‘Not a very practical solution,’ shouts one of them.
‘And who’s going to say “save the others – I’ll die for them”?’ asks Matthew. ‘Everyone would just look out for themselves – that’s how it works!’
‘Can’t you think of a single person who would sacrifice themselves for others?’ asks Mrs Wallis. She actually sounds interested, like she really wants to hear what we’ve got to say.
I feel my hand rising in the air and sense Hannah looking at me in horror. Mrs Wallis looks over at me and nods her head.
‘Izzy?’
‘You’d want the other person to live if you really loved them,’ I tell her.
‘Oooohhhh,’ says Matthew in a sing-song voice, but Mrs Wallis shushes him by waving her hand in his direction and miraculously he shuts up.
‘Go on, Izzy,’ she says to me.
I think that my report this term had better be fantastic for citizenship after all this contributing that I seem to be doing. My face is a bit red, but it suddenly feels really important that I say this.
‘It’s not about people being tied to train tracks really, is it, Miss?’ I say. ‘It’s about being brave enough to do the right thing even when you haven’t got a clue what the right thing is.’ I take a deep breath. ‘So I think the answer is different every time. Sometimes it’s better to ask for help. Sometimes you might just have to guess, which is a bit like flipping a coin. And other times – most of the time actually – you just have to do what feels right and know that, even if you get it wrong, you did what you thought was the best thing.’
The class has gone quiet and everyone’s looking at me. This is probably because I’ve just said more in thirty seconds than I’ve ever said in Year 7. I shuffle awkwardly in my chair.
‘That’s just what I think anyway,’ I mutter.
The bell rings and the silence is broken by everyone leaping up and grabbing their bags. I join in, but as I walk past Mrs Wallis’s desk she puts out her hand and stops me.
‘Can I have a second, Izzy?’ she asks. She waits until everyone has gone and then gestures to a chair in the front row. I sit down and she perches in front of me on her desk.
‘That was a really great answer that you gave there,’ she says, smiling at me.
‘Thanks,’ I say. I realize that I like Mrs Wallis; she treats everyone like they’re worth listening to.
‘How’s your sister these days?’ she asks me and I look at her in surprise. ‘I haven’t seen much of her recently and I used to like our little chats.’
‘She’s fine,’ I say, trying to shake off the feeling that Mrs Wallis is searching my face for the truth. I’m getting very good at lying, considering that I’ve had very little practice over the last twelve years.
‘Tell her I was asking about her,’ she says and I nod. ‘She’s always welcome to come and see me any time.’ I wonder if Mrs Wallis knows. Surely she can’t know – there’s no way Alex would have told her. Then again, Mrs Wallis has a way of looking at you like she can see right into your brain. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d guessed all on her own. Not that she can do anything about it. Alex is seventeen and can do what she wants. And apparently this is what she wants.
‘Izzy?’
I realize that Mrs Wallis has asked me a question and I blush.
‘That goes for you too,’ she repeats. ‘Any time you need some advice then my door is open. The same with your other teachers; if we can help you then we will.’
Yeah, right, I can just imagine Mrs Hardman listening to me while I tell her every single thing that’s wrong with my life. She’d have got bored and nipped off to the staffroom for a coffee hours before I’d finished.
‘Thanks, Miss,’ I say.
‘You’d better get to your next class,’ she says, standing up and putting the books on her desk into a neat pile. I pick up my bag and walk towards the door, but as I open it I hear Mrs Wallis call my name.
I turn to look at her. She’s looking out of the window at the huge tree near the car park and for a moment I think I’ve misheard. But then she speaks, without looking at me.
‘Trust yourself, Izzy. You were completely right with your answer today. Every situation is different and you just have to do your best. Sometimes you have to guess what to do and other times it’s too big for you alone and you need to ask for help. And that takes a bravery that I know you have.’
