To Be Honest(11)

Chapter 6: Monday


“Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen ...”

Miss Mint makes short work of the register and we line up like lemmings in front of the coach. My group’s all here and honestly, if I had Rach or Erin with me I’d be fine but of course it’s Josh’s group that gets to share my bus. The thing is, I think Miss Mint’s being nice making sure we were together. If only she knew.

Olly and Joe have one of those bouncy rubber balls with sparkly bits. It thuds and rolls round our legs basically getting everyone wound up except Miss Mint who just plucks it like a flower and puts it in her bag and we’re off, vrooming up the M25 looking down on people driving to real jobs in cars, only two people feeling sick and Josh plugged into something so absorbing it means he’s happy to watch speeding tarmac.

I put my bag on the seat next to me and sit on my own.

The roads get busier as we get to London and the houses get taller and more crowded and then posher, cleaner; then dirty again, then the signs are everywhere saying places I’ve heard of but don’t really know, like ‘Richmond’ and ‘Hammersmith’. Then I see some buildings I only see when Mum’s watching the news and then the signs say ‘West End’ and we’re nearly there, just have to park.

Of course, we go shopping. We’ve got an hour and even though I have to count my group of losers, I scurry over to Erin and Rach as soon as I’ve escaped and we head to Covent Garden. There are millions of people outside the Apple store but none of us can be bothered to wait with the geeks; instead we go and try makeup on and buy fat free frozen yoghurt with Rach and share a cake from Paul and I nearly buy crazy leggings in Urban Outfitters with more money I don’t have.

“Where’s Courtney?” I ask, as she was clearly on the bus.

Rach and Erin exchange looks and the wind chucks the paper Paul bag in the air and sends it flying into a Chinese couple.

“Period pains,” Rach says. “Went to get coffee.”

“Right.”

Rach and Erin want to go in Zara but I don’t so I head to Trafalgar Square to check out the pigeons. Josh’s blending in on the steps of St. Martin’s Church, wearing the leopard print like proper camouflage. I nearly don’t see him.

“Awright.” I look down on him and he moves his head minutely so I sit.

“Yeah.” He’s shredding a tube map.

“Sorry.”

He squints at me. “You lie all the time.”

“I mean it, though. I am sorry.”

“ I mean it too. You lie all the time, Lise.” He sighs. “Clothes, money, teeth, where you are ... it’s crap.”

“What ..? Everyone lies!” I’m genuinely amazed. ‘Cos they do.

“They don’t, actually.” He stands.

The sky’s the same colour as the stone slabs of space around Nelson. Same colour as the birds and the limbs of the tourists: deep, mauvy grey. I think of my mum, how she works all day every day looking in people’s mouths. I think of Martha. I’m distilled, like the water in science; like the fountains that are off and I say what I really mean.

“Truth is boring.”

And he smiles. “No, it’s not.” He picks up a stale bread crag and pigeons tut off. “I have enough lies at home.” The bread crumbles between his fingers.

I don’t know what he’s talking about; like me, he never sees his dad and his mum buys him stuff all the time. He laughs but it’s wrong, like he’s empty and I want him to laugh with me, not just him.

“It’s nearly lunch,” I say, because it is.

“Well, that’s true.” And this time he almost laughs properly.

* * *

So the day gets lighter in a way but the sky starts to fall into the Thames in as we troop over the Millenium Bridge to The Globe. Miss Mint’s up front and she’s so slim and pretty in a fitted black coat; not like our baggy parkas and we all love her more ‘cos the only extra teacher she’s brought is Mr Morlis and three LSAs. One of them’s Erin’s mum; she likes to help out but keeps losing things and how embarrassing would it be to have your mother along to a trip.

My group’s up front too. I try and listen to what Miss Mint’s saying to Mr Morlis but it’s drowned out by other people, there’s a lot in London. We go along the river and through the entrance, where we stop for manky snacks like they would’ve eaten in Shakespeare’s time like dried figs and whelks, whatever they are. Then we file in and we’re not allowed to lean on the pillars. However, (that’s a connective: Miss Mint told us in year 7) because the rain is coming down in big sploshes now and of course we’re standing because we’re here for ‘the experience’, not so we can have a nice day out, and Courtney’s yakking in my ear about Kai, I nearly start to lose it.