Alice in Time (17 page)

I decide during assembly that Sasha hasn’t suffered enough yet. I need to up the ante. I think its time for her to go on a little trip to Coventry.

I put my plan into action at playtime. When everyone rushes outside, I hang back and go up to Miss Carter at her
desk. I arrange my face into it’s best ‘little girl lost’ look and even wring my hands in despair.

‘What is it, Alice?’ she asks kindly. I have a moment of regret for lying to her in this way, but remind myself that it’s not really a lie, I’m just complaining about something before it actually happens.

‘The thing is . . .’ I gulp.

‘Yes?’ This is really going to have to be good, because Miss Carter is not stupid and she must know that little girls fall out all the time. I decide to go in with the heavy guns.

‘Mummy would have come to see you herself, only she’s not well, with the baby on the way and everything. I wouldn’t have bothered her with it normally because she’s got enough on her plate with Daddy’s gambling and drinking,’ – Miss Carter is really listening now, I’d better be careful or she’ll have social services down on us – ‘but she noticed, what with the nightmares and me wetting the bed suddenly.’ Miss Carter’s eyes look as if they’re about to pop out.

‘Why? Whatever’s the matter?’ she says.

‘It’s Sasha,’ I whisper, finally letting the tears fall.

‘What about Sasha?’ says Miss Carter. I can tell from her tone of voice that she knows full well just what Sasha is capable of.

‘She really scares me,’ I say, looking really frightened. ‘She said if I told, she’d come and kill the baby when it’s born.’

Now I really do feel scared because I can’t believe I’m actually doing this. Have I gone too far? Surely even Sasha wouldn’t be that horrible. Miss Carter seems to have no trouble believing it, though, which gives me the strength to carry on.

‘She won’t let me be friends with anyone else, and when you’re not looking . . .’ I pause, dramatically, ‘. . . she hurts me.’

I remind myself that Sasha did actually pinch me the other day after the spelling test, so it’s not a complete fib.

‘The thing is . . . Mummy was hoping that you could move me to a different desk, but please, please, please can you do it so that Sasha doesn’t know I’ve said anything. And please don’t say anything to her about the bullying.’

Miss Carter looks very worried and not totally convinced about the ‘not saying anything’ clause. I mean, these are quite serious offences – threats to kill and grievous bodily harm usually carry a prison sentence – but we are only seven, I can see her thinking, and that it will probably all blow over soon.

She pats me kindly on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry about it any more. I’ve had a great idea, but I can’t do anything about it right now, so I need you to be a brave girl for a little bit longer.’ She hands me a tissue and I mop up my crocodile tears.

‘Thank you, Miss Carter,’ I say and dash out into the playground. At least I won’t have to sit next to Sasha for much longer.

I’ve got a lot of work to do before playtime is over. I start with Chelsea and Clara. Going over to them I say, ‘Can I play with you?’

They stop what they’re doing and stare at me, but don’t tell me to push off, so I carry on. ‘It’s just that Sasha’s not talking to me. Well, actually, the truth is – I’m not talking to her.’

They both look interested now, so I get truly stuck in.

‘She said you’re stupid and smelly and ugly and she’s going
to invite everyone to her party except you two. I didn’t think that was very fair, and I told her you were nice, so then she picked on me and said I was stupid and smelly too, so I decided I wasn’t going to talk to her anymore.’

Chelsea and Clara fall for it. ‘Well, you can play with us and we won’t talk to her either.’

We’re just beginning a game of tag, which I’ve initiated so that I can run round the playground and stir up more trouble with the other kids in our class, when Sasha comes up.

‘Come on, Alice. Why are you playing with these copycats? I thought we were playing Puppies.’ I turn my back on her and look scared.

This seems to give Chelsea courage. ‘Go away – you’re stupid and ugly and smelly.’ Chelsea grabs me and Clara and we all run off. Sasha looks surprised at this outburst but I can tell that the ‘smelly’ hasn’t been lost on her.

By the end of the lunch break, Sasha is well and truly out in the cold. No one is talking to her, and it doesn’t stop there. It seems that I’ve set something in motion for which Sasha only has herself to blame. She’s been bossy and horrid to everyone at some point, but so far no one’s actually stood up to her. As all the children in our class realise that everyone is in on it, the campaign takes on a life of its own, and I just sit back and watch.

