Good Me Bad Me(32)

‘I see him, sir, he’s coming.’

‘Hurry up, Joe. No, you can’t, we’ve waited long enough for you, just sit in the first seat you find, please.’

He looks towards the back, shrugs, drops into the seat next to me. Catcalls and whistles follow, he holds his middle finger up in the air.

‘Pipe down, the lot of you,’ Mr Dugan says, through the microphone. ‘We should get there in about forty minutes or so, traffic dependent. When we arrive you are not to wander off, understood? Disembark from the bus, go inside and wait as a group at the ticket desk. Please remember, all of you, even out of uniform you represent both schools. Any questions?’

‘Can we stop at McDonald’s?’

‘Any sensible questions? No. Excellent. Sit back and enjoy the view and for goodness’ sake, Oscar Feltham, take your feet off the seats, manners of a pig.’

I can see Joe looking at me, little sidelong glances, checking for my second head. I turn further towards the window, away from him, yet the smell of him follows. A spicy depth, some kind of spray deodorant, not unpleasant though the thought embarrasses me. He asks me something. My instinct is to ignore but he says it again, leaning forward in his seat so he’s in my line of vision. I lift one of my headphones away from my ear, turn to face him. Hair, ginger. Eyes, blue.

‘Sorry, what was that?’

‘Would you like some chewing gum?’

‘No thanks.’

‘Oh go on, it’s the menthol one, dead strong.’

He holds the packet towards me. No thanks, I tell him again, wishing I was able to relax, act in a more normal, open way. More practice needed. He withdraws his hand, shrugs, puts a piece in his mouth, letting out an exaggerated breath moments later as the menthol kicks in. He smiles and says, probably should have said no as well, opens his mouth, pants a little. I don’t want to see his tongue, so I look away.

‘Have you been to the London Dungeon before?’ he asks.

Somewhere very similar.

‘No.’

His voice is low, he doesn’t want the back of the bus to know we’re talking.

‘Neither have I, should be a real laugh though.’

I don’t reply, I don’t agree.

‘You don’t look that keen.’

‘Not really.’

‘How come?’

‘I’m not feeling very well.’

‘You’re not going to spew, are you?’ He smiles as he says it.

‘I don’t think so, no.’

‘Phew. You’re not from here, are you? I know you’re staying with Phoebe and her folks for a bit.’

I nod.

‘Whereabouts are you from?’

‘I’ve moved around a lot.’

‘That’s cool, I’ve only ever lived here. I’m Joe by the way.’

‘Milly.’

‘So how is life in the Newmont household?’

‘It’s okay.’

‘Phoebe not being a pain in the arse then?’

The surprise on my face lasts long enough for him to notice. He winks at me. Oh god.

‘Come on, I’ve known her for years, she can be a real bitch. Pretty hot, but still a bitch.’

‘She’s not all bad.’

‘Really? That surprises me, she’s not one for competition.’

‘I’m not in competition with her.’

‘She’ll see it that way, trust me, and because you’re different she won’t be a happy bunny.’

I can’t bring myself to ask him what he means by different. The suspicion of a set-up between Phoebe and him, a conversation late at night where she asked him to pretend to like me, then make me look like a fool.

‘Being different is good by the way. Trust me, I’m ginger.’

He smiles again, then asks, ‘Are you coming to Matty’s party at half-term?’

Another hot topic on the forum. Free house, carnage. Teenagers’ default mechanism is. Party. I’m not sure I got that gene.

‘I haven’t been invited.’

‘I’m inviting you.’

‘I’m not really into parties.’

‘Everyone’s going, it’ll be a real laugh. You and Phoebs should come together, Matty’s house is only a few streets from yours.’

‘Not sure, maybe. I might listen to my music now if that’s okay.’

‘Sweet, I’ll catch a few zeds before we get there.’

I feel relieved when it’s over. The conversation. And when the bus pulls up outside the Dungeon we pile off, and Joe rejoins his group. The girls stay close to the boys, or the boy they laid dibs on weeks ago. What happens less than twenty minutes later is my fault. I let my guard down after talking to Joe. Kindness is lethal.

The front of the group is where I’d planned to be, close to the teachers and tour guide with his blood-stained costume and brown teeth, but I’ve ended up nearer the back. Phoebe and her gang are there and Claudia, the German exchange student, more interested in kissing the boy she’s with than the displays. Phoebe calls her a slag, pushes past her. The lighting in the tunnel is low, throwing shadows small and large up the walls. Every now and then screams are released from speakers hidden somewhere, and laughter. Nasty laughter, a torturer enjoying his job. A head being chopped off. A sensation of being followed. Watched. Eyes hidden in the dark, the skin on my scalp pulls tight. Gunshot flashes of a place I’ve been to that looks like this, a place I never want to go to again.