All the Fun of the Fair: A hilarious, brilliantly original coming-of-age story that will capture your heart

by Caroline Hulse

  He rested the box on the edge of the skip and started pulling things out.

  I crossed the road. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Getting rid of Mum’s stuff.’ Carl got a lamp out of the box and placed it on the lid of the skip. ‘We’re exchanging contracts on the house in a couple of weeks. Hopefully.’ He nudged the lamp with his foot. ‘Keep or throw away? Would anyone want this?’

  The lamp was one of those desk ones with a little hat, on a long bendy stem that folded in on itself. This lamp had a broken bit of stem which made the hat loll to one side, like a rose that needed dead-heading.

  ‘No one would want that stuff.’

  He looked down at the lamp. He picked it up and put it in the tip after all.

  ‘Your mate, Lewis.’ Carl leaned on the skip. ‘I don’t get that kid. He knocks on my door to offer to help me and then I say great, thanks and he just runs off? And now runs off whenever he sees me?’

  I pressed my lips together. What can you do?

  ‘Now, I’ve got something for you and I think you’re going to like it.’ He turned and opened his front door. ‘Come in.’

  I took a step to follow him, then stopped. A hand of fear squeezed my stomach.

  ‘Sensible girl. Don’t go into strangers’ houses.’ He nodded. ‘Wait here.’

  I watched him go inside.

  He came out, holding his flip-bottomed mobile phone. He gave it to me to hold and I turned it over, admiring it.

  Now he had his hands free, I waited for him to pull what he’d got for me out of his pocket.

  He didn’t move.

  I looked up. We stared at each other.

  I waited again.

  ‘Aren’t you going to say “thank you?”’

  I frowned. ‘Aren’t you going to give me something?’

  He nodded at the phone. ‘What do you think that is?’

  I looked at the phone and back at Carl. I still didn’t get it.

  Thing is, I’d been alive nearly twelve years now, and things like this just don’t happen to me.

  Carl sighed. ‘My work have given me a new contract mobile with a new number, so I don’t need this old pay-as-you-go anymore. I was going to throw it away, then I remembered the little girl who looked so interested in my phone while we fixed her puncture. And I thought – why not make her day?’

  I looked at the phone again.

  ‘It’s yours. If you want it.’

  I turned the phone over in my hand. I was misunderstanding. Hearing what I wanted to hear, like Mum said I did. Because it sounded a bit like—

  ‘Fi.’ Carl shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘Don’t make this weird. I didn’t mean it to be weird.’ He took out his hairband and retied his hair. ‘I’m not weird, I promise. I’m not . . .’ – he gave a high laugh – ‘God, no, nothing like that. Oh Jesus, I really wish I hadn’t started this. I’m just giving you this because I don’t need it and you liked it. But I could just throw it in the skip with the other junk. And you don’t owe me anything. It’s not a big deal.’

  I looked down at the phone.

  ‘There’s less than a fiver of time left on it.’

  A phone.

  A real, proper phone.

  My phone.

  ‘But if you don’t want it—’

  ‘No!’ I gripped it tighter. ’Please can I have it?’

  Carl nodded. ‘That’s more like it!’

  ‘It’s mine? Really mine?’

  He laughed. ‘No one else here, is there?’

  I looked around, just in case. Like I said, things like this don’t just happen to Fiona Larson every day. Especially not Fiona Larson.

  ‘I’d suggest phoning your friend to test it out, but you probably don’t want to waste your credit.’

  I held the phone in both hands.

  He scratched his top lip. ‘Probably best not to tell your mum and dad it’s from me.’

  I looked up. ‘Why?’

  He left a long pause.

  ‘I’m a stranger, aren’t I? We don’t really know each other. Your parents’ – he took out his hairband, retying his hair again – ‘well. Never mind.’

  We stood there in his driveway, both looking at the ground.

  ‘Thank you for the phone. Carl.’

  He rolled back on his feet, his hands in his pockets. He rolled forward again. ‘No problem, Fi.’

  ‘Do I need to write you a thank-you letter?’

