by CJ Bridgeman
Felicity smiled slightly, feeling as though that was expected of her.
“So how does Greenfields compare to your boarding school, then?” Jamie asked.
“Oh, it’s...” Felicity paused. “It’s smaller.”
“Smaller?” Jamie looked surprised, as if he had expected something more.
“Yes,” Felicity said with a nod. “Smaller.”
“Right. Uh, smaller.” Jamie stared for a second, and then decided to change the subject. “Hollie also said that your parents are divorced. Did she give you her empathy speech? She loves that one. I swear she’s just doing it to give herself the best chance at being Head Girl next year.” He smiled wryly. “We’ve only just started year 10 and she’s already thinking about her popularity in year 11. Typical.”
Felicity didn’t reply. Jamie regarded her with a mixture of confusion and interest as he waited for her to play her part in the conversation, but Felicity said nothing and squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze. At last he spoke again.
“You know, you’re doing that wrong.”
“What?”
Jamie pointed with his pen. “The chemicals. It’s meant to be ten mil of hydrochloric acid, not twenty.”
Surprised, Felicity quickly pulled the beaker away from the Bunsen burner.
"Sorry," she muttered.
"No problem," Jamie said. "Easy mistake to make. Here, why don't you let me do that?"
Felicity allowed Jamie to take the beaker from her and he dutifully began following the experiment that the teacher had set out for them. He was explaining what he was doing as he worked, but Felicity wasn't paying attention.
Her body convulsed in a shudder as she felt suddenly and horribly exposed in the classroom. She shuffled on her stool and folded her arms, tightening her body in an attempt to make herself smaller. She could feel herself fading into her world of isolation again, as if it were calling to her and promising that everything would be fine if she could just disappear. This was what she wanted, how she felt most content to exist, but there was something about it that felt different this time. She felt suddenly uneasy.
But something was telling her that her sudden feelings of discomfort were rooted far more deeply than she realised. She tried to shake the feeling but found it impossible. She felt visible, far too visible than she cared to be, and for some reason it frightened her.
And then she realised why. The new boy, Oliver, was staring at her. For a brief second his eyes were boring into hers, piercing them. It was almost painful.
But then he looked away and the spell was broken; Felicity’s fear dissolved as quickly as it had arisen, so quickly that it was hard to tell if she had even felt it. A wave of heat rushed to her cheeks, but a quick glance around the classroom revealed that no one was paying her any attention.
Apart from Jamie. “Fliss? Are you listening?”
“What?” Felicity looked at him. “Oh, uh... yes, I’m listening.”
“Really?” He peered at her exercise book. “Could have fooled me.”
“Huh?”
He gestured with his pen. “You haven’t written anything down,” he observed. “You were meant to be making notes, remember?”
Felicity looked down vacantly at her blank page, and then her gaze shifted to Oliver. He was still engaged in conversation with Hollie, although it was entirely one sided. He didn’t seem to have spoken a word since she moved next to him.
The rest of the Science lesson passed uneventfully and quickly, for which Felicity was grateful. As the class left, she was joined in the bustling corridor by Hollie.
“He likes me,” she said excitedly.
Felicity looked at Hollie with a blank expression, signalling that she had no idea what she was talking about.
“Oliver likes me. I can tell,” Hollie clarified, grinning widely. “Oh, Fliss, you just have to come to the Talk tonight. I’ve invited Oliver and, well, you know... I need moral support.”
Felicity glanced over at the group of girls who made up Hollie’s entourage. “But what about...?”
“Oh, them?” Hollie waved her hand dismissively. “I have a lot of friends, it’s true. But this is important. Oliver might be the man I’m destined to marry and have kids with and stuff. I simply have to have my best friend there!”
Felicity’s mouth dropped open in surprise before she had a chance to control it. She was agog: did Hollie just refer to her as her best friend?
“So you’ll come, right?” She looked pleadingly at Felicity but received no answer, for Felicity was still quite overcome by surprise. “Oh please say you will!”
