Breakfast at Sadie's

by Lee Weatherly

  My stomach turned into a fist. ‘Oh . . . OK.’

  ‘How did you do in English? You had an essay due back, right?’

  ‘Um – well, I got a D on it. But Mum, listen, I'm waiting to get my maths homework back, and—’

  She blew out a breath. ‘Oh, Sadie . . . a D? That's almost failing!’

  ‘Yes, but – Mum, listen—’

  ‘You must start applying yourself more. It's just like with the SATs, you went in there and obviously didn't even try!’

  I stared down at my tea. I had been dreading the SATs all year. I had known that I'd be rubbish at them; my brain turns into a freezing ball of ice whenever I sit exams.

  Mum pounded a pile of bank statements together, banging them against the table. ‘You've got to stop being lazy, Sadie.’

  I clenched the warm mug. ‘But I think I'll do really well on my maths homework! Mum, wait and see, I'll get it back on Monday and I can show you—’

  She stood up and put her ledger away, creaking the desk drawer shut. ‘Well, I should hope so. Because there's no excuse. It's just carelessness.’

  Carelessness. I couldn't say anything. Mum sighed, and lifted her teacup. ‘Sadie, I don't mean to get at you, but you just don't seem to understand how important school is—’

  And suddenly her hand trembled, and there was tea everywhere.

  ‘Oh!’ Mum jumped back. Her teacup lay on the floor. Tea had splattered all over her legs, staining her beige trousers. ‘Oh, I can't believe I've done it again!’

  ‘It's just carelessness, that's all.’ My voice shook. I slammed out of the room. Forget the laundry. Forget everything. Nothing I ever did was right anyway.

  Mucking It Up

  Mrs Shipton was back on Monday, sniffling slightly but as charming as ever. She was old, massive and grey, so of course she was called the Battleship. It was such a perfect nickname for her that I bet even her husband secretly called her that.

  She clapped her hands. ‘Right, everyone! Give your homework papers to a neighbour to mark, and we'll go through the answers.’

  She always did this, and I hated it. I didn't like anyone else to see what awful marks I got. They always did, of course, and then Hannah or Tara would say something like, Hurrah, Sadie, another brilliant paper! They weren't even trying to be nasty, which almost made it worse.

  Anyway, we did a three-way swap, and I handed my paper to Tara with a grin. It felt like Christmas morning. I'd go home this afternoon and tell Mum how well I had done, and she'd be gobsmacked. I pictured her brown eyes shining as she said, Sadie, you've done such a good job! I'm so proud of you!

  The Battleship went through the problems, squeaking the answers onto the whiteboard as she explained about the Pythagorean theorem and how to find the area of a circle. Hannah got eight out of ten. One of the ones she missed was easy.

  ‘Papers back to their owners, please.’ The Battleship clicked over to her desk, her shiny black shoes clutching her ankles like they were strangling them.

  I handed Hannah her paper back. ‘Here you go. You only missed two.’

  ‘Here's yours, Sadie.’ Tara pushed my paper across to me, and my breath stopped. She had slashed big blue X's all over it. Five out of ten.

  ‘You've marked my paper wrong,’ I hissed.

  Her red eyebrows shot up. ‘I have not.’

  ‘But I did better than this!’

  ‘No, you didn't.’

  I grabbed her paper from her and started comparing the answers. Meanwhile the Battleship was honing right towards us, like we were caught in her deadly radar. ‘What's the problem, you girls?’

  My face burned. ‘Nothing – just – I think Tara marked my paper wrong.’

  The Battleship picked my paper up, her squinty grey eyes flicking over it.

  ‘You're right,’ she said.

  ‘See!’ I said to Tara. I don't usually gloat, but I couldn't help it. I had worked so hard, and I knew she had mucked it all up.

  The Battleship picked up a pen from our table and changed something on my paper. She dropped it in front of me. ‘You got number three wrong, too.’

  Ice froze in my veins as I stared down at the 4/10 she had scrawled across the top of the paper. Four out of ten. As awful as ever. All that work, and it hadn't made any difference at all. I heard a snicker run across the room, and I cringed.

  The Battleship heaved out a breath. ‘Sadie, really, you must start spending more time on your work. This is abysmal.’ She lumbered back up to the front of the room.

