Bang Bang You're Dead

• By the Same Author
  
• Title Page
  
• Copyright Page
  
• Dedication
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eighteen
  
• Chapter Nineteen
  
• About the Author
  
• OSTRICH BOYS
  

Jamie is here, I'm sure of it. I feel it so strongly that the hair on the back of my neck stands up and makes me shiver.

It
must
be him on the other side of this door.

But my overwhelming fear keeps me wary, and I stay hidden. I had to leave the hammer behind in the dark cupboard in my rush to escape, and so I am now unarmed. I can't take the ultimate risk of trusting my instincts and my senses. I have to see for myself.

He's leaving
. . .

I hear him creep along the corridor. He is going further away from the classroom, into the rest of the first floor of the annexe.

He is searching for me . . .

www.
rbooks
.co.uk

Also by Narinder Dhami:

BINDI BABES
BOLLYWOOD BABES
BHANGRA BABES
SUNITA'S SECRET
DANI'S DIARY

www.
narinderdhami
.com

NARINDER DHAMI

This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author's and publisher's rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

ISBN 9781407048482

Version 1.0

www.randomhouse.co.uk

BANG, BANG, YOU'RE DEAD!
A CORGI BOOK

Published in Great Britain by Corgi Books,
an imprint of Random House Children's Books
A Random House Group Company

This edition published 2009

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Copyright © Narinder Dhami, 2009

The right of Narinder Dhami to be identified as the author of this work has
been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This electronic book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

ISBN: 9781407048482

Version 1.0

For Robert

Dr Macdonald has asked me to tell her what happened that day.

I know she's trying to help me, but I also think she's trying to trick me.

She wants to find out exactly why I did what I did. She wants to see right inside my head, and I dislike her for that reason, amongst others.

Now that Jamie's dead and gone, I am on my own for the first time in my life.

But I think I'm strong enough to cope with that now.

So whatever Dr Macdonald thinks of me, I
will
tell her exactly what happened.

And I'll tell her the truth.

But I have a problem.

Who in the world is going to believe me?

Monday 10 March, 7.51 a.m.

The scene is normal: a family at breakfast on Monday morning before the kids go off to school.

But the people in the scene are not normal. Our mother is hurtling headlong into one of her manic phases after weeks of depression. She flits around the kitchen, unable to sit still, talking about nothing at all without stopping. Her latest idea is to keep chickens in the back garden to save on buying eggs. I don't like eggs, Jamie never eats them and Mum's allergic to feathers.

My twin brother sits opposite me. He doesn't eat anything, he doesn't speak and he doesn't look at either Mum or me. He stares morosely at the kitchen floor, lost in a world of his own. Jamie's long ago given up on Mum and the bizarre lottery of her behaviour, the endless swings between highs and lows. They have no relationship with each other. Jamie and I were close once, but now that closeness is slipping away too. All he and I seem to do is argue. I can't rely on him like I used to. Some of the things he says frighten me.

I am Mia, the glue that holds this whole sinking ship together, and, believe me, we're sinking fast.

Our father isn't part of this happy scene. He left Mum before we were born and they divorced soon after. We've never seen him and we don't even know his name. Mum refuses to tell.

'We could take in lodgers,' Mum prattles on. She drags a stepladder over to the tall cupboards and energetically begins to fling pots and pans onto the worktop. 'This kitchen needs a good clean. I was thinking we could do up the attic. There's plenty of room in there.'

'Oh, God,' Jamie mutters, the first thing he's said this morning.

'It's certainly an idea, Mum,' I say in my usual placatory tone. 'We could do with the extra money.'

Jamie rolls his eyes and shoots me a contemptuous stare, blaming me for encouraging Mum. But I know that the lodgers, like the chickens in the back garden, will never happen. By the time Mum gets around to doing anything about it, she'll probably be depressed again and lie in bed for weeks.

She's had medication to help control the mood swings, but since Grandpa died she's stopped taking it. I can't bear to argue with her. That's another thing Jamie blames me for. He says I'm too soft. He says there must be
someone
who can help us – doctors, Social Services,
anyone.
We've tried all this before. But Mum hates doctors and hospitals and outside interference with a passion, and cries like a child if I suggest a visit to the surgery. She doesn't keep hospital appointments and hides if anyone official comes to the house.

'I'll go shopping today, then.' Mum abandons the cupboard half emptied, grabs a mop and begins swishing it vigorously around the floor. 'We'll need beds and curtains and carpets and wardrobes and—'

His face thunderous, Jamie jumps up and stalks out of the kitchen, flinging the door open with a crash. Anxious to calm him down, I immediately get up to follow. But Mum does not even look.

I can't blame Jamie. We have no money and Mum can't hold down a job, so we live on benefits and every so often we have to sell some of Grandpa's precious treasures for pennies. That I
hate,
more than anything. But when Mum's manic, she shops. A few months ago we came home from school to find a brand-new black Mercedes convertible parked on the drive. It went straight back to the dealer and Mum sulked for days. Yesterday she was talking about getting a Harley Davidson motorbike. She doesn't have a driving licence.

