No Alarms

by Beckett, Bernard

  She looked around the class but no one spoke. Sharon could tell some of them were thinking they’d put one over her, that she was going to be an easy touch after all. Sharon didn’t. There was too much about Ms Black she recognised, the way she was so keen to negotiate, the way she leant over behind the teacher’s desk and produced a touch ball she must have left there especially, because she’d had it planned that way all along.

  Most of the others were too busy whooping it up to notice, rushing back round past the Science block and out onto the field. Sharon hung back, avoiding Ms Black’s eye as she walked past her.

  ‘I know you don’t I? Were you up at the nationals last year?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Sharon nodded, looking down to the ground, feeling sort of shamed, trying not to show she was half-pleased to be recognised.

  ‘Thought so. You’re on my team then.’

  Not everyone played. Touch was big at the school, one of the things they were known for, but there were still a few people who weren’t into it. Sharon thought about not playing, to show she hadn’t been sucked in, but Madeleine was one of the others piking. Sharon wasn’t going to sit next to Madeleine for forty minutes just to prove a point. And she loved touch. Played it at lunchtime sometimes, days she didn’t have any cigarettes.

  Ms Black wanted to play girls on boys but the boys all mocked her and complained they wouldn’t get a decent game. So she compromised and made the two loudest guys come and play with the girls. Sharon could see them falling for it so easily, strutting across like they’d come to do some huge favour.

  It was the perfect afternoon for it, the sun was out but it wasn’t hot. The sort of day where you wouldn’t end up smelling too bad. It was the perfect way to get to know a new teacher too. Sharon had to admit Ms Black was a good player, good enough to shame the boys half the time, and keep the game even. The way she ran amongst them, mocking the opposition, rubbing it in every time her team scored, it was hard not liking her. Half an hour into the game, when Mr Harp, a science teacher whose lab backed onto the field, stormed out to complain, it got even harder.

  Mr Harp was famous for his fits. Once he’d sent a whole class to the Principal’s office. Another time he’d locked Sharon’s class in at the end of the day and left them there until Sharon had taken control and smashed a window. He was a little man with an orange moustache and eyes that swelled up behind his glasses when he started to lose it. He didn’t try to be polite about it, or even start a conversation. He just waited until the next turnover and pounced on the ball. Then he stood there in the middle of the game, looking like one of those referees who’s in love with his whistle. Sharon turned to Ms Black, to see how she’d react. They all did.

  ‘Hi, I’m Trish. I don’t think we’ve met.’ She walked over, wiping her hand on her shirt and offering it to him. He didn’t take it. ‘Is there something wrong?’

  ‘What do you mean is something wrong? I’ve got a class in there and they can’t work when this is going on out the window. You’re a reliever are you?’

  He spoke to her as if she was one of the students.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Well perhaps I can believe it’s just ignorance then. Come and see me at the end of the spell if you like and I’ll explain how things work here. You can have your ball back then too.’

  He turned to walk away but Ms Black was too quick for him. She brought her foot up and kicked the ball out of his hands, catching it as he turned. It was a nice move and the class applauded. Mr Harp’s face went red and his moustache twitched. He looked like a traffic light that couldn’t make up its mind.

  ‘I’ll be taking this up with the Principal,’ he fumed.

  ‘No worries,’ she smiled back at him and held his stare until he was forced to walk away. A cheer went up and Sharon joined in. It was impossible not to. ‘Why don’t you bring your class out too?’ she yelled after him as he power-walked his way out of there. ‘It’d do you good to loosen up a bit.’

  The game ended in a draw and Ms Black took them to the corner of the field, although by then she was Trish. They sat down on the grass. Sharon moved near the front. She’d scored a try, right at the end, and it was turning into a good day, one where there was less reason to drift out to the edges.

  ‘Right, back to the book.’

  They groaned, but not too much. They had a deal.

  ‘So you,’ she pointed at Junior. ‘You didn’t like the book. Why not?’