  I forced out a laugh, flopping back in my seat with a smirk so that everyone could see that I wasn't bothered in the least. (I wasn't about to ask her what abysmal meant. I could guess.)

  ‘Don't mind her, she's an old cow,’ whispered Hannah.

  ‘Oh, I don't care; I was only winding her up,’ I muttered back. ‘I mean, come on – me worrying about my marks?’ I rolled my eyes.

  Tara laughed. ‘Yeah, it's not like you're used to getting anything higher.’

  ‘Not our Sadie,’ said Hannah. She patted me on the head.

  ‘It's a blonde thing.’ I put my finger on my cheek, simpering, and they both cracked up, spluttering behind their hands.

  Neither of them noticed that I wasn't laughing. Kate would have, but Kate was ten thousand miles away in Australia, which was no help at all.

  ‘Quiet, you girls!’ barked the Battleship, banging her hand on her desk. ‘It's not a laughing matter.’ She stopped, and her mouth creaked into a smile.

  ‘Milly, how did you do?’

  Hannah stuck her finger down her throat. You could just feel the hatred in the room as everyone glared at Milly.

  She had been looking out of the window when the Battleship called on her, playing with her thick black hair. Now she looked up with this perfect pretend surprise. As though the Battleship didn't always want to parade her about in front of the rest of us.

  ‘Ten out of ten, miss.’ She sounded bored.

  ‘Good girl. Collect the papers for me, will you?’

  Milly stood up with a sigh and started taking the papers up. She'd probably get totally flattened by one of the ruling cliques if she didn't have this air of complete assurance about her. No one was really sure what she might do, I guess, so she was pretty much left alone.

  I handed her my homework without looking at her. It wasn't fair. Milly didn't even seem to care that she could turn out perfect papers. She could probably turn them out in her sleep.

  I couldn't get anything right even when I tried.

  It's a Blonde Thing

  The sun came out for a change that afternoon, so a big group of us went outside after lunch, basking in a sunny corner of the courtyard. Hannah and Tara sat together, of course; so did Jan and Alice. Best friends everywhere you looked. It was enough to make you sick, if you were the jealous type. Good thing I wasn't, huh?

  ‘Sadie, tell them how you had the Battleship going this morning.’ Hannah nudged me, and grinned at the others. ‘It was so funny. She came steaming over . . .’

  So I had to go through it all again, imitating the Battleship's gravelly voice. Everyone hooted when I said, It's a blonde thing. Tara was actually lying on the ground, gasping and stomping her feet on the tarmac. ‘Oh, that was so brilliant! Oh, I'm going to wet myself . . .’

  My smile was pasted on my face. It would shatter in a million pieces if I hung about here any longer. I stood up. ‘Right, the blonde's going to the loo now.’

  ‘If she can find it!’ Hannah spluttered. Everyone fell about with hysteria, clutching each other's arms. I laughed too, and made my simper, simper face.

  Once I was out of sight around the corner of the building, I pressed myself against the rough bark of the oak tree that grows beside the art block, and switched on my mobile. You're not supposed to take them to school, but everyone does.

  ‘Good afternoon, Drake Secondary School.’

  I cupped my hand around the phone, praying they wouldn't hear the shouts from a bunch of Ye
ar Sevens who were kicking a ball around. ‘Yes, hello, this is Celia Pollock, Sadie's mum. She's in Year Nine.’

  ‘Oh, hello, Mrs Pollock.’

  My heart was jack-knifing against my ribs, but my voice came out calmly. ‘I'm sorry, but I forgot to let you know that Sadie has a dentist's appointment this afternoon. I'm on my way to get her now.’

  A rustle of papers from down the phone. ‘Oh, I see. Yes, I'll let her teachers know.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I hung up, and let out a breath.

  It's dead easy to sound like Mum – I just lower my voice a few notches and think serious. I don't do it often, though. I save it for emergencies, when I really need to get away from school.

  This was so one of those times. If I stayed I'd either burst into tears or strangle someone.

  I didn't go back to the group. I hid out in the loo until the bell rang, and then I grabbed my things and jogged through the corridors, weaving through the blue uniforms.

  ‘My mum's waiting outside,’ I called to Mrs Clark, the receptionist.

  ‘She needs to sign you out,’ she shouted after me, but I was already out the front door.