Credit-card bills pile through the letter box every month, but Mum ignores them and simply applies for new cards. I don't know how she gets them. I have a nasty feeling that fraud may be involved.

When Jamie and I were three years old, we lost our home because Mum couldn't pay the rent, and that's how we ended up moving in with Grandpa. He was the only one who could do anything at all with Mum, but he died just over a year ago. I can't describe how much I loved him and how much I miss him. I won't try.

This enormous, rambling, tumbledown old house feels too big and lonely now. It's a strange house, cold and overheated at the same time, with redbrick towers and turrets and gloomy stained-glass windows and doors, like a haunted church.

The kids in our street call us the Addams Family. That might be because of the house, or it could be because they think we're strange. They don't speak to us. They just shout names at us sometimes.

'Got to go, Mum.' I pause in the doorway. 'See you later.'

Mum drops the mop in the middle of the floor and rushes over to give me an enormous hug. She is so beautiful, tall and slender with the most amazing long black curls. You'd never know to look at her that she is ill.

'Have a lovely day, sweetheart!' Mum sings to the tune of the song playing on the radio. 'And don't worry about me, I'll be fine.'

I nod, although I
will
worry and she knows that I will. But that doesn't stop her from being hair-raisingly reckless in everything she does when the mania overtakes her again.

Knowing that Jamie will be hovering accusingly in the hall, blaming me, I try desperately to salvage something from the situation.

'About the lodger, Mum. It's a good idea, but maybe you'd better wait until we've cleared out the attic before you buy any furniture—'

Mum's face changes. 'Why?' she snaps. Her whole stance is instantly angry and aggressive, and I wilt at the challenging expression in her eyes.

'Well . . .' I stumble, wishing I'd just let it go, like I do ninety-nine times out of a hundred. Caught between trying to please Mum and trying to placate Jamie, I end up pleasing no one. 'We're a bit short of money at the moment—'

Furiously Mum kicks out at the mop. It hurtles across the floor towards me and I jump backwards to avoid being struck.

'I have money!' Mum shouts. She is cold and hard and raging. 'I have three new credit cards!'

'I just thought maybe we could clear some space first,' I mutter, edging over to the door. I should have followed my survival instincts and said nothing. Why do I always make the wrong decision on those rare occasions when I make a decision at all?

'Mia, keep your nose out of my business!' Mum shrieks like a wild banshee. I've seen this unreasonable, ranting anger before and it doesn't last, but it always scares me. 'You're just a kid, so don't meddle in things that don't concern you! The money is
my
responsibility!'

'Shut
up,
Mum!' Jamie has returned to stand in the doorway beside me. He looks no less angry and aggressive than Mum herself. They're more alike than either of them realize. 'You're
pathetic,
do you know that? You don't give a toss about anyone but yourself—'

Mum grabs a plate and hurls it wildly at us. I duck, but Jamie does not move. The plate misses us and smashes into pieces as it hits the floor.

'Stop it,' Mum moans, clutching at her hair. 'I'm sick of you going on at me! Go away! Get out of my face and leave me alone!'

'It's all right, Mum,' I say quickly. 'It's OK. Get whatever you like.'

I am desperate to leave now, but Jamie still stands there, furious and frustrated.

I grab his arm and drag him out into the hallway. There he pulls himself away from me and sits on the bottom stair, burying his head in his hands. I glance back into the kitchen and see that Mum is still shaking with rage. Leaving the mop on the floor, she sits down at the kitchen table, lifting her knees and curling herself into a tight ball. I close the door quietly.

It's her illness,
I tell myself, as I always do.
She can't help it.

But the mantra is losing its power after years of repetition. After the shattering events of last week, I know we can no longer go on like this. But the alternative fills me with cold dread.

Jamie is still angry and he's restless. As he sits, he taps his feet impatiently on the diamond-patterned floor of the hallway. The black and white Victorian tiles badly need polishing and at least six of them are cracked. There are pieces of wood nailed over the missing rectangles of stained glass in the front door. The house is going downhill too since Grandpa died.

'Why do you do it, Mia?' Jamie demands. His dark eyes scald me, and I can sense the tension in him, like a cornered animal ready to fight to the death. 'Why do you give in to her?'

'Don't start,' I sigh.

'You know this can't go on,' Jamie mutters, mirroring my own thought of a moment ago.

'Well, help me then!' I cry in frustration. 'Tell me what to do!'

Jamie shakes his head. 'When will you learn, Mia?' he says wearily. 'I can't do this on my own and
you
won't stand up to Mum, so things are spinning out of control. You've
got
to get tough. You can't rely on me for ever.' He pauses, looks away from me, and I tense, guessing what is coming next. 'What would you do if – well, if I wasn't around any more?'

My insides freeze with fear. He has said something like this before, several times, and I still have no idea what he really means. I don't ask. I
won't
ask. I'm too frightened.

