‘The obvious aside, Fiona’s done some good work for me.’ Dr Sharma looked at me. ‘She did a great blood project. The enthusiasm was dripping from the page.’
‘I’ve heard her talk about that a lot,’ Mum said. ‘A little ghoulish, but whatever.’ She turned to me. ‘Can we see the final project?’
‘The problem was, that book was a health hazard,’ Dr Sharma said. ‘It had so much human blood in it.’
Mum looked at me.
‘The day with the saw,’ I explained.
Grandma’s smile wavered.
‘And I don’t think you would have felt it necessary to keep the project, Mrs Larson, if you’d seen it.’ Dr Sharma crossed her arms. ‘I can describe it to you, if you like. Along with all the pages of Fiona’s actual blood, there was information about haemoglobin and clotting.’ Dr Sharma looked across the room. ‘A lot about how blood transports nutrients around the body. And a table of all the blood types in the family, which I had no interest in lingering on.’ Dr Sharma smiled at someone walking past. ‘But apart from all the good work, the main takeaway was that the book was full of actual human blood.’ She looked back at Mum. ‘I decided it was so unsanitary, I put the project in the incinerator.’
Mum looked down. ‘Thank you.’ She cleared her throat. ‘I mean – thank you, Dr Sharma. I really appreciate it.’
Dr Sharma gave a brisk nod. ‘Anytime. But, in case Fiona’s forgotten, before you go . . .’
Dr Sharma looked up and waved.
I looked up.
At the New Head, who was heading over.
I jumped up. ‘Mum, Grandma, this is Mrs Shackleton.’
Mum stood up, looking faraway.
I tugged her sleeve. ‘Mum.’
‘Hi! Sorry.’ Mum put her best smile on for the New Head. ‘Thank you for your leniency with Fiona. I can assure you she is extremely sorry. She understands how severe her punishment will be if she does – well, anything. Expect perfect behaviour from now on.’
I looked at my feet. I shuffled them a little.
The New Head smiled back. Smiled, like a normal person. ‘Dr Sharma says it’s out of character. And said that she will keep a close eye on the situation.’
Mum coughed. ‘Thank you.’
‘Father’s not here?’
‘He’s at a conference.’
‘Ah.’
‘No, not like that. He’s really at a conference.’
The New Head smiled again. ‘Well, it was nice to meet you anyway.’
And Mum smiled back.
And that was all. I was free.
I shook my head as we walked away. Mum was nice, the New Head was nicer. That really wasn’t how I thought it would go.
Mum glanced backwards and I followed her gaze. The New Head had walked over to Mrs Vernal. The two were talking, and looking over.
Mum stopped smiling.
I put my hand on her arm. Don’t.
Grandma put her hand on Mum’s other arm.
‘I really wish Dad was here,’ I said.
‘So do I,’ Mum said. She got her car keys out of her bag, not taking her eyes off the New Head and Mrs Vernal. ‘I’ve never wanted him to lipread more.’
44
Trying to forget something makes you remember it more.
(paradox)
Zero days to the fair
I wasn’t quite as cross with Mum when I got up early and rang the doorbell for Carl the next morning.
After all, Mum had defended me to Mrs Vernal. She had got Grandma to come down for a surprise holiday. She hadn’t said anything bad to the New Head, and even told her I would behave in future – which I had mixed feelings about, actually, because that wasn’t always in my control, was it?
But Mum was trying. I could tell she was trying. She was being really quiet round the house, but that was OK. Quiet was better than shouting.
So I wasn’t quite as angry anymore – but, still. I was planning to tell Carl what she’d done anyway, just so he knew. In case he heard I didn’t have a phone anymore, and thought I had been careless and hadn’t looked after it properly.
But when I rang Carl’s doorbell, there was no answer. And his car wasn’t in the drive.
He must be up and out already.
Even though he never really did look like an early riser.
I tried not to do it. But with all my free time before school, I went the long way, to look at Festival Field.
