To Be Honest

by Polly Young

  “You think if I dress up, and maybe wear mon chapeau too, that’s ok?”

  She’s trying so hard that I can’t disappoint.

  “Your hat looks amazing. But not vital, I’d say. Just come in a dress. Something festive. Like red, black or short ...”

  Doubt’s stamped on her face as I struggle for answers. But something’s occurred and I need to digest it. And what’s the harm anyway, Mum? What’s the harm, I think. I don’t want her hanging around during lunch and I have learned that outfits can wow. And that dress still needs to prove itself on Mum, somehow.

  * * *

  We meet at the gate: I’m on duty. Miss Mint’s a bit late which makes me all stressed: it’s nearly eight minutes to one and Kai’s due here soon and there’s boards to be rung. Wish we’d done it at noon. Then we’d have twelve whole hours to go. We’ve eleven still, though. All’s not lost.

  Swimming like salmon we battle upstream to the office and let ourselves in. There’s a ream of thank you cards, Christmas cards. Cake tins and boxes of chocolates. Miss Mint sweeps a space and then plonks the phone down on her desk. I mean, my desk. She looks all professional and serious. She’s already got phone numbers to hand. Says she knows someone there and she picks up and dials and gives me a death stare.

  “Go outside,” she hisses, “just in case we get surprised.”

  Good thinking, Miss Mint. Though I can’t pretend I wouldn’t like to be seen through the glass making phone calls on this, the last day of the year. ‘Cos my year 9s would make sure they behaved ‘til the end.

  It takes seven minutes. She rings off, comes out. It’s noisy out here and she can’t help but shout,

  “It’s all ok. We don’t have to worry. It’s fine. If Alicia had written her work line by line and then copied it down; got it teacher approved, then it’s not all that easy for the goal posts to move.

  “What do you mean?” I say, ‘cos she’s talking in riddles and I can see Kai, dressed as Taff, who is striding towards me.

  “Basically, the notes page for GCSE creative writing’s not been used enough for rules to be firmly in place yet. There’s room for improvement so they’re not cracking down on teachers or students who aren’t quite au fait with the rules.”

  “Very good,” I say, ‘cos I’m glad she’s using French. “Phew.”

  “Yes, indeed,” she says twinkling. “Now I’ve got to go and get changed.”

  We hesitate, just for a second. Then part. Kai splashes up with a package. I start to unwrap it and he whispers, “no, not here, Lise.”

  But a small flash of cardboard’s on show. Piece by piece

  I start understanding.

  * * *

  Kai rumbles away ‘cos the bell goes and I’m left with nothing to say. The mistletoe’s all smashed up. It hangs from the archway like Tao’s tail did after my Dad picked him up

  Off the road

  And swung him over his shoulder

  After the Tesco van hit him.

  I lose it. I start to cry, openly, softly at first ‘cos I’m standing there, streaming, a pregnancy test in my purse and I’m not me; I’m Miss Mint, not Lisi and I don’t know what’s happening. I thought it was getting easier but it’s not. My mum’s coming back into school in a dress that’s too short and grown up and I feel like a fool ‘cos I have to be Marilyn Monroe and my boyfriend’s a fifty year old who did rowing for medals before I was born. And I might be pregnant.

  But timetables wait for no man. It’s half past one. I must get on.

  * * *

  I find Alicia just outside with Harry, wrapped up ‘cos it’s nippy. I want to disappear, leave them to share the frozen, iced bike shed and sweet, scalding, sippy hot chocolate together. I don’t, though. I tell her I need her. She comes, but not before Harry’s kissed both of her thumbs and cuddled her tight.

  We return to the Eng. office harbour. I tell her the news.

  “So we won’t need to summon your mother.”

  “I’m confused, Miss. I never cheated then?’

  She’s agog; can’t believe that I might hold the key to a final reprieve. She looks suspiciously at my face. “You’re not joking? You’re telling the truth?”

  “I am, Alicia, yes. There is one thing, though.”

