, who now stood to the side, uncertainly, while the other two flicked through her book. The equilateral triangle had gone isosceles – for now.
Anyway. Too old, and too mean. I couldn’t risk a flushing.
I passed Martha, the evil one from primary school.
No way no way no way.
I wandered around the school’s outside space in big loops, looking at groups to see which one would best fit me.
I noticed the best girls all had their school jumpers round their waists, tied around by the arms, in that way Mum says stretches the wool, so I took my jumper off and tied it round my waist.
As I passed one group of girls I heard giggling.
‘What does she think she looks like?’
I looked down. I reached for the arms of my jumper. I lifted them up uncertainly and dropped them again.
There needed to be rules for this stuff, like how to wear jumpers round your waist. It needed to be written down.
When the bell rang for the end of lunch, I hurried to the maths room.
I had my exercise book out and my protractor set unpacked, and was copying triangles from the board before all the other kids had even arrived.
School news!
That day, Mrs Vernal was wearing a silky cream blouse with black dots. The blouse was so thin it was nearly see-through. You could tell her bra was lacy, because it made the surface of her blouse bobbly.
When Mrs Vernal stretched and the blouse sat close to her skin at the back, you could see everything. You could see her bra straps. You could see where the label hung down at the middle, next to the back fastening.
Everyone noticed. Mrs Vernal walked around our circle in the hall and there was a special energy in the air.
It’s things like this, such basic mistakes, that make me wonder whether some teachers ever went to school.
Mrs Vernal clapped her hands. ‘Get into pairs.’
I walked towards Lewis, but he turned and headed deliberately for Katie Russell.
Everyone was pairing up around me. I moved my weight from one foot to another, waiting.
Eventually, there was no one left alone but me and Jodie Mackintosh.
Jodie Mackintosh?
She had a decent bag and coat. She wasn’t too clever or too dumb. She was from the red estate, she was pretty enough, and I’d never heard anyone saying she smelled of food or wet dog.
I took a nervous step towards her.
She smiled and stepped towards me. It wasn’t a trap. Either that, or the bad surprise! part was coming later.
Mrs Vernal tapped her way round the hall, weaving between pairs. ‘Face your partner. Look closely at each other.’
I glanced at Jodie and away again.
Looking at a stranger is harder than you think.
‘Pick who’s Person One in your pair.’
I pointed to Jodie. She nodded.
‘Person One,’ Mrs Vernal said. ‘Walk around the room, or just go about some normal business. Person Two, watch your partner very carefully and see how they move. I want you to become that person.’
I really wished I was doing this with Lewis now. Even though becoming Lewis was pretty much the worst thing that could happen to a kid.
Jodie set off walking, her steps light. I tried to walk like her, bouncing on the balls of my feet, treading carefully. She had long black hair, so long it nearly reached her bum, and rippled as she walked.
I was Jodie for a bit longer, following what she did, sitting down and getting up again, running my hands through my hair, till Mrs Vernal shouted. ‘Now swap!’
Nervous now, I crossed my arms over my front.
Jodie crossed her arms over her front.
I started to walk. Knowing Jodie was watching, I moved heavily, like I’d forgotten how my legs worked.
I glanced at her.
Jodie was pretending to be me, walking slowly, but the weird thing was, she didn’t make an ugly face or stomp around or anything. She actually walked around pretty normally, like she could have been copying any kid in the room – a kid who was good or bad or anywhere in between.
At the end of class, Jodie and I headed out of the hall together.
Selina Baker was walking down the corridor towards us with a friend, both carrying long tubes of coloured paper. Selina was wearing a short top that showed an inch of skin above the waistband of her leggings.
She saw me and smiled. ‘Hi, Fiona!’
‘H-hi!’ I said.
Selina turned back to her friend and they continued their conversation.
Jodie looked at me, eyes wide. ‘You know Selina Baker?’
‘Kind of.’
‘Wow,’ Jodie said.
I smiled at her. And wondered if maybe – just maybe – I might be able to make girl friends after all.
But Lewis couldn’t avoid me for ever.
We both had swimming club at the leisure centre after school. And, while Lewis could run away in school, and he could swim away in the pool like I was a great white shark, loose in Monkford Baths, he couldn’t avoid me in the café bit afterwards. Not if I waited by the vending machines.
Nothing makes Lewis hungry like swimming.
When I got out of the pool, I got dressed quickly without having a shower. I ran to the café bit without tying my shoelaces and made sure I was leaning against the wall when Lewis got to the café. I rested my arm on top of the snack machine, like I owned it.
He paused when he saw me.
He walked over to the machine.
I knew this kid so well. ‘Hi,’ I said.
Lewis put coins in the machine. A packet of cheese biscuits uncoiled and fell into the chute. Lewis took the packet and moved to the next vending machine for a cup of blackcurrant squash.
I followed him to a table and sat down opposite. ‘I’m sorry I said you weren’t red-blooded.’
‘Can you stop dripping your hair on my table please.’
I wiped the surface with my sleeve. ‘I just wanted to investigate Danielle and I was angry you didn’t want to. I didn’t mean to be horrible.’
Lewis opened his cheese biscuits and placed the packet on the table – the packet open from the top, not torn down the side for sharing.
‘Lewis? I said I’m sorry.’
He ate a biscuit with a room-filling crunch.
‘It’s just you’re the one who’s there for all my secrets.’ I twisted my dripping hair with both hands, squeezing water onto the carpet. ‘I don’t tell anyone else my secrets or plans.’
He took another biscuit. ‘Your terrible plans.’
&n
bsp; ‘My terrible plans. They’re not all terrible, some are quite good, but OK.’
Lewis nodded. He put the biscuit in his mouth.
‘Can I have one?’
‘No.’
I jiggled my knees up and down. ‘Can you forgive me?’
‘Maybe.’ He softened his face. ‘On one condition.’
He pulled a string of multicoloured fabric out of his pocket.
‘Lewis!’ I pushed his handkerchief hand down under the table. ‘Not now! Anyone could come in.’
He looked at his hand. ‘You said not in school.’
I glanced around. ‘Not anywhere, not where anyone can see.’ I shook my head. ‘Kids from the blue estate might come in. Older kids.’
I glanced up at two women entering the café, wearing supermarket uniforms under their coats.
I gave Lewis a look. You see? ‘And you don’t know who they might tell. That could be Greeney and Liam’s mums, for all you know.’
‘They look way too young to be—’
‘You know what I mean. Lewis, magic is for babies. I didn’t make the rules. You can show me your tricks when we’re in your bedroom, how’s that?’
He took a slow sip of blackcurrant.
‘This isn’t just about me, Lewis. I’m doing this for both of us.’
‘But you’ll let me show you the trick in my bedroom.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Yes.’
‘Can I wear the cape?’
‘Do you really think that’s a red-blooded thing to do?’
Lewis looked up at me. ‘I don’t know what red-blooded means.’
‘I don’t either.’
But we did, sort of. We both knew if you looked up the opposite of red-blooded in a dictionary, it would say Lewis Harris in a cape doing magic tricks with handkerchiefs.
Lewis crunched up his cup. ‘If you had some hobbies you liked doing, I’d let you show me. You’re much better at saying what you don’t like doing.’
‘That’s not true! I like investigating, don’t I?’
Lewis looked at the crunched-up cup in his hand.
I needed to get him spy-practising with me. So we could have some fun together, and he would remember we were friends. ‘Let’s investigate the strange man. Just as spy practice, I promise. We know he’s not an axeman, don’t we? So it’s fine. Harmless.’
All the Fun of the Fair: A hilarious, brilliantly original coming-of-age story that will capture your heart Page 13