She carries on looking out of the window and I walk through the door, closing it quietly behind me. I know what I need to do and it’s the right thing for Alex and her baby and for me and for Mum.
Violet Ink
There’s only one lesson left after citizenship and it’s PE. Since that disastrous day when I humiliated myself in basketball, I have tried to keep a very low profile in PE lessons. Today I’m going to exceed my previous attempts by not even turning up. There’s forty-five minutes until the end of school and hardly anybody will even notice that I’m not there. Even if they do notice they’ll probably think I’m ill and have just gone home.
Which is exactly where I’m going. I know that Alex didn’t come to school again today so I’m going to go home and give her one more chance to tell Mum. And if she won’t tell her then I will. This has gone on long enough: Mum needs to know. Alex will thank me when all the drama is done, when she can talk to Mum properly and know that Mum still loves her. Because there’s nothing that Alex could do that would make Mum stop loving her – I know that a hundred per cent for sure.
I creep out of the school gates feeling like I’m on some sort of mission and I run as much of the way home as I can. Now though I’m having to walk up our road. I really do want to get home as quickly as possible, but my bag is ridiculously heavy and my legs are aching and my lungs feel like they’re about to burst. Also, I’m a little bit scared about what I’m about to do. I’m not sure Alex is going to particularly appreciate my ultimatum and I don’t want to make her angry. It’s probably not good for the baby if she starts screaming and shouting, especially as it can hear things now.
I can see our front door and I slow down even more. Alex is in there somewhere, making plans and decisions that she thinks have nothing to do with us. My mood ring is turquoise again: yet more secrets and deception. Well, I’ve had enough of all this sneaking around; it’s time Family Stone dealt with this situation like a proper team. Alex needs to understand that we’re all a part of this. It’s not just about her.
As I walk down the path, I look up at the house. It’s the same, but something about it seems not quite right. I feel a sudden tingle of fear run down my spine and I quicken my steps, reaching in my pocket for my key at the same time. I reach the front door and fumble with the key, dropping it on the step. I’m being completely useless and I haven’t even spoken to Alex yet. How on earth am I going to persuade her to listen to me if I can’t even get into the house like a normal person?
I pick up the key, turn it in the lock and push the door open. Taking a deep breath, I step inside, noticing that the post is still lying on the doormat. I step over it and put my bag on the floor, kicking my shoes off into the corner. Then I go looking for Alex.
I creep into the living room, but she isn’t in there. A glance through the kitchen door shows me that the room is empty so I walk quietly upstairs and check the bathroom. Empty. Her bedroom door is wide open and I can tell straight away that something is horribly wrong.
‘Alex!’ I shout, turning round on the landing, all attempts at taking her by surprise forgotten.
There’s no reply and I shout her name again, louder this time. Maybe she’s gone out for a walk. Except that’s a ludicrous suggestion; Alex has never voluntarily gone for a walk in her entire life, unless it’s walking from the car to the shops.
Maybe she’s outside, on her swing? I laugh at myself for getting so wound up about nothing, but the sound of my laughter in the empty house is odd and makes me feel even more worried about where Alex might be. I run downstairs, swinging round the stair pos
t at the bottom, and race across the kitchen. I can see through the window that she’s not on her swing, but that doesn’t stop me from yanking open the latch that locks the back door, ramming my feet into wellies and running outside into the sunshine.
I check the whole area around her swing, but there’s no evidence at all that Alex has even been out here today. I look on the path that leads to the front of the house, but she’s not there. I even search behind the shed and in our den, just in case she’s gone in there for old times’ sake. But Alex is nowhere to be found and miserably I walk back to the house, all the time telling myself that there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for why she’s not here.
By the time I’ve taken off the wellies and poured myself a glass of orange juice from the fridge, I’m starting to calm down. Alex probably went into school after I did. She’ll be back later and I won’t tell her how worried I was about her. I’m probably going to end up with a detention for skiving off PE and all for nothing. I’ll just have to find a good time to talk to Alex later, before Mum gets home from work.