As I walked through the village, Monkford looked different. Barer. People were bringing in their hanging baskets and their gnomes, moving their window boxes inside. The fair was coming, bringing visitors from nearby towns. And Monkford people clearly believe visitors from nearby towns steal hanging baskets.
Eventually, I reached festival field and walked up to the fence. I held the metal in front of my face, my hands like claws.
The field was full.
Trucks with pictures of clowns were parked up all around, mud tracks behind them on the grass. People in woolly hats unpacked the rides – talking and laughing, unboxing and clipping sections into place, like the fair was a LEGO set.
A group of men stood around smoking, but none of these men could be the Waltzer boy. Too old. Too ugly.
A smoking man adjusted his beanie. ‘Anyone tested the chemical toilets?’
I turned to listen to another conversation.
‘Will you be there in Hull?’ another smoking man said.
But I didn’t hear the answer.
Slowly, I pushed myself away from the fence.
I wasn’t going to the fair now. I’d accepted that. But even knowing it wasn’t for me, knowing how much it hurt, to stand there and stare – I still couldn’t quite pull myself away.
I stared at the field for a long time.
School news!
Stu Meakin, he of the Childline dad, heard Miss Jarvis call Mr Kellett Kev at Parents’ Evening! Mr Kellett’s got a first name, and we know it, and it’s Kev!
Poor Mr Kellett. He can’t move in school without someone shouting Kev! Kev, Kev, Kev!
And Kevin Kellett – were his parents mad?
Also, Sean heard Liam’s dad say she can teach me history anytime about Miss Gold. And now all the boys have decided that Miss Gold is fit.
It’s changed everything. The boys can barely speak in her classes now – they look away when she asks questions and go red when she’s talking to them. There’s lots of talk of boys with books over their laps in her class, but I don’t know if that’s true. Besides, I don’t mean this nastily – I like Miss Gold – but she’s no Kelly from Winchester.
Despite the good school news, the day was generally awful – as it’s always going to be when people are getting excited about something amazing you can’t do.
‘As soon as I get off the dodgems I’m going to run round and get right back on.’
‘I’ve heard our Year Nine are gonna have a fight with Radcliffe High Year Nine by the doughnut shed.’
‘Dad says he’ll pay for the rides so I’ve got enough in my money box for four hotdogs.’
It didn’t matter that Mum and Grandma were extra nice to me when I got home. It didn’t matter that Grandma had made fairy cakes and we had a takeaway. It didn’t matter that my face was healing a little, with the bumps going down.
Just because you want to forget something, it doesn’t mean you can actually make yourself forget.
And sometimes – even if you don’t want to – the more you want to forget, the more you find you’re making yourself remember.
And though I promised myself I wouldn’t do the Rapunzel thing, when I went to bed that night, I found myself opening my bedroom window and leaning out anyway. Taking in the bright lights reflecting off the garages over the road. The screams and the fast music. The sharp onion smell
.
I breathed it in. I breathed it all in.
The fair had started.
45
The people who love you most can keep the most secrets from you.
(paradox)
Minus one days to the fair
I got the letter the next morning.
Dear Fi,
By the time you get this, your Parents’ Evening will be over. I’m sure you had good reports from all your teachers and I’m so sorry I didn’t get to hear them. I went to a conference, then Uncle Jim had an emergency and he needed me to come over and help.
I’m sorry I left without talking to you. At the times we’re not dealing with his emergency, I’m having a lovely catch up with Uncle Jim. We’ve been talking about the antics we got up to at school when we were your age, and we’ve been lounging on sofas in his attic, drinking beer. His children have left home now, so Jim’s converted Nick’s bedroom into a space just for him and his records. It’s like a palace up there. You’d love it.
It’s times like this I am really sad we can’t talk on the phone.
See you soon.
Loads of love,
Dad x
I folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope.
Dad had never been gone for more than a couple of days before.
A conference, and he hadn’t said goodbye.
