Something Secret

by Gwyneth Rees

  Don’t think too horribly of me before I tell you what happened. It’s not as though I was going round thumping all the little kids or anything like that.

  The trouble was, Janice had started to become friends with another girl in our class, called Helen. Helen went to the same Guides as Janice and I was getting really sick of the two of them going on about the barbecue – or the sausage sizzle as they kept calling it – all the time.

  OK, so I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I was jealous. Well, maybe I was. Maybe you would have been too. I mean, Janice was my best friend and the thought of her doing things with Helen instead of with me didn’t exactly thrill me to bits.

  ‘Don’t you wish you were coming to the sausage sizzle too, Laura?’ Helen asked me while we were waiting for Janice to finish fixing her hair. We were standing in front of one of the mirrors in the girls’ toilets at school and I was doing my best not to catch a glimpse of myself in it. We’d had swimming that morning and my hair and chlorine just don’t have a good relationship.

  ‘Not particularly’ I lied.

  ‘She’s not allowed to,’Janice explained, failing to see me scowling at her, because she was concentrating on trying to fix her hairclip.

  ‘Here. I’ll do that, Janice.’ Helen thumped her schoolbag against my chest for me to hold.

  Well, OK, so I haven’t exactly got a chest yet, but that’s beside the point. I let her bag bounce off me and on to the floor (which was still wet from where someone had let one of the sinks overflow).

  ‘Sorry’ I murmured, but I didn’t bend down to pick it up.

  Helen glared at me. As she bent down to pick up the bag herself, she demanded, ‘So why aren’t you allowed to go to the sausage sizzle then, Laura? Does your mum think you’re too young to be unsupervised around a bonfire or something? Because there’ll be lots of grown-up helpers there. Your mum could always ask one of them to sort of babysit you.’

  I could feel my face turning beetroot.

  ‘Hey, maybe that is why your mum won’t let you come, Laura,’Janice giggled. ‘Maybe she’s worried about the bonfire. I mean, you did nearly set the kitchen on fire that time you tried to dry your shoes under the grill.’

  ‘She did WHAT?!’ Helen was gaping at me as if I had a big sign pointing to my brain, saying: Out of Order.

  ‘Shut up!’ I yelled. ‘Of course I’m allowed to go!’ I pushed Janice – she’d promised never to tell anyone about that time with the shoes – and she slipped on the wet floor. She lost her balance and thudded down on to the ground, banging her head against one of the sinks.

  Janice!’ I was horrified.

  ‘FIGHT!’ someone shouted, and before I’d even had time to check that Janice was OK, Helen was rushing out to fetch a teacher.

  Janice’s mum got called up to the school to take Janice home. She wasn’t seriously hurt, but she had a slight bump on her head and she said she didn’t feel she could cope with maths which was our next – and her least favourite – lesson.

  Unfortunately my mother got called up to the school as well, only she couldn’t come until after four o’clock, by which time nearly everyone else had gone home and I was already halfway through the punishment exercise I’d been set.

  ‘Honestly, Laura, I never had you figured out for a bully!’ Mum was on call for the hospital today, which meant it was a particularly bad day for me to get into trouble.

  ‘I’m not a bully!’ I protested. ‘It was an accident!’

  ‘An accident, Laura, is when nobody can be found to be at fault. Pushing someone over does not equal an accident!’

  ‘But I didn’t push her over. I just pushed her and she fell over. It wasn’t my fault the floor was slippy.’

  I thought we really were going to have an accident on the way home, the way Mum was driving the car.

  That night Mum made me phone Janice to apologize. Then she wanted me to hand the phone over to her so that she could apologize to Mrs Bishop (for giving birth to me, I suppose).

  ‘Is your head all right?’ I asked Janice timidly. ‘You didn’t have to go to the doctor or anything, did you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I didn’t mean you to fall over. I’m really sorry, Janice.’

  ‘So you should be.’

  ‘Oh, come on.’ I was getting fed up with grovelling. ‘What about the time you pushed me over on the hockey pitch? I had gravel stuck in my knees for ages.’

