To Be Honest(46)

Then you’re able to speak but you’re weak from the verbal ear bashing, the shattering of any wild hope of escape from the terrible, horrible feeling of shame. Like I said, it sounds lame but it’s really not fun to sit there all quiet just biting your tongue and with tears in your eyes.

So it’s no surprise that Lloyd Parker would yell if he thought he could smell Alicia cheating.

I go straight to science; tell Mr Morlis the news.

He says, “this is bad. If Alicia has cheated, she must be exposed,” and winds two long pieces of red Bunsen hose round his hand. Then he stops, waits a sec.

“’S’pose Alicia hasn’t confessed?”

“Afraid not. I don’t even know what kind of mess she’s got into. It’s just what Lloyd said.”

Mr Morlis scoots round his laboratory. Flies, in fact; glides like a penguin on ice on his tummy. He’s lost a few pounds. Bit like Mum.

I wish he could take some of this weight off of me. ‘Cos I’m heavy. Not just in my body; my head and my lungs feel mismatched and unfair, like two different athletes competing for air.

He decides to tread cautiously. “This,” he says, parking scooter under desk, “could be momentous. Exams are a test.” And I think, yes Mr Morlis, I know. He continues, though, saying he really means they test for honesty.

“You and Miss Mint need to talk. If she’s cheated, Alicia needs handling like cutlery: carefully, correctly and very politely.”

He’s lost it, I think. If Alicia cheated, that’s her deal, not mine. She’s made herself dirty. But what about my life? Has she muddied waters for Miss Mint and me to swap back after all? There’s just one day to go. Less than that. And my brain starts to wash up; go dry. Do I tell or protect her? What’s the thing to be done? Should I lie? But then surely we’re back to square one. The sky’s black. I say ‘bye to the Morlis, put up Miss Mint’s hood and go home on the bus. There’s no fussing or pointing: the kids have gone home long ago.

Kai’ll be waiting with pizzas. I get off the bus early: need time to think.

The sky’s orange now. Neon haze ebbs and flows on and on, on and off round the soldier-like rows of the street lights and small fairy lights in the trees.

I want my Mum.

I walk carefully, inching my way round the street corner. The railway bridge beckons and soon I’m on top, where I stood with a man who helped me to drop my defences. I walk on, past the cars that I’ve passed on my bike and my own, and my house is just here and my wonderful mum’s coming out with a man. It’s Dad.

She’s kissing him, slowly and gigglingly, quick now, then a c h i n g l y slow; pulling his hand as he turns to go and then turns back.

He gives her a smack on the arse and she’s fast: she slaps him on the thigh and he grabs her quite hard round the waist with both hands. But she’s vanished. She’s air, like a girl aged fifteen could be on a first date: a bit late back, not caring though; sharing the night with a man who makes everything right.

I blink and it’s gone. The fairy lights shine but the fairy tale’s shone. That was Mum and Dad then.

This is now.

And the banging upstairs is not them.

* * *

It’s Mum sewing. She’s not spent a fortune; just being ‘resourceful,’ Pheebs says on the phone later on.

Miss Mint’s up in her room/my room, trying on things for tomorrow’s Review. She’s ecstatic.

Mum’s unpacked the ancient, half-working machine and been shirring and smocking with tape and elastic. Been at it for days. “Your mum’s so clever ,” she says. I look awesome!” And she gabbles and chuckles and I learn that Mum’s made them outfits. Courtney and Rach and Miss Mint. Outfits that say the word, ‘street’. With cross stitch bears on the butt cheeks.

I’m serious. There’s an embroidered soft toy motif plastered on each of my friends’ backsides and Miss Mint thinks it’s cool. As we get into the finer detail, denim hot pants seem to have blinded her to the fact that she’s asking for people to tell her she’s got Pooh on her bum. Oh, Mum.

But really I’m glad. Mum’s found something she’s good at and everyone’s pleased. Plus, I still get to wear a nice dress.

* * *

Late that night, just before I’m asleep, Kai pops in. He’s been sleeping in Miss Mint’s spare room, which is cold. Standing in the door, he’s sleek, warm; full of pizza. Like poppies in sun or a puppy whose fun has run out. He’s all Snoopy-sleepy.

I say, “you can get into bed if you like.”

He smiles and says, “no. ‘Cos I want to but it’s not our time, Lise. Not quite yet.