Kitabı oku: «Paper Butterflies», sayfa 2
‘They’ve been here a week,’ he says.
‘I wanted them to last longer.’ They were for my mom, three different bunches, for each of the years without her.
My dad leans over to try to hug me, but our bikes make it awkward and his arms are heavy.
I won’t look at the water.
‘Shall we keep going?’ my dad asks. He’s sad and this was our happy day. I nod, even though I want to stay here, with my mom’s heron staring out, looking for her.
He begins to pedal slowly away and I stay close behind him.
‘Shall we go to the High Point?’ he calls over his shoulder.
‘Yes,’ I shout back.
It’s not far to bike and the bottom of the hill is close to the path.
‘There’s no way I’m biking up that,’ my dad laughs. It stretches green and steep, the war monument perched proudly on the top. ‘But I’ll race you!’ And he’s off, way ahead of me.
‘That’s cheating.’ I put my bike down gently next to his and I’m running like a leopard. I’m getting closer to him. My legs ache and my breathing burns, but I love it. I push myself faster, but he gets there first. He’s lying on his back, his tummy going up and down so quickly.
I fall down next to him.
‘You need to get fit,’ he laughs. ‘Less eating so much party food and more exercise.’
I hold my breath.
The thought of chocolate cake creeps up my throat.
‘I’m glad your friends came round though,’ my dad says. He stretches out on his side and leans his head on the triangle of his arm. ‘So it’s getting easier, is it?’
I look down at the grass. I pick a blade and another. Picking them and just throwing them away.
‘It’s not going to change overnight, honey, but having a few friends round for your birthday is a start.’
Tell him. There were no friends. It’s all a lie. But my head can’t seem to start the words.
‘Kath tried so hard to make it good for you.’ He sweeps his palm gently across the top of the grass. ‘We’re lucky to have her, aren’t we?’ When he looks at me, I know I can’t say it. He’s got a happiness in his eyes that was burnt out when Mom died. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without her.’
‘I wish I had skin your colour,’ I say. I don’t know why that suddenly comes out now. And it’s sort of not true. Not all the time, in any case. I got my skin from my mom and I want to keep it.
‘Oh, honey.’ He puts his arm out for me and I curl into him and suddenly I feel so safe. I want to stay lying like this forever, where no one can touch me, no one can hurt me. ‘Have other kids been saying things again?’ I don’t move. I don’t nod, or shake my head. Nothing. ‘I know it’s hard, but you’ve just got to ignore them. You’re a beautiful little girl. Every part of you – your brown skin, your big smile, your eyes like perfect chocolate buttons that I want to eat every time I look at you.’
He pretends to eat my cheek, but it tickles and I squirm away.
‘I wish I had long, blonde hair,’ I say. ‘And it’d be so straight.’
‘No, you don’t want that,’ my dad says.
But that’s what she’s got, I want to say. You love Kathleen because of her hair.
‘You see, hair like yours is special. You don’t want to be one of the crowd. It’s good to stand out. To be a bit unique.’
No. I want to sit on the bus with blonde hair. I don’t want Ryan sticking pencils in it, because he says they’ll get stuck. I want to walk down the corridor without them making bird noises at the bird’s nest of my hair.
‘You are so like your mom,’ my dad says. ‘She learnt to keep her head held high and that’s what you’re doing too. You’re worth something, June.’
I press my head into his chest until I find his heart, the steady beat of it. Yes no yes no.
I can’t imagine that my mom’s heart stopped. If it had just kept beating, she’d be here with us now.
I move on to my back and stretch my arm out. If I concentrate really hard, I can feel her fingers in mine. There they are. The warmth of her palm. She strokes my thumb with her own.
Oh, Mom, I miss you.
‘Come on.’ My dad jumps up suddenly. He tugs at my arm and I stand and we walk hand in hand to the monument at the very top. We step on to the stone base and turn to look down over the land. We’re giants and this is our kingdom.
The sun is so warm on my face, my arms, my bare legs. Below, there are tiny fields and houses that I could balance on my fingernails.