  ‘Definitely not. Careful crossing the road, now. You seem in shock.’

  ‘I am.’ I shielded my eyes from the sun and looked up at him. ‘Carl, people don’t go around giving me presents every day.’

  He raised his palms. ‘Look, it’s not that great a present. The screen’s scratched and the three button sticks. Sometimes it freezes for no reason and you have to hold down the off button to get it going. Takes ages. Like I said, there’s hardly any credit on it. I just thought, rather than throw it away, I’d give it to you.’

  I nodded. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Bye for now.’

  ‘Bye.’

  I slid the phone into my secret pocket and turned towards home. I tried not to run. I tried to walk like this was just any normal day. Just feeling the outline of my phone, jiggling against my chest as I walked.

  I’d been so sad this weekend. And that seemed so long ago now.

  Because this – this – changed EVERYTHING.

  This phone was absolutely, positively, the best thing that had ever happened to me.

  27

  Lewis doesn’t want good things to happen to us.

  (paradox)

  Eleven days to the fair

  I rang Lewis after tea – from the house phone, of course. I wasn’t going to waste the credit on my new mobile.

  His mum answered. ‘He can’t come to the phone, lovey. It’s nice you’re concerned and I’ll pass on your regards.’

  ‘I need to talk to Lewis though. Urgently.’

  ‘He’s too ill to talk, the poor thing. No one will tease him about being sick, will they? The other kids will be kind?’

  I picked up the mobile phone. I tested the weight of it in my hand. ‘No, Mrs Harris.’ I kept my voice level. ‘No one will tease him at all.’

  ‘I’ll tell him you called. I’ll tell him you said to get well soon.’

  I took the phone downstairs, to where Mum and Dad were on the sofa.

  I put the phone back in the cradle. ‘Mum. I’ve got a word question.’

  Mum paused. ‘A word question, hmm.’ She turned to look at Dad, then gave me a small smile. ‘What do you think, Jonathan? Hypothesis?’

  Dad put his finger on his lip, like he was thinking. ‘Provisional?’

  ‘Or am I going to be asked again to explain’ – she pronounced it carefully – ‘an-ti-dis-est-ab-lish-ment-a-r-i-an-ism?’

  ‘Not antidisestablishmentarianism.’ I said it more easily than her, but then, adults don’t say it as much as kids do. ‘I’m sorry if this is a really bad thing to ask about, but I really, really need to know.’

  Mum and Dad looked at each other.

  ‘Oh God,’ Mum said.

  ‘Not fellatio, again?’ Dad said. ‘Please, Fi. Trust us when we said we’d explain that when—’

  ‘Please don’t get angry.’ I took a breath. ‘But what, exactly, is strimming?’

  At lunchtime the next day, I stood in the playground, near the tennis courts, my mobile phone to my ear. When any kids walked past, I talked like I was having a conversation.

  ‘He said what?’

  and

  ‘What did she do then?’

  I took my phone away from my ear when I saw a teacher because you never know with Lost Property. There’s a rumour Dr Sharma wears confiscated earrings to wine bars a
t the weekends.

  I walked up in Sean’s direction, but he mustn’t have seen the phone because he turned and walked away.

  It was fine. Besides, Sean was no good to me now – it was girl friends I needed for the Waltzers.

  I walked around the school field and weaved between the groups of girls on the grass. Every so often, I said something into the phone.

  ‘That’s so funny!’

  ‘He said he fancies me?’

  ‘No! Things sound so much better at your school than mine!’

  I kept this up for the whole of lunchtime.

  That night, I took the house phone to my bedroom to ring Lewis again.

  ‘It’s so sweet of you to care so much, Fiona, it really is,’ Mrs Harris said. ‘His temperature’s dropped and he’s kept some toast down, so he might be back in before the weekend, if you’re lucky.’

  ‘Can I speak to him?’

  ‘If you’re quick, hon.’

  I heard Lewis’s mum’s footsteps. There was a rustling and a clunk.

  ‘Lewis? Is that you?’

