Wicked!

by Jilly Cooper

  Seizing Basket’s hand, Skunk stole off into the moonlight.

  ‘I love you, Xav,’ whispered Aysha.

  ‘Hic,’ said Mrs Khan.

  How much longer can I go on staying cheerful, wondered Feral as, in the middle of the floor, the Brigadier beamed down at Lily.

  ‘Oh, cut to the chase, Brig,’ shouted Graffi, ‘you know you love her.’

  ‘I believe I do,’ said Christian, kissing Lily on the forehead.

  As the band broke into ‘YMCA’, the hall filled up again. Monster was dancing with Mrs Khan, Rowan with Pittsy, Wally with Janna, Sophy with Graffi, and Rocky with Gloria.

  Aware that his wits might be needed if fights broke out, Emlyn, unlike Mrs Khan, had stayed off the drink. Watching the high jinks on the floor, he thought: They’re all so pixillated by the transformation of the school and themselves, they’ve forgotten the dark to come.

  Tonight for him had been a cut-off point. Before, despite everything, he’d had the faint hope that Oriana might realize Charlie was a dreadful mistake. Now she was pregnant, it was over.

  ‘“You’re The One That I Want”,’ sang the bronzed lead singer.

  115

  It was the last dance; Johnnie hand in hand with Kitten, Pearl with Graffi, Feral with Janna, Danny with Danijela, all formed a great circle. The dope-smokers, who’d got the munchies and been raiding the buffet, came racing on to the floor, sandwiches in their hands, as the balloons came down. Yellow, emerald, blue, pink, scarlet and orange, a technicolour snowstorm cascaded into the flickering lights until the ground was one great technicolour bubble bath.

  Then the boys waded in, as if this was what their huge trainers had been awaiting all evening, symbolically stamping on the balloons, bang, bang, bang, followed by the girls leaping in with their stilettos, pop, pop, pop, as though war had broken out.

  Instinctively, Janna had dropped Feral and Graffi’s hands looking round for the tranquillizers for Partner, then remembered he was safe at home.

  ‘Summer Days’ sang the band, as dancing went on over an ocean of shredded rubber. Some of the balloons had been saved. Kitten had six, Danijela had one and burst into tears when Rocky popped it with a cigarette. Feral kept back an orange one, in case Bianca was in the car collecting Xav.

  It was stiflingly hot in the smoke-filled hall. Everyone was glad to surge out into the cool of the night.

  A glittering full moon, like a halo searching for its lost saint, clearly felt upstaged by the splendid explosion of fireworks which followed. Golden fountains overflowed, surging silver snakes belched forth great flurries of blue sparks, rose-pink Roman candles and hissing orange Chinese dragons were followed by a series of colossal bangs, producing screams from the spectators.

  Bounding round, setting alight Catherine wheels, avoiding squibs, launching off rockets, Emlyn was glad he’d stayed sober, particularly when Rocky lurched forward.

  ‘Want to light a rocket, want to light a rocket,’ and fell flat on his face, lit cigarette narrowly missing the remaining fireworks in the box.

  Heaving him up, Emlyn allowed him to light one, which, with a sound like Velcro being ripped apart, soared gloriously upwards, before tossing its emerald and royal blue stars over the Shakespeare Estate.

  At the end, more blazing white-hot stars spelt out the words ‘Goodbye Larks High’, then faded, bringing everyone back to reality with a bump.

  Suddenly Mags was reassuring sobbing pupils: ‘This school is a launching pad not a crashing down to earth.’

  As Pearl in her pretty periwinkle-blue dress wept on her shoulder, Janna could feel her desperate thinness.

  ‘I’m going to miss you, miss.’

  Janna was quickly drenched as child after tearful child came up.

  ‘Thank you, miss, for everything.’

  ‘You’re the bravest girl I know.’ Mags was comforting an inconsolable Aysha.

  Cambola, clinging to her trumpet, was also in floods. She had no family, no husband, no job; her pupils were all.

  ‘Do drop in for a cup of tea whenever you’re passing,’ she begged as each one came up.

  ‘Never been kissed by so many pretty women,’ said Pittsy.