A conference – then straight to Uncle Jim’s for an emergency?
I traced Dad’s writing on the envelope. Something wasn’t right.
I felt something big, like a plum, in my throat.
Mum was working, so I found Grandma was on her knees at the rockery by the front door, weeding. She liked making herself useful. She always said it doesn’t suit me, being a guest. Along with it’s dangerous to lean back on your chair and you need to leave that tea towel to air, darling, or it’ll go musty.
‘Grandma. Has Dad left us?’
Grandma wiped her forehead with her hand. ‘What’s that, darling?’
‘Has Dad moved out?’
She took her time. ‘Of course not.’
‘Where is he, then?’
Grandma gave a little laugh. ‘Are you the Spanish Inquisition? Am I going to get the rack?’
I shook my head. I can tell when people are lying to me.
‘Shall I ask Mum?’
‘No! Honestly, darling, he’s at a conference.’
Something was going on. And they weren’t going to tell me.
I crept about the house all weekend, trying to listen to Mum and Grandma, putting the radio on in my bedroom to pretend I was in there.
On Sunday morning, Grandma came out of the spare room with an armful of washing. She stopped when she saw me on the landing carpet, peeking through the crack.
‘Fiona!’ She put a hand to her heart. ‘You’ll be the death of me, darling. You nearly gave me a heart attack.’
She chuckled to herself and walked on, still carrying the pile of clothes.
On Sunday night – bingo.
Mum and Grandma were washing up together while I crouched outside, underneath the window. I had my radio on in my bedroom as a decoy.
‘Can we talk? Where are those little ears?’ Grandma said.
‘Upstairs,’ Mum said. ‘Be careful, though.’
‘Have you heard from . . . you know?’ Grandma kept her voice low. ‘Has he been in touch?’
He. Dad.
‘No,’ Mum said. ‘I hope he got the message when I spoke to him. He acts like he’s the good guy – but he can’t exactly pretend to be the good guy with Fiona’s best interests at heart anymore, can he?’
I moved from a crouch to a sit. But Dad was a good guy. Of course he had my best interests at heart.
‘What was I ever thinking of, Mum?’
‘That doesn’t matter now. The important thing is, is he staying away?’ Grandma asked.
I frowned. Grandma!
‘I think so,’ Mum said. ‘I don’t think he meant to start anything. He just – didn’t think.’
Something was big in my throat. I couldn’t breathe properly.
‘But you’re still not going to tell her.’
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ Mum said. ‘I am going to tell her one day. Just not yet.’
I looked at my shoes uncertainly.
‘He’s completely irresponsible,’ Mum continued. ‘A sob story about a marriage gone wrong and, what? He thinks he can come back and mess things up for everyone, walk back in, just walk into Fiona’s life like there’s been a vacancy, and—’
‘Mum, please!’ I jumped up and ran into the kitchen. ‘Don’t say your marriage has gone wrong. Of course Dad can come back!’
Mum stared at me, frozen in her washing-up gloves. The soap suds from the plate she was holding dripped into the sink.
Grandma looked afraid. Like it was a brown bear that had rushed through that back door.
‘Please let Dad come back. He can’t live somewhere else, he’s not like Lewis’s dad. This is where he belongs!’
The plate slipped from Mum’s hand, into the washing-up water.
‘I don’t care what Dad’s done.’ I felt my eyes wetting. ‘Just let him come back. Please!’
Grandma put her hand on Mum’s arm.
‘WHY ARE YOU LISTENING AT WINDOWS?’ Mum screamed.
‘BECAUSE YOU NEVER TELL ME ANYTHING!’ I screamed back.
‘Gail. It’s OK.’ Grandma squeezed Mum’s arm. ‘Calm down, Gail. Think about it.’ Grandma rubbed Mum’s arm in quick hard strokes. ‘It’s OK, don’t say anymore. Just think, darling.’
Mum closed her eyes. Still in her washing-up gloves, she put one thumb and forefinger on her closed eyelids.