  ‘Hi, Fi.’ He sounded so weak and ill. Tiny Tim in The Muppet Christmas Carol.

  ‘LewisI’vegotamobilephone!Lewisanactualmobilephone!’

  It took a while to explain because he didn’t believe me. Which was fair, because I didn’t believe me either. If you’d told me I’d made the whole thing up, that would have made loads more sense, actually.

  To Lewis, too. ‘He can’t have given it to you!’

  ‘He definitely did.’

  ‘Is this like when Sean’s uncle let him drive a Ferrari that day on the farm?’

  ‘Nothing like that.’

  ‘You haven’t stolen it?’ A softer voice now. ‘Fi. I’ll forgive you as long as you don’t lie. Have you stolen it?’

  ‘LEWIS!’

  ‘OK, sorry.’

  ‘I promise – he said straight out that it was mine. Quite a few times.’

  ‘Promise or positive?’

  ‘Promise. Actual promise.’

  I picked up a pen and tapped it against the bedside table. I waited for him to catch up.

  ‘Does the phone work?’ Lewis asked.

  ‘I think so, I haven’t tried it. Either way, it’s still a good thing.’

  ‘I don’t like this, Fi. I have a bad feeling.’ It’s like Lewis doesn’t want good things to happen to us. ‘First strimming, now this. He’s got to be a paedo.’

  ‘LEWIS! Strimming means he wants you to cut his lawn, because you knocked on his door and offered to do jobs for him, you absolute fool. And he’s not a paedo, he’s never tried to touch me, not even once. Or got his pecker out. Not even just the end.’

  Lewis went quiet.

  ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Your mum says he’s strange, Fi.’

  I shook my head. ‘You’re missing the point, as always. It doesn’t matter that—’

  ‘Why would your mum say he’s strange if he wasn’t?’

  ‘She probably said a strange-r, I didn’t tape-record the conversation. And you know what Mum’s like, she gets stuff wrong. She blames me for everything, doesn’t she? She blames the snails on the step for getting stepped on.’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘It’s been fourteen years and she still mutters about those ladies from work who went to Danielle’s funeral in one car and stopped at M and S.’

  Lewis still didn’t say anything. He was making his point the sneaky way, with silence.

  ‘Look. Carl’s a really good man. Really, really good. He gave me a mobile phone. That’s proof. What more proof do you need?’

  ‘Carl is either really, really kind,’ Lewis spoke carefully, like an adult reading a story. ‘Jesus-kind. Or he’s really, really bad. Because no one—’

  ‘That’s enough.’ Lewis’s mum’s voice in the background. ‘You need your rest. Say goodbye to Fiona.’

  ‘Bye, Fi.’

  I put the phone down. I pulled back my pillow and touched the mobile phone. And tried really hard not to think about what Lewis had said.

  28

  Teachers get more upset about stuff happening to us kids than we do.

  (paradox)

  Nine days to the fair

  Dear Miss Larson,

  Thank you for your letter to Crimewatch, dated 3 July 1996.

  It is always encouraging to receive correspondence from our younger viewers, especially those with such a strong sense of justice.

  I’m afraid we do tend to start our investigations with specific crimes in mind, rather than with a suspicious-looking character. And we have no open cases in our files from fairgrounds – about certain death, or otherwise. But we revisit unsolved cases regularly and we have made a note of the information you sent.

  I’m sure you understand we can’t update members of the public on case progress, but we do appreciate your help and encouragement.

  Thanks again for writing in.

  Yours sincerely,

  Aimee Sweetman

  Crimewatch Liaison Coordinator

  School news! Mr Kellett is moving to Glasgow!

  He smiled around as he told us at the end of class. ‘You’ve not driven me away, I promise. And you’ve got me till the end of the year.’

  There were lots of sad looks – more than you’d expect for a teacher. I think some of the boys wanted to cry.

  Greeney looked like he’d lost his favourite dog. ‘Who’s going to teach us football?’

  ‘They’ll be getting a replacement. And there’s always Mr Corbett in the meantime.’

  Grumbles ripped through the room.