Felicity tried to think of an excuse but ended up opening and closing her mouth and making strained, gagging noises that couldn’t possibly have passed for vocabulary. Hollie took that as an acceptance and emitted an excited, giggly scream, pulling Felicity into a desperately grateful embrace. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!’” she squealed, and then composed herself in order to deliver essential information about the evening. “Tonight’s colour is red. You have something red you could wear, right? Are you on Skype? We could compare outfits! But if not then just text me a picture message. Oh em gee, Fliss, we are gonna have, like, the best time!”
Felicity’s shoulders dropped as she realised she was defeated. Whilst Hollie continued chatting about what she was going to wear, how she was going to do her hair and what songs she hoped would be played, Felicity trudged along behind her, already plotting her absence.
And then she realised that Hollie was trying to get her attention. “Oh, Fliss! I forgot to tell you!” she was saying.
“Hm?”
Hollie rooted through her tiny bag and revealed a note. “I was meant to give you this,” she said, handing over the piece of paper. “You have an appointment with the school counsellor, like, now.”
Felicity read the note. “Mr Oakley?”
“That’s him,” Hollie replied. “He probably wants to make sure you’re settling in okay.”
Felicity stared at Hollie blankly.
Sensing the need for an explanation, Hollie continued: “Mr Oakley’s one of those guidance counsellors. You know, the kind that goes to lots of different schools to get kids to talk about their problems. Last year we had a Miss Franks; me and Jamie had to go see her all the time about our parents’ divorce. Was, like, a total waste of time if you ask me.” She shrugged. “Anyway, his office is down that way.” She pointed. “Shall I meet you after?”
Felicity nodded helplessly, watched Hollie bounce away down the corridor, and then she turned and began to make her way to the counsellor’s office. She was quite grateful to finally be on her own. It wasn’t that she disliked Hollie; she had been incredibly nice to her, shrugging off her other friends in order to make sure that Felicity was settled in her new school. The excitement of having a new student at Greenfields had worn off after the first day, partially due to the arrival of Oliver, but Hollie still devoted a lot of time to Felicity. It was clear that she was eager to be friends, and that was what concerned Felicity. It was such an alien concept to her. Being alone was what she was used to; at least she didn’t have to worry about losing anyone, because she never had them in the first place. Not really.
Mr Oakley’s office was clearly labelled. Felicity hesitated as she raised her hand to knock, her eyes hovering over the words engraved into the brass sign like a warning: School Counsellor. It might as well have been displayed in red flashing lights and accompanied by a siren. Felicity had never met a counsellor before, but she was dreading it. Counsellors meant talking about your feelings, and that was nothing short of her worst nightmare.
The door opened before her knuckles met the wood. She blinked, surprised, and found herself staring into the face of a man who looked as caught off his guard as she was.
He recovered himself quicker than she did. “Ah,” he said with a smile. “You must be...” He paused and glanced down at a clipboard he held in his hand. “Felicity Lucas?”
She nodded h
elplessly.
“Excellent, excellent,” the man said. “Come in.” He turned and went back into the office, Felicity following him dutifully and reluctantly.
The room was quite large for an office, smaller than a classroom but still rather sizeable. There was a computer at one end, beneath the tall, dirty window, and in the centre there stood a small coffee table with four soft chairs around it, their fabric fraying and torn slightly to reveal the dull orange foam beneath. Some unfortunate students had clearly been picking at it, possibly in frustration at being held prisoner by previous counsellors, as it was missing little clumps here and there, like half-eaten cheese. All around the room, from ceiling to floor, were shelves and shelves of books. It was cosy, if it a little musty, and in spite of the light that managed to enter the room through the age-old smears on the window, it was quite dark.