  ‘Oh well, I don’t know?’ Junior shrugged.

  ‘He hasn’t even read it Miss,’ Sharon said. ‘He’s just a fool.’

  ‘Have you Sharon?’ Sharon felt everyone looking at her and immediately she regretted having spoken. It was like for a second she’d forgotten it was English, where everything she tried to say always turned to custard. She didn’t even remember the book. She just remembered she didn’t like it.

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘And did you like it?’ Sharon wished Trish’d notice, see how it was making her feel.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I dunno.’ Sounding stupid, when it wasn’t quite like that. It wasn’t fair.

  ‘It’s not very realistic Miss.’ Jason came in with the save. He was trying to impress her, same as he’d been going hard-out in the game, not knowing how obvious he was. ‘She’s so lame. Why doesn’t she just kill the guy and stop whining about it in her diary.’

  ‘Now you’ve ruined it for me wanker,’ Junior complained. ‘I can’t read it now, I know the ending.’

  ‘And no one keeps diaries Miss,’ Sharon added, determined to show she did have something to say, something that wasn’t ‘dunno’, or ‘reckon’.

  ‘Well yes funny you should mention that Sharon,’ Trish said.

  ‘Oh good one Sharon.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  ‘You wish.’

  ‘No no,’ Trish interrupted. ‘I was going to do this anyway.’

  Yeah, all of it. You’ve planned the whole thing. Maybe even paid old Harp to go psycho. It’s good though. Shows you’re not stupid, not like most of them.

  ‘The thing is I think you’re right okay? I think this story is absolute bullshit.’

  ‘I thought you hadn’t read it.’

  ‘Well I guess I might have lied there.’ She smiled and leant forward, holding her toe in a stretch. ‘I mean, it’s not real is it? It’s about a world that maybe people want you to believe in, but you can’t, because you’re here and you know it’s not real. So I was thinking, why not write about some real people for a change? Let’s write about ourselves. That’s the work I’m setting, it’s the price you pay for your touch lesson Junior.’

  ‘Yeah right.’

  ‘But you’ve given us reading too Miss,’ Ollie complained.

  ‘It can be anything you like.’ Trish ignored him. ‘About yourself. A poem, a diary entry, a story. True or imagined, a mixture if you like. Any length too, so long as it’s in some way real.’

  ‘I can’t do it this week Miss,’ Junior said. ‘I got too much other stuff on.’

  ‘Yeah, what happens if we don’t do it?’

  ‘I’ll kick your arse,’ Trish replied, with a big smile like she was some Auntie come down to visit, someone who could get away with stuff like that. ‘Hey, what’s the time? Five past. Near enough eh? Right, away you go then.’

  Sharon had left her bag in class and had to go back for it. By then everyone else had gone and it was just Trish there.

  ‘Sharon isn’t it?’ Trish looked up from her desk, where she was writing ‘all present’ on the absence sheet, even though she hadn’t taken a roll. ‘Nice game.’

  ‘It was alright.’

  ‘Got any ideas for the assignment then?’

  ‘Ah, not really. I don’t really get what you want us to write.’ Sharon shrugged, feeling stupid again, trying hard not to let it show.

  ‘Something about yourself.’

  ‘Yeah, guess.’

  ‘Sa
y maybe something you like. What’s something you really like?’

  ‘There’s more things I hate,’ Sharon said.

  ‘Okay then, give me them. Make it a list. Write me a list of the ten things you hate most. Yeah, that would be great. I’ll look forward to it.’

  And her eyes lit up, like she really meant it.

  You won’t be so excited when you see it and you realise I don’t have that much to say.

  ‘Right.’ Sharon picked up her bag and headed out the door.

  ‘Later then Sharon,’ Trish called, like she was some old friend.

  ‘Yeah later,’ Sharon called back, even though something about it felt sort of weird.

  THINGS I HATE

  I hate feeling stupid.

