Lisa shrugged. ‘I’ll help. You know I will, but I wish we hadn’t come this way. I wish the horrid thing was all burned up.’
CHAPTER TEN
‘WANNA BUY A powerhouse, ladies?’
She and Fliss were on a street. The man wore jeans and a vest and had perfect teeth. ‘How much?’ asked Fliss.
‘McDonald’s,’ said the man. ‘Shoved up in thirteen ninety-two.’
Fliss laughed. ‘What d’you want with a powerhouse, Lisa? Lisa-pisa monkey-greaser.’
‘Not the flesh, Fliss. The power. I’ve thought it all out.’
‘I never knew stuff like that went on inside your skull. It’s only papier-mâché.’
‘Not to me it isn’t. It’s too perfect.’
‘It’s a run of luck, that’s all.’
The man whistled shrilly to attract their attention. He was much further away now. ‘You want this stuff or not?’ He was cradling something in his arms but she couldn’t see what it was.
‘You bet!’ she cried, running towards him. Behind her, Fliss was laughing. Her laughter echoed in the street.
For a long time the distance between the man and herself seemed to stay the same, and then in a moment she was with him. He smiled. Close up, she could see fingerprints on his teeth. ‘We can always touch ’em up after,’ he said, and she saw he’d turned into Trot. ‘Here.’ He held out what he was carrying.
Fear seized her. ‘What is it?’
‘A man-eating tiger. They used to pull it across the screen between films.’
‘I – I don’t like it.’ She tried to back away but her feet wouldn’t move.
‘You don’t need to be liked if you’re feared.’ He tipped the great, snarling cat into her arms and Lisa woke, screaming.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘ARE YOU SURE you’re all right to go this morning, Lisa?’ Mrs Watmough eyed her daughter anxiously. She was pale, and the skin under her eyes looked bruised and puffy.
‘Sure I am, Mum. I had a dream, that’s all.’
‘A nightmare, more like. You haven’t screamed in the night like that since you were four.’
‘I’m OK, Mum, honestly. I feel fine.’ She didn’t, but both her parents went out to work and she wasn’t going to stay alone in the house all day.
‘Well, if you’re determined—’
‘’Bye, Mum.’
Determined. Lisa smiled faintly to herself as she walked down the path. I wish I was determined. About anything. Confused is what I am. Mixed up. Scared, if you want to know the truth. Something’s happening to me and I don’t understand what it is, except that it’s got something to do with the play. Well – we’re due to meet with old Hepworth this aft to discuss progress. Maybe I’ll ask to drop out. Dunno what excuse I’ll come up with though – can’t tell him I’m scared, can I?
Fliss was waiting for her at the top of the school drive. ‘Hey, Lisa, you look awful. Is something wrong?’
‘No, why should there be?’
Fliss shrugged. ‘No reason.’ She grinned. ‘Anyway, here’s Trot. He’ll cheer you up.’
‘Huh – fat chance.’
‘Hi, girls,’ Trot greeted. ‘Seen Gary?’
They shook their heads. ‘We’ve some good news for you though,’ said Fliss.
‘Let me guess – the school burned down?’
‘No.’
‘Old Hepworth’s got measles?’
‘Shut up and listen, will you? We’ve found a skin for the worm.’
‘No kidding! What’s it like?’ Fliss described the material. ‘Is there enough of it, though?’
Fliss nodded. ‘It’s a cinema curtain. It’s higher than the school and nearly as long. It’d do for two worms.’
‘Fantastic. Bring it to the garage tonight. Half-seven?’
‘Right.’
Trot turned to Lisa. ‘Half-seven OK for you?’
She pulled a face. ‘Dunno. I might not come. Mum says I need an early night.’
Trot laughed. ‘It’s not a party, kid. No crates of booze. No rock band. You can be home by nine if that’s what you want.’
‘I don’t know, Trot. I’ll have to see, OK?’ A part of her wanted to be there. The part that liked to be with Trot. But then there was that other part – the voice inside her head which was telling her to pull back – and that voice was growing louder.
‘Sure.’ Trot shrugged and went off in search of Gary.
Fliss looked at her friend. ‘Are you sure there’s nothing you want to talk about, Lisa?’