Somewhere, Kathleen is the size of an ant. I lift my foot and stretch it out. I see her raise her hands and I smile as I bring the sole of my shoe down hard on her face.
My dad laughs. ‘What are you doing?’
I close my eyes as he puts his strong arm round me. It’s just me and him now. Together we can conquer the world.
BEFORE
four days later
‘It’ll only be for one night.’
‘But I don’t want you to go.’ Fear grips me. Dad’s never gone and left me in the house with Kathleen and Megan overnight.
‘I have to. I have no choice.’ He’s tucking me up in bed and stroking back my hair. He’ll be gone by the time I wake up in the morning and he won’t be back until Friday.
‘Can’t I come with you?’ I ask. ‘I’ll be really quiet. They won’t know I’m there.’
‘You’ve got school to go to.’
‘I could miss it. It’s just two days. And I’ll work really hard to catch up.’
‘Pumpkin, you can’t. There’s no way round this. But it’s not for long. And you’ll have a lovely time. Kath has got lots of nice things planned.’
I go cold all over and turn towards the wall. My head starts to pound and I know I’m going to cry.
‘Come on, June, don’t be like this. Some dads have to go away quite a lot. This is the first time I’ve had to do it.’
But I pull the duvet high over my head.
I feel the mattress lighten and I know he’s got up. There’s a pressure on my back where he must have put his hand. Then it lifts and I can hear him walking gently across my bedroom floor. The door opens and it clicks closed.
He’s gone.
And I didn’t let him kiss me goodbye.
I know that it’s Ryan pulling my hair. On and on, while Miss Hawthorne sits talking to us. She doesn’t notice. She’s too intent on telling us about the angles of a triangle.
‘Oi, Juniper.’ He’s shuffled forward and is whispering in my ear. ‘Caught any fish today?’
I keep staring to the front. I watch Miss Hawthorne’s mouth move, but I don’t hear many of her words.
Kathleen didn’t do anything bad this morning. She woke me up and I got dressed. My heart had been knocking against my skin.
As usual, she’d put the big mound of food out for my breakfast. Muffins and bacon and thick white bread with chocolate spread. Megan had stared at me, as she always does, as she ate her normal bowl of cereal. Sometimes, she looks like she hates me, but at others she seems frightened to even breathe. I looked away from her and kept my eyes down for the whole meal. Waiting.
But nothing.
Kathleen had tied my red ribbon in my hair and she gave Megan her kiss goodbye. She told her she loved her, that she was the most special girl in the whole world, and then she’d shut the door behind us.
Maybe, maybe it’ll be OK.
We’ll eat our meal tonight and watch TV.
‘Your breath stinks of sewage,’ Ryan tells me.
Miss Hawthorne jumps up. ‘So, if you get into pairs, we can start,’ she says.
There’s a rush of movement, a frenzy of worry from the other children. Jennifer and I go to a table and sit together.
‘Haven’t found anyone, Ryan?’ Miss Hawthorne asks. ‘You can work with me.’ Jennifer pinches my arm and I smile at her. Pink pushes itself on to Ryan’s cheeks and happiness spreads slowly through my bones. He sees how much I’m smiling, but I don’t care.
Miss Hawthorne hands out the paper, so in our pairs we can begin.
I’m walking to the lunch hall when I’m grabbed from behind. A hand goes over my mouth and I’m dragged round the corner, my feet kicking on the ground. Other children see, but no one helps me, no one stops them.
The main restroom door bangs open and shut. Ryan and Cherry pull me to the ground and Lauren puts a hand over my mouth.
‘If you scream, your life won’t be worth living,’ Lauren says. Ryan is getting something from his bag. It’s a small pot, and when he cracks the lid off it I can smell that it’s paint. Cherry passes him a brush and he dips it in. I thrash my head from side to side, but I can’t get away.
The white paint is wet and cold on my cheeks. Ryan brushes it over my forehead, across my chin and over my mouth. The chalky taste drips on to my tongue.
