Читать книгу Raggy Maggie - Barry Hutchison - Страница 9

Ilet Ameena help me up, then stood there brushing myself down, not quite sure what to say to her. I’d begun to think I would never see her again, and now I couldn’t decide whether to hug her or shout at her. I decided, for the moment, to do neither.

She looked just as she had done when we’d first met, only now her long dark brown hair wasn’t matted to her face with rain, and her deep brown eyes weren’t wide with panic. She still wore the same shabby black jacket and jumper; still had the same oversized walking boots on her feet; still looked like she needed a good meal.

Seeing her brought everything rushing back. Every feeling from Christmas Day – the pain, the fear – came washing over me, all hitting me at once, making my legs go shaky and my head go light.

‘You should’ve kicked that guy’s ass,’ she told me, glaring along the corridor in the direction Billy had gone. ‘Why didn’t you?’

‘Uh, well, because I can’t? You saw the size of him.’

She looked at me like I was crazy. ‘You’re kidding, right?’

‘No, I’m not kidding,’ I said. ‘He’d kill me.’

‘What?’ she spluttered. ‘But…Christmas. The stuff you did. The stuff you can do.’

I pulled my bag back up on to my shoulder and set off along the corridor. ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ I said.

‘Maybe not, but it happened,’ she replied. ‘I saw it.’ She quickened her pace and stopped in front of me. ‘What, you think that guy’s anywhere near as tough as Mr Mu—’

‘Please,’ I implored, ‘can we not do this right now?’ I stepped past her and carried on towards my next class. ‘I’ll talk about it later, but just…not right now.’

She hesitated for a few moments, not following me. ‘No can do,’ she said at last. ‘I’m leaving town. Just dropped in to say goodbye.’

I stopped; turned to face her. I wanted to ask her where she was going. I wanted to ask her why she was going. There were a dozen questions I’d have liked the answer to. In the end, though, I just said: ‘Oh.’

‘Try not to get too cut up about it,’ she said sarcastically.

‘No, I…it’s…I thought you’d already moved on. I haven’t seen you since…you know.’ We stood there, several metres apart, all alone in the corridor. Virtually strangers.

‘Where were you?’ I asked, more forcibly than I’d intended.

‘I’ve been around,’ she shrugged. ‘Just thought you might need some space after everything that happened.’

‘What I needed was someone to talk to,’ I told her.

‘You had people to talk to. You mum. Your gran.’

‘Mum didn’t want to listen,’ I said. ‘And Nan…Nan doesn’t make a lot of sense half the time.’ I glanced down at the floor, then back up at her. ‘I needed someone who’d been through it. But you weren’t there.’

‘Hey, kiddo, I’m not a counselling service,’ Ameena shrugged. She folded her arms across her chest and shifted her weight on to one foot. She was about the same age as me, but insisted on calling me “kiddo”. It drove me nuts.

‘No. But I thought you were a friend.’

‘Friends don’t get you anywhere,’ she scowled, before wincing slightly at the harshness of her words. ‘Listen, you want to talk? Here I am.’

‘I told you, not now,’ I answered. ‘Can we meet up later?’

‘And I told you, I’m leaving.’

‘Just ten minutes after school,’ I said. ‘Please.’

She looked at me for a few moments, then gave a sigh. ‘Ten minutes, then I’m gone. I’ll meet you outside.’

‘OK,’ I replied, fighting back a grin of delight. ‘I better run.’

‘Later.’

I gave her a goodbye nod, then hurried off towards my next class. Halfway along the corridor, I paused. ‘Oh, and Ameena,’ I said, turning round, ‘it’s good to see—’

But the corridor was empty. Ameena was already gone.

I started the first afternoon lesson – History – the same way I’d started the first class of the morning – late. The teacher, Mrs Ennis, didn’t look impressed when I scurried in, but at least she didn’t put me through any ritual humiliation before letting me take a seat.

It was a relief to see that Billy’s desk at the back of the class was empty. He skipped lessons quite a lot, and I was glad he’d chosen to give this one a miss. I’d had more than enough of him for one day.

The rest of the class were already studying a textbook by the time I got settled at my desk. I peeked across at the girl sitting next to me to find out what book we were supposed to be looking at, then began rummaging in my bag for my copy.

A faint, nervous knocking on the classroom door made everyone look up from their work. I ignored it, still busy looking for the book.

‘Enter,’ called Mrs Ennis, in the posh voice she only ever uses when inviting someone in, and I heard the door swing open just as I found the right textbook. As I pulled it out of my bag, I caught a glimpse of a first-year boy hurrying across the classroom, his face red with embarrassment. He thrust a note into Mrs Ennis’s hands, and then quickly beat a retreat.

I flicked through the pages of my book, trying to find the right chapter. Most of my classmates had turned back to their work, leaving only the really nosey ones to watch Mrs Ennis unfold and read the note.

‘Kyle Alexander,’ she said. I looked up to find her looking back. ‘The headmistress would like a word.’

Making my way along the deserted corridor, a sense of dread began to rise from the pit of my stomach. Whatever Mrs Milton wanted to see me for, it was unlikely to be good.

Classroom doors lined the walls on either side of me. Teachers’ and pupils’ voices drifted out of every one as I passed. I recognised some of them, but not all.

A clattering, jeering and the occasional sharp blast of a whistle could be heard from the gym hall, which was also accessed from this part of the school. The trophy cabinet stood proudly by the hall entrance, stocked with cups and shields and medals. My name wasn’t etched on to any of them.

