There was a girl in his class he liked to talk to, they hung out together. He’d noticed her the first day he turned up, which was not surprising because in a school of what seemed like a million, there were only three black kids and she was one of them, and the sight of her made him homesick for London. Like him she was new, and her name was Alice. She wore her hair in long plaits with lots of coloured beads in them, and she had a solemn look, big eyes full of the sorrows of the world, and she sat with her hands clasped in front of her staring at the teachers as if they could help her learn to save the planet.
Of course she got picked on, so did he, they both did. A bit of shoving, a bit of sniggering behind his back, a lot of name-calling. It wore him down. There was a group of them that did it, there always is, the usual combination of some big insecure creep with small eyes and some kids who followed him around. It got so Robbie started holding a knife again, which he’d stopped because it only gets you into trouble, but he was in trouble, anyway.
‘You really need that?’ asked Alice when he told her. ‘They’re not that bad, are they? Just annoying.’
Then one day he was in the playground, when he saw Alice. She was scarcely moving and her beads were unnaturally still. There was a terrified expression on her face. Big Boy was in front of her, taunting her, while those pilot fish stood behind, and they were pushing her slowly towards an alley between two school buildings. He knew that something bad was going to happen.
He walked over there down the alley, and shoved Big Boy from behind.
He got the reaction he pretty much expected. All the hangers-on and other losers started laughing and looking at their hero to see what he was going to do. And this was the crucial bit. You don’t hang around waiting for an answer if you don’t want to get hurt. You’ve got surprise on your side. So Robbie took out the knife just as Big Boy was going into a narrowing-eyes routine, and before he could come out with anything clever, Robbie put out his hand and ran the blade over it ever so lightly so a thread of blood streaked over the ball of his palm. He watched the blood drip on to the ground. It was only like a paper cut, though Robbie noticed the tiny scar lines from where he’d had to pull this stunt before. The boy mountain couldn’t take his eyes off his hand, so while he was staring at it Robbie put the knife right up under the boy’s throat so he could feel its edge.
‘Listen,’ he hissed. ‘Whatever your problem is, if you don’t back off right now I’m going to take your throat out.’
He was looking into the widening eyes and he could see the fear there and he didn’t want to waste it.
‘And if we EVER –’ he shouted this – ‘have any more grief from you, you loser, and if you EVER even whisper a word to anyone about this, I – WILL – SHANK – YOU.’ He spat the words out carefully so there could be no excuses for misunderstanding.
There was the sound of scrambling feet and in a few seconds the alley was clear of everyone except Alice and him.
‘That worked,’ he said, wiping the blade. Alice stared at him for a moment, then started to laugh.
And when she’d stopped laughing, she put her hand on his arm very gently and said, ‘Thanks.’
That was how they had started to be real, proper friends. Robbie got a lot of filthy looks after that, and he was worried something was going to brew up, but it didn’t, and they both got left alone. That’s to say, they didn’t make any new acquaintances or anything, they were kind of in a little leper colony all of their own, and Robbie sometimes saw Big Boy, whose real name was Elliot, looking at him in a peculiar, almost thoughtful way, but nothing happened.
She was very grounded, Alice, but she had spark as well. Sometimes she’d put her shoulders back and sometimes stretch out a leg and foot artfully as if she was a ballet dancer about to dance. That’s when she was showing off a bit, aware of other people watching her. Quite a lot of the time she seemed not really to be listening to what other people were saying, she’d be off in her own dream world, and then when she tuned in and realized what they were saying she would turn to them in an instant; focused, questioning, doubting, hectoring. Sometimes she would just sit on one of the school benches, her knees crossed and an elbow resting on her thigh, carefully weaving together her beaded braids with the fingers of one hand, gazing into the middle distance as if trying to work things out. When she was in the right mood, which she often was with Robbie, she laughed so easily it was infectious, and those solemn eyes would flash with fire. Robbie wasn’t even sure Alice was her proper name, but it was what she used and it suited her. Alice had opinions on everything, she was inquisitive; she had a mind like a silver fish flicking through the water. She had wisdom too, and seemed to understand things almost without having them explained to her. They used to talk and talk, they talked all the time. When Alice’s mum and dad had split up, she chose to stay with her dad and they’d come to England, where he’d remarried. Alice liked her new mum, but she missed her home. Robbie thought he’d like to go there one day.
