Worse Than Boys(63)

All I had to do to find the chippie was follow the smell.

I turned the corner and there was Wizzie, but she wasn’t alone. A gang of older girls were crowding round her. The Black Widows. They were easily recognisable, all in black, viciousness written all over them. Wizzie was trying to stand tall, but there was something in the way she was looking up at them that made me realise she was afraid.

Wizzie, afraid?

I slipped into a doorway and listened.

‘You know I won’t say a word,’ she was saying. There was a nervous catch in her voice. ‘But you shouldnae have done it. My mates are getting the blame. I’m getting the blame.’

I held my breath.

‘You know better than to say anything.’ The voice that answered her was threatening. ‘You know what happens to grasses, Wizzie.’

Another voice, high-pitched and nasal came in. ‘You practically asked us to do it anyway.’

Something of her old boldness burst out of Wizzie. ‘I did not! I only told you we were going to get Erin Brodie back. But not like that!’

I peeked round and saw one of the girls grip Wizzie by the shoulder and drag her round the corner. Suddenly they had all gone. I slipped from the doorway and followed them.

Nasal voice was speaking again. ‘Well, we showed you what the big girls do when they want to get their own back on somebody, didn’t we?’

‘I cannae let my mates get the blame for this!’ Wizzie sounded as if she was ready to cry. Didn’t sound like Wizzie at all.

The harsh threatening voice spoke again. ‘I’m telling you, Wizzie, you grass on us and you’ll be sorry.’

I’d heard enough. I ran round the corner. They were all surrounding Wizzie. One of them still had her by the shoulder. They were harder than Wizzie, wilder than she could ever be. ‘Get your hands off my mate!’ I screamed.

With that I yanked at Wizzie, pulling her towards me.

Even Wizzie looked astonished.

The tallest of them turned on me. Her hair was spiked like Wizzie’s. Was that who Wizzie had tried to copy, so she could look as tough as that? Close up, this was the ugliest bunch of females I had ever seen. The Hell Cats had nothing in the fierce stakes next to them. ‘You keep out of this, hen.’ There was a sudden flash of steel as she produced a blade. ‘Or I’ll give you an extra mouth.’

I gulped when I saw the knife. Why did I always have to be so brave? So stupid. I froze to the spot. Wizzie grabbed at me. ‘Run!’

I was after her in a second. The one with the knife caught at my jacket, but I yanked myself free. She hardly held me back a moment. We were off. But they were after us. We raced from the back of the chippie and into the street. Wizzie pulled me round a corner, and I followed her. We tore down a side road, heard them pounding after us. ‘Where are we going?’ I asked breathlessly.

Wizzie didn’t tell me. ‘Come on!’ She pulled me on. Up back stairs, round back greens, through closes. It seemed to me we were running round in circles. Yet as I ran, everything was becoming clearer. They’d started the fire at Erin’s. The Black Widows. Wizzie knew, knew all along, and couldn’t tell. Because nobody grasses up here. All the time I could hear them running behind us, catching up. Getting closer every second.

We stopped for breath behind some shops. ‘Have we lost them?’

‘Not yet,’ Wizzie said. And we were off again.

We ran though alleys full of bins and rubbish, broken bits of furniture and boxes. Leaping over them, tripping over them. ‘Where are we going?’ I asked again.

I don’t think Wizzie knew. She was just running, anywhere to get away.

Behind a block of boarded-up flats I had to stop. ‘Can’t go on.’ I sank to the ground.

Wizzie pulled me up. ‘Got to,’ she said.

I could hear them coming – hear their shouts, their feet splashing through puddles.

Wizzie looked around. There was a shed nearby where the rubbish bins were stored. A slip lock on the door. ‘In here,’ she said. She was breathless too.

She pulled the lock across, opened the door and helped me inside.

The smell was awful, big green bins overflowing with rubbish. We stepped on broken eggs and Chinese take-aways and heaven knows what else. Wizzie slid the lock back quietly and pulled me right to the back with her. We squeezed ourselves behind the bins, out of sight.

She put her fingers to her lips. ‘Sssh,’ she said softly.

I could hear them running, their feet pounding closer. I tried not to breathe, too afraid to breathe. Kept picturing the knife in the girl’s hand. Their angry shouts were practically outside the shed now. They were swearing, calling us every name they could think of.