They hold my legs down as they brush the skin on my arms, painting me white.
When the pot is empty, Ryan drops it into the bin.
‘You look like your albino friend now.’
He turns his back on me and I hear the faucet turn on and the water splashing into the sink, as he cleans his hands. Lauren and Cherry get up and clean their hands too, while I lie motionless on the floor.
Ryan looks back at me before he goes.
‘A big improvement,’ he says.
They’re gone.
It’s totally quiet.
I look up at the ceiling, at the squares of foam bricks held together with strips of metal. I could lie here forever.
A noise outside makes me scramble to my feet. Two younger girls come in and they scream when they see me and run out giggling.
I won’t look in the mirror. I won’t see what they’ve done to me. I won’t see myself as their dream of white. I’m my mom’s colour and I always will be and that’s what I want to be.
I turn on the faucet that Ryan touched and let the water wash over my arms. My skin comes back. I scrub at my face and work the paint from strands of my hair. I rub some wet tissues over my legs, until every last speck of the stinking white has gone.
And, just like my mom, I hold my head high, push open the door and go to face them.
Megan and I go into the kitchen and Kathleen is here. She has her apron on, tied round her neck and her waist. She turns to us and her face lights up when she sees Megan.
‘Beautiful girl,’ she says as she hugs her. ‘Did you have a good day?’
‘I got chosen for the soccer team,’ Megan says proudly.
‘My clever girl.’ Kathleen takes Megan’s bag and coat from her and brushes past me as she goes to hang them in the hall.
I wait. I don’t know why. It’s the same every day. Every day, I wait and hope that it’ll change, that she’ll notice me. That I’ll be beautiful enough for her to say hello to. And clever enough to get a hug.
‘Tell me about it,’ she says to Megan, and she pulls out a chair so that her daughter can sit down. She pours her a glass of orange juice and passes her the bowl of yoghurt and apple she’s already prepared.
I walk back into the hallway and hang up my coat and bag. I take off my shoes and put them neatly on the shelves before I go up the stairs.
One day, I’ll shout and scream that I exist. One day, they’ll know I’m here.
In my bedroom, the two chocolate muffins sit on my desk, as usual. I sit and eat, because if I throw them away, she’ll know.
Maybe my dad will come back early. They’ll cancel his night away and he’ll be walking up our path in time for supper. I watch the gate through the window until my eyes start to blur. He’s not here. He doesn’t come.
So I curl up on my bed and wait.
‘It’s dinner time,’ Megan calls up the stairs.
I’m not hungry, but I know I have to go.
The smell of Kathleen’s cooking comes up towards me and I push through it as I walk down.
In the kitchen, they’re already sitting at the table. I look from one to the other, but they both ignore me as I sit down. Megan has an expression on her face that I can’t read. They have bowls of freshly made stew in front of them. In my place, there’s a plate of something different.
‘Eat up, June,’ Kathleen smiles at me. She has that look in her eyes and now I can smell that she’s given me dog food.
I look towards the door, but my dad is not there.
‘I can’t,’ I whisper.
‘You will,’ Kathleen says.
They pick up their forks and begin to eat.
I sit as still as a stone. Maybe if I don’t move, I’ll disappear.
I can hear the sounds of their mouths chewing their food. Their forks scrape to pick up more mouthfuls.
Suddenly, Kathleen stands up. She grabs my hair and forces open my mouth.
‘You will eat,’ she says, so quietly. ‘I’ve prepared this for you, so you will eat.’
She shovels some on to a spoon and pulls my head back. I want to scream with the pain, but I have to keep my mouth shut.
The lumps of wet meat are at my lips and she’s trying to force them in. No no no no no. I’m stronger than you. I won’t let you.
‘Megan, hold her nose.’ Kathleen sounds so calm, yet my head is ringing with terror.
Megan hesitates. It’s enough to make Kathleen turn on her.
‘Now,’ she says coldly.
Megan gets up. She squeezes my nostrils shut so tight that my eyes water.
