‘I hear you’ve got a mobile now?’
I got it out of my secret pocket. I showed it to him.
He whistled. ‘Sweet. See you in the computer room later? One last game of Rhino Rampage? The room’s closed for rewiring after today.’
I shrugged. ‘OK.’
He nodded. He put a hand through his hair and ran back to join the game.
Jodie looked between Sean and me. ‘You’re friends with Sean Anderton?’
‘A bit.’ I didn’t add when he wants to be.
The girls looked at each other and giggled.
‘Alison likes him,’ Jodie said.
I frowned. ‘Really?’ Sean? He wasn’t even one of the good ones.
‘I like him sometimes. Not always.’ Alison was blushing. ‘Is it true he’s had trials for Stoke City?’
‘Yep.’ Obviously, not true. ‘But he’s a Port Vale fan so he’s turned them down.’ I’m a better friend to Sean than he is to me.
‘Can I look at your phone again?’ Alison said.
‘Of course.’ I gave it to her.
She turned it over in her hand. Not so sneery now.
I licked my lips. ‘Alison, do they have records of dead people at the doctor’s? About how they died?’
Bam. The sneer was back. ‘Why are you asking me?’
‘Because your mum works there.’
‘I told you, she doesn’t, there are lots of Fishers. A whole page of them in Monkford and they can’t all be my mum, can they?’
‘Fair enough.’ Alison Fisher’s mum definitely works at the doctor’s.
Jodie folded her crisp packet in half and put it in her bag. ‘Who do you normally stand with at lunchtimes, Fi?’
‘I’m normally with Lewis. Sometimes Sean.’
‘No girls?’ This Alison was a pain. ‘Groups are meant to be all boys or all girls.’
I shrugged. ‘Thing is, my girl friends all go to Radcliffe High. Mum sent me to this school so we didn’t get into too much trouble together.’
Alison dabbed in her packet for the last bits of crisp. ‘That’s one slutty school. I keep hearing how the fit girls from there are always having sex with boys from here.’
‘My friends aren’t, though,’ I said. ‘The only person they know from here is me. So there’s no point asking any of the boys who my friends are. In case you were thinking of asking. They just won’t know, so there’s no point.’
I put my phone back in my secret pocket. I started inching out my fortune teller. ‘Do you girls like spying?’
Alison was quick. ‘No.’
I pushed the fortune teller back down. ‘Me, neither.’
‘Fi.’ Jodie looked at Alison and the others. ‘If you want, you can stand with us at lunchtimes now? We always meet at this spot.’
I hitched my rucksack further onto my shoulder. ‘I probably will, then. There’s quite a lot of space here.’ I ran my hand along the top of the wall. ‘It’s a good bit of wall.’
‘We always eat the same crisps as each other,’ Jodie said. ‘It’s tomato ketchup flavour on a Thursday. It’s ready salted tomorrow, then prawn cocktail on Monday. Salt and vinegar on Tuesday and pickled onion on Wednesday.’
‘I can do that.’
I put my hands on my hips and looked around me, at the view from my spot in the playground. From here, I could see the tennis courts. The school building. The school field.
It was perfect.
‘So that’s agreed.’ I kept my hands on my hips and looked at Alison. ‘Now. Next time the ball comes in this direction, do you want me to say how great you are in front of Sean?’
To Go to the Fair I Need:
1)Money for the rides √
2)Girl friends, so the famous boy will push me on the Waltzers √
3)Mum and Dad to let me go
31
A spy knows when it’s time to go off-duty.
The Junior Spy’s Secret Handbook™
Eight days to the fair
After school, my group walked together out of the school gates, heading for Naomi’s house.
Mum was there, leaning against her Gail Larson Driving Instructor car at the entrance roundabout, and even that didn’t dent my day.
‘Back in a sec.’ I dropped my rucksack and hurried over. I nodded at the Year Twelve girl in the passenger seat, who was changing out of DMs into thin-soled Nan shoes.
