The Trouble with Perfect

by Helena Duggan

  “Yeah?”

  “I know how you get, pet. Leave the Lawns and the eye plants alone. The Committee can figure out what’s going on here, they don’t need your or Boy’s help.”

  “But, Mam, they think it’s Bo—”

  “No buts.”

  Violet didn’t respond as she closed the front door behind her. She knew better than to disagree with her mam and she wasn’t able to lie to her either. After school she was sure she’d go investigating with Boy, so it was better to say nothing at all – technically that meant she wasn’t lying to her parents.

  Boy was at his desk when Violet arrived in school.

  “Any news on the eyes?” she asked, slipping in beside him.

  “No.” Boy shook his head. He seemed a little distant.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “It’s nothing,” he said, looking over his shoulder as a flying pencil hit his back.

  “Who did that?” Violet whizzed around in her seat.

  “Give me back my pencil, Archer,” Conor Crooked laughed, from the back row of the class. “Stop stealing everything!”

  “Stop it!” Violet said, glaring at him.

  Conor Crooked, Vincent’s son, was Bobby Broderick’s best friend, and he was also a bully. Conor was an undercover bully, though – the type who all the adults loved because he smiled at them and said polite things.

  Boy grabbed her arm. “Leave it, Violet, I’m able to take care of myself!”

  “Yeah, but he’s saying stuff about you…”

  “Leave it, I’ll handle Conor myself.” Her friend half-smiled. “I was an orphan, remember?”

  Violet turned back around, ignoring Conor’s sniggers.

  “Did you find out anything else about Lucy’s bike?” she asked.

  “No.” Boy shook his head. “But Lucy’s mam put in a complaint at the Committee meeting last night. Dad wasn’t happy.”

  “With you?” Violet asked.

  “No, with himself. He said if the eyes were working properly, none of this would be happening. Anyway, it’ll be fine, Violet. I just don’t like people saying things about me that aren’t true.”

  “I know.” Violet sighed as Mrs Moody walked into the classroom.

  “Take out your maths books,” the teacher instructed, straightening her blue pencil skirt.

  Violet and Boy spent the rest of the day in relative silence. He didn’t seem in the mood for joking, and Violet racked her brains for some sort of solution to Boy’s problem.

  “I know,” she whispered, as the clock neared home time. “Why don’t we go and knock on all the doors in Market Yard? William only talked to a few people. Someone must have seen something.”

  “Someone already told Dad they saw me in Market Yard at the same time that the plants were taken. That’ll only cause more trouble.”

  “Well, not if you didn’t do it.”

  “If…? Thanks, Violet!”

  “Argh, I didn’t mean that – you know what I meant.”

  “It doesn’t matter anyway.” Boy shook his head. “I’ve to go straight home today.”

  “Why? It won’t take long. You can go home after.”

  “No, I can’t.” He sounded definite and upset.

  “Okay,” Violet replied sheepishly. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  Boy didn’t look at her. He threw his bag over his shoulder and raced from the room.

  “He’s probably off to steal another bike,” Beatrice said, smirking as she passed Violet’s desk.

  Violet didn’t respond. She was a little annoyed with Boy. All she was doing was trying to help him…

  Stop, she scolded herself. He was upset. She would be too, if people were telling lies about her.

  Maybe she could still help him. She could go to Market Yard alone. It might even be better if she went and asked the questions herself, without Boy there.

  Violet packed up the rest of her stuff and buckled closed her bag, ignoring her mother’s voice in her head. Boy needed her help right now, and she was going to prove to everyone that he had nothing to do with Lucy’s stolen bike.

  She left the school and pedalled right onto Edward Street, heading for Archers’ Avenue, then onto Rag Lane and Forgotten Road. She was just nearing Market Yard when she pulled on her brakes.

  Boy was on the other side of the square, heading down Wickham Terrace.

  He wasn’t alone. He was walking with his bike, beside Conor Crooked.

  Violet couldn’t believe her eyes. What were those two doing together?

  She cycled through Market Yard, avoiding a few near-collisions, and rounded the top of the terrace. Boy and Conor walked straight past number 135, Boy’s home, heading for the footbridge on the edge of Town.