And I have to breathe. I have no choice. The food meant for dogs is forced into my mouth. I gag at the feel of it. I don’t want to swallow it, but my throat jolts and it slips down.
Kathleen spoons more in again, until my mouth is full.
‘You need some water,’ Megan says, and she lets go of my nose and grabs for a glass and there’s water mixing with the dog food and spilling down my cheeks and squeezing down my throat. I’m thrashing out and Megan looks suddenly terrified. She knows I’m finding it hard to breathe.
‘Mom,’ she says weakly.
Kathleen lets me go. My eyes are burning. My throat is numb.
I rush away from them, my school shirt wet, my mouth still full of the runny lumps.
I get to the bathroom before they can catch me and I put my fingers down my throat and retch and retch until my stomach is empty.
The smell of my vomit keeps filling the air.
AFTER
‘But at what point is a child to blame?’ Reverend Shaw asks.
‘Megan knew what she was doing,’ I reply.
‘Did she?’ he asks gently. ‘I wonder really whether she knew. Or whether she had any control over it at all.’
His words are taking me to a place I don’t want to be, a time I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to think about how it could have been. I try instead to concentrate on the flowers that he’s brought in from outside.
‘I’m glad you’re not choosing my wedding flowers,’ I say lightly.
‘Church decoration isn’t my strong point,’ he smiles. But he knows that I’m trying to take the conversation far away.
‘People do strange things when they’re scared,’ he tells me.
‘Megan wasn’t really scared.’
‘She was a child too,’ Reverend Shaw says. ‘A very lost one, I should imagine. You wouldn’t have been the only person frightened of Kathleen. Any child living under her roof would have been terrified at times.’
‘So Megan could just do what she wanted? And get away with it all?’
‘I’m not excusing her behaviour,’ he says quickly. ‘But maybe now you can see it differently? Maybe you can distance yourself from the pain and try to see Megan for what she was – a confused child, just as scared as you, but in a different way.’
I close my eyes as the sunlight streams in through the window. I need to think of something else. How these early spring days are my favourite, before it gets too hot and mosquitoes clam up the skies.
‘June?’ The reverend’s voice is patient as he waits for me to open my eyes.
‘But Megan hurt me.’ My tears are sudden and angry.
‘I know.’
‘I don’t feel sorry for her.’
‘I do,’ Reverend Shaw says calmly.
BEFORE
eleven years old
I decide to turn right outside the house and ride my bike along East Lane, even though there’s never much to see this way. The freedom moves my legs, faster and faster. The fields are flat on either side of me and seem to stretch to the ends of the earth. I pass the Picketts’ Farm and, after longer still, the empty blue building I sometimes see from the car.
I pull my bike to a stop at the edge of Creeper’s Forest. Dad’s always made me promise never to go through it on my own, but, today, it doesn’t seem frightening. I think it will curl round me and protect me from anything bad. I turn my wheels on to its path and start to move again.
The trees are packed tightly and almost block out the sunshine, but I’m not afraid. I like the way that the air is colder. I like the way it smells of dry sticks. It’s bumpy, but if I follow the trees’ lines, it’s not too slow.
I’m humming to myself when I see light. I go towards it until I’m out of the forest, on a smaller track, but I’m not sure where it’s going.
Further ahead, surrounded by more trees, there’s a field of broken trailers. I slow down as I get closer. There are five of them, dotted around the edge of the small field. Weeds clamber up them and I can see that some have had their windows smashed. They have curved, soft roofs, covered with speckled moss and grime. But there’s a path through the long grass, going from one to the other.
I lean my bike against the locked gate and look around. There’s no one here, so I climb over and jump down the other side.
Slowly, I walk down the path to the nearest one. It smells rotten as I stand on my tiptoes and peer in the window. There’s a kitchen, with a kettle and a bench and a table. It looks clean. Somebody has been here.