  Even Skunk was getting his fair share of hugs and shrieks, as cheeks were tickled by his bristly beard and moustache. The girls far more enjoyed weeping on Emlyn’s chest. Kitten was clinging to him, leaving frosted-pink lipstick all over his shirt, when he glanced across at Janna, seeing her tears glittering in the moonlight. Setting Kitten gently aside, he crossed the grass, gathering up Janna’s soaked body, and she let herself go.

  It was such a haven, amid such desolation, to feel his arms round her; he was so big, solid and warm. She knew he was still carrying a torch for Oriana, but she wished he’d go on hugging her for ever.

  Emlyn, meanwhile, thought: My heart is in smithereens over Oriana, but it feels nice with my arms round Janna; I’d like to keep them there.

  ‘Can I give you a lift home?’ he murmured into her spiked hair.

  Janna’s heart leapt. ‘Oh yes, please.’

  ‘At last,’ said Lily, turning in satisfaction to the Brigadier.

  Gradually the limos glided away. Most of the teachers had retreated to the staffroom, where the pink and purple ball dresses still hung from the Christmas pantomime and the cuttings from the rugby match against Bagley: ‘Comp thrashes Posh’, curled on the noticeboard. Mags had pinned up Monster’s definition of a mentor: ‘Someone you can talk to, an adult what ain’t your parents, but is a friend.’

  ‘Once they realized we weren’t on supply, they began to trust us,’ said Pittsy.

  The telephone rang.

  ‘I’ve been phoning all evening,’ screeched Miss Miserden. ‘Never heard such a noise. A rocket landed on my patio. Scamp shot up the pear tree. I’m about to call the police.’

  ‘When we have another party,’ said Pittsy sarcastically, ‘we’ll give you a warning,’ but as he replaced the receiver, his face crumpled. ‘But there never will be. Best boss I ever had.’

  Putting off the evil day, to cheer up her staff, Janna had organized some jaunts for later in the week. The list, also pinned up, included the Barbican and Kensington Palace to see Princess Diana’s clothes collection one day, a clay and archery shoot on another, with a buffet at school to include partners on another, then a fun supper just for Larks staff the next.

  None of this cheered up Cambola, sobbing in the corner: it was like the end of an opera tour. Tomorrow, we rest.

  As Janna waved the band off with profuse thanks, Rupert and Bianca arrived to collect Taggie and Xav, who was clutching his crown.

  ‘He was voted most popular boy in the school,’ cried Taggie.

  Rupert put a hand on Xav’s shoulder. ‘That’s better than grades, well done.’

  ‘Is it all right if we drop Aysha and Mrs Khan off on the way?’ whispered Xav, ‘I think someone’s spiked her drink.’

  Bianca had jumped out of the BMW, big dark eyes searching everywhere for Feral. Reading her mind, Xav said, ‘I’m sorry, he’s gone home, I tried to keep him.’

  Bianca shrugged and huddled into the back. Feral, hidden behind the big swamp cypress, watched the BMW roll down the drive, before fleeing into the night.

  Emlyn was desperate to leave, suffering the edginess of not drinking, jangling his car keys attached to a black plastic Scottie with a tartan collar. He found Janna in the IT room gazing abstractedly at a computer screen, where Larks High School, like a house in a twister, rolled hopelessly over and over into a bright blue eternity.

  ‘I saved you this.’ Emlyn handed her a red balloon, splaying his fingers over hers. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘I’ll just say goodbye to the others.’

  Outside the staffroom, however, they found Danijela in tears.

  ‘This school is my home.’

  Emlyn gritted his teeth as Janna, the eternal hostess, put Basket’s beige cardigan round Danijela’s thin shoulders. Janna was just making her a cup of
tea when Monster wandered in.

  ‘My mum’s not answering.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Moved house if she’s got any sense,’ quipped Rocky.

  ‘She’s asleep. Probably can’t hear the doorbell,’ whined Monster.

  ‘Pissed,’ mouthed Wally from behind his back.

  ‘My bruvvers and sisters are asleep, no one won’t let me in,’ he whined.

  ‘So you walked back here, poor Martin.’ Janna poured boiling water over Danijela’s tea bag.

  ‘I got nowhere to go.’ Monster looked round pathetically.

  There was a long pause. Pittsy looked at his feet, so did Cambola, so even did Mags and Emlyn. Janna counted to ten.

  ‘You better come home with me, Martin. We’ll put a note through your mum’s door: “I’m in Miss Curtis’s house.” You’ll have to sleep on the sofa.’