Sasha doesn’t really realise I’m not talking to her at first because the morning is spent doing a times-table test and then personal reading time. But at lunchtime I run off with Chelsea and Clara. Sasha tries to join in with the others, but every single one of them turns their back on her and eventually she plays
with some of the little children from Year One. I can see her bossing them about as I skip round the playground with Clara’s skipping rope. She keeps looking my way with a puzzled look on her face, but I just look straight through her as if she’s not there.

After lunch we have to get changed for PE, which is taught by our headmistress, Miss Strickland. I remember that I was absolutely terrified of her and kept out of her way as much as possible.

She takes us outside and tells us to get into pairs. Sasha is immediately at my side. Personally, I was hoping to pair up with Lucy Clark. I’ve always liked Lucy, and she’s the one I was watching from the art room window, in my old life, and wishing that I was in her group of friends because they always seem to have so much fun. She’s paired up with Miranda Wilkes, though, and as everyone else is now in pairs it looks like I’m stuck with Sasha.

Miss Strickland is handing out tennis balls and telling us to practise our throwing and catching. Sasha and I stand opposite each other, throwing the ball back and forth. It isn’t long before I get seriously bored by this. To be fair, Sasha isn’t bad at it. She doesn’t drop the ball as often as some of the kids, judging by the numbers that are running around chasing balls all over the playground. I can tell I’m the best by a long shot. I’m waiting for Miss Strickland to notice, and praise me for my skill, only she doesn’t, because she’s not even watching us. She’s talking to the caretaker about the drainpipes.

‘Come on!’ says Sasha, impatiently. ‘Throw me the ball.’

‘OK,’ I tell her. ‘Catch this, Bossy Boots,’ and I lob the ball
as hard as I can, right over her head. There’s a moment when I think it might hit the window and break it, but thankfully I’ve thrown it too high and it bounces off the roof. I’m about to let out a sigh of relief when one of the tiles slides gently down the roof. It lands with a smash on the tarmac between Miss Strickland and the caretaker. One of the shards of tile hits the headmistress on the leg, cutting her shin and causing her tights to ladder.

At the sound of the smashing tile, all the children stop what they’re doing and a deafening hush descends on the playground. Not for long, though.

Miss Strickland shouts, ‘Which stupid child threw that ball?’ I go hot and then cold and I’m about to step forward, on very shaky legs, when Sasha’s hand shoots up into the air next to me, nearly taking my ear off.

‘I did, Miss Strickland,’ says Sasha. Her cheeks are slightly pink, but her chin is held high. I try to catch her eye. Surely this isn’t another of her bids for attention? Did her hand go up automatically like it does in class? But she won’t look at me. Her and Miss Strickland’s eyes are locked.

‘My office. Now, young lady. The rest of you go and get changed – quietly!’

As I put my uniform back on I wonder what’s happening in the headmistress’s office. I wonder, if it was me in there now and not Sasha, if I would have the nerve to tell Miss Strickland that she should have been paying attention to the class, and that it was an accident, and she shouldn’t punish small children for accidents. Somehow, I doubt it. She still terrifies me.

We file back into the classroom and the other children tell Miss Carter what happened. I feel really bad. No one, except Sasha, saw me throw that ball.

When she comes back in, all the other children stare at her and giggle, but she holds her head high and takes her seat next to me. Reluctantly, I have to admire her style.

‘What did you do that for?’ I whisper as we all make our way to the carpet area where Miss Carter is getting ready to read to us before hometime.

‘It’s OK,’ says Sasha. ‘I know how scared you are of Miss Strickland. She was horrible and she would
definitely
have made you cry, but all the time she was shouting at me I just pictured her sitting on the loo with her knickers round her knees.’ Sasha laughs and squeezes my hand. ‘I pretended she was constipated because she was so red in the face.’

I laugh too at this image of horrible Miss Strickland. ‘I can’t believe you’d do that for me,’ I tell Sasha. And it’s true, I can’t.

‘Of course I would, silly. You’re my best friend.’

At hometime, when we’re in the cloakroom getting our coats on, the other girls are still being mean to Sasha. Because nobody’s talking to her, this generally consists of bumping into her and whispering about her while giving her sly looks. I now feel really bad about what’s happening.

I try to remind myself how horrible Sasha has been to me all through secondary school. This is a very odd feeling because we’re all seven and secondary school is miles off for us, but the truth is it happened – and I must remember that.