I walk carefully down the next path. The window of the second trailer is dirty, but I can see through it. There’s no kitchen, just two small chairs and big cushions and piles of paper all over the floor. Hanging from the ceiling are tons of brightly coloured shapes – bees and flowers and aeroplanes.
‘Can I help you?’ The voice startles me and I jump back.
‘I was just looking,’ I say.
He’s smaller than me, but not by much. His white cheeks are red from the sun and he has large freckles dotted over his nose. His glasses are too big.
‘Why?’ he asks.
‘I saw the trailers.’
‘They’re not mine,’ he says. ‘But I use them.’
‘Oh.’ I look back towards my bike. I can see its yellow handlebars sticking between the wood of the gate.
‘Are you on your own?’ the boy asks.
‘Yes.’
He looks at me, as though I’m meant to say something else.
‘Did you make the paper shapes?’ I ask, looking at them through the smeary window.
‘Yes.’ He smiles and small dimples dent his cheeks.
‘Can I see them?’ I ask.
‘OK.’ He nods.
He climbs up the steps of the trailer next to us and pushes open the door. I follow him up. Inside, the air is dry.
‘This is my art room.’
‘Did you really make these?’ I reach out gently to touch a paper Christmas tree that hangs from its star. It has so many layers and at the end of each branch sparkles a tiny bauble.
‘Yup,’ he says proudly. ‘I’m Blister, by the way.’
‘Blister?’ I smile cautiously.
‘Long story.’
‘I’ve got lots of time.’
‘I was left out in the sun too long as a baby. Got burnt so bad that I was one big blister. And the name stuck.’
‘That wasn’t a long story.’
‘Nope, I suppose it wasn’t,’ he laughs. ‘Do you want to see the other trailers?’
‘OK.’
He moves past me and we go down the steps, along the path and back towards the first trailer.
His T-shirt is too small. His trousers are too long.
He goes up the steps and moves back so that I can come in.
‘Welcome to my kitchen,’ he says with a bow.
‘It’s lovely.’
‘Thank you. Do you want a drink?’ He opens a cupboard and gets two glasses out. ‘You can have water, or water.’
‘I’ll have water, then.’ I nearly laugh, but I don’t.
He unscrews the lid of a big bottle, fills the glasses and passes one to me.
‘What’s your name?’
‘June.’
‘That’s a nice name.’
‘Thanks.’ I sip the water to stop a blush creeping up.
‘Were you born in June?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’s the nicest month of the year, I reckon. Not too cold, not too boiling hot. In August, it’s like an oven in here.’
‘Whose are these trailers, if they’re not yours?’
‘They were a man’s, called Mr Jones, but he killed his wife and then killed himself.’
‘He killed her?’ I ask, looking around.
‘It’s all right,’ he laughs. ‘I don’t think it was here. But their only child lives miles away and can’t be bothered to keep the trailers properly, or sell the land. And no one else wants to come here – everyone says they’re haunted.’
‘Are they?’
‘I’ve never seen a ghost in them.’
I follow him as he goes out and down the steps.
‘So now they’re all yours?’ I ask as we walk back down the path.
‘I pretend they are.’
We go back into the trailer with all the shapes, and I copy Blister as he sits on a beanbag. He’s a bit chubby, like me. His fingers are muddy and his nails are bitten down.
‘I’ve been digging,’ he says.
I look away. ‘Oh.’
‘So, where do you live?’ he asks, putting his glass down on the floor.
‘Potter’s Lane.’
‘Down by the river?’
‘Yes,’ I say, my heart thumping a bit faster. ‘Where do you live?’
‘Near Picker’s Yard.’ He takes a piece of red paper from the table and starts to fold it.
‘I don’t know it,’ I say. Blister unfolds the paper and rubs it flat again.
‘There’s not much to know,’ he smiles. ‘But if you like chaos, you’d love my house. It’s good chaos, though.’ He drinks a bit of his water. ‘Now, if this was orange juice, it would be delicious.’
‘It’s still nice.’
‘Yeah, I suppose it is.’
‘How did he murder her?’ I ask.
‘Who?’ He looks surprised.