I looked at Mum. ‘Just going to Naomi’s house. With my girl friends.’
‘Girl friends?’
I pointed. ‘Jodie and Yasmin and Naomi and Alison Fisher.’
‘Really?’ Mum’s face brightened. ‘Then – have fun!’
I ran back towards the girls. I passed Mr Kellett, getting into the passenger seat of a car. The driver had the visor pulled down. It was Mr Kellett’s friend from the shopping centre.
I thought about this for a minute as I headed back to the girls.
‘And then Kellett said Taming of The Shrew was a comedy.’ Naomi turned to me. ‘What did your mum say, Fi? You look like you’re thinking.’
‘Nothing important. But I was thinking.’ I picked up my rucksack. ‘I was thinking, our group should get cookies one time. You know, those big soft ones they sell in shopping centres. We should get a whole bag each and eat them together at break.’
They all nodded, so I was pleased I said it out loud. We all walked on to Naomi’s house, chattering together about cookies the whole time, and I had a warm feeling in my belly that I’d made it happen.
Turns out Naomi’s house was one of the massive ones on the hill out of town. One of the houses set back from the road, not joined with a group of others, like normal houses. Naomi’s house was just there, alone, behind gates.
The four of us stood awkwardly in the tiny bathroom attached to Naomi’s bedroom. We squeezed in tight, as we looked at the sink and the shower and the Little Madam Make-up Set.
‘It’s on sweet,’ Naomi said.
‘It is on sweet.’ It made sense, like on fire. I pointed at the half-toilet thing next to the main toilet. ‘What’s that?’
‘A beeday,’ Naomi said.
I shrugged in a question.
‘It’s not mine,’ Naomi said. ‘It was here when we came.’
We all squeezed out of Naomi’s personal bathroom, and I looked at the little white cabinets, all matching and lining the bedroom, with no gaps. It was like the cabinets were born with the house, rather than added later.
Mum would definitely want to know how often this family went on holiday.
Naomi showed us all her CDs and toys and board games – and I mean all, I had a real Candy’s house feeling. At the sight of a perfect orange pencil-topper on Naomi’s dressing table, my gaze locked on like a laser.
I shoved my hands in my skirt pockets, just in case.
It’s only stationery, I told myself.
I don’t even like stationery.
Don’t steal it don’t steal it don’t steal it don’t—
I didn’t. Which was a massive relief.
When Naomi had finished showing us her room, she took us through to her sister’s room, which was even better. Same cabinets, but with so many extra eyeshadows. And every Now CD set from number 7.
I whistled.
‘She’s Year Ten,’ Naomi said.
I spotted a photo card for East Cheshire College on the side. I picked it up. ‘Your sister has fake ID!’
Naomi nodded. ‘She knows someone who gets them done for a fiver. There’s a machine that makes the plastic right at his Saturday job at the warehouse.’
I looked at the date of birth – 14.12.79. Naomi’s sister was sixteen. Fake-sixteen.
I studied the card. I wouldn’t say they’d got the plastic right. You could see the girl in the picture had sh
oulder-length dark hair, but the picture was bad, and the licence was all bobbly where the plastic hadn’t stuck perfectly. It was almost like—
I felt a surge of something. Yes.
‘Let’s go out.’ I waved the card. ‘With this.’
Alison Fisher frowned. ‘Why?’
‘Hi, ladies!’ Naomi’s mum came into the room, not looking like a mum mum. She wore high heels in her own house and had make-up all over, an extra layer on her face, like a TV presenter. Not quite Kelly from Winchester, but more like her than normal mums.
She stopped smiling. ‘What are you doing in Elizabeth’s room?’
‘Nothing,’ Naomi said.
‘Do nothing in your own room.’ And, just like that, she was a normal mum. ‘And you girls need to be gone before supper. You know the rules, Naomi, we eat on the dot of seven thirty.’
‘We eat tea at six,’ I said.