I pushed through the final set of double doors. A bleached, clinical smell wafted up to meet me as I headed towards the headmistress’s office. This was usually as far as any parents made it into the school, so Mrs Milton made sure the janitor kept it sparkling clean.

I’d only been called to see the headmistress once before, and I’d been a gibbering mess of nerves by the time I’d made it down the first flight of stairs. No one ever got summoned for anything good. If Mrs Milton called for you, you could be pretty sure you were in serious trouble.

This time, though, I wasn’t all that bothered. It’d be about the dinner lady, I was certain. She’d want to ask me what had happened, that was all. No harm in that. Nothing for me to worry about.

Morag the school secretary was sitting behind the reception desk as I approached, her eyes fixed on her computer screen. It was common knowledge that Morag could be used as a kind of barometer as to how bad Mrs Milton’s mood was. If she was smiling, things were unlikely to be too terrible. If she didn’t make eye contact, you’d best get your will written before setting foot in the office.

‘I’m supposed to see Mrs Milton,’ I said, stopping in front of the reception desk. Morag looked up at me and beamed broadly. I was filled with relief.

‘Ah yes, Kyle, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Just go through and wait in the office, she’ll be in in a minute.’

‘Thanks,’ I said, returning the smile. I made for the office, a spring in my step. If I spun the story out, I could probably waste the entire lesson filling Mrs Milton in on what had happened. Maybe – if I really went into detail and repeated myself a bit – I could fill the whole afternoon. Not only would I avoid lessons, I’d also be able to avoid—

‘Billy?’ I frowned, as I eased open the door to the headmistress’s office and stepped inside.

He was standing by the window, looking out through the slatted wooden blinds. He whipped round at the sound of my voice, his eyes narrowing to slits when he saw me. ‘What you doing here?’ he demanded.

‘I…a kid came in with a note,’ I explained, feeling my confidence start to crumble. If Billy had been summoned too, then I wasn’t here to talk about the dinner lady. It had to be about what had happened on the way to class. That wasn’t good.

Mrs Milton was ruthlessly strict when it came to fighting in school, and I doubted she’d care that my only contribution to the “fight” was taking a punch to the guts.

Billy made a noise a bit like a horse sneezing and turned back to the window. ‘We’ll say we were just mucking about,’ he instructed. He had obviously come to the same conclusion as I just had. ‘It was nothing, just two mates having a laugh, all right?’

I stepped further into the room, but didn’t answer. He turned and fixed me with a glare. ‘All right?’

‘Right,’ I nodded. Like it or not, going along with him was the only way of cutting our losses. We’d probably still get into serious trouble, but not fighting serious.

We stood there for a while, neither of us speaking. Mrs Milton was taking her time. I suspected she might be waiting just outside the door, enjoying making us sweat. Teachers could be nasty like that, and head teachers in particular.

The office had been redecorated since the last time I was in it. The walls were covered in a cream wallpaper with a swirling design made up of varying shades of brown. A row of filing cabinets stood shoulder to shoulder along one of the walls, facing the high bookshelves that leaned against the wall directly opposite.

There was a thick carpet below me, also brown. As I looked down at it, I realised it was the only time I’d seen carpet in any part of the school. Maybe she got special treatment because she was the head. Or maybe all the teachers’ areas were carpeted.

It struck me that there were whole areas of the school I’d never even seen inside. For all I knew, the staffroom could have disco balls hanging from the ceiling and tiger-skin rugs on the floor.

‘So…’ Billy said. He was still looking outside, but I knew what was coming next. ‘Who told you?’

‘About what?’ I asked innocently.

‘You know what.’

I should never have mentioned the girl and her doll. It had been a knee-jerk reaction to the threat of being beaten up. My meeting with Caddie definitely fell under the heading of “Things Not To Talk About”.

‘Your mum told my mum,’ I lied. ‘She told me.’

‘I knew it,’ he muttered, still not looking at me. I had a suspicion as to who the girl was, but wasn’t sure whether to say anything and risk another beating. I decided to chance my luck.

‘I had an invisible friend too,’ I said. ‘When I was young. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.’

He didn’t answer, which itself told me all I needed to know.

‘I’m not waiting round here any more,’ he scowled, turning from the window. He barged past me on his way to the door.

‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ I asked. I didn’t like the idea of being the only one around for Mrs Milton to shout at.

‘Tell her I was sick and had to go home,’ he told me. ‘Tell her anything, I don’t care.’

I was about to reply when he yanked open the door. He drew up short as we both realised Mrs Milton really had been lurking just outside the office. She stood framed in the doorway, leaning slightly forward, her arms hanging limp and loose by her sides.

‘Mrs M,’ Billy smiled. ‘There you are. I was just going to come and look for…’

His voice trailed off. He’d realised what I had – something was very wrong with Mrs Milton.

Her breathing was noisy; wheezy and rattling at the back of her throat as she inhaled. Her face was as pale as chalk dust, its expression blank and empty, like something dead. Or something that had never been alive in the first place.

Ringing her eyes were two circles of make-up; caked-on, thick black swirls of tar. A streak of crimson lipstick was smeared across her mouth, starting on one cheek and finishing high up on the other. It stood out against her pale skin like a raw, gaping wound. She looked frightening. Grotesque.

And disturbingly familiar.

‘I’m dressing up like Mummy,’ spoke a voice from within her. It was high-pitched and childish, and didn’t belong to her. ‘Would you like to play?’