‘The husband. Who owned these trailers.’
‘Oh, right.’ Blister leans on his hands and stares at me across the table. His eyes are almost black, which looks a bit strange, as his skin is so rosy and white. ‘They say he strangled her and then chopped her up and . . .’
‘No!’ I laugh and put my hands over my ears. ‘I don’t want to hear it.’
Blister smiles at me. His dimples are on his cheeks again.
‘Are you chicken?’ he asks.
‘No.’
‘I bet most of it’s rumours.’
‘How long does it take you to do them?’ I ask, looking up at the ceiling.
‘My paper shapes?’ We both stare at them, hanging like little planets. ‘Depends which one. That one –’ Blister points to a seagull, flying silently above our head – ‘that didn’t take long. But that one . . .’ There’s a castle, near the window.
‘It’s amazing.’
‘Yeah, I like it. That one took me a few hours. It took me ages just to get the turrets right.’
‘Can I touch it?’
‘You’ll see it better if you stand on a chair,’ Blister says, getting up.
I copy him, until I’m nose to nose with the castle walls.
‘It’s six pieces of paper, all stuck together, with thin cardboard for the floor,’ he says. When I touch the castle, it spins slightly. He’s drawn a princess waving from one of the windows. ‘This is my best bit.’ Blister unhooks a thin piece of string and lowers the drawbridge. Inside is a little knight on a plastic horse, his sword pointing towards us.
‘Did you really make the castle yourself ?’
‘It’s not so hard.’ He draws the bridge up and gets down from his chair.
‘I think it’s really cool.’
‘Thanks.’ He moves the red piece of paper so that it meets the corner of the table. ‘I could teach you one day.’
‘Really?’
‘Course.’ Blister rubs at the mud on the back of his hand. It changes to a light smudge.
‘You don’t go to my school,’ I say.
‘I don’t go to any school,’ he laughs.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Our mom and dad teach us at home.’
‘How?’
‘They take it in turns, depending if Dad’s working.’
‘You really don’t go to school?’ A murmur of jealousy flickers inside me.
‘No. We learn at home. Well, we try to. It’s a bit chaotic at our house. I don’t think they know where half of us are most of the time.’
‘Are there lots of you?’
‘Seven – five boys and two girls. Nine, if you count Mom and Dad.’ He picks up a black crayon from the tub next to him and starts to draw a square in the middle of the red paper. ‘How many do you have?’ He looks up. ‘Brothers and sisters?’
‘One. Sort of,’ I say, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to think about Megan in here.
‘How can you have a sort of ? Are they cut in half ?’ Blister is drawing all sorts of thin lines in the middle of his square.
‘She’s a stepsister.’
‘Oh, one of those.’ He swaps the crayon for a pencil. ‘It must be quite nice, just having one.’
‘I guess.’
‘Most of mine are adopted. Mom and Dad had Maggie and me, but then they couldn’t have any more, so they adopted lots instead. It’s good, though.’
I watch him draw and rub at the lines. His eyes screw up a little bit, in concentration. He scratches his shoulder, before he picks up the paper and shows it to me.
‘What do you think?’
I think it’s meant to be the skull of some sort of animal.
‘It’s good,’ I say, although I’m not really sure it is. But I like the way that he took his time drawing it, how careful he was.
‘You can have it, if you want.’ Blister folds it in half and then half again and passes it to me.
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘So, if you have a stepsister, does that mean you live with your mom or dad?’ he asks, sipping at his water again.
‘My dad.’
‘Where’s your mom?’
‘She’s dead,’ I say. The word hangs between us, then drifts up to the coloured shapes above our heads.
‘Do you miss her?’ Blister asks quietly.
‘Yes.’
He nods his head, as though he knows.
‘Do you want more water?’
‘No. I should be getting back.’
‘Will you come here again?’
I stand up and put my skull picture in the back pocket of my shorts.
‘Yes,’ I say, and he smiles. No one ever smiles because of me. Well, only my dad and Jennifer. It feels like the sunshine is actually in the trailer. ‘I like it here.’ I smile back at him.