Alice didn’t seem to have opened up to anyone about this stuff before, and of course he found himself telling her about his mum, which was hard because he hadn’t talked about it to anyone, not properly, not even to Mags. Mags wasn’t the only one with hiding places.
9
‘HAVE YOU seen it?’
The trouble with Jess was, she squealed a lot. It was as if everything in her life had to be played at maximum volume. She was looking at Robbie from her chair and holding her earpieces out on either side of her head as if they had electrocuted her, and there was an expression of happy horror on her face.
The sisters, Jess and Lucy, hadn’t been that much help to him. They were so close to their mother it was almost unhealthy, and he was sure they told her about everything he did. He was never quite sure what they thought about his dad; they could be flirtatious with him, but he’d seen them give him really filthy scowls behind his back, especially when he dared ask them to do something for him. They had the run of everything, and they knew it.
Lucy was the oldest and had GCSEs coming up. She behaved as if she was standing to be an MP or something. She threw herself around the house like an underfed horse and often closed her eyes to show that no one could possibly understand her suffering, and when she was revising the house had to be absolutely silent. Especially Jess and her squealing.
Robbie and Jess had a sort of on/off secret alliance. She was younger than him and fascinated by what she saw as his outlaw past. Lucy was very suspicious, and every now and then she would swoop down and smother her younger sister with attention, as if to stop her being tainted by Robbie’s company, and if there was one thing Jess loved it was attention. She was growing her black hair long and had put a red streak in it, and today was wearing a short red skirt and grey tights.
‘I said have you seen it?’ Her voice rose another octave. ‘Don’t walk off like that.’
‘Yeah, it’s wicked,’ he said. ‘Just what we needed.’
For the second time someone was suddenly pulling at his arm.
‘Get off me, Jess.’
‘No, really, Robbie, you’ve got to come and look, you’ve got to, it’s huge. Mum and Alan are furious. I had to peel them off the ceiling.’
He sighed.
‘Where are they, anyway?’
‘Outside. Waiting for the police.’
His dad and Sheila were on the lawn, standing apart from each other and staring at the wall of the house. There was a hedge on the other side of the lawn with a big iron gate where the drive joined the road. There were mirrors everywhere so that if you were driving you could see what was coming round the corner, whatever direction you were coming from.
Sheila was hugging herself and smoking, which was something she only did when she was seriously upset. His dad was wearing that frightened expression again. Jess could hardly keep two feet on the ground.
Three letters, a metre high, in white paint. Tall and strong. They’d taken their time.
RUN, it said.
<
br /> ‘Do you know anything about this, Robbie?’ asked Sheila. He could hear the accusation in her voice.
‘Why should I?’
‘I didn’t say did you do it, I just said did you know anything about it? Never mind. I’m sure the police will be very helpful.’
‘Mum, don’t be horrible to Robbie, that’s really unfair,’ said Jess, but Sheila put on a knowing expression that made Robbie want to hit her.
Jess linked her arm through his.
‘How long’s it been here?’ he asked his dad.
‘I think they may have done it in the night. Didn’t you see it when you went out this morning?’
‘No, I didn’t come this way. What’s it mean, then?’
‘Oh, that’s very obvious,’ said Sheila. ‘Someone doesn’t want us living here.’
‘Well, it’s not me.’
‘I didn’t say it was. But there aren’t that many candidates.’
‘Mum,’ warned Jess.
‘I’d say there’s a whole village of them,’ said Robbie.
He knew who Sheila was referring to. The people who’d lived there before them. Mags’s people. But he didn’t believe that for a second. Mags wouldn’t, her dad was a loser, her mum had moved on.
He gave his dad a look. Why wasn’t he helping him out here?