  Twenty Per Cent of B&Bs

  Breakwater Beach was dead small, and had pebbles instead of sand, but I loved it there. It was only just across the street from our house, but it was down a hill, so I knew Mum wouldn't spot me. Dad used to take me there when I was little. We'd have picnics with Ribena and chocolate biscuits, and he'd show me how to skim rocks across the water.

  Now I stood on the beach and skimmed rocks for ages, until my uniform felt clammy from the sea air. After a while it was time to go home, but I still stayed there, throwing pebble after pebble, watching them splash. Anything was better than going into the house and having Mum ask how I did in school. Anything. An attack of killer jellyfish. Being dragged under by a sea monster.

  ‘Hi,’ said a voice at my elbow. I looked down and saw Marcus, the weedy little dweeb who lived next door. It was just as well that his mum taught him at home, because he would have no friends at all at school. It would be like throwing a sirloin steak into a cage of starving lions.

  ‘Hi,’ I said back, not really looking at him.

  He shoved his glasses up his nose, squinting in the salty air. ‘What are you doing?’

  Scuba diving, can't you tell? I threw the rest of the pebbles I was holding into the bay all at once. They landed with little gulps, like fish bobbing up. Grabbing my bag, I started to climb up the rise towards the road.

  ‘Sadie, wait! Are you leaving?’

  How could he be so clever when all he ever did was ask stupid questions? I turned round, my foot slipping slightly on the damp rocks. ‘Yes, Marcus, I'm leaving now.’

  ‘Hang on, I want to ask you something.’

  ‘What? What could you possibly want to ask me?’

  He blinked, his eyes looking enormous behind his round glasses. ‘Mum wants me to do a project for school, and I thought I'd do something on business. Like, how to run a business more efficiently. So I thought I could help out with your mum's B&B, and do a report on it.’

  ‘Well, you'll have to ask Mum, it's nothing to do with me.’

  He scrambled up the slope, and stood there with me while I waited to cross the road. Across the street, our house rose up on a slight hill – a rambling old Victorian, painted white. Marcus squinted at it.

  ‘See, Mum said that your B&B isn't as busy as some of the others in town, so I thought it would be an ideal business to study, because you're probably doing loads of things wrong – I mean, you're a waterfront property, so you should, in theory, be successful. Though having said that, did you know that over twenty per cent of B&Bs in this country go bankrupt within ten years?’

  I looked at him as the cars whizzed past. He straightened his glasses. ‘I've been doing research.’

  ‘Well, cheers for that, Marcus.’ A gap came in the traffic, and I plunged across the street, with Marcus right on my heels. He followed me up to the house, still talking as we passed the green and white sign that Dad had painted: Grace's Place, Bed and Breakfast. Grace was my grandmother. When my dad converted the house to a B&B, he named it after her.

  ‘So I want to do a thorough business analysis of where you're going wrong, and I also thought I could do a report on what sort of clients stay at B&Bs in Brixham, contrasting it with—’

  As I opened the front door, my elbow practically bopped Marcus on the nose, he was standing so close.

  ‘ Mar-cus—’

  ‘What? Anyway, I need to talk to your mum about my project.’ He shoved into the house ahead of me.

  I groaned and followed him into the front hallway. I had just put my bag down when I heard Aunt Leona's voice coming from our sitting room, sounding high-pitched and strange. ‘Celia! Can't you get up? My God, what's wrong?’

  And Mum's voice, wavering all over the place as she said, ‘I don't know – it's my legs—’

  ‘Marcus, you have to leave,’ I hissed.

  ‘But—’

  ‘ Now!’ I pushed him out the door, banging it shut behind him, and ran into the sitting room.

  Travelling in Style

  Mum sat slumped on the floor, her back against the coffee table, her face as white as a clown's. Aunt Leona hovered at her side, pulling at her arm. ‘Come on, let's get you up – you can do it, you've just had a bit of a funny turn, that's all—’

  ‘Sadie!’ gasped Mum when she saw me.

  ‘Mum, what's wrong?’ It felt like my heart was trying to claw its way out of my chest.

  ‘I don't know, it's my legs. They just – seem to have stopped working—’ She tried to laugh, but didn't do a very good job of it. I grabbed her other arm, and Aunt Leona and I struggled her up to her feet. But she couldn't stand once we got her there. She fell against Aunt Leona's side, and the three of us almost went crashing down.