Grandma took a step forward. ‘Your dad is just taking a few days to himself. That’s all.’
‘Fiona.’ Mum opened her eyes. ‘Your dad and I have had a row. Married people argue all the time. Your dad will come back and everything will be OK.’ She reached for my hand.
I squeezed her fingers through the wet rubber of the washing-up glove. ‘You promise?’
‘I promise, Fiona.’ Mum squeezed my hand so hard it hurt. ‘Dad will come back, then you’ll stop listening at doorways to things you don’t understand, and then I promise, promise, everything will be OK. And go and get me your spy book. Now. Because, Mum,’ she turned sharply to Grandma, ‘that’s the final straw. She’s left the radio on upstairs while she’s listening, out there, and where do you think she got that idea? I’m binning that book. I still can’t believe you actually bought it, for a child – what were you thinking of?’
46
I know more about the fair than people who actually went.
(paradox)
Minus three days to the fair
School news! Was about the fair. Obviously.
I tried to avoid hearing about it.
It was everywhere on Monday morning.
The Fair This Year
1)There aren’t as many dodgem cars as last year
2)It’s actually impossible to get a basketball through any of the oval hoops
3)No one knows where the ghost train has gone
4)The amazing boy still works on the Waltzers
5)The field is mushy and turning into mud soup
6)The hotdog buns are too warm and crispy
7)There are still a few turquoise owls, but it’s mainly pink panthers. Though they’re not properly pink, they’re orangey. Pink(ish) panthers.
8)The rides aren’t as much fun in the rain, the droplets hammer on your face like bullets
9)The fair finishes tonight
10)It sounds amazing
I was crossing the playground at lunchtime, trying to find somewhere to go, when I heard, ‘Wait! Fi!’
I turned to see Sean running after me.
‘There’s a rumour going around that you’ve split up with Lewis.’
‘Is there?’ I shrugged. ‘OK.’
Sean shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘I didn’t tell anyone it was never true in the first place.’
‘You keep our secrets now? Makes a change.’
He licked his lips. ‘It was good for Lewis. You can tell, the lads are letting him play football now. Even though he’s shit.’ He fell into step next to me. ‘But I was just wondering.’ He coughed. ‘Seeing as Lewis isn’t speaking to you and doesn’t seem that grateful.’
I slowed.
‘Would you mind being my pretend girlfriend instead?’ Sean couldn’t look me in the eye. ‘And it would be really good’ – a blush crept up his neck – ‘if you’d let me tell the lads I’ve touched your bra.’
More school news!
In between all the ‘(cough) Kev!’-s, in Mr Kellett’s class, we found out he’s not the only teacher leaving school at the end of the year. The New Head is leaving, too!
Mr Kellett looked scared when he saw our surprised faces. ‘Has no one told you?’
‘You have now, sir!’ Greeney said cheerfully.
‘Oh, God.’ Mr Kellett sat back on his desk. ‘Maybe I’m not meant to have told you. I’m sure everyone knows.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘They must do.’
‘Is this why Miss Jarvis is saying hello and what a lovely day it is and smiling at us all in the corridors?’ Greeney said.
‘Of course not.’ He paused. ‘And I’m sure she isn’t acting any different.’
‘She definitely is,’ someone said quietly.
‘Has the New Head been sacked?’ Katie Russell asked.
‘No! She’s very ambitious, this was only a stopgap for her. She’s moving on up, to a school with better prospects.’ Mr Kellett paused. ‘Though this school has great prospects, of course. And, before you ask, I’ve not been sacked either. Like I said, my partner’s got a new job in Glasgow.’
‘No one would sack you, sir.’
Greeney realised what he’d said and went red. He did an extra loud cough and ‘Kevin Kellett!’ to make up for it.
‘Everyone’s leaving,’ Zara said. ‘Mademoiselle Brun left too.’
All the Fun of the Fair: A hilarious, brilliantly original coming-of-age story that will capture your heart Page 28