The trouble is, though, aren’t I being just as bad? What if I turn into the Bitch Queen from Hell? I try to console myself with the thought that I’m simply getting my own back on Sasha for the way she’s treated me. But she hasn’t actually treated me like that yet, which makes me feel doubly mean because she doesn’t know why it’s happening.

The trouble is, it did feel great to begin with, but now I’m not so sure. I feel kind of depressed about it. Like I’m some big kid picking on a small kid. I know we appear to be the same age, but deep down I’m still fourteen and ought to know better.

Still, enough of this. I need to go to the library now and put my ‘Save the Watkins family’ campaign into action.

Outside in the playground I walk as nonchalantly as possible towards the gates so that nobody realises I’m leaving on my own. I’m just about to slip out when I hear my name being called.

There’s a woman standing at the gates waiting for me, and it isn’t my mother. Oh my God! It’s my gran!

‘Hello, hunnybun,’ says Gran. ‘I bet you weren’t expecting to see me.’

She’s not wrong there. I’m so overcome, I’m speechless. Of all the weird situations that this weird situation I’m in has thrown up, this has to be the weirdest yet. In fact, it’s a bit scary. Seeing someone who is by all accounts dead is not something I’m used to. OK, so it happened with Miss Maybrooke and even Sooty, but this is different. This is my own gran!

Of course, there’s nothing unusual about it for Gran. She’s carrying on like nothing is weird.

‘Your mum had to go into the hospital this morning, so I’ve come to look after you. Isn’t that exciting? A new baby sister – or brother – on the way.’

I force my mouth into a smile.

She carries on. ‘I hope you don’t mind not going to Sasha’s
for tea tonight. I suppose I’d better have a word with her mum and explain what’s happening.’

This galvanises me out of my stupor. ‘It’s OK, Gran. I’ll sort it out,’ and I dash off across the playground to where Sasha is standing while her mum chats away to some of the other mums. Obviously I’ve got to say something now I’m here and it can’t be, ‘Sorry, I can’t come to tea after all’, so when Sasha smiles at me and says, ‘Hello’, I say, ‘Look, I’m really sorry about earlier – you know – playing with Clara and Chelsea and everything. And thank you for what you did. About the ball and stuff. It was really nice of you.’ And I realise, as I’m saying it, that I actually am sorry.

‘Shall I ask my mum if you can come to tea tonight?’ she says. ‘We could play that Puppy game.’

‘I can’t, not today – my gran’s here. I think my mum’s having the baby. Maybe another night.’

Walking home with Gran is really difficult. I want to tell her about all the things that have happened since she died, about how Mum and Dad divorced and about moving to George Street, about school and having to help with Rory and maybe even about Seth. I’m bursting with all this information and I can’t tell her any of it because it hasn’t happened yet. Because I’m so busy not saying all this I end up saying nothing.

‘You’re very quiet today,’ comments Gran. ‘I hope you’re not worrying about your mum. She’ll be fine. We’ll ring the hospital when we get home and see how she’s doing.’

Actually, I am worried. I haven’t really thought too much about Mum giving birth. I’ve been too wrapped up in
adjusting to my new life with Mum and Dad and haven’t really realised it was going to happen so soon. I’m terrified that I’m running out of time and haven’t achieved anything yet.

I feel really helpless. ‘Get a grip,’ I tell myself firmly. I can do this. And then I realise that I’ve got another problem to add to my list. Gran.

It’s terrible walking along next to somebody, knowing that they only have about a year to live, and they don’t know it. Maybe, if I could somehow get her to go to a doctor now, if it was picked up early enough, then she might not die. This realisation is frightening. Could I somehow save Gran? As well as Sooty and my parents’ marriage?

Suddenly everything is too much. What I would give right now to have my old problems back. Seth’s betrayal, Mum’s nagging and the row with Imogen would all be bliss compared to what’s facing me now. At the time, I thought my life was awful and that it couldn’t get any worse. Now I feel embarrassed that I made such a fuss about such pointless things.

When we get home I follow Gran into the kitchen, because I can’t bear to let her out of my sight. It’s a bit like finding a precious jewel in a dung heap. I nearly trip over Gran’s suitcase, which is standing in the hallway. I wish she didn’t live so far away.