just didn’t expect to feel this churned up. Did you feel churned up?’
She asked like it was in the past, like I was over it. At the time, I cried. I think I might have cried a lot. Then I learnt not to.
‘I guess I did. It’s only natural.’
‘Of course it is. Thanks, Jo.’
The park was spotted with small groups of people. Families mostly and some groups of kids and teenagers. Anonymous faces. People I wouldn’t recognise again in a line-up.
Everyone was smiling but they couldn’t all be happy. Statistically impossible. I glanced at Scarlet. Her lips were turned up and her eyes were narrowed as she squinted towards the sun. Sad but smiling, it seemed. I held a mirror to myself. I put my hand towards my face. I was smiling too. In spite of everything. It was the hot August sun. It creased up people’s faces into grimaces with laughter lines. Very deceptive.
‘The bigger the arse, the more likely the chance of them wearing shorts,’ I declared, nodding my head towards an obese woman, ice cream smeared across her chins. It was cruel, but it made Scarlet laugh. That was kind, making her laugh.
‘If I looked like that, I wouldn’t leave the house.’ Scarlet could out-cruel me.
I scanned the horizon for more fat people. There were plenty to choose from. Disgusting white flesh oozing over tight clothes. Like lard in the gravy tray. I pointed to a fat husband and wife.
‘How do they actually do it?’ I asked Scarlet. ‘They couldn’t get near enough to each other.’
Scarlet rolled over with laughter. Her arms and legs splayed out like she was having a fit. Hysterical. Out of control. She really let herself go. I laughed too but swallowed some of it back again.
‘Earthquake alert,’ I whispered as a flabby woman jogged past. Thump, thump, wheeze.
Shared cruelty made us a team. It glued us together.
‘That’s more like it.’ Scarlet sat up and smoothed her clothes down. She was looking at two guys with their tops off, kicking a football about. Showing off. Brown skin sweating in the heat. Aware of Scarlet’s gaze. And mine. I turned away, looking for more people to laugh at. Scarlet nudged me; drew me back again.
‘I’m boiling,’ I moaned. ‘Let’s go and find some shade.’
We bought a couple of Cokes from the van and went and sat under the trees near the bandstand. It was sweltering. I thought about death.
‘What are you thinking about?’ asked Scarlet lazily.
‘School tomorrow.’
School tomorrow, exams at the end of the year, more exams, a job, house, mortgage, life insurance, marriage maybe, children, middle age, menopause, stair lifts, death. Death is at the end of every list. Whatever route you take, whatever path you choose, they all end in the same place. Nowhere.
I remember when I was four years old. I lay on my bed. I couldn’t sleep. I called for my mother.
‘What if I die in the night?’ I asked.
‘You won’t.’She smiled. ‘You’ll still be here in the morning.’
‘Where do you go when you die?’
‘To heaven. Everybody goes to heaven.’
Life was easy then. Somebody had all the answers. Total trust. Then one day you wake up and it hits you. Your parents know nothing. They make it up. They know about as much as you do. So you search for a guru.
Mrs Simms—my first teacher, Miss Castle next door, Mr Bradshaw, Katie’s mum, Mrs Moore. They all promised such knowledge. Facts and figures, meaningless information. But they knew no more than I did, really. When I eventually met my real guru, I learnt that a guru didn’t need to know more than I did. I just needed to be shown what I already knew deep inside. Lily Finnegan: my guru. On that day in the park, my guru was already getting her stuff together, preparing for the journey. Perhaps I was, too.
‘Are you all right?’ Scarlet asked.
‘Do you think I’m depressed, Scarlet?’
‘I don’t know. Do you feel depressed?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’
‘Well, then.’
‘I don’t want to go to school tomorrow.’
‘Neither do I.’
So I was normal, then. That was a relief. But my mind flipped over. I wanted to be normal, fit in, blend into the background. I also wanted to be special, unusual, better than the rest. There it was again. Wanting two opposite things at the same time equals unhappiness. I kicked my thoughts out and looked at the sun.
We sat in an easy silence, thinking, watching, being. The park buzzed with the children chattering. Now and then a shout rang out as an anonymous name was shrieked. I heard my own name and looked up startled. A young girl ran to her mother. A different Joanna.
Flies flitted round where we sat and I swatted them away from my face. The grass felt dry and brittle. I scuffed up the grainy dirt with my heels. Time must have been ticking by but it was going slowly. My thoughts were running ahead, bouncing from one thing to the next, but Scarlet was still thinking about school. Thoughts, for Scarlet, needed airing. Hung up against the skyline for all to see.
‘The reason we don’t want to go to school is that we don’t have to. That’s what I think, anyway. Till now it was the law, see. Now we have a choice. Perfectly legal to leave school, get a job. Leave home if you want. Get married at Gretna Green. We’re going back to school because we want to, and because our parents want us to, I suppose. But there’s bound to be a bit of us that says, shit, I might leave. I reckon it was easier last year when we had to go. No choice, so there was nothing to think about really. Out of our control. Well, that’s what I think anyway.’
I looked at Scarlet and smiled. I didn’t know what to say.
‘Do I talk too much?’ she asked, seriously.
‘Yeah, way too much.’ I laughed, and I pushed her over on the grass and tickled her. Like we were ten or something.
The spots and splashes of yellow and white circled Scarlet’s head like a spring aura. Daisies. I looked across the grassy area in front of us. They had been there all along. I hadn’t seen what was in front of my eyes. I remembered picnics in a daisied field by a stream. Always by a stream. Dad, Mum, Eliza, Me. A complete daisy chain.
‘Daisies!’ I announced to Scarlet. Still ten.
I touched the tiny flowers carefully, picking the ones with the thicker stalks. They felt padded, pliable. Slowly, with my finger nail, I made a tiny slit in the centre of the first stalk. I took another daisy and threaded its stalk through the slit. I focused and took great care. I didn’t want to waste a daisy by ripping at the slit. I picked them so that the stalks were long. I chose ones with the larger flowers, like egg yolks and feathers. I took my time.
‘Hey!’ said Scarlet. She started to thread daisy stalks too. At first she