  The pair were laughing, but Violet was sure Boy didn’t even like Conor, especially after what had happened in class today.

  Boy had said he was able to handle Conor on his own, so maybe that’s what he was doing now…? Violet didn’t like it, though. Something felt wrong. She was about to call Boy’s name, when he stooped under the footbridge and pulled out another bike.

  The bike was purple with a white saddle and tyres. Conor stood back and laughed, then high-fived Boy, before grabbing the handlebars and jumping onto it. Then the pair cycled over the bridge, to the other side of the river, and along the road towards the Ghost Estate.

  Violet felt a pang of something, deep in her stomach. Why had Boy lied to her? He said he had to go home. And whose bike had he handed to Conor? A thought formed in her head, but she shook it off. It couldn’t be Lucy’s. It just couldn’t be.

  She decided to follow them. Maybe there was a good reason for this whole thing?

  Maybe Conor knew something about the eye plants? Maybe he was helping Boy and Boy couldn’t tell her, because…well, she didn’t know why Boy couldn’t tell her anything. They’d never kept secrets before – at least, none that she knew about.

  Violet pedalled over the footbridge, which had been restored to its glory since Perfect fell and now spanned proudly over the roaring river. It comprised a mixture of delicate wire, woven steel rope and wooden floorboards, strung between elegant silver-and-blue painted iron pillars.

  Nothing else had been renovated on this side of the river, though – at least, not yet. Nobody had gone near the Ghost Estate and its derelict half-built homes, or fixed a single pothole on the tarmac road that led to it.

  Violet’s dad said the Committee were still in talks about what to do with the estate. Not a single thing had been decided about it, though it had almost been a year. A year since Edward disappeared in the old graveyard nestled on the hill above the half-built homes of the Ghost Estate.

  Violet was sure nobody wanted to go near the place because of the ghost stories, and the dreadful fear that hung over every person who set foot inside its entrance.

  Taking a deep breath, Violet followed the tarmac road and stopped under the billboard of a happy family, which was next to the pillars into the Ghost Estate. The image was even more faded than the last time she’d seen it – the night Edward Archer disappeared. The dad’s teeth were now black and his wife’s skin a tinge of damp green. Their children had all but disappeared.

  As quietly as possible, Violet laid her bike on the ground. She was just peering around the pillar to get a view into the estate when a large black bird flew down, landing on the stone-capped pillar beside her.

  She shivered, remembering her latest dream.

  The bird turned its head and stared at Violet, its dark bead-like eyes boring into her. Its shiny coat shimmered in the light as the bird displayed its wings, revealing glimmers of deep blue amongst its feathers. Then it opened its hard black beak and cawed, sending lonely echoes through the estate.

  Violet’s stomach churned. Maybe she shouldn’t have come back here.

  She tried to shoo the creature away, but it didn’t move, standing just millimetres away, unblinking. The bird didn’t seem afraid of her. She was just reaching toward
s it again when it opened its wings and soared into the sky.

  Violet followed its flight path over the green in the Ghost Estate, which had once been lined with eye plants, then out above the building debris and half-built homes that rested at the edge of the unfinished road.

  She couldn’t see Boy or Conor anywhere.

  The sky darkened. More clouds hung heavy in the air, blocking the low sun.

  It was getting late, maybe she should go home?

  Movement caught her eye. She froze to the spot, afraid she’d be seen. Two figures darted out from one of the half-homes and sprinted up the hill towards the graveyard.

  Her heart pounded. What were they doing?

  Boy and Conor laughed and jeered, as though having great fun. Something stung inside Violet as she watched them. The pair then disappeared over the horizon. She already didn’t like the idea of going into the Ghost Estate alone, but she definitely wasn’t going to the graveyard. The thought made her queasy.

  Feeling a little hurt, Violet turned to go home. It didn’t feel right, watching in secret.

  Maybe there was some kind of a normal explanation for all this? She’d ask Boy at school tomorrow.

  Violet picked up her bike and propelled her way back to Town. She was turning onto Forgotten Road when, just ahead, she saw Lucy Lawn at her front door.