‘Then you’ll need to be home by six.’ She gave a smile that was suddenly too kind. ‘Fiona, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’ I looked away so I didn’t see the head-tilt. It’s always weird how adults know my name.
Naomi’s mum left the room and I turned to the others.
‘I’m going to borrow this.’ I held up the college ID. ‘Just for tonight.’ I turned to Naomi. ‘Please tell your sister I’ll definitely give it back tomorrow. And I’m going to have a surprise tomorrow. Just you wait.’
And Naomi didn’t say no – she didn’t say anything – just led us back to her room. For the rest of the afternoon we recorded our voices introducing songs on her fancy stereo, being DJs. The whole time, I held onto that ID, feeling something bubbling up from my belly – a laugh that really wanted to come out, like a burp after too much Coke. That feeling when you know it’s coming, and it’s coming soon, but you don’t know when it’s going to happen, or how loud it’s going to be when it does.
Outside Paper Rack, I took off my jumper and tie. I put them on the grass next to the pile of bikes.
I walked into the newsagent’s, concentrating. Fourteenth of the twelfth, seventy-nine. Fourteenth of the twelfth, seventy-nine.
I took a deep breath as the door chimed.
The bald man looked at me. ‘You.’
I slapped twenty pence on the counter with a ping. Fourteenth of the twelfth, seventy-nine. ‘One single please.’
‘You’re how old?’
‘Sixteen, sir.’ Fourteenth of the twelfth, seventy-nine.
‘You’re sixteen.’
I nodded. ‘Fourteenth of the twelfth, seventy-nine.’
‘You’re what – four foot six?’
‘I’m a hundred and thirty-five centimetres. I was born small.’ I shrugged. ‘My sister was loads taller, I got unlucky.’ I got out the ID and placed it on the counter. ‘Here.’
The man didn’t reach down. He moved his eyes to look at the ID, surveillance-style.
‘I know you sell singles,’ I said, ‘because I’ve seen you sell them to other kids.’ I paused. ‘And by other kids, I mean other sixteen-year-olds.’
The man didn’t even look, just handed me a cigarette from the packet.
I know I said finding the magazines was the best day of my life. And then I said it was the day of the phone. Both times, I was wrong.
It was this. Because this time, I’d done it myself.
I’d got served.
Everything was going my way. And, that evening, I even got the opportunity to look at the Box of Special Things.
Mum had gone out for a driving lesson after tea. I’d made a phone call for Dad, to get him another application form. I’d even answered the sifting question for him– ‘A baby deer? It’s a fawn.’ Dad read my lips and gave me a thumbs-up, while I wondered what kind of person this quiz show was screening out, exactly.
Everyone knows a baby deer is a fawn. Everyone.
And now Dad was downstairs washing up and I could hear the water sloshing round, telling me it was safe. I’d get a one-minute warning when I heard the chugging as Dad pulled the plug out.
So I got on my hands and knees and kneeled on the carpet in Mum and Dad’s room.
I looked under the bed.
Ugh.
Balls of hair-and-something lay around in lumps, like fur sheared from an animal. I had to get past a piece of toenail, a sock, and a piece of exercise equipment that looked like a butterfly’s wings.
It was fine. I knew by then, that whatever the films show, spying isn’t all private planes and casinos, and girls in silky dresses who look beautiful dead.
I moved a box of tissues. I pushed past an open shoebox of dusty standing-up books, glancing at the spines. Dealing with Grief. Losing a Child. The Fundamentals of Male Infertility. Learning to Trust Again. When the Second Baby is Difficult.
I felt myself flush, though I realised I wasn’t in a position to mind. After all, the second baby – me – was difficult. But when I pulled the book out, it turned out to be about getting pregnant.
The encyclopaedias and novels went on the shelves in the lounge, and these were the sad books, kept in the dark.
I reached for Mum’s Box of Special Things and dragged it out. I took off the lid, trying to ignore the feeling of tiny creepy crawlies marching up my neck. Because it felt like being in Danielle’s bedroom again.