‘I’m sure.’ She sighed. ‘Look, Fliss, I had a nightmare and I’m tired and I’ve got things to think about, so d’you think you could just leave me alone for a while, huh?’
‘Sure.’ Fliss felt hurt. ‘I’ll leave you alone. I’ll stop talking to you altogether, if that’s what you want.’ She spun on her heel and hurried on down the drive.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘RIGHT!’ MR HEPWORTH rubbed his hands together and beamed at Year Eight. ‘It’s just a week now since Mrs Evans and I sprang on you the task of producing a play for the Festival, and we thought this might be a good time for people to report back on how things are progressing. Not to us – we’re here in an advisory capacity only – but to one another. Now – who’d like to kick us off?’
‘I’d like to kick you off a cliff,’ whispered one of the boys. His friend giggled.
Mr Hepworth glared at them. ‘Did you speak, Roger?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘Then it was you, Michael. What did you say?’
‘I – I said I’d like to kick us off, Sir.’
‘Splendid – off you go, then.’
‘Well, er – I’m a villager, Sir.’
‘Yes?’
‘And – my mum’s nearly finished my outfit. She’s made it out of sacking, and it’s this raggedy old jacket thing with a belt and some really baggy trousers.’
‘In other words, Michael, you’ll be dressed much as usual.’ Everybody laughed. ‘And you, Roger – what are you up to?’
‘I’m a Viking, Sir. I can sew a bit so I’ve done my own costume. Well – my mum helped a bit. And I’ve made this really wicked helmet, Sir, with wings on it.’
The teacher sighed. ‘There’s absolutely no evidence that the Vikings wore winged helmets, Roger. It’s a fallacy.’
‘No, it’s a helmet, Sir, honest.’
‘Yes, all right, Roger.’ Mr Hepworth sounded tired. ‘Sarah-Jane – you’re the producer or director or whatever, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘So how’s it coming along?’
‘Well – we thought about speaking parts, but in the end we decided to have a narrator because nobody knows how people spoke in those days.’
Mrs Evans nodded. ‘Good idea, Sarah-Jane. Who’s narrating?’
Andrew Roberts raised his hand. ‘Me, Miss.’
Mrs Evans nodded. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised, Andrew. You’ve spent most of your time in this school narrating when you should have been listening. Go on, Sarah-Jane.’
‘We’ve had a couple of rehearsals, Miss. Well – not really rehearsals. Trying things out, and it seems OK so far. We don’t have people’s costumes at school, and of course the worm’s not ready, but—’
‘It nearly is,’ interrupted Trot. ‘We’ve got everything. Now all we have to do is fit the skin and figure out a way to make it breathe fire.’
‘Just a minute, David.’ Mr Hepworth smiled. ‘I know we want this worm to look as realistic as possible, but I think we’re going to have to draw the line at fire-breathing.’
‘Aw, Sir—?’
‘No, David, I’m sorry. Anything you could devise would be highly dangerous. Just think what would happen if the worm caught fire with people inside it. It might be possible to fake smoke using dry ice or something, but there’s to be no fire. Is that understood?’
‘Yes, Sir.’ Trot looked crestfallen.
‘I thought he was here in an advisory capacity,
’ hissed Neil Atkinson.
The teacher looked up sharply. ‘He is, and he has sharp ears, and his advice to you is to keep comments of that sort to yourself. All right?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
From the start of the session, Lisa had struggled silently with herself. A part of her wanted to withdraw from the play, or at least from the worm, while another part – a dark, submerged part of herself whose existence she hadn’t even suspected a week ago – urged her in excited whispers to say nothing: to hold on to her place inside the worm and see where it might lead her. And this had nothing to do with Trot. She was fond of him, of course, but this was something else; something altogether darker, more compelling. And the dark part won. When twenty to three rolled round and the teachers brought the session to an end, she’d said nothing.
I’ll do it, she cried inwardly, and a tingle ran down her spine into her tummy-muscles. When Fliss approached her gingerly at home-time she seemed her old self, and they chatted as they dawdled up the drive. Only Lisa knew she’d given in to something dark and strong, and neither girl knew their paths were set to diverge, or that when they came together again it would be as enemies.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WHEN FLISS GOT to Trot’s at twenty-five past seven, Lisa was already there. Fliss’s arms ached from carrying the curtain. She let it fall to the floor. Ellie-May and the two boys went down on their knees to look and feel. ‘It’s terrific, Fliss!’ cried Gary.
