To Be Honest(47)

‘Night.”

And I yawn like I’m cross in a good way and turn over.

I know he doesn’t go straight away.





Chapter 20: Friday, twelfth night


I wake to the last day of term. The twelfth night since we swapped. I’m still in Miss Mint’s head and body. The soft bedroom light fills the room and there’s a hint of a Christmassy, mulled winey tang in the air, along with the nerves, but I’m trying to not think too far ahead. So I just lie in bed and don’t look at the wig on my pristine, white safe bedroom chair, ‘cos I’ll deal with whatever comes next when it comes. And this morning’s a text. It’s from Kai: it says,

Meet me downstairs.

The cream butter carpet’s all sprinkled with red. Looks like blobs of jam missed where they should land: on bread. And he’s standing there, Kai I mean, holding a tray of crepes, sprinkled with feather-light sugar. He’s not even gay.

I say thank you.

He hands me a fork and a knife and I look down at the paper petals, scattered like shells, from Remembrance Sunday assembly.

“They’re leftover. The poppies. No one wanted them. Use that knife carefully. It can be quite sharp.”

I perch on Posy , politely accept and we munch and get strong on delicious French crepes. ‘Cos today, we both know, is our D-Day.

* * *

“I’ll see you at one at school. Meet you there.”

Kai’s coming to Review to see my short Marilyn hair. And, we hope, switch. He waves from the door and I bowl down the road towards school. It’s so early, I yawn. I’m torn. On the one hand, I’m glad: he’ll meet up with his mates, with none of them knowing he’s an Olympic (ex) great. But I’m nervous as hell and I’m not sure what to do about:

Alicia

Mum

Me

Marilyn Monroe

Getting our lives back before three o’clock



I need this walk. The state of my tummy’s alarming. It pokes over Miss Mint’s jodhpurs, which I’ve paired with some massive Beyonce-style cloak to disguise the weird shape it’s become.

Anyway. Out of nowhere’s a dog. Quite a big one. All white, with a head like a lion and a face with a smile that says, “hi.”

“Hi, Miss Mint.”

Harry Brigham slides up, tracksuit bottoms and Arsenal shirt in dire need of washing. But there’s something else too. ‘Cos behind him comes Alicia. She seems to be needing the loo rather badly.

“Miss, need the toilet,” an excuse to walk on, I know. She’s non-uniform, too and her coat hangs like wet cardboard, that blue roses one and my heart’s compromised. But we’re not in school yet, so I have absolutely no power.

The dog’s clearly Harry’s.

“This is Dave,” Harry says, and the dog wags its tail. I’ve never seen Harry look happier. I turn to the Payne.

“We need to talk.” Dusky dawn in her eyes, like the evening’s already begun.

“Miss, do we have to?” I well need a wee.”

If that’s what she thinks boys will like, I feel sympathy. I really do. But Harry’s besotted.

“You go on,” he says, like the true schoolboy he is. “Dave’s alright, he’s just had his shit. I’ll take him back home. See you later.”

He smiles like a cherub and I push the implication that one bowel movement relies on the other to back of mind. Alicia and I soldier on.

“So you cheated?”

“Can’t prove it.”

I say with a sigh, “I can, you know Alicia; I’m just hoping like hell I won’t have to.”

She’s quiet then; all I hear is the one, two, one, two as we get slowly closer to school and she says she’ll wet herself soon, so I let her go and watch her fat, black, matt back gallop off. Kai wanders up as I pass through the gate and into the atrium. Wait. Looks like Kai ... no, it’s Taff in Kai’s body. ‘Course. It’s Taff.

“Lisi, I think you should see what they’ve done in the hall.”

His torso’s an Olympic podium; his eyes gold as he opens the curtains. It’s beautiful.

Streamers of blue, red and white spiral down from the ceiling. The peeling old paint on the walls has been stripped and the hall’s now equipped with a massive sound system and lights. Chairs line up patiently, ready to take the iced bums. The air hums with the soon-to-be joy and sarcasm, but pre-all that, anticipation. A chasm of wait. The microphone base stands apart from the stage, which lurks like a looming great sea monster, waiting to bite. I’m quite frightened to think of me standing up there, Mr Morlis or not.

But before me, before Miss Monroe’s stage debut, there’s a whole raft of Fairmere acts up for Review. Miss Mint’s going first. She’s already cursed the fact, wanting to come somewhere