I’m feeling a bit daft now, like I let myself get all stressed out about nothing. I was just so ready to talk to Alex – I suppose I’m a bit disappointed that I’ll have to psych myself up all over again.
I pull out a chair and sit down at the kitchen table, plonking my glass of juice down in front of me. And that’s when I see it. An envelope, leaning against a jar of peanut butter. An envelope with my name written on the front in violet ink.
I slowly reach across and look at it, carefully turning it over and over in my hands. It feels like everything is in slow motion, and all I can think about is that Alex obviously had peanut butter on her toast for breakfast and didn’t bother to clear her things away. I don’t feel like I really want to open this letter; the last envelope I opened that looked like this had nothing good to tell me. But it’s from Alex and she’s not here and she’s written to me, so there’s no way I can ignore this.
I peel the envelope apart very carefully and pull out the piece of paper inside. Then I sit at the kitchen table with sun streaming through the window and read what my big sister has decided to share with me.
Dear Izzy,
I want to start by saying sorry. I’ve made a complete mess of all of this and you’ve been caught up in the middle. I never meant for that to happen. I never meant to make you have to choose.
It’s been really hard to know what to do over the last few months. I think I thought I could make it go away if I pretended it wasn’t happening. That didn’t work out too well for me though. Because it is happening. This baby is happening and I’m starting to think that I’m glad.
Charlie and I have talked for hours and hours and we’ve decided that we can do this. It isn’t what we chose, but it’s what we’ve got so we need to make it work. We think that we can be a family – him, me and our baby. Like Granny always tells us – you don’t get to choose and then moan. I guess, by doing what we did, we kind of chose this baby.
We don’t want to hurt anyone though and we want to give ourselves a good chance – that’s why we have to leave. If we stay then Mum will always have to see how much I messed up. If I go then maybe she can start to forget. And if we stay at home then I’ll always just be yet another stupid teenager that got pregnant. And I don’t want my baby to have a mum who is looked at like that.
That’s why we’re going to start a whole new life. It’s going to be a new everything, Izzy! New home, new sensible me, new country. Charlie’s Uncle Robert owns a hotel in Switzerland, right in the Alps. He’s told Charlie that he’ll give him a job. I’m going to have to improve my French cos that’s mostly what they speak where we’re going (wish I’d concentrated a bit more in lessons!) but Charlie’s really good and he says I’ll get better really quickly. Well, I’ll have to, won’t I! By the time you read this letter, we’ll be on the train – the 3.45 to London first, then another train that will take us to Dover and finally the night ferry to France. It doesn’t leave until late so we’ll be sailing in the dark! Then we’ll get a train all the way to Switzerland. It’s so exciting!
I really hope you and Mum will come and visit us when we get settled. And of course I want the baby to know its awesome Aunty Izzy.
Don’t be mad at me. I know that this isn’t what you want to happen, but I truly can’t stay and face what everyone will think of me. It’ll be different when the baby’s born. Everyone will love it and they’ll forget all about this time when things seem difficult and a mess.
You’re a fab little sister. I’m really, really sorry for dragging you into this.
Love you forever,
Alex xxxxx
PS Mum still doesn’t know. I think it’s best if you tell her at suppertime when we’re well on our way. A xxxxx
She’s gone. Run away. Abandoned us. However I say it, I can’t make it sound any better. I sit for a moment, stunned by Alex’s letter. I never thought she’d do this, not for a second. And she’s leaving me to tell Mum? That’s not fair.
I roll my head round on my shoulders, trying to think and make sense of everything. My eyes catch sight of the clock and I sit up straight, calculating times desperately. It’s only five past three now. Alex wasn’t expecting me to come home for ages, but because of my skiving I’ve got some time. Her train hasn’t even left yet – I can still stop her!