  I tell her not to just let things go with the flow but to set goals and think big. “’Cos you never know what’s round the next corner. You’re on the right path, Alicia Payne. Stay truthful. Be honest. Stay out of the rain.”

  She looks weirded out now. But finally I push my luck and say,

  “Oh, Alicia. Also please try to be nicer to year 10s. You’re leaving school soon. There’s one in particular. Lisi Reynolds.”

  A tune starts up somewhere, all regal. Like Shakespeare’s in town. She watches me carefully. Starting to frown, she then switches her mind and she smiles instead.

  “Lisi Reynolds,” she says with a shake of her head. “My brother just loved her. Before he left Fairmere, I mean. James said she was loyal and true to that queen Josh Meadows. He thought she was brilliant. I don’t know ‘bout that but you’re right. I’m a bit of a cow to her. I think I might say I’m sorry.”

  She literally skips down the hall. And I think, that beats it all. And then I think, no Payne; all gain.

  * * *

  One forty. The last time I’ll see this class in a room before next year. They’re all hyped up on sugar and countdowns ‘til home time. I get posh hot chocolate. Some candles from Jenny. There’s a tear from Megan, though whether it’s real or not is debatable. Siobhan’s bought in a festive joke app and I let her scroll through it to find some. I’m feeling tense but quite festive.

  “Right, Miss. Here’s one, then: ‘what’s Santa’s favourite pizza?’”

  “Deep pan, crisp and even,” I deadpan. Her face crumples.

  “’kay Holly, here’s one for you: “What’s snowy and minty?”

  “A polo bear; easy.” Cackling.

  “Miss, Miss, I’ve got one.” Ricky calls from the corner by the computers, crafting snowflakes from chocolate money shells. “How do snowmen get around?”

  I shrug. The class shrugs.

  “On dildos.”

  There’s silence and it takes me a while to realise he means ‘Icicles.’ Ricky’s too clever for his own good sometimes. We move on, take the register.

  Then it’s time for Review.

  Chapter 21: Friday pm, twelfth night. One hour to go

  And it’s two o’clock.

  Mr Underwood’s flustered. You know from the way his tie flaps, hands revolve. ‘Cos there’s been a delay in refreshments. The school kitchen’s gone and packed up. A disaster: the end of term feast is the utmost highlight of Last Day, ‘cos the ravening beasts fill the atrium after Review.

  As he says, “oh dear, if only I knew someone close.”

  “I could help,” says Mum, who’s just arrived. It’s like Father Christmas’ wife has nose-dived Fairmere school, ‘cos she’s wearing the dress but it’s strewn with red patchwork, fur trimming, some stars and a moon. It makes me quite breathless. She’s clearly worked hard with the sewing but enjoyed it: it’s there in the colours, the shapes and the leftover bear on one buttock, pulled taught. She’s made it all playful and not grown up as I’d first thought that dress was. Not grown up at all.

  “Could you really?”

  I’m hearing all this from behind the stage curtain. The kids start to hiss as they sense that Review might not start off on time.

  “Yes, after my daughter’s dance. I’ll go back. I’ve masses of food at home. I’ve been baking. And of course I could. Yes, that’s fine.”

  The opening speech is then done. Mr U takes a bow and then gives the stage up to the coolest, most brilliant teacher in town (that’s not me). Mr Morlis springs up the steps; wearing a Country and Western style outfit. I watch Josh’s face slide about with amazement. Mum almost faints. He takes his place at the microphone.

  “Boys and girls, ladies and gents. I’m delight
ed to be here. I’m sure all of you meant to give your great Headteacher a round of applause.”

  There’s cheering and stamping. A very brief pause as the school waits for what might be first up to see.

  Mr Morlis bids, “hush now. I have to concede that I wasn’t sure about bare bums in the street ...” and I smile as he waits for a second long beat, “but the girls in year 10 have convinced me. They’re here,” and he has to wait then for an almighty cheer, “The Bear Bums!”

  The three girls, Courtney, Miss Mint and Rach are spot lit. The music begins and the first note is a hit with the entire school, ‘cos they all love Rihanna. But it’s the routine that blows them away.