‘They even wiped their brush off on the wall afterwards,’ said Jess.
‘The scum,’ said Sheila. ‘The miserable, rotten, dirty scum.’
Under the letters were a few untidy white lines.
‘Insult to injury.’
‘Bloody, bloody nerve,’ said Sheila.
The police arrived in a blue and yellow car. Robbie’s skin itched with bad memories, and he didn’t hang around.
Jess came into his room. She couldn’t contain herself. Lucy was pretending to be above it all.
‘She’s being such an emo,’ said Jess, her face a knot of irritation. ‘So who do you think did it? The police seem to be a bit puzzled.’
‘Like they care.’
‘Do you think they don’t?’
‘We’re outsiders.’
‘Your dad isn’t.’
‘True.’
‘Do you think he’s happy being back?’
‘I don’t know, what do you think?’
‘He’s your dad, Robbie.’
‘First off, I didn’t think he was too fussed. But he’s been getting into it, hasn’t he? Spending time down at the Wheatsheaf.’
‘Yeah,’ said Jess. A foxy look came into her eyes. ‘We noticed.’
Robbie knew what she meant, and he didn’t say anything, because if Sheila and his dad weren’t so loved up any more he couldn’t exactly say he’d be losing sleep over it.
That was twice he had caught his dad with that expression on his face, though. There was something worrying him, and it wasn’t Sheila.
‘Dinner,’ came the call from downstairs.
Lasagne. Again. She doled it out amid silence. It was a ritual, Robbie thought, equal portions carefully measured, salad to follow, everyone having to say how good it was because if they didn’t, Sheila would. Lucy and Jess and Robbie’s dad dutifully complied. Sheila eyed Robbie meaningfully.
Dad, why did you get us into this?
If he was going to be fair he’d admit Sheila could cook some lovely new things too, and she certainly didn’t get any help from his dad.
But why would he want to be fair?
‘What did the police say, Alan?’ Lucy broke the silence.
‘They didn’t seem to be that interested.’
Robbie looked at Jess, which was a mistake.
‘You two know something about it, then?’ asked Lucy in a mean voice.
‘What’s the matter, Luce, someone got the jam out of your doughnut?’
‘Robbie,’ said his dad.
‘What?’
‘Don’t be offensive.’
‘I don’t like her looking at me like that.’
‘She didn’t look at you.’
‘Yes, she did.’
‘Did you, Lucy? I’m sure you didn’t. Robbie’s just being sensitive. But did you?’
‘It wasn’t me looking at him, it was him looking at Jess.’
‘Well, we were just talking about it,’ said Jess. ‘Robbie thinks the police won’t be interested ’cos we’re not local.’
‘Robbie makes very free with his opinions, if you want my view,’ said Sheila.
‘So were they interested?’
‘I’m sure it’s not because of that, they’ve just got more important things to think about.’
‘Oh, rubbish, Alan,’ said Sheila. ‘It’s vandalism, sheer vandalism, and they’d better look into it sharpish or I’m going to be talking to their superiors.’ Sheila seemed to think the police were like a department of Selfridges. ‘I think I can give them a few pointers.’
‘It’s nothing to do with Mags.’
‘Well, she did live here, Robbie,’ said Jess.
‘Yeah, right,’ added her sister.
‘So? Just ’cos she doesn’t like something doesn’t mean she’s going to commit some atrocity over it. She’s not like that.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Sheila.
‘Don’t get her into trouble.’
‘Robbie,’ said his dad.
‘She’s my friend.’
‘She’s very strange,’ said Sheila. ‘Has she any friends apart from you, Robbie? She’s quite a bit older, isn’t she?’
‘Loads of them.’
‘Not many,’ said Lucy.
‘Does she have a boyfriend?’
‘Used to,’ answered Lucy.
‘How come you’re suddenly such an expert?’ asked Robbie, his anger rising.
‘Someone told me.’
‘What were you talking to someone about her for?’
Lucy pulled in her chin so she looked like a stuffed frog.