  ‘No, I'm sorry, it's no good—’ We got her into the armchair, and she gripped the cushion, her nails digging into it. ‘This is so strange; I don't know what's wrong with me . . .’

  Aunt Leona licked her lips. ‘Well . . . maybe if you rest for a bit? It can't be anything serious; you were fine just a few seconds ago!’ Her voice rose, cracking as it went.

  ‘I— I don't know,’ said Mum. ‘I don't know.’

  The room felt too small. My heart smashed against my ribs, over and over, like a sledgehammer.

  Aunt Leona hugged herself. ‘Well, maybe if—’

  ‘I'm calling an ambulance,’ I blurted out, and before anyone could argue with me, I grabbed up the phone and jabbed in 999. My throat was so clenched I could hardly breathe, but somehow I managed to tell them my name, and what was wrong. Mum stared at me as I spoke, her eyes huge.

  Ten minutes later, flashing red lights pulsed in our window, and the ambulance arrived. I ran to the front door, and two men in green jumpsuits came in, going straight to the lounge as if they had rehearsed it. They leaned over Mum, checking her pulse and asking questions. It didn't take them any time at all to decide that she should go to hospital.

  ‘Oh my God, is she all right?’ Aunt Leona clutched my arm as they gently lifted Mum onto a stretcher. ‘Is she going to be OK?’

  ‘I'm sure she'll be fine, love,’ said one of the paramedics. He patted Mum on the shoulder, smiling at her. Mum tried to smile back, but I could tell how scared she was. She looked tiny as they strapped her onto the stretcher, like a little girl in a horror film.

  Aunt Leona put her arms around me and started to cry, pressing her head against mine and practically smothering me with all her hair. ‘Oh, this is so terrible . . . I just can't bear this . . .’

  ‘Leona, please,’ said Mum weakly.

  I pulled her arms off me. She was like an octopus. ‘Aunt Leona, it's OK. It's OK, really.’ Obviously it wasn't, but I thought I'd throttle her if she didn't shut up.

  ‘Who's riding in the ambulance, then?’ asked the other paramedic.

  ‘Me,’ I said quickly, before Aunt Leona
could open her mouth. She looked at me, her brown eyes damp and wounded. ‘You follow in the car,’ I told her. ‘Because I can't drive, see?’

  Her mouth tucked in a bit, but she nodded. ‘Yes, all right. Fine.’

  The paramedics carried Mum slowly out of the front door, careful not to bang the stretcher against the doorpost. I felt insubstantial, like a ghost drifting after them, and at the same time everything was hyper-real, magnified a hundred times. A blue Toyota slowed down as it passed us. A man walking an Alsatian stopped across the street, staring. I hugged myself and looked away.

  They loaded Mum into the back of the ambulance, sliding her in like something on an assembly line. ‘Right, love, you can hop in,’ said one of them to me. He was balding, with short black hair and friendly eyes.

  He held a hand out to me, taking my arm as I climbed into the back of the ambulance. ‘You can sit here,’ he said, showing me a little seat on the floor. It was just like you see in films, with complicated-looking machines everywhere.

  Mum lay on her stretcher, trying to smile. ‘Travelling in style, aren't we?’

  I lifted my lips to smile back, but didn't quite manage it. My pulse pounded in my ears. Oh, God, it was just like when Dad collapsed that final time.

  I was only nine when it happened. He was in the lounge, just a few feet from where Mum had fallen. I held onto his hand, and thought I was going to faint when the paramedics came for him. Mum rode with him; they wouldn't let me. The doors of the ambulance closed behind him and I couldn't stop crying. It was like they were swallowing him up. And actually they were, because then he went into hospital and never left it again.

  And now it was Mum inside the ambulance, swallowed up with me.

  The other paramedic hopped into the front and we lurched off, crunching away down our gravel drive. I held onto the sides of my tiny seat, and thought, Oh, please God, not my mum, too. She's all I've got left.

  A Very Brave Girl

  The hospital waiting room was lined with hard green plastic chairs, and the only magazines were battered ones with titles like Crochet World and You and Your Cat. I picked one up, and turned through the pages without really seeing them.