  “Oh my god,” Kai has crept up behind me. I jump. ‘Cos with Taff’s shape and size the enormous big lump in his trouser’s not quite what I want to be feeling before I go on.

  Kai turns eyes to the ceiling. “Have you seen outside? There’s a storm coming close,” and we both fantasise for a minute, apart but together, ‘bout how if we swapped back there’d be no need for lies ‘cos we’re true with each other now. True, in disguise.

  The dance ends. I watch Mum’s dress flash and whirl as she claps and claps for her fifteen year old girl and her friends. Next, she pulls out her phone, jabs it, then she’s away through the fire exit doors. Country Kitchen’s my bet. Martha’s known for being easier to deal with over the phone.

  “A surprise still to come,” Mr Morlis booms out front, “but now ... a little light entertainment.”

  The next thing I know, Ricky Moore’s walking out, with Olly Goddard dressed as two weird cub scouts. They do a strange comedy turn they’ve been hiding from everyone: Olly’s highlight is Red Riding Hood to Ricky’s grandmother. Then it’s unfunny improv. Instead of another loud ‘boo’ I gesture to Mr Morlis to cut short the act. It’s a shame ‘cos it means that what Ricky’s routine lacked mine has to make up for.

  It’s half past two now. Half an hour to go ‘til three o’clock: the time that Miss Mint’s and my worlds were rocked by the crazy phenomenon that is our life swap.

  I’ve got my wig, dress and my microphone. I’m about to step out when there’s a massive groan from the audience. Erin’s fallen off her chair. A space clears. There’s gasping. Courtney shouts, “it’s just air that she needs! Make a space!” and the sea of kids part. There’s a pounding and bounding in my lungs, chest, heart. I spy Alicia’s blue roses. Should I carry on anyway? Mr Morlis, across the stage frowns, shakes his head.

  “We’ll do Shakespeare instead,” he mouths out to me. “She’s just fainted.”

  Looking out ‘cross the crowds, Erin’s painted with shame. Her mum sprints across but Joe’s quicker. The same look I witnessed on Harry is there and he escorts her out. He’s determined to stare out her mother, who drops away and lets them go. Erin’s hair’s short, that’s true but Joe kisses her crown as he carries her through the hall and sets her down oh, so tenderly.

  Mr Morlis is mouthing at someone, “Yes, yes, on with the show!” and I’m not sure whose figure it is takes to the stage but there’s whistling and shouting. A bit like a cage fighter’s just walked on up to continue his reign. I can’t believe it. James Payne. Dressed as Hamlet.

  He waits for the clapping to end and then takes centre stage.

  “My dear friend Mr Morlis, who gave me a great start in life and Miss Mint, where are you? They both ended my poor parents’ strife, ‘cos they told me it’s ok to dream and be me and, well, here I am. Hamlet. Out on the big screen in the summer next year. I’m sure you’ll all go.” And there’s nodding and chuckling and screaming and even the din-los look awe-struck.

  I look at Kai standing behind, and he looks back at me and there’s some kind of binding agreement as James Payne commands the whole school to shut eyes, take a breath and “think Shakespeare’s cool. ‘Cos he is, to be honest.”

  Then he starts. There’s a bit of rain drumming on the roof, which sounds good ‘cos it adds to the drama of what I know now from Miss Mint and a bit from year 8 is the Great Soliloquy.

  “To be, or not to be ...” he’s off. I see some yawning but not much; not much. ‘Cos he’s such a great speaker.

  “To pee, or not to pee ...” Kai whispers and I crack up. Yes, I do, then I stop, all confused. ‘Cos I haven’t done that pregnancy test. I look backwards. There’s hurt and confusion in Kai’s eyes. He wants answers and I’m under no illusions. “Found the test in the bathroom last night. Miss Mint must have bought it a while ago,” he says and then waits.

  “Two weeks back,” I say, ‘cos it was. Josh, Rach, Erin, me out in town, shopping for Courtney’s party. Like an eternity ago now. When we sat on the fountain, she came out of Boots with that bag and we’d joked but it was what we thought it was. And look at me, fatter.