  ‘Well you shouldn’t have told Ewan Spencer that I fancied him, should you?’ She lowered her voice. ‘Anyway, I wasn’t really hurt today. I had a really nice afternoon at home watching TV’ She spoke louder again. ‘Helen phoned tonight to see how I was. Listen, we need to know for definite about the sausage sizzle. Did you mean it when you said you were allowed to go? Because we’ve got to have cooking partners and if you’re not coming I’ve said I’ll be Helen’s partner. I know you don’t like Helen, but she is my best friend at Guides—’

  ‘I am coming,’ I interrupted hotly. ‘Mum hasn’t actually said I can yet but I know I can get her to change her mind. I just have to pick the right time to ask her.’

  ‘Are you sure?’Janice sounded sceptical.

  ‘Laura?’ Mum stuck her head round the door.

  ‘Look, I’ve got to go. My mum wants to speak to your mum. Promise you’ll be my partner and not Helen’s?’

  ‘OK. But you’ve got to promise you’ll definitely come. If you don’t come and I get left without any partner at all . . .’ She didn’t finish the sentence but she didn’t need to. I know a threat when I hear one.

  Chapter Seven

  You’re probably not as daft as I am so you probably won’t need this piece of advice. I’m going to give it to you anyway though, just in case.

  Never, ever, if you’re trying to get your mum to change her mind about something, ask your divorced father to speak to her on your behalf.

  ‘Who the hell does he think he is, telling me how to bring up my own daughter!’ Mum smashed the telephone receiver down, making Rory leap out of his chair and rush for the cat flap. I started to back out of the room slowly. I was pretty sure there was worse to come, especially as Mum was on call for the hospital again today, which meant she couldn’t have the gin and tonic she usually prepared in advance if ever she had to speak to Dad on the phone.

  ‘Well, she is his daughter too,’ Hamish said, looking up from the Sunday paper.

  I stopped in my tracks. My mouth dropped open. Did Hamish have a death wish or what? I glanced nervously at Mum. She was staring at Hamish as though he’d just changed from a handsome prince into a particularly ugly frog.

  I got out of that room as fast as I could. In my mind’s eye I could already see the blood and guts splattered across the walls. Hamish wouldn’t stand a chance.

  I sat on my bedroom floor waiting for the shouting to begin. This was all my fault. If I hadn’t asked Dad to ask Mum to let me go to Guides, none of this would be happening. I must have been crazy to think that getting Dad on my side would help. Getting Dad on my side was the worst thing I could possibly have done. My case was doomed for ever now, and Hamish was doomed too into the bargain. The really strange thing was that I didn’t feel that great about getting rid of Hamish like this. I just felt guilty. I nervously picked at the fluff on my carpet, wishing they’d get on with their row. I wanted it over and done with. I was sick of sitting here holding in my breath. It reminded me of when Dad lived with us, except that there were never any delays in kick-off before one of Mum and Dad’s yelling matches. With them, you ran for cover the minute you realized the two of them were in the same room at the same time.

  I shuffled across the floor to my CD player, pressed the Play button and fished my wooden swords out from under my bed. The good thing about Highland Dancing is that you have to count the steps. Counting stops you thinking about anything else.

  ‘Laura, I’m going out.’

  I jumped. Mum was standing in my doorway, pulling the belt tight on he
r raincoat. She looked quite calm.

  ‘I’ve a patient to go and see. I shan’t be long.’

  I bent down and put the CD on Pause. ‘Shall I go over to Janice’s?’ I started to hunt for my shoes.

  ‘Come on, Laura.’ Mum sounded exasperated. ‘Surely you know Hamish well enough now for me to leave you on your own with him for an hour.’

  ‘But I thought . . .’ I was imagining Hamish either kicked out on to the street or lying on the living room floor ready for burial after dark in our back garden.

  ‘And, Laura, I’m sorry for what I said about your father just now. Hamish is right. It’s not fair on you for me to react like that. Of course Dad will always be interested in how I’m bringing you up. You’re his daughter. He cares about you.’ She pulled her gloves out of her pocket. ‘Now I must dash. I’ll see you in a bit.’

  I stared after her, utterly flabbergasted. What had Hamish done? Hypnotized her?

  Ten minutes later I was still sitting on my bed staring dumbly at the pattern my swords made on the floor. For some reason it didn’t surprise me when Hamish appeared in my bedroom doorway, a packet of chocolate digestives in one hand and a can of Irn-Bru in the other. Mum has a nostalgic attachment to Irn-Bru because it’s made in Scotland, so I’m allowed to drink it even though it rots my teeth.