Ellie-May lifted a fold, rubbed it against her cheek and let it slip through her fingers. ‘Yeah, terrific. It’s shiny, like it might be covered with slime or something, and the colour’s exactly right. How long is it?’
They measured, and the curtain proved to be more than ten metres long. Lisa pulled a face. ‘Pity. The real worm was twice as long.’
‘Yes,’ said Fliss, ‘but remember it’s very wide. If we cut it in two lengthways and stitch the halves together we’ll still have plenty of width and it’ll be just the right length.’
‘Who’s going to do all this stitching?’ asked Gary. ‘I’m useless at sewing.’
‘No problem,’ Trot told him. ‘My mum’s volunteered to help. All we have to do is tack it more or less as we want it and she’ll stitch it properly on the machine. Let’s get started.’
It wasn’t nearly as easy as it sounded. Their lengthways cut was a bit wavy and it took ages to fasten the two pieces together, even with Trot’s big tacking stitch. Then they had to drape the slippery material over the worm’s neck and body and mark where they’d attach the tapes which would be knotted under the worm’s belly to fasten the skin to the frame. When that was done, they spread the fabric on the floor and took turns sewing on the tapes in such a way that they wouldn’t be visible to an audience. It was twenty past nine by the time they’d finished, and they’d done nothing with the fifteen metres of material which would form the monster’s tail. ‘Leave that,’ said Trot. ‘My mum’s clever. She’ll figure out a way to cut and stitch so it tapers to a nice sharp tip.’
‘Let’s try it out,’ suggested Gary. ‘Fliss can tie the tapes, and the end can just trail for now like a peacock’s tail. What d’you say?’
‘I say yes!’ cried Lisa, eyes shining.
‘OK,’ said Trot, ‘only don’t step on the tail or it’ll rip off and all my brill tacking will go to waste.’ He turned to Fliss. ‘Will you do the tapes?’
Fliss shrugged. ‘Sure, but don’t be too long, OK? I was supposed to be home for half-nine.’
The four stood in line and lowered the frame over their heads while Fliss held the skin to stop it sliding off the hoops. Yells and laughs came from inside the worm as Fliss knelt, pulling down on the tapes and tying them. ‘Hey, it’s dark in here!’ complained Ellie-May. ‘I can’t see where I’m going.’
I can see for all of us,’ said Gary from the front. ‘Put your hands on Trot’s shoulders, Ellie-May, and go where he goes. Trot puts his on Lisa’s and Lisa has hers on mine. Easy-peasy.’
It wasn’t easy. Not at first, within the confines of the Trotter family’s garage. Peering through the eye-holes on the worm’s neck, Gary went off at a slow walk, twisting and turning to avoid walls, worktops and obstructions on the floor. The others followed as best they could, with frequent exclamations and much giggling. Fliss leaned against the workbench and watched. She wished they’d stop now so she could undo the tapes and go home, but they didn’t.
At twenty to ten, Gary broke into a slow trot and the others followed suit. The worm danced sinuously through the darkening garage, its great head swaying and bobbing. Now and then its reflector eyes would catch light from somewhere and flash red. Fliss was amazed at the dexterity of her friends; their co-ordination. The way their dancing feet avoided the great train of fabric they trailed, which slid, hissing, across the dusty concrete. The ease with which they seemed to have mastered the technique. Their shouts of laughter grew louder as Gary increased his speed, but there were no disasters – nobody stumbled. Fliss watched as though mesmerized, and when she remembered to look at her watch it was ten to ten.
‘Hey!’ Their exultant laughter drowned her voice. ‘Hey, you guys. It’s almost ten. I’ve got to go.’
Nobody heard. Gary shifted up another gear and they came whooping in his wake, precisely, like a well-drilled squad. Fliss moved over to the wall switch and snapped on the lights. At once and in unison the dancers broke into a rhythmic chant of ‘Off, off, off!’
Fliss shook her head. ‘No – it’s ten o’clock.’
‘You what?’ cried Gary, and the others took it up: ‘You what, you what, you what?’
‘I have to go.’ She was close to tears.