Blister stays on the steps of the trailer and watches me clamber over the gate. When I look back, he salutes me and I wave at him before I pedal off quickly.
The wind is warm on my face as I rush back through the forest.
Blister is my friend. Blister is my friend.
I know I won’t tell a soul. I’ll hide my piece of red paper and keep the secret of him tucked so close that no one will ever know.
‘Come in,’ Mr Cleadon says, standing up from behind his desk. ‘Do take a seat.’
‘Thank you,’ Kathleen says. She lets go of my hand briefly, as we sit down, but then she picks it up again.
‘I’m sorry to have to call you in, Mrs Kingston.’
‘That’s fine.’ Kathleen smiles at him and then at me.
‘I’m not sure if June has told you what this is about?’
‘No.’ She looks straight at my headmaster. Her clogged eyes don’t blink.
‘Right. Well. June has been caught stealing,’ Mr Cleadon says. I breathe in sharply and feel Kathleen tense beside me. I think Mr Cleadon expects her to say something, but there’s only silence and the ticking of the clock on the shelf in the corner. ‘Unfortunately, some money and possessions went missing and they were found in June’s bag and drawer.’
‘It wasn’t me,’ I say quietly.
Mr Cleadon puffs the air in his cheeks. ‘We’ve been through this, June.’
There’s no point me saying any more. I’ve tried telling him the truth, but he won’t believe anything I say.
‘Are you sure about this?’ Kathleen asks. She reaches over and tucks a curl behind my ear. I try not to flinch. ‘June is such a good girl. I find it hard to believe that she would do that.’
‘Some children saw her do it.’
Kathleen shakes her head. ‘It’s been a difficult time for June,’ she says. She looks so like she cares that I almost believe her. ‘You know that she lost her mother a few years ago.’
‘I’m fully aware of that, Mrs Kingston. But stealing is something we can’t excuse.’
‘No, of course not. And I’m sure that June is sorry. It’s just that there are special circumstances here.’
‘I know. Which is why, because this is the first time, the punishment in school will be minimal. And I hope that at home you’ll make it clear to her that stealing is just unacceptable.’
‘Of course. June knows that it’s wrong. You have my word that it won’t happen again.’
‘Try to keep out of trouble, June,’ Mr Cleadon says with a smile that barely reaches his mouth, let alone his eyes.
We get up to leave and Kathleen kisses the top of my head.
‘It’ll be OK,’ she says as she takes my hand and leads me from the room.
We sit through supper and I’m waiting. Slowly, I eat the pile of food in front of me. I don’t look up once.
Megan is telling Kathleen about her day, about the volcano they’re making as a class and how she’s in charge of the flames. She’s going to cover card with bright tissue paper and stick it jagged from the top.
The brownie is sickly sweet and I force spoonful after spoonful of it down. The sponge is sprinkled thick with sugar and sits heavy on my teeth. I scrape my plate, until every last drop is gone.
‘So, you’re a thief as well.’ Kathleen’s words are for me. I don’t want them, but that doesn’t stop them. ‘I bet your mom was a thief too. Nasty little woman that she was.’
Anger bubbles in me. It takes over my bones and I have to clasp the sides of my chair to stop myself from screaming.
‘Like mother, like daughter, and we can’t be having that.’ Kathleen stands up and walks out of the room. I see her going across the hallway and into the living room.
‘You’re at the bottom of the heap,’ Megan says. ‘And your mom was ugly too.’
It’s too late to stop myself. I jump up so quickly that Megan’s eyes flash with fear and I’m on her, pulling her hair and thumping her with my tight fists.
‘She wasn’t, she wasn’t, she wasn’t.’ I don’t care that I’m crying. And I don’t care that Megan is curled up, screaming on the floor.
I hear the front door opening, but I carry on.
‘June!’ my dad shouts. He pulls me from her, just as Kathleen comes back in. She has her sewing basket in her hand.