  So she lied. Miss Mint lied when she told me in the French room she’s not pregnant. ‘Cos here I am with an enormous great bump sticking out and a test and a few minutes to go ‘til we’re meant to swap back. If we don’t, it’s hello Miss Mint’s life for the rest of mine. And I won’t get to go and see Dad in Sri Lanka.

  “I’ll go and pee now,” I say, snatching my bag up.

  “You’re Marilyn Monroe!” Kai says, running to catch up.

  James is now spouting about “sea of troubles.” If he only knew, I think. We edge past couples all holding hands, listening. It’s still and we go through the huge crowd quite quickly. We brush past Josh and Felix, fingers squeezing knees and so loved-up it’s a wonder I ever thought differently.

  We’re out of the hall. I brush down my white satin dress and Kai and I look round the wide atrium, empty except for two people: Taff and Debono. They’re both coming in from the car park. Debono says,

  “ Guys ! Hello there, Miss Mint! This young lad’s been making sure, in the headlights, we’re seen,” and she’s right: they’re both wearing fluorescent vests and as usual, Debono’s hair’s a real bird’s nest.

  “That’s fantastic. Thanks, Kai,” I nod quickly at Taff, who takes in the scene, looking really quite baffled and like any teenager would.

  “Are you going somewhere?”

  I nod mutely. Kai says, “Miss Mint needs the bathroom.”

  “Oh, so you’re the fiancé!” Debono’s so slow she’s, like, backwards, but we smile and I say,

  “Got to go now, I’m sorry. I’m on stage in a sec,” and I leg it into the disabled toilet.

  Kai keeps watch. I don’t think anyone’s going to fool with an ex-Olympic rower standing in school. I rip open the packet. I read the leaflet. I pull down my pants.

  When it’s suitably wet, I wait for as long as I need to. I pace. Then reorder my dress and my wig and my face and I open the door and Kai looks for a trace of a clue from my frozen stiff, unseeing eyes and he looks down at my hands and then breathes in surprise,

  “You’re not pregnant.”

  No. I’m not. So Miss Mint didn’t lie. And there’s definitely rumblings now, in the sky and in Kai’s tummy.

  There’s also a wonderful smell. Looking left, I see Mum and Martha doing well with a whole load of sandwiches, chocolate fudge cake and towers of éclairs. Mum’s started to bake again.

  Thank god, I think. And also, what’s this? The first of the tasters is Mr Morlis. I watch him spring over to Mum in her/my dress that sparkles and glitters and lip read him saying, “wow. More sure is less,” and she laughs and she twirls in her/my strange attire and I think, if that’s grown up, then Mum, I aspire to be you, to be honest.

  We hot-foot it back through the packed hall that’s nearly stopped hearing James Payne’s soliloquy. Kids are waking up, like flowers after rain. I pass Miss Mint. I stop. I bend down and I say,

  “You’re not pregnant.”

  “I know!” she whispers earnestly. “I told you the truth before. Didn’t you believe me?”

  I just nod and smile. I can breathe again. Must be the wind that’s blown in through the windows. James Payne opines that,

  “... conscience do
th make cowards of us all,”

  I slip up up to the platform and stand just as tall as I can in my Marilyn dress and short hair.

  There’s a crack in the sky. The rain pours down on Fairmere. I look at Kai and he looks at me, and we look at the clock that reads just gone three, then I look for the chair Miss Mint’s been sitting in.

  She’s not there.

  She’s on stage.

  And there’s laughing. Kids rattle and roll with the thunder: Miss Mint dressed as Marilyn Monroe! That’s so cool! And they love it. And it dawns on me that I love it too. I love it more as Lisi than I would have as her. As Phoebe I mean.

  ‘Cos my teacher’s on stage and I’m watching Miss Mint, singing Diamonds Are a Girl’s Best Friend .

  I’m not sure I agree. But it’s her now, not me. Which is how it should be, to be honest.