'Don't be stupid,' I say with a nervous laugh. 'I wish you wouldn't say stuff like that. You're not going anywhere.'

Jamie looks away and does not answer. Terror closes up my throat and I can hardly speak. What's going on inside his head? Once, I would have known. Now my own brother is a deep, dark and, I think, dangerous mystery.

'You wouldn't . . . leave me to cope on my own?' I croak.

Jamie gives me an odd look. 'Everything's all wrong,' he says in a low voice, more intense and frightening than if he'd shouted the words aloud. 'And I'm tired of trying to make it right.'

Jamie stands and trudges up the stairs, grinding misery in every step he takes. I go after him, but he stops and looks back towards me at the turn of the stair.

'You remember what I said to you last week, Mia?' he murmurs quietly. 'I told you, I warned you. If Mum won't help herself, then we have to force her to realize what her illness is doing to us.'

'Push her to the edge, you said,' I whisper. 'Make her sit up and take notice.'

I am shaking. This is the moment I knew was coming, and I'm terrified beyond belief. 'You said we have to make her see that she can't go on like this, and neither can we.'

Jamie nods. His dark eyes are burning through me. 'It's time,' he says.

My knees buckle at the grim determination in his voice. 'But – what are you going to do?' I gasp. 'Jamie?
What?
'

Jamie stares down at me. His expression is closed and unreadable, but there is a hint of sadness in his eyes.

'I can't tell you, Mia,' he says simply, and then he vanishes upstairs.

I am left sick with anxiety.

I know Jamie's right. This can't go on. But I'm too weak and too pathetic to do anything about it. I'm a quiet little mouse who likes to fade into the background and stay there. Jamie and I look very much alike – anyone would guess that we're twins – but I'm a pale imitation of him, a shadow image. We both have dark hair, but Jamie's is shiny and glossy and mine is lank and drab. My brown eyes, the exact shade and shape of Jamie's, are as dull as his are alive. Jamie is tall and athletic while I'm the same size as him, but too bony with it. There's nothing special about me in any way whatsoever. Jamie is five minutes younger than I am, but he not only got the good looks, he also got all the spirit and the personality and the drive. He's not afraid of anything. Me, I'm not the type to make a fuss or stand up for myself. I take whatever's handed out to me.

Last week, stupid fool that I am, I started to think that maybe I
wasn't
so ordinary. It didn't last long, of course. I was so thrilled to win the essay competition, but now the whole thing has turned into a disaster. How could I not have known? Nothing good ever happens to me without something bad following close behind.

The essay was all Ms Kennedy's fault.

Ms Kennedy has been my favourite teacher ever since I started at Hollyfield School. She and I discuss novels all the time –
really
discuss them. We debate, and we even argue occasionally. Ms Kennedy lends me books and praises my stories, and she says I should think about a career as a writer. Me, Mia the mouse, a writer!

Ms Kennedy actually treats me seriously, as if I'm worthy of respect. Not many people do that. But it was Ms Kennedy who persuaded me to enter that essay competition, and I've been teased relentlessly about it ever since. Now I almost hate her. Well, I would if I could summon up the energy . . .

I pick up my school bag and into it I slip the copy of
Pride and Prejudice
that Ms Kennedy lent me. It's comfort reading, a world where everything is governed by good manners and rules of behaviour. It sounds heavenly.

I leave to get the bus to school. Jamie is nowhere to be seen, but that's nothing unusual these days. We always used to travel together but now he disappears and turns up at school whenever. I never see him on the way, and I dare not enquire where he goes or whom he sees or what he's been doing. There is so much more to Jamie than meets the eye, and I'm too scared to ask him what I long to know.

Especially today.

I wish I had some idea what he was planning.

I can't tell you, Mia.

Does that mean Jamie doesn't yet know what he's going to do,
or does he mean that it's too horrific to tell me? I hope desperately that
it's the former option.

'How's your mum today, Mia?'

I am near the school gates when I hear the inevitable shout. I don't turn to look because I already know who it is. Kat Randall and her gang of witch-faced cronies, whose sole aim, since last week, is to make my school life a misery.

I don't reply to the question because it's the same every morning. For the first three years at Hollyfield, no one knew about Mum except some of the teachers and Bree, my best friend. Last week Kat Randall found out about her. I still go hot and cold with humiliation when I think about what happened.

Kat Randall clumps over to me in designer trainers with thick rubber soles. Her school tie has the thickest knot and shortest length it can possibly have, and her skirt is twenty centimetres above her fat knees. She wears her dirty blonde hair gelled straight back, with two long curls stuck to her cheeks, one on each side. Kat is hard in every sense of the word. She had a fist fight with her ex-boyfriend, Lee Curtis, in the playground last week. And believe me, Lee Curtis – who has just been suspended for dealing weed at school – is bigger and harder and even more terrifying than Kat herself. But Kat seems to fear nothing and no one. Her quest in life is to seek out and destroy the vulnerable. Sadly, I am her latest target.