  ‘Voila!’ Hamish presented the can on the palm of his hand like a waiter presenting a bottle of wine in a restaurant.

  I had to force myself not to laugh. I do find Hamish funny sometimes, however hard I try not to.

  ‘Merci,’ I replied. If Hamish thought I was going to be impressed just because he knew a bit of French, he was sorely mistaken. I’d been learning French myself at school for nearly a year now.

  ‘That’s a seriously good French accent.’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘At our last parents’ night my French teacher said I had one of the worst accents in my class,’ I said gruffly.

  His eyes sparkled. ‘Really? All the other people in your class must have exceptionally good accents then.’ I noticed for the first time that he had quite nice eyes. They were dark brown and warm-looking.

  I watched him unpick the end of the chocolate digestive packet. ‘Did Mum say you could have those?’ I demanded.

  He pulled a face in mock horror. ‘I didn’t ask. Are you going to tell on me?’

  I felt myself go pink. He was being too smart now. I couldn’t think why Mum liked him. She hates people who are too smart. ‘I don’t want one,’ I snapped as he offered me the packet.

  ‘What? After all that dancing? You’ll have to keep your blood-sugar levels up, you know, if you want to stay the course. Scottish Highland Dancing is all about stamina. And I should know.’

  It took a great deal of mental energy not to give him the satisfaction of asking how he knew, especially as I’m a curious person by nature. I watched him devour half a biscuit in one bite, thinking it would serve him right if he choked on it and that if he did I’d wait for him to go blue before I thumped his back.

  He didn’t seem to care whether I was interested in what he had to say or not. ‘Laura, you are speaking to the six-times gold medallist in the Kilmalochry children’s Highland Dance championships. Have you got some music there?’ He bent down to untie his shoelaces, kicked off his shoes to reveal a pair of bright red holey socks, and switched on my CD. ‘Now I was never too hot at the sword dance, always afraid I’d stub my toe on the swords. How about a demonstration Highland Fling instead?’

  He launched into the most chaotic Highland Fling I’ve ever seen, jigging about wildly and making up the steps he couldn’t remember, which looked to me to be just about all of them.

  It was far too painful to watch. ‘You’re doing it all wrong!’ I kicked the swords out of the way and stood with my heels together, both feet pointing outwards, my back arched, both fists on my waist, waiting for a suitable bit in the music to start off. Then I was jigging away alongside Hamish, shrieking at him every time he bumped into me. ‘Your feet are all wrong! It’s like this! Watch!’ And that’s how I came to be giving Hamish a refresher course in Highland Dancing when Mum arrived back from the hospital.

  ‘Kilmalochry’s Gold Medallist is about to make a comeback,’ Hamish greeted her.

  Mum stood for a long time watching us, smiling.

  Hamish was panting as we sat on the floor putting on our shoes after Mum went downstairs to make dinner. His face was pink and he suddenly seemed a lot younger than before. I really wanted to know how old he was, so I asked him.

  He looked up, pushing his fringe out of his eyes. ‘I’m thirty-two.’

  ‘Really?’ I found this interesting. ‘Does Mum know you’re younger than her?’

  He looked puzzled. ‘But your mum’s—’

  ‘Thirty-five, which makes you three years younger than her.’

  ‘Do you people want soup?’ Mum called up the stairs.

  Hamish was starting to smile.

  I stared at him. ‘What?’

  ‘You’re a gem, Laura. A gem!’ He was chuckling now.

  ‘You’re mad,’ I said.

  Mum had come upstairs to find out what was going on. ‘Do you want soup or not?’ She looked a little nervously at Hamish, who was still laughing. ‘Did I miss something here?’

  ‘Nothing at all!’ Hamish leaped up, put his arm round her waist and kissed her cheek. ‘Now did I hear the word soup? That wouldn’t be home-made lentil soup just like my mother used to make, would it?’

  ‘No it wouldn’t,’ Mum answered sweetly. ‘But I’ve got some lentils in the cupboard if you want to make some.’