“Have a seat,” Mr Oakley said, and Felicity did so, watching the counsellor nervously. He looked different to the rest of the secondary school faculty. Some of the teachers seemed to take a lot of pride in their appearance and suited themselves up with matching ties and the shiniest shoes that Felicity had ever seen, as if they thought it somehow enhanced their authority over Greenfields’ rebellious students. Others were clued in to the fact that professional attire was not a contributing factor to the education of the children in this particular school and wore more casual, fashionable clothing. The counsellor was like a bizarre mix of both. He wore formal trousers and a shirt but no tie, and instead of a matching suit jacket he wore one that was made of corduroy and had leather patches at the elbows. A pair of thick, black rimmed spectacles sat on the tip of his nose and on his feet he wore canvas shoes. It was as if he was trying to be trendy, and though Felicity knew little about fashion, she decided that he was failing. She was absolutely certain that Hollie would think so.
“So,” he said, sitting in one of the soft chairs opposite her. “How was your first day at Greenfields?”
Felicity shrugged awkwardly.
“I know it can be hard, moving schools,” the counsellor continued. “New teachers, new buildings, new neighbourhood... it can be a lot for one young person to take, and that’s before we even get started on homework, the pressure of your GCSEs, making new friends -”
Felicity stared. Although Mr Oakley’s speech had sounded somewhat rehearsed, he had spoken with a degree of excitement that unnerved her.
He stopped when he noticed her stare. He regarded her curiously, and then he leaned towards her. “But that’s not why you’re here, though, is it?” he said. “You’re here because your mother died.”
The bluntness of his statement caught her by surprise.
“It’s okay, I’ve dealt with this a hundred times before,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand, noticing her surprised glance. “You’ve got a lot on your plate right now. I understand that you used to live in the country, and that your father wasn’t in the picture much before?”
Felicity stared for a few seconds, still taken aback by Mr Oakley’s frankness and stunned that he seemed to know so much about her life, and then she shook her head.
“So your parents had already split up?” Mr Oakley asked, making a note on his clipboard. “And your mother - oh, I’m sorry. I don’t seem to have your mother’s name written down.” He looked at her expectantly.
“It was Audrey,” Felicity replied weakly. “Audrey Lucas.”
There were a few more scratches of a pen on paper. “When was it that you lost her?”
Felicity slipped her finger between her collar and her neck, tugging at her shirt uncomfortably. She was not entirely convinced that this was how a counselling session was supposed to go. “It was in June,” she answered him at last, and hoped that the interview would end sooner rather than later.
“And, uh...” There was a pause. “How did your mother die?”
Felicity swallowed. Was it was getting hotter in the office? “It was a car accident.”
Mr Oakley stared hard at her for what seemed like an age, and she felt compelled to look away. He made some more notes, slower this time, and then he leaned back in his chair. “It’s a difficult time, I know. But there are strategies that we can use to help you manage your grief. I expect that you’re feeling sad to have lost your mother, angry at her for leaving you and probably confused at how you’re able to cope.” He spoke as if he knew her, but Felicity quickly realised that although he may have had a few details of her life scribbled down on that hateful pad of his, he didn’t actually know her at all.
“The first thing I want you to do is to write all of your feelings down,” he continued. “Maybe keep a diary or something. It’s the first step to being able to talk about it - and we’re going to be spending a lot of time talking about, Felicity.”
It sounded like a threat.
And then he stood up and offered her his hand. “Well, that will be all for today.”
The heavy atmosphere instantly shattered, and Felicity could breathe again. She was stunned, so stunned that she almost didn’t stand up, but her desperation to get out of the office jerked her into action. She shook the counsellor’s hand.
“I’ll see you again soon,” he said with a smile.
Wasting no time, Felicity picked up her satchel and shuffled hastily towards the door.
“Oh, and Felicity?”
She stopped dead.
“Tell Oliver Smith to come and see me, will you?”
Relief washed over her. She nodded, left the room and waited for the musical click of the door closing behind her, the signal that her ordeal was over. When it sounded, she finally let out the breath she had been holding and allowed her heart to beat again. She dabbed at her damp forehead with her sleeve. Classrooms filled with people, lessons where she might be expected to make a contribution and even the constant presence of Hollie were all trivialities compared to that experience. She leaned on the wall, took a moment to steady her breathing, and headed to her next lesson.