On the top of the box was Baby’s Special Book, with a picture of baby’s footprints.
I flicked through the book but stopped at a see-through envelope, holding a curl of hair. I realised what I was looking at. The baby hair of a dead girl.
I snapped that book shut.
I put the baby book and scrapbook to one side, and looked at objects in the box.
There was a thin silver necklace, still in its plastic packet. The faded writing on the packet said Christening Gift.
There was a smooth stone from a beach, swirled with layers of different blue-greys.
There was a hand-painted mug with Dani painted in massive, little kid letters – a mug that any self-respecting kid would have thrown away when she turned eight.
And that was all. That was what Mum thought special enough to keep for fourteen years.
I wondered what she’d keep for me.
I reached for Danielle’s scrapbook and opened it to a random page.
In a cutting from a newspaper, a fat-cheeked Danielle stood round a patch of soil with some friends. Each kid held a too-big garden spade, with one foot on the metal bit. They all wore corduroy trousers that went wide at the bottom. Local children dig garden for charity.
And there were the creepy crawlies on my neck again. Marching faster. Marching too fast now.
I shut the book and put it back in the box with everything else. I shoved it under the bed.
I scrambled to my room and got the cigarette out of my secret pocket.
I laid the cigarette on the bed and stared at it, trying to make myself excited again. Trying to remember that I was having the best time ever. Trying to remember that – only a few hours ago, I’d got served.
Trying – trying really hard – to forget there had ever been another kid who lived in this house. Another kid, who dug gardens for charity, and who was easy to have around, and did things for other people, and who always did everything better than me.
32
Sometimes when you’re at your nicest, people think you’re being mean.
(paradox)
Seven days to the fair
Next day, at the lamppost, Lewis was back.
He was quiet on the way to school, but I didn’t realise at first. I had so much to tell him.
‘I’ve got the grill lighter to light it with.’ I patted the side of my bag. ‘We’ll smoke it in our bush. And whenever anyone asks what age I started smoking, I can say eleven.’ I put my hand on his arm. ‘Though twelve’s nearly as good.’<
br />
I glanced at Lewis. He had his hands in his pockets.
‘Do you want to see my letters from the police? And Crimewatch? I got an actual letter from Crimewatch.’
He shook his head. A really small shake.
‘People say we shag in the bush, you know. But they’re babies. If they had a boyfriend of their own, they won’t have time to be making up—’
‘You are going to come to the computer room at lunch?’ Lewis asked suddenly. ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘The computer room’s shut from today though. For rewiring. Also, I have a group now, and you have to stand with your group during lunch. That’s how it works.’
‘And I just have to eat my sandwiches on my own?’
I held up my hands. ‘I didn’t make the rules, Lewis. What do you need to talk about? We can talk now?’
He shoved his hands further in his pocket so his shoulders hunched and walked ahead, into the building.
School news!
In RE, Greeney’s brother called Miss Jarvis Mum.
Before this, Greeney’s brother was one of the best lads in Year Nine, pretty high up in the blue estate boys. He won’t be anymore.
In fact, he’ll probably have to move schools, if he knows what’s best for him.
Those kids who call a teacher Mum – well. Things are never the same again.
And it’s not good for Greeney either, coming so soon after his bad haircut. The school holidays are due to start in two weeks, but I bet they can’t come soon enough for Greeney.
I showed the girls my prize in the playground at lunchtime, holding the cigarette up in the middle of our circle. ‘Next time I’ll get us one each.’
No one looked as excited as I’d expected. They just carried on eating their crisps.
I looked around the playground uncertainly. In all the excitement, I’d got the days wrong. I’d packed salt and vinegar, not ready salted.
‘Are you allowed to smoke with your asthma?’ Alison Fisher asked.
I should really stop thinking of her as Alison Fisher, I decided. Now she’s one of my best friends.
‘Alison. None of us are allowed to smoke. Remember?’
All the Fun of the Fair: A hilarious, brilliantly original coming-of-age story that will capture your heart Page 19