Good Me Bad Me(40)

‘I didn’t hear a thing,’ Saskia says.

Nobody looks surprised.

‘Yeah, well, it took me ages to get back to sleep.’

‘Sorry, Phoebs,’ soothes Mike. ‘Anyway, we were just discussing half-term, it’s a shame you can’t come with us.’

‘Tramping about in a wood in the middle of nowhere, no thanks. I’d much rather go to Cornwall with my friends, thank you very much.’

Devon’s near Cornwall. It used to be home.

‘Lots of woods there too, you know,’ Saskia says.

It’s not a bad attempt, verging on funny, but Phoebe doesn’t think so, turns her back, fills a glass with water from the tap. I see Mike’s hand move off the table, rest on Saskia’s thigh. A captain of a shaky ship, he is. Mutiny possible. Likely.

‘You need to eat something, Phoebs.’

‘Nah, not hungry, I’m on a diet.’

‘Not first thing in the morning you aren’t, you need breakfast.’

‘Why? I don’t see Mummy dearest having any.’

‘She’s not spending the whole day at school or captaining a hockey team, is she?’

Phoebe mumbles into the lip of the glass, no, she’s not doing anything as per usual.

‘At least grab a cereal bar from the cupboard then, eat it at break.’

‘Fine,’ she says. ‘Whatever.’

Phoebe and me leave together, no choice, Mike and Saskia wave us off. We split company the next house down. I watch her long lean body as she crosses the road, walks with confidence, a world away from what’s on the inside. A couple of weeks ago I went down to the laundry to get a clean towel, heard voices. Sevita doing the ironing, Phoebe cross-legged on the floor doing homework. Sevita looked up as I walked in, smiled, hello, Miss Milly. Phoebe’s face said it all, angry. Jealous. Didn’t want me to be there, didn’t want to share. What she can’t get from Saskia, she finds elsewhere, needs it.

Passing the tower blocks reminds me that I forgot to tell Mike and Saskia I’ll be late home from school. I send them both a text letting them know I’m helping with props for the play, should be back by six or seven. A lie, a little one, the colour white. I’m looking forward to seeing Morgan again. I looked after her at the weekend, I sent her home. I haven’t been able to shake the idea of telling her about you, not all of it, but enough so I’d be able to talk about it if I wanted to. June wouldn’t approve. I was given a new identity so I would feel protected. Invisible. Nobody would know who I am. London’s a huge city, she said, you’ll be just another face in the crowd. What’s most important, she said, is you never tell anybody who you are, or anything about your mum. Do you understand how important that is? Yes was my answer, still is, but I never realized how lonely it would be.

The day drags. German, then music. Maths and art. MK’s not my teacher. I think about her spending time with other girls, talking. Laughing with them. I sent her another email yesterday asking if I could come and see her but she hasn’t replied.

Biology, the last lesson of the day. Dissection. The heart of a pig. Human the same, almost. Ventricles. The atrium, the mighty vena cava. I know a lot about a person’s insides.

Glorious in their redness, fifteen hearts laid out on the bench as we arrive, one for each girl. Prof West, a little bit blind, a little bit old, tells us to follow the instructions on the white board at the front of the class.

Knives at the ready.

Slice we do, a cut here, a snip there. A struggle for some, easier for me. I’m the first one finished. I stare at the heart, now in pieces, spread out in a silver tray. Two bloody scalpels and a pair of tweezers to blame. I listen to the comments around me. Gross. Eww, I hate biology, can’t wait to give it up next year. Help me with mine. No way, I can hardly do my own. Bleugh.

I put my hand up. It takes a minute or two for Prof West’s bald head to look up, survey the class.

‘I’m finished, sir.’

‘Wash your hands then, and write up your observations.’

After I’ve finished at the sink I walk back to my bench, turn to a new page in my exercise book, start to write, but then I hear them. Clondine and Izzy giggling, the row in front of me looking over their shoulders at me. They turn away when I look. I start writing again. Then it happens.

A heart on my face.

Bounces off my left cheek, lands on my breast, drops to the floor. My lab coat already removed. I touch my hand to my face. Sticky. Blood on my fingers. Izzy films me, Clondine keeps watch though Prof’s no threat. I turn away from them. My shirt’s stained, a bleed from the heart belongs to the pig, could easily be mine.

‘Time to tidy up,’ says Prof West.

‘I’m not finished, sir,’ comes a voice from the front.

‘Time waits for no man or woman, Elsie, you should have worked faster.’

I’d move if I could, yet I can’t feel my legs. Can’t. Feel. I’ll always be a freak to them. I know Prof’s coming this way, I can hear his shoes. Brown leather brogues, polishes them daily I bet. He stops in front of me.

‘For heaven’s sake, child, what have you been up to? You said you were finished and now you’ve got blood all over your shirt and your face. Get cleaned up and for goodness’ sake pick that heart up off the floor.’

I hear the snorts of stifled laughter as Prof West continues on past.