  Then she caught sight of Emlyn, his face a death mask.

  ‘I’m off. Night, everybody.’ He gathered up his car keys and was gone.

  Janna caught up with him in reception. Graffi’s black good-luck cat grinned down at her unsympathetically.

  ‘Come in for a drink on the way home,’ she pleaded. ‘We can put Monster to bed.’

  ‘Where?’ snapped Emlyn.

  ‘In the lounge. We can talk in the kitchen.’

  ‘Talking wasn’t what I had in mind.’

  Janna’s heart started to thump in excitement, then faltered as Emlyn said, ‘And I’m not coming to any of those jaunts next week, I’ve got interviews.’

  ‘You what?’ Janna fought back tears of disappointment. Every trip had been planned with him in mind. ‘Who with?’ she asked, following him through the front door.

  ‘The Welsh Rugby Union, among others.’

  Out in the warmth of Midsummer Night’s Eve, the bitter acid tang of elder and the overwhelming sweetness of the white philadelphus mingled to symbolize the bitter sweetness of the evening.

  ‘You’re lovely, Janna; all things to all children,’ said Emlyn bleakly, ‘but you’re not going to change. I’m fed up with women who want to save the world.’

  As he strode towards his car, Janna ran after him. ‘I’m sorry about Oriana’s baby. I know you’re upset: please talk to me about it.’

  ‘I don’t need any counselling. Poppet Bruce had a go earlier.’ And he was in his car, storming down the drive, not even bothering with lights or a seatbelt.

  Janna couldn’t bawl her heart out because of Monster.

  ‘So much food left,’ she said, returning to the staffroom. ‘If we put it in the fridge, the children can have it tomorrow.’

  ‘There isn’t going to be a tomorrow,’ sobbed Rowan.

  Cambola, however, switched off her mobile, tears drying on her beaming face.

  ‘Jack and Kylie have just asked me to be godmother to little Ganymede.’

  Both the Brigadier and Lily had been drinking, so they left the car at Larks and took a taxi to Elmsley church, where the Brigadier put a balloon on his wife’s grave. Then they walked hand in hand down the tree tunnel with shafts of moonlight piercing the leaf ceiling lighting on Lily’s pearls and the Brigadier’s diamond shirt studs.

  Pearl had forced a fish-paste sandwich on Lily, made by her mum, to keep up her strength, so Lily had to do something to sweeten her breath. Pearl’s proffered Juicy Fruit chewing gum might have pulled her bridge out. Fortunately, she always kept three boiled sweets in her bag, one for the walk there, one for the walk home and one just in case. The just in case was blackcurrant, which she was sucking furiously.

  Despite his outward sangfroid, the Brigadier was more nervous than he had ever been under fire.

  Just outside Wilmington, they paused to rest against a five-bar gate. The Brigadier took a deep breath. Lily looked so beautiful with her silvery hair and her face bathed in moonlight.

  ‘Darling Lily, I fell in love with you on the second of October two thousand, the day you moved into Wilmington.’

  There was a crunch of boiled sweet as he took her in his arms, kissing her gently then passionately, and both their teeth stayed put.

  ‘Oh, Christian, my Brigadearest,’ sighed Lily.

  ‘If I go down on one knee, will you help me up afterwards?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Sweetest Lily, will you do me the great honour of marrying me?’

  ‘Oh yes, yes I will.’

  Anxious to kiss his betrothed, Christian held out a hand, Lily gave it a tug, but he was too heavy for her, and next moment had pulled her down on the grass beside him. The only way they could clamber up, some time later, still laughing helplessly, was gate bar by gate bar.

  Back at Larks, Graffi and Johnnie, who’d been indulging in a hilarious spot of dogging, observing Basket’s plump white bottom bobbing up and down in Skunk’s heaving Vauxhall, had returned to the staffroom to mob up Janna.

  ‘Not sure Monster wants to come home with you, miss. Finks you’re going to jump on him.’

  ‘There’s a perfectly good lock to the lounge door,’ snarled Janna. ‘Come on, Martin, I can’t abandon Partner any longer.’

  Having once bound a firework to Partner’s tail, Monster showed even more reluctance to spend the night under the same roof.

  ‘He’ll get me in the night, miss.’