  “Hey,” she called, pedalling faster.

  The older girl pretended not to see her.

  “Lucy!” she shouted, louder this time.

  “Oh, Violet,” Lucy said, looking around as Violet skidded to a halt. “I didn’t see you there.”

  “I just wanted to ask you a question about your bike,” Violet panted.

  Lucy nodded, but didn’t say a word.

  “Erm, I just…I just wondered, what colour is it?”

  She felt bad even asking, it almost felt as if she was betraying Boy.

  “It’s purple, with a white saddle and wheels. And I know you’re his friend, but it was Boy I saw!” Lucy huffed before disappearing quickly inside her home.

  Violet’s stomach churned as she set off again. That was the exact colouring of the bike Boy had pulled from under the footbridge and given to Conor. Could Boy really have taken Lucy’s bike? Maybe Conor made him do it…but how, and why? Violet couldn’t imagine anyone making Boy do anything he didn’t want to.

  Her parents were sitting in the kitchen when she arrived home, her head in a muddle.

  “What happened?” her mother asked, looking up from her seat. “Are you okay? You look upset.”

  “I’m fine, Mam!” Violet said, sitting down at the table.

  The truth was, she wasn’t sure how she felt. She couldn’t make sense of anything she’d seen, but she couldn’t tell her parents. Not yet, not until she’d spoken to Boy.

  Dinner was bacon, potatoes and cabbage again. Of all the foods in the world, why did someone invent cabbage? Anyway, she couldn’t eat right now, not after everything. She pushed the food around her plate.

  Her dad was reading the Town Tribune, a newspaper that had been set up in Town by Robert Blot after the Archer brothers’ downfall. Violet’s mam called Robert Blot “a self-appointed know-it-all”.

  “This article is laughable!” her dad said.

  DISAPPEARING BEFORE OUR VERY EYES was written in huge black letters across the front page, over a picture of a half-empty bed of eye plants.

  “What does the paper say, Dad?” Violet asked, curious and glad of the distraction.

  “Blot’s writing about the eye plants going missing. He says there is an epidemic of robberies in Town. He talks about young Lucy Lawn’s bike too. I’d hardly call it an epidemic.”

  “What’s an epidemic?”

  “Oh, he’s just trying to say that there have been loads of robberies, Violet, as though it’s a huge problem in Town.”

  “Have there been more robberies?”

  “No!” Violet’s mother exclaimed. “Robert is always trying to make everything sound bigger than it is. I think he gets bored writing about everyday news. This recent spate of activity must be very exciting for him.”

  “Yes, but it’s hardly responsible journalism, Rose. I’m not sure William will be happy with the tone of this piece.”

  “Why not, Dad?”

  “Blot’s picked up on the idea that Boy is involved. He seems to be suggesting that Boy took the plants and Lucy’s bike. Utter nonsense.”

  “Oh.” Violet almost choked on her potato.

  “Boy, a thief?” Rose laughed. “It’s ridiculous. And why would he want to steal those awful plants, from his own father? The idea of a thief in Town is rubbish anyway! I’m sure it’s just a trick gone a little wrong. The culprits will come forward.”

  “I hope so.” Violet sighed.

  Her parents began to chat again, so she slipped quietly from the table and discreetly emptied her food in the bin.

  “Is everything okay, Violet? You don’t look well,” Rose asked, standing up to feel her daughter’s forehead.

  “I’m fine,” Violet lied, pushing away her mother’s hand. “I just have lots of homework to do.”

  She disappeared out the door, followed by her parents’ whispers. Violet was sure they were talking about her. She went upstairs to her room and collapsed onto the bed.

  Boy, a thief and a liar? She felt sick at the thought.

  Dark circles rimmed Violet’s eyes the next morning as she made her way to school. She hadn’t slept at all well, and was the first in the yard waiting for class to be called.

  Boy was early too. He walked towards her, and Violet could feel her body tense. A rumble of thunder filled the skies and she looked up. The clouds were thick, the sun now barely visible behind them.

  “If the wind changes, that face will stick,” he teased, sitting on the bench beside her.