She was so grateful to be out of the counselling session that she barely even noticed how short it had been.
4.
Later that day, Felicity once again returned to an empty flat. Her father was working late, as was his obligation every fortnight or so, so she had the place to herself. This arrangement suited her quite well, particularly today, for she was still anxious about her experience with the school counsellor.
She wondered if all counsellors were like Mr Oakley. Were they always so to the point? It seemed to Felicity to demonstrate a severe lack of tact, but then perhaps it was a method of forcing her to cope with the loss she had suffered. Still, although Felicity had not cried after her mother’s death, she didn’t feel as though she wasn’t coping. She was getting on with things - she was going to school, she was doing her homework; she was existing. She highly doubted that she needed a counsellor, and she was certain she didn’t want one.
An unexpected knock at the door came as Felicity was taking a pizza out of the oven for dinner. Frowning, she went to answer it, and no sooner had she opened the door that Hollie walked inside.
“Your neighbour let me into the building,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind me coming over. I’m just so excited about tonight and thought we could go to the Talk together. I mean, not that I can’t go by myself or anything, but I’d prefer the company since I’m so totally nervous! Do you think Oliver will like my outfit?” She raised a hand to her blonde hair, which was arranged in long, bouncy curls, and then another thought occurred to her. “I wonder if he prefers Olly to Oliver?”
Felicity stood by the her door, her hand still resting on the handle, and stared open-mouthed at Hollie. She had been so preoccupied with her experience with Mr Oakley that she had completely forgotten about the arrangement tonight.
Hollie noticed the pizza on the kitchen table. “Wow! It’s like you knew I was coming!” she said, and sat down. “I’m so hungry but I’ve been too nervous to eat. You don’t mind, do you?” When Felicity didn’
t protest, Hollie took a slice of pizza. “Hey, you better go get ready. It’s almost time to go.”
Felicity stared. Hollie looked gorgeous. She was wearing a tight fitting red dress with a black belt around her waist. Her shiny red shoes had a six inch heel, the kind of thing that Felicity had only seen on television and in magazines. Her hair was perfect, her makeup was perfect and her jewellery was perfect.
She shook her head. “Uh, Hollie...” she began. “Look, I - I don’t think I can make it tonight,” she said. “I, uh, I’m not feeling well. Yeah, I’m, uh... sick.”
Hollie looked up from her pizza and studied Felicity’s expression. She frowned, opened her mouth to speak - and then she appeared to change her mind and smiled instead.
“You know, Fliss,” she said, putting her pizza down and approaching Felicity. “You are most probably the worst liar I have ever met.”
Felicity stared at Hollie, a combination of confusion, surprise and horror painted on her face.
“Look, it’s okay to be nervous,” Hollie continued, putting her arm around Felicity and guiding her into the lounge area. “But I’ll be with you. You’ll be fine.”
“But -”
“No, no, no,” Hollie interrupted. “No buts!” She sighed. “Oh em gee, Fliss, you’ve made me sound like my mother. Don’t ever do that to me again.” She clapped her hands together. “Now, do you want me to do your makeup for you? I have some lipstick that would go perfectly with your complexion. And I know an up do that would frame your face like a dream. What do you say?”
Helpless and defeated, Felicity nodded weakly.
Hollie smiled. “This is so exciting!”
The two of them retreated to Felicity’s bedroom, where Hollie began her art. She had brought with her a small makeup bag, and in spite of her awkwardness its contents were enchanting to Felicity, the girl who had never owned even an eyeshadow. Hollie worked like a professional, dipping brushes into colours brighter than rainbows, softer than feathers and darker than the night sky. She talked as she went along, telling Felicity all about where she had obtained her brushes and lipsticks, who had taught her how to do the perfect eyeliner and how much she enjoyed making others look beautiful. Not that Felicity wasn’t beautiful already, she was keen to add, but everyone had room for improvement. Felicity was used to the way in which Hollie ran on, talking without stopping to see if her audience was attentive. She had done it to Oliver, too. But Felicity was grateful, for it meant that she did not have to talk much at all.