I stand up and start pacing round the kitchen. The train station is about twenty minutes in the car from here. I could phone for a taxi, but it might take a while to arrive. There’s no way I can get the bus; I’d have to walk into town first which would take too long. For a second I debate running, but then sink back down at the table when I realize that, even if I could make it there, I can’t stop Alex from leaving. She’s utterly determined and me asking her to stay is not going to change the slightest thing.
Defeated, I pick up her letter and read it again, feeling sadder and more frightened than I’ve ever felt. The PS at the end makes me feel something different though. It makes me feel furious. How dare Alex get me to do her dirty work? Has she given any thought whatsoever to how it’s going to make Mum feel? The very least she could have done was leave Mum a note – that’s if she was too cowardly to tell her and give Mum the chance to say goodbye properly.
And there it is: the answer to my dilemma. The same answer that it’s always been – I just let Alex convince me otherwise. Mum. She can stop Alex doing this and Alex knows it. If Mum can get to the train station before Alex leaves then she can talk to her, let her know that it’s OK to stay – that running away is only going to make it worse.
I look at the clock again. Ten past three. Mum will still be teaching and she’s always told us that she can only leave school for complete and utter emergencies. The time I felt a bit sick because I used a dodgy pooter in science and sucked up a woodlouse did NOT, apparently, constitute an emergency. But this totally does. It’s a desperate time and I need to be brave and make the right decisions.
Running over to the phone, I check the list of important numbers written on the noticeboard next to it. I ring Mum’s school, my hands shaking, but knowing that I need to make Mum come home NOW.
The line starts ringing and I force myself to focus.
‘Good afternoon. Darnfield Primary School. How can I help you?’ says the nice lady in the office. I think her name is Margaret, but I’m not completely sure and now is not the time for trying to be polite.
‘Er – hi, it’s Izzy Stone. Mrs Stone’s daughter,’ I stutter.
‘Oh, hello, Izzy,’ says Possibly-Called-Margaret. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I need my mum,’ I blurt out. ‘At home. Now. It’s definitely an emergency. Can she come?’
‘Oh my goodness!’ She sounds worried, which is a good thing because I need her to tell Mum straight away. ‘Is everything OK, Izzy?’
‘No!’ I tell her. ‘It really isn’t. And it’s going to get even worse if Mum isn’t home very soon. Please! Can you tell her I
need her right now?’
‘Of course I will, dear.’ Possibly-Called-Margaret has swung into brisk, school-office mode. ‘Don’t worry – I’ll go and get her now.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, and hang up the phone. I really hope Mum isn’t going to be cross with me for calling her out of school, but she’s our only hope if we’re going to get to Alex before it’s too late.
I grab Alex’s letter and put it in my pocket and then I go into the hall and find my shoes. It’ll be quickest if I wait for Mum outside, I think, so I find my key and slam the front door behind me, walking down the path to wait for Mum at the kerb.
Her school is less than a ten-minute drive away, but I know it’ll take her a few minutes to find someone else to look after her class and gather up all her bags. The day of the pooter incident, it took her about twenty minutes to get to my school; I really hope she’s a bit quicker today. A glance at my watch shows me that there’s absolutely no time to lose. It’s already 3.15 p.m.
The next ten minutes are the longest minutes of my whole life. Every time I hear a car turn down our road my heart does a triple somersault, but it’s always someone else. And a weird thing is happening. You know the saying that a watched pot never boils? Well, normally it’s true: when you’re desperately waiting for something to happen then time seems to move really slowly. Today, when I want the clock to slow down and give us time to get to Alex, the opposite is happening. Every time I look at my watch it seems to have leapt on another two or three minutes. I feel like I’ve entered an alternate universe where the space-time continuum has totally different rules to our world.
By the time Mum comes screeching round the corner, virtually on two wheels, it’s 3.25 p.m. If she steps on it, there’s just a chance that we can get to the station before the train leaves. She pulls over next to me and I yank open the door and leap into the passenger seat.
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