  Now that Boy was here, Violet wasn’t sure what to say to him. She’d been going over the previous afternoon’s events all night in bed, and still hadn’t figured a way to broach the subject.

  “How’s Conor?” she asked. The words were out before she’d realized.

  “Who?” Boy asked, furrowing his brow.

  “Conor Crooked!”

  “How would I know how Conor is?”

  “I saw you with him yesterday afternoon. I followed you two to the Ghost Estate.”

  Boy laughed. “Very funny, Violet. I almost fell for it!”

  “Fell for what? I saw you. I went to Market Yard to question people about Lucy’s bike. Remember? You wouldn’t come with me because you had to go home.” She emphasized the last few words. “I saw you going down Wickham Terrace with Conor, so I followed you. I was going to say hello until…”

  She stopped.

  “Until what?” Boy’s neck was red again, his eyes narrow.

  “Until…well…”

  “Violet!”

  “Until I saw you hand Lucy’s bike to Conor.”

  Boy looked more serious this time. “Very funny, Violet, but I’m not in the mood for weird jokes.”

  “Boy!” Violet said, frustrated. “I’m not joking, I saw you. If this was you ‘sorting Conor out’, like you said in class yesterday, then just tell me. I want to know what’s going on.”

  “But I did go straight home,” Boy said, standing up. “What’s going on with you?”

  “With me? Stop it, Boy. I saw you with Conor! If something’s up, I can help. Did Conor make you steal Lucy’s bike?”

  “Conor Crooked, make me steal something? What are you on about, Violet?”

  “Boy, please,” Violet said, getting upset. “I’m your best friend.”

  “Yeah, I thought you were too,” Boy replied sharply. He stared blankly at her, his face a deep red.

  The bell rang, and Mrs Moody appeared at the school door to call in the class. Violet stood up quickly, her eyes glassy. She avoided looking at Boy as she walked away.

  “Morning, Violet, you get your homework done?” Beatrice called, skipping after her.

&n
bsp; “Oh morning, Beatrice.” Violet forced a smile.

  Boy remained on the bench as everyone filed inside, chatting loudly.

  “Good morning, class,” Mrs Moody said, her face looking a little more wrinkled and cross than usual.

  “Good morning, Mrs Moody,” everyone replied.

  Boy walked in and took his seat beside Violet. He didn’t look at her.

  “You’re late, Boy!” Mrs Moody said.

  “Sorry,” he grunted at the floor.

  Mrs Moody glared down at their desk and Violet looked away.

  If everything was normal, Violet would have made a joke right now, but things felt awkward. She’d never not known what to say to Boy before.

  “Class, I’m afraid I have some bad news to report. Conor Crooked didn’t return home after school yesterday. As you can imagine, his parents are extremely worried.”

  Violet stiffened.

  She glanced across at Boy. He was fidgeting with his sharpener, twisting a pencil against its blades. A small pile of wooden shavings had gathered on the desk.

  “Does anyone know where he might have gone after school?” Mrs Moody asked, eyeing each and every student.

  Violet flushed as the teacher’s gaze swept by her. Should she say something? Boy should, but he was too busy rubbing parings off the desk onto the floor.

  Why wouldn’t he speak up?

  “Anyone?” Mrs Moody asked. “I know some of you are Conor’s friends. Come on, class. If anybody knows anything, please say it. You won’t get into trouble. His parents just want to find him!”

  Conor had friends, but Boy wasn’t one of them. His friends were other bullies, like Bobby Broderick. Violet stabbed her eraser with the tip of her pencil and glanced over at Boy again.

  Why wasn’t he saying anything? Why was he putting her in this position? Boy was still her friend, though. She couldn’t tell on him, could she?

  Her dad always told her to be honest, and Violet wasn’t being at all honest right now. She avoided Mrs Moody’s glare as it swept by once more.

  Tension mounted in the room.

  Violet felt like she was sitting under a spotlight. Heat rose up her neck and into her cheeks. Surely Mrs Moody would know something was up?

  The teacher kept her eyes on the class. Everyone was silent, except for the awkward sound of children shifting in their seats. Boy didn’t look up, not once. His face was red now too.