  And what? Sharon sat with her back to the concrete of the overbridge support, feeling the traffic rumble above her, staring down at the paper. She didn’t feel like being at home. It was going to end up that sort of day. The sort where no matter where you settle it feels wrong, like when you’re desperately tired but you can’t get comfortable enough to sleep. Her head was full of pictures that changed shape as soon as she looked at them. The smile she had caught on Mrs Flynn’s face, just as she walked out of her office, the bruise below Justin’s right eye, that she’d seen on him down the other end of the corridor, before he saw her looking and ducked into the toilets. And Trish running round the field, getting into it, fitting in like she’d been there all her life. It was Trish kept coming back the clearest of all.

  So she sat there, a place they often stopped on the way home, to smoke and gossip and stare at the kids who used it as a short cut across to the expensive suburb up on the hill. But writing was never easy and writing for Trish was twice as hard. What would she think when Sharon handed in a piece of work angry with crossing outs, that showed she didn’t know any of the right words, and the words she did know she couldn’t spell?

  ‘Just write the way you’d say it,’ teachers were always saying. ‘Like you’re speaking out a conversation in your head.’ Only when Sharon thought she didn’t use words, or if she did they weren’t the sort of words you could spell out with sounds and letters.

  So she’d managed four words, seven if you counted the title, in half an hour, and she knew that was as far as she was going to get. Anything more and Trish would see what a waste of effort she was, same as they always did.

  ‘And then I worked out that if you go back to the master screen, from level five, through Control T, you get a list of all the codes.’

  It was Mark’s voice interrupting her thoughts, his excited talk carrying along above the train lines. Sharon looked up. He was with Chris, his only friend, the two pairs of chubby white legs keeping step with each other, their heads down so they hadn’t even seen her. Good timing she figured. The sort of timing that can make a half idea seem whole.

  ‘Hi boys,’ she said, smiling because she knew it’d make them feel nervous. They both stopped, standing fidgeting with the straps of their heavy school bags.

  ‘What do you want?’ Mark asked.

  ‘Just you,’ Sharon said standing so she blocked their way forward. ‘Chris, you can piss off home.’

  She looked at Chris who glanced sideways at Mark, uncertain. Mark nodded, just once, a small movement like even the thought of disturbing the air frightened him, and Chris took a nervous step to the side.

  ‘Ah, yeah, see you later then eh Mark? I’ll ring you tonight.’ And if you’re not there I’ll call the police, he meant. Sharon smiled again. Knowing she’d never be that pathetic made her happy.

  ‘Yeah, okay,’ Mark squeaked back and Chris ran off. Mark looked up and then quickly away, as soon as Sharon caught his stare.

  ‘What is it?’ he mumbled. It wasn’t the first time she’d stopped him like this, to get some homework off him.

  ‘You’re coming back to my place.’

  ‘Eh?’ He went instantly pale, like there was nothing he could think of that would scare him more. ‘Um, now?’

  ‘Yeah now.’

  ‘I, I can’t. I’ve got my paper run.’

  ‘It’s not going to take long,’ Sharon said, knowing she wouldn’t have to argue. He’d do it.

  ‘What is it I have to do?’ He tried, like that could make a difference.

  ‘Can’t tell you. It’s something I have to show you.’

  Which was true and better. It sounded frightening too. Mark’s face tightened even more.

  ‘Um, later maybe. What about tomorrow? I’ve got a free last.’

  Sharon could see all the fear turning to desperate hope, till she grabbed his wrist and jerked him forward. With her other hand she pulled out her lighter.

  ‘Like the smell of flesh burning then do you?’

  She flicked down and the flame appeared, dancing in the breeze like it was itching for the chance.

  ‘No, of course not, I mean okay, I’ll come with you. Just not too long okay?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Sharon could tell he’d never been this way before. It was in the way he walked, keeping close, like she was his protector, even though she scared him half to death. She found herself becoming angry with him, for being such a wimp, and the angrier she got the faster she walked, till she could hear him puffing behind her, struggling to keep up.