‘Go, go, go!’
‘Lisa?’ Surely her best friend would respond – break step so that the dance could end in red-faced, panting laughter?
‘Lisa?’ they mimicked, and her voice was among them. ‘Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa, Lisa—’ The worm was coming at her now, eyes burning, jaws agape.
She turned and fled.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘CERIDWEN, CERIDWEN.’ MOCKERY in their eyes, their voices.
‘The worm. Terrific skin.’
‘Triffic, triffic, triffic.’
‘Tied with tapes.’
‘Tape-worm, then. Heeee!’
‘People inside, see?’
‘Room for another though.’
‘Room for one inside.’
‘You, Ceridwen. Room for you.’
‘I’m not Ceridwen!’ she screamed. ‘I’m Fliss.’
‘Fliss!’ they cried. ‘Flass, Fluss, Floss.’ Pressing in, crowding her so that she was forced to move out to where the worm danced. There it was. Its red, mad eyes and pinky, fang-crammed maw. It saw her and came slithering on a zig-zag path towards her. She tried to throw herself back, but they caught her and flung her forward again. The worm was close now. So close she could smell the putrid stench of its breath. Its slavering jaws gaped to engulf her. ‘Room for one inside.’ The voice was Gary’s.
Fliss woke, damp and shaking. It was a long time before she slept again.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
TUESDAY MORNING. FOR the first time ever, Fliss didn’t want to meet Lisa at the end of the road for the walk to school. She dawdled so long over breakfast that her mother started giving her funny looks. ‘Fliss,’ she said. ‘Are you feeling all right?’
‘I’m fine, Mum.’ Pushing Coco Pops round her bowl.
‘Then eat your breakfast, dear. It’s almost twenty to nine. Lisa will go without you.’
That’s the general idea, she thought, but didn’t say. Her mother dropped toast on her plate. Fliss pushed aside the unfinished cereal and began to butter a slice as carefully as if she were painting a masterpiece. Her mother sighed, cleared Dad’s place and ran water into the sink.
Fliss knew her tactic had failed the moment she turned out of the driveway. The end of the road was about a hundred metres away and Lisa was there, waiting. It was almost ten to nine, for Pete�
��s sake. They’d practically have to run to reach school on time, yet there she was. Fliss thought of ducking back into the driveway but if she did she’d certainly be late for school, and anyway Lisa had probably spotted her. With a grimace of resignation she walked towards the girl she’d regarded till lately as her best friend.
‘Hi, Fliss. Why d’you leave in such a rush last night?’ Lisa sounded genuinely concerned.
Fliss gazed at her. ‘Are you kidding? After the way you all ignored me and mocked me and then came at me as though you meant to trample me into the floor? You’d have left in a rush too. Anyone would.’
‘Would I heck!’ Lisa’s tone was scornful. ‘It was a bit of fun, that’s all.’
‘Well, it wasn’t fun for me, Lisa. It scared me, the way the four of you moved in that thing as though—’
‘As though we’d been doing it all our lives,’ finished Lisa. ‘That’s what you were going to say, isn’t it?’
Fliss nodded. ‘Something like that, yes.’
‘And that’s exactly how it felt, Fliss.’ Lisa’s eyes shone. ‘We couldn’t put a foot wrong, any of us. I mean, you’d think— I expected we’d stumble and fumble around, you know? Knock things over, step on our own tail, fall down. Three of us couldn’t even see, and yet we ended up running, Fliss. Running like one creature, not four. I can’t describe the feeling except to say it was awesome. Sincerely awesome.’
‘Yes, well, like I said, it was no fun for me.’
Lisa laughed. ‘You shouldn’t have joined if you can’t take a joke, Fliss. And anyway, you’ll get the last laugh, won’t you?’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘You’re Ceridwen, aren’t you? Heroine-Saint of Elsworth? You get to vanquish the worm, remember?’
‘Oh, yes. I see what you mean, but I still don’t like the way you ganged up with the others against me last night, Lisa. You’re supposed to be my friend.’
Lisa sighed. ‘I am your friend, Fliss. Same as always, only you’re not in the worm, see? You don’t know what it’s like ’cause you’re not part of it, and that’s bound to make a difference, right?’
Inside the Worm Page 3