Suck it up, Nash. I’m fine. Just fancied being on my own for a bit, that’s all. Typical Mum and Dad to panic and get the Embassy involved. I can look after myself.
I could hear it. But I didn’t believe it.
I was in the Chapel, already dressed in my Bob Cratchit outfit for the dress rehearsal straight after morning Prayers. Even though I’d spent a fairly sleepless night, I’d been tasked with setting out the hymn books and assembling the right hymn numbers on the board above the lectern so I focused on the task at hand. I was a mere minutes from the official announcement of Head Girl and I had to put everything else out of my mind.
The Chapel was set apart from the main school, at the start of the wooded valley known as the Landscape Gardens. It was the first building you saw at the bottom of the path. Warm, wooden, bedecked in burgundy and navy curtains, carpets and prayer cushions, it was where we worshipped, where we heard any big announcements and where girls ran if they needed help from a higher source.
‘Hi, Nash.’
Clarice Hoon and a couple of her hangers-on, Allie Powell and Lauren Entwistle, sauntered in and took early places right on the back bench. I heard the creaking of their pews, whispering and a few giggles.
I carried on putting up the numbers on the hymn board. Two five six. One one nine. Twenty-three. Don’t get angry unless you have to, came his voice in my mind. They’re not worth your anger or your tears. ‘Any news about your brother yet?’ Clarice called out. I looked over to them. They had their feet up on the pew in front. ‘Bet you’re worried about him, aren’t you?’
I went over to the organ and got the music sheets ready for Mr Rose.
‘He’s really hot,’ said Lauren.
‘I saw him at Sports Day last year. He came with your parents, didn’t he?’ Allie this time—like Clarice was working them both like a ventriloquist’s act. More giggles. More whispers. ‘Has he got a girlfriend?’
There was a cloth underneath the eagle lectern. I bunched it up and wiped over the top and around the eagle’s bald head, trying hard to zone them out. They’re idiots. They couldn’t find their own backsides with both hands. Don’t even listen. Block it out.
‘Why are you ignoring us, Nash?’
She’d been like this ever since Fourth Form. Last summer I’d reported her for pushing a Pup down the main staircase. There were many things I hadn’t reported her for as well.
‘Just trying to get this place ready,’ I muttered, keeping my head down as I finished polishing the lectern. Now I had done everything I had to do. The hymn books were laid out. The lectern and music were ready. I had to go back down the aisle, past them, to get out of the Chapel and rejoin my class.
I knew one of them would move the moment I was level with them. She blocked my way with her whole body. Don’t vent it. Keep it in check. Stay strong.
‘Let me past, please, Clarice.’
Her face was thick with foundation and blusher. Her breath smelled of sour milk. ‘Why won’t you talk to us? Are you too good for us or something?’
Acid began filling my chest. ‘I have nothing to say to you.’ Lava bubbled up in the middle of my chest. Think of Head Girl. Set the example.
‘Nothing to say? Not like you, is it? You had plenty to say to Saul-Hudson when you reported me.’ She whipped her hair flirtatiously over one shoulder. ‘You never report Maggie and she’s done a lot worse than I have.’
Avoid eye contact. ‘You had your revenge,’ I said, remembering the start of term. She’d put tacks in my outdoor shoes. She never admitted it, but I knew it was her.
‘Why don’t you ever report Maggie Zappa? Are you and her lesbi-friends now?’
‘I report people who do bad things, Clarice. Maggie doesn’t endanger life. Maggie doesn’t abuse children.’ I still didn’t look at her.
She stepped back from me. ‘Abuse children?’ She looked back at the other two, who were laughing. ‘Who have I abused?’
‘I’m not going into it now.’ I tried barging through her, but she held me in place.
‘Whoa there, you can’t just say that and then walk off. That’s libellous.’
She’d learnt that word in English last week. We all had. ‘Actually it’s slander, but it happens to be the truth. Now let me past, please.’
‘No, you’re accusing me of something, so accuse me. Tell me what I’ve done.’
‘Get off me.’
‘No. Finish what you were saying. I abuse children or something.’
‘You really want me to say it now?’ I glanced back at Allie and Lauren. They were transfixed, like they were watching some award-winning movie moment.
‘Say it,’ she snarled.
I looked just past her, still not focusing on her eyes. ‘I didn’t tell Saul-Hudson about the five different St Anthony’s boys I’ve seen you sneaking up the back stairs in the past year.’
She went crimson.
‘I didn’t tell her that you cheated in the Maths test or spat in the school governors’ tea. But yes, I did report that you pushed a new Pup down the stairs. And that I’ve watched you drag a compass across a Tenderfoot’s knee in Prep to see how long it would take for her to scream. I report people who do that kind of thing. Not because I’m a lesbian, but because you’re a psycho. Do you want me to go on?’
I pushed towards the Chapel door. Allie and Lauren looked like two frightened lambs, lined up for the garrotting machine. I was on my way, my foot over the step, almost back out into the crisp, cold morning, when I heard her say it.
‘I hope your brother died slowly. In pain.’
Died, she said. Past tense. Deceased. No longer with me.
Kill her.
No more cooling voice of advice. I flew back into that Chapel like a wind and grabbed her by both shoulders, slamming my forehead against hers with an eye-watering CLUNK.
The rest I don’t remember.
And before I knew it, I was running.
I didn’t stop running until I was deep into the Landscape Gardens. I headed straight for the old wooden Wendy House, opened the yellow front door and shut myself in. It was freezing. All I had on was Bob Cratchit’s threadbare shirt and torn trousers.
I’d often wondered what the consequences would be if I’d let the reckless part of my brain decide things for me. The part of my brain that wanted to key the cars of people my dad had fallen