Robbie pushed his plate away and got up. His face was flushed.
‘Robbie!’ said his dad, alarm bells ringing.
‘No, Dad, listen. Especially you. It’s this. I’m so sick of people telling me what I can do and what I can’t, who I can be friends with and who I can’t, and then trying to get them into trouble and sneaking and snooping around trying to find things out about them. She doesn’t deserve it. I don’t deserve it. Neither of us deserve it.’
He was hitting his fist hard against his thigh. Usually it helped him to concentrate. But he was agitated and it wasn’t working. He was boiling up inside. He didn’t seem to be able to see clearly.
There was silence, save for the beating of his fist. They were all looking at him.
Upstairs, the grandfather clock began to chime, pure, sweet notes. The tension held, and then dissolved.
‘Eight o’clock,’ said Sheila busily. ‘Good. Time for some pudding. Give me your plates, everyone.’ She cleared them away and came back from the kitchen with an apple crumble. ‘Moving on,’ she said. ‘I thought that was rather good, didn’t you?’
*
‘I know what they’ll be thinking,’ said Mags.
‘They’d better not see us.’
They were squinting in from the lane. The mirrors made them look as if they were surrounded by themselves.
‘Can you see it?’
Mags was quiet. Maybe she was sympathizing with the message.
‘It’ll be some idiot from the Wheatsheaf. Coming back from a late one.’
‘They’d have to go and get the paint first, though. It looks pretty deliberate to me.’
‘Wait, though. Robbie?’
‘Yeah?’
‘See those white lines? The ones underneath the letters?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘Can you see what they are?’
‘Where someone’s wiped the brush.’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘You’ve lost me.’
‘Those two strokes on the left could be its hind legs, then there’s two curving ones that co
uld be its body, then two more long ones over the top are like its ears …’
A white hare, running.
‘No wonder your dad was scared.’
‘You think he saw it?’
Mags shrugged.
‘So was he scared, ’cos it’s really happening, or ’cos he thinks it’s happening?’
Mags laughed. ‘Like I said, Robbie, believe what you want. Whatever makes you happy. But don’t say I didn’t tell you.’
She jumped down from the bank behind the hedge into the road. The movement ricocheted in the mirrors.
‘Now let’s get out of here before they see me.’
10
HIS DAD managed to get the white paint off the wall and spent even more time at the Wheatsheaf, trying to pick up clues, he claimed, but Robbie didn’t think any of them were fooled by that. Least of all Sheila, whose temper got worse and worse as the weather hotted up and summer settled in.
So he took the advice on the wall. Someone had to.
He ran.
He ran through the fields and the woods, along the lanes, by the rivers and over the hills. The hedges were packed with campion and Queen Anne’s lace bowing and dancing in the western winds, and the woods were dark and cool, the chestnut leaves big and friendly, dropping down like fat green fingers. He was beginning to learn where everything was, how the roads connected, where the rivers met, which hills neighboured each other. He went out after school and didn’t get lost so easily, and it was better to run then because the air was cooler and clearer and cleaner.
Sometimes Alice came over at the weekend. Mags loved her and so did Sheila. Robbie thought it gave Sheila’s middle-class conscience a thrill to have a black kid in the house, and it annoyed him because he didn’t want her to like his friends, but she calmed down a bit when Alice was around and started showing off how cosmopolitan she was and how she’d been to lots of different countries. She’d been a great traveller in her time, Robbie had to give her that. And he couldn’t help it, but when Sheila relaxed he did stop wanting to burn the house to the ground for a bit, and that had to be a good thing.
‘Isn’t it interesting,’ she said, one day after Alice had left, ‘how none of us really belong here? Except your dad, of course, Robbie,’ she added. So he’s just my dad now, is he? Robbie thought. Well, okay. And she’s feeling a bit excluded. Well, okay too. ‘Speaking of whom,’ she went on, ‘Robbie, can you go and fetch him? He’s refusing to pick up on his phone and I know exactly where he is.’
The White Hare Page 4