  ‘My granny in Scotland makes really good lentil soup,’ I chipped in. ‘And when Mum was a wee girl she didn’t like it so she used to spoon lots of hers into Kathleen’s bowl when nobody was looking.’ Granny had told me that the last time we visited. Very, very occasionally Granny will mention Kathleen in some neutral sort of way like that, but even then her voice shakes slightly and she’ll glance across at Kathleen’s photo on the mantelpiece as though she’s still longing for her to walk back in through the door. I looked up at Hamish. ‘Do you know about Kathleen? She was Mum’s little sister. She would’ve been my auntie if she hadn’t died. I haven’t got any aunties because my dad is an only child and so is Mum now.’

  ‘Laura, we’re going to eat in a minute,’ Mum interrupted briskly. ‘Come and help me set the table.’

  Mum was in a good mood all through dinner. She’s usually a bit tense when she’s on call, but tonight Hamish was making her laugh a lot. He was making me laugh a lot too. I had to keep reminding myself that I didn’t like him, which got more and more difficult as he kept paying me as much attention as he was paying Mum, refilling my empty glass (with orange juice) and listening to me as if I was saying something interesting when most of the time I wasn’t. He even got Mum to let me have a second helping of ice cream by pointing out that I’d only had a very small portion the first time.

  It was while Mum was in the kitchen making coffee that I had my brainwave. Getting Dad to speak up for me hadn’t worked, but maybe getting Hamish on my side would.

  ‘Hamish,’ I began cautiously, ‘were you ever in the Boy Scouts?’

  Mum came through from the kitchen.

  ‘The Scouts?’ Hamish grinned. ‘Now it’s funny you should ask that because I was actually expelled from the Scouts.’ His grin widened. ‘I caused a can of baked beans to explode at our annual sausage sizzle.’

  I giggled. Mum smiled as well, until I continued, looking at her pointedly, ‘You were allowed to go to the sausage sizzle, then?’

  Mum began to gather up our plates noisily.

  ‘Oh yes. Until the famous baked-bean incident.’

  ‘So your parents let you go to Scouts?’

  ‘Let me go? They practically forced me. They thought it would be character-building!’

  ‘That’s what my friend Janice says about Guides, that it’s character-building. She says it teaches you how to do al
l sorts of things.’

  ‘Laura, help me clear the table,’ Mum interrupted sharply.

  ‘Hamish, if I really wanted to go to Guides, you’d let me, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t ban me from going?’

  ‘LAURA!’ Mum bellowed.

  Hamish got more of a fright than I did. He stared at my mother as if he thought she’d gone loopy.

  ‘I’m sorry, Hamish, but Laura already knows my views on this.’ Mum’s voice was shaking. A red rash had come out on her neck. She was fixing me with a look that warned me not to open my mouth again for at least the next ten hours.

  I was too angry to stay quiet. ‘It’s not fair! Granny let you go to Guides! Just because you didn’t like it doesn’t mean I won’t! I wish I lived with Dad! He’d let me go!’ I leaped up and ran out of the room.

  Up in my bedroom I burst into tears. ‘I’m going to join the Guides, I’m going to, I’m going to, I’m going to,’ I sobbed angrily. I flung myself down on the floor, scrambling under the bed to find my diary. Mum is always going on about how good it is to keep a diary and how glad she was that she’d kept one while she was growing up. I’d managed to keep mine for three weeks this year before I got fed up with it. Now I only ever wrote in it when I was really excited or really angry.

  ‘I HATE MUM!’ I scrawled in huge thick letters right across the page.

  I’d hidden the photo of Mum and Kathleen in the back of the diary. As I peered again at Kathleen’s sad little face, I whispered, ‘No wonder you look so miserable, having her for your sister.’

  Voices were being raised downstairs. I strained to listen. I couldn’t hear properly so I crept out on to the landing.

  ‘I just don’t understand you! I’ve been trying really hard all day and just when I’m starting to get somewhere—’ Hamish sounded really exasperated.

  ‘I can’t let her get away with answering me back like that.’

  ‘Sure, but why all the fuss in the first place? Was I paying her too much attention? Were you feeling left out?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous! I want you to pay her lots of attention. It’s not that!’ There was a long pause. ‘She’s been going on at me for weeks to let her go to Guides.’