  ‘He’s a hundred.’

  ‘He’s shit.’

  ‘He’s never played for Alty Town.’

  Mr Kellett stopped me as the class rushed out. ‘Fiona. You’re friends with Lewis Harris in my other Year Seven class?’

  I nodded.

  ‘His mum’s asked for some homework to keep him busy while he’s off.’

  I frowned. The unfairness of Mrs Harris.

  ‘But he doesn’t have a copy of The Taming of The Shrew anymore.’

  ‘He does,’ I said, ‘he’s just got sick all over it.’

  ‘Quite. Well, not quite, because I’ve binned that other one. So Mrs Harris says can you drop this in for him?’

  I shook my head slowly.

  ‘You can’t drop it in?’

  ‘It’s fine, I can do it, I just think it’s really unfair of Mrs Harris.’

  He smiled. ‘It’s one of the better pieces of homework to do when you’re ill, I would have thought? English? Reading a comedy?’

  I was about to reply, but he confused me, so it took a second to remember what I meant to tell him. ‘You know, if you want to know stuff about what to do in Glasgow, I can ask my grandma. She moved up there.’

  ‘Thanks Fiona, that’s very kind.’

  ‘Are you leaving because of the New Head? Is it because she makes you change out of your PE kit?’

  He laughed. ‘No!’ He stopped laughing. ‘And she doesn’t make me change out of my PE kit, that’s not exactly it, she—’

  ‘I just hear quite a lot about the New Head. Miss Jarvis said—’

  ‘I don’t know what you think you’ve heard, Fiona, but you must have got confused. Everyone here likes and respects Mrs Shackleton very much.’ Was that a twinkle in his eye? ‘All the teachers are very, very happy, and we thoroughly approve of the new way of doing things. We really appreciate having more structure in our lives. It helps us grow.’

  I nodded.

  ‘And definitely don’t be telling people that’s why I’m leaving. My partner has a new job in Glasgow, so that’s why I’m leaving. Nothing to do with Mrs Shackleton.’

  ‘What does she
do, your partner?’

  He scratched his mouth. ‘My partner’s a doctor.’

  ‘Sweet.’ I gave a nod. ‘Can I ask you something else?’

  ‘If you’re quick.’

  ‘Is it true the cross-country course got changed because of flashers?’

  Mr Kellett reached behind him for the teacher’s table. He sat back. ‘Where did you hear that?’

  I shrugged. ‘Playground.’

  ‘We don’t want anyone to be scared.’

  ‘I’m not scared. Just interested.’

  Mr Kellett looked behind me, like he was hoping someone would come and disturb us. ‘There are few – very, very few – people out there that might cause kids harm, Fiona. And it’s our job as teachers to consider risk and do whatever we can to ensure—’

  ‘It’s true? It’s actually true?’

  ‘I thought you said you knew?’

  ‘The course has been moved because of all the flashers?’

  ‘Not exactly that, not all the flashers, it’s more about lighting and the density of the foliage and proximity to—’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Kellett.’ I waved The Taming of The Shrew. ‘I’ll take this to Lewis tonight.’

  ‘Fiona.’ He leaned forward. ‘This must be hard to take in. Do you want to talk about it?’

  When Mr Kellett said Do you want to talk about it? he said it less hungrily than Mrs Vernal. More like he could take it or leave it. Less like he wanted to have our feelings as a snack.

  I shook my head. ‘Unless you can tell me any more about the flashers? How many there are? What they wear and stuff? Whether they work in teams or alone?’

  He took a moment. He shook his head.

  ‘Thanks, then. See you later.’

  At lunchtime, I perched on the low wall near the tennis courts, deliberately close to Jodie Mackintosh, the girl from drama. She stood with her group of three friends, all eating crisps, while I talked into my phone.

  When Jodie looked over, I waved.

  She waved back.

  I kept talking into my phone, glancing up at Jodie and her three friends.

  ‘Bye then!’ I put my phone back in my rucksack. I sat back on the wall and looked up at the sun.

  I closed my eyes and felt the warmth on my face.