  Janna drove home very slowly, tempted to knock on Emlyn’s door, but there was no car outside. She had great difficulty not strangling Monster, particularly when the hulking great beast announced he was starving, then complained the scrambled eggs Janna made him were too sloppy.

  Partner growled so much at such ingratitude, Janna let Monster sleep in her bedroom, and heard the key turn in the lock.

  Outside, it was getting light, the longest day dawning after the longest saddest night. Except for the jaunts, which were meaningless without Emlyn, Larks was over. She must face up to the fact that she was totally, hopelessly in love with him and had utterly blown it by not being there when he needed her. Having sobbed herself to sleep, her first lie-in for weeks was interrupted by pounding on the door at six o’clock.

  ‘Can you run me into Larkminster, miss? It’s my paper round.’

  116

  ‘Teachers should never go on holiday for at least a fortnight after the end of the summer term,’ Pittsy was always saying. ‘One needs two weeks at home unwinding and invariably contracting some bug, then fourteen days abroad in the sun, before a fortnight psyching oneself up for the rigours of the autumn term.’

  Janna had no such luxury. She had to work out her contract with S and C until the end of August, leaving Appletree immaculate for the new incumbents, whoever they might be, and supervising the removal of property by neighbouring schools, who were so avaricious, she was tempted to put a ‘do not remove’ label on Partner’s collar.

  To depress her further, it rained throughout July and August as estate agents and developers splashed through the school grounds, skips filled with water and rubble, windows were boarded up, machinery dismantled and cork and whiteboards ripped down, until only Janna’s office remained operational.

  In it, apart from her personal belongings, were a framed photograph of the staff and children of Larks High in happier days and the computer and printer, out of which the GCSE results would thunder.

  Still on the wall was the cupboard Emlyn had put up by nonchalantly hammering in the screws. Janna never dreamt she would miss him so dreadfully. Her constant companion as a child had been a vast English sheepdog, whose huge reassuring presence she kept imagining round the house for months after he died. So it was with Emlyn. He had landed his grand job with the Welsh Rugby Union, but, according to the Brigadier, he was hoping to get back to Larks for Results Day on 26 August. The children so longed to see him.

  Even after term was ended, they hadn’t been able to accept the dream was over and still piled in every day: ‘Let’s play bingo, miss,’ or offering to help her clean the building and littering it with Coke cans and crisp packets.

 
; As Results Day approached, they grew increasingly jittery about not getting enough grades to qualify for sixth-form places in colleges or other schools, or for a good job, or to satisfy their parents, or to not feel a fool in front of their friends.

  None of them aspired to the miracle of the Magic Five, which would give Larks a point in the league tables.

  In the evenings, Janna had visited every parent on the Shakespeare Estate, trying to explain that further education didn’t just mean top-up fees and the loss of a family breadwinner.

  She was most worried about Feral, who’d left the sanctuary of the Brigadier’s cottage and moved with his mother into a two-bedroom flat so poky there was hardly room for his football. If his mother stayed off drugs until Christmas, her other children might be returned to her. But she was so listless and easily cast down, Feral was terrified she’d lapse, particularly if Uncle Harley rolled up again. He hated leaving her, even to stack shelves with Graffi every night.

  As Janna was shredding confidential papers referring to the staff at Larks, she had come across one of Feral’s essays which young Lydia had kept. He must have dictated it to Paris.

  My dream [he had begun] is to leave home when I’m nineteen and be married by the time I’m twenty to the girl I stay with for the rest of my life and have two children. I’m going to buy a house in a nice area for my children to grow up decently. I will buy a car for my wife. She can go to work or look after the children. I’m going to give her a big posh kitchen worth £1,000 and go on holiday three times a year, twice abroad and once to Skegness.

  ‘Well done, Feral,’ Lydia had written, ‘work hard and chase your dream.’

  It was dated March 2002, just after he had met Bianca. Oh, poor Feral, Janna nearly wept, the desire of the moth for the star.

  At least this year the incessant rain had kept alive the saplings Wally had planted last autumn; perhaps they might symbolize the survival of her children.

  Against all this, she longed constantly for Emlyn and could have done without Basket popping in, flashing Skunk’s diamond and saying, ‘I know you’ll find a Skunk of your own when you least expect it,’ until Janna nearly kicked her teeth in.