  It must have looked crazy, her swinging in through the front door, this little blob of wheezing behind her, not knowing which way to look, or even where to stand in a place like this. Kaz was in the lounge, TV up way loud, and the look she gave them was classic. ‘You could do better than this girl’ it said, and Sharon had to agree.

  ‘Mum, this is Mark.’ She didn’t usually bother with introductions but she could see how small it was making him feel. ‘We’re just going down to my room. Don’t disturb us.’

  And Mark’s face went even redder, although you wouldn’t think that was possible, and the ‘hello’ his lips stumbled over didn’t sound like a word at all.

  ‘Right, sit down,’ Sharon ordered as soon as she’d slammed the bedroom door behind her. Mark balanced the edge of his arse on the end of the bed, because it was that or the floor, which was covered in clothes that needed washing. ‘Okay, I want you to write something for me.’

  ‘Homework?’ He asked.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I don’t know why you bother. If you’re not going to do it yourself. You won’t learn anything,’ he protested.

  ‘I am going to do it myself. I’m just going to get you to write it out, so there aren’t any mistakes, okay?’

  She glared at him.

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘You’ll do better than suppose you little shit,’ Sharon hissed. She grabbed Mark hard, each hand with a fistful of collar, and lifted his startled frame off the bed. Then she swung him hard against the wall, hard enough for the room to shake. Kaz wouldn’t come running. She’d seen him. She’d know there was nothing to worry about. Sharon leant forward so her face was right in his and his expression contorted, like his features were trying to escape. ‘And you won’t tell anyone about this. Not a fucken single person. Not even any imaginary friends you might have. Get it?’

  As soon as she let him go the tears came, like her grip on him had been holding them back. He slid down against the wall till his arse met the floor and buried his head in his hands so all she could see was his red hair going up and down in time with the snotty breathing. Sharon waited for him to get over it. She knew he would. He had no choice. He rubbed his eyes and looked at her, like there was a part of him half expecting an apology, but that was never going to happen. So he stood back up and got his bag, took out pen and paper and sat back down on the edge of the bed, ready.

  Mark took it all down without asking questions. It was easier, just saying it, and the more she said the quicker the words came, a list of hates piling up so high she almost lost sight of Mark sitting there, and got a bit loose with the descriptions. He didn’t seem to notice though, he was too busy trying to keep up, his little
knuckle going white around the pen, his face screwed up in concentration. He only let the look slip once, halfway down the list.

  ‘And I hate those guys when you look them in the eye they look back at you like they think you’re the biggest piece of trash they can imagine. But then other times, when they don’t think you’re watching, they’ll be letting their eyes wander all over you, trying to get a look up your skirt if they can, like them hating you doesn’t matter at all.’

  He blushed at that, just quickly, but he still wrote it down.

  ‘And I want it done tomorrow,’ was all Sharon had to say when she was finished spewing her ideas out into the room, more ideas than she knew she had. ‘Typed up on a computer, not in your handwriting.’

  ‘Um are you sure this is what they wanted?’ Mark moved to the door, like he was scared she might attack him again.

  ‘Yes I fucken am. You think I’m stupid or something?’

  And he wasn’t so stupid to try to answer that. She heard his feet breaking out into a trot as he headed down the hall.

  • • •

  Mark wasn’t at school the next day. Probably the first time he’d ever wagged, Sharon reckoned. Showed he was scared of her. That was good. Justin was there though, still avoiding her in the corridors, his big purple bruise slowly fading to yellow. She’d decided she was never going to talk to him again but it wasn’t the sort of decision designed to last. So she cut English and followed him across the field to the bike shed, where she’d seen him heading at the end of interval. She came up round the back, so he wouldn’t get a chance to walk away, and paused for a moment at the rusting iron wall, just out of sight, smelling his second-hand smoke on the breeze. It was somehow cool, being that close and him not knowing she was there.