Dreams at Silver Spires (7 page)

This was nothing like my proper plan. I wanted a great big compost heap in a great big garden with every single scrap of biodegradable waste from the whole school on it. It was just so frustrating that so much good stuff that could be recycled was being thrown away instead.

The cameraman had stopped filming me and gone, thank goodness, so I just stared at my tiny plot as Tony's words ran through my mind.

I take my orders from the powers that be…the domestic bursar.

I didn't even know who the domestic bursar was. In fact, come to think of it, I didn't even know what
domestic bursar
meant. But at that moment, I felt a sudden big determination to talk to him or her.

Yes, that's what I'd do. I'd get my proper plan into action.

The following lunchtime I was full of energy. Once again I was bolting my food so I could get out to my precious garden, because today was a really lovely day. The sun was shining and that made all six of us happy.

“If the sun is still shining after school then I will help in your garden, Emily,” said Antonia, smiling.

“Me too,” said Nicole. “And isn't this the day when Stan's going to show you his photos? I'm dying to see a picture of how it all looked fifty years ago.”

“Ssh!” I said, looking round. “I don't want Juliet to hear us talking about the garden. She'll only take the mick.”

“What is a mick?” asked Antonia, looking confused. “And why will Jet take it from you?”

It's so sweet when Antonia doesn't understand expressions that we all take for granted, and Nicole quickly explained, as she always does. Then Sasha pointed out that I had nothing to worry about, because Juliet was over the other side of the hall, at a table near the counter.

“And it's perfectly obvious why,” said Izzy, rolling her eyes as she nodded at the cameraman who was standing only about a metre away from where Juliet was sitting.

There are three different cameramen on the team, we've realized. And most of the time they carry their cameras on their shoulders when they're filming. But occasionally they actually set up a tripod. That's what they did for the party. And right now there was one tripod with a camera pointing towards the counter, filming what people were choosing to eat, I supposed.

“I was thinking about what you asked, Ems,” said Bryony. “Perhaps one of the dinner ladies would know about the domestic bursar. You can find out who it is and where their office is.”

“Yes, I'll ask someone when I take my plate back,” I said, feeling grateful to Bryony, because I'd told her my plan but I'd been wondering where to start. But just then I heard someone at the next table saying that she had to go to a netball practice and when I glanced at my watch I couldn't believe how quickly the time had gone by. Unless I rushed around at a hundred miles an hour, I wouldn't be able to do a few things at the garden ready for after school, like I'd planned.

“Okay, I'm off!” I said, kicking Sasha by mistake as I got up from the bench. “Sorry, Sash. See you in the garden, everyone.” Then I raced over to the counter, nearly dropping my knife and fork in my big hurry.

But when I was almost there, I heard someone mockingly singing a line from the old nursery rhyme: “The farmer wants a wife…”

I made the mistake of glancing over to find out who it was, and saw a grinning Juliet. And that tiny second of not paying attention to where I was going made me knock into the cameraman.

“Whoops! Sorry!” I said. “I didn't see you.”

A great guffaw of laughter erupted from Juliet's table.

“That's okay,” said the man, grinning at me. “No damage done.”

I heard Juliet's voice coming over in a very unsubtle undertone. “Some people will do anything to get attention, won't they?”

And again I was filled with a sharp crossness, which quickly shrivelled and left me hurt and embarrassed and bright red as I handed my plate to one of the dinner ladies.

“Er, excuse me,” I asked her quietly, desperately hoping that I couldn't be heard by anyone except her. “Do you know where the domestic bursar's office is, please?”

“Miss Gerard's office?”

Miss Gerard. That was a name I'd heard before. A memory of Ms. Carmichael walking towards me in the corridor beside a very slim, smart lady in high heels flashed through my mind. I remembered those high heels because they seemed so loud compared to everyone else's shoes. And I also remembered how stern and unsmiling the lady looked, even though Ms. Carmichael was saying, “Thank you, Miss Gerard,” as they went past.

I nodded at the dinner lady and swallowed. I hadn't realized until this moment that Miss Gerard and the domestic bursar were one and the same person. “Yes, do you know where her office is?”

“Main building. Top floor. Somewhere up there.”

“Thank you.” I decided to go ahead with my next question even though it was a bit embarrassing having to ask it. “Er…what exactly does domestic bursar mean?”

“She's in charge of the catering, love. Plus she's responsible for how the buildings and grounds get looked after. Sorts out how much gets spent and all that.” The dinner lady glanced at the camera as though to check that she wasn't being filmed, then leaned forwards. “Word of advice, love. Choose your moment carefully. That's all I'm saying.” Then she nodded firmly and went back to work.

“Th…thank you.”

When I went through the gate into the garden, I thought how funny it was that until Saturday, my favourite thing at school had always been to go riding at the local stables, but now my mind was full of gardening. I got the gloves out of the outhouse and set to work straight away. I just planned to move the pile of weeds into the corner, to start a proper compost.

It was so frustrating that there was never enough time at lunchtime and it always got dark so quickly after school, which only left the weekend. And if it rained there was no point in doing anything, because the earth was like a mudbath. At least I could wear wellies at the weekend, though. Not like now. I knew I shouldn't really garden in my uniform, so I was extra careful all the time to make sure I wasn't getting it covered in dirt.

It was very satisfying moving the pile of weeds, because now it could start rotting away and I wouldn't need to disturb it again. I was just wondering whether to quickly pull up a few more, when I suddenly got a lovely surprise at the sound of Stan's voice.

“Hello, Emily!” He was coming through the gap in the hedge from Ms. Carmichael's house, and gave me a little wave as he walked over to me. I noticed he was clutching a small brown bag. “You're certainly a worker, I'll say that for you!” Then his eyes fell to my shoes and he chuckled. “Hope you don't get into trouble!”

I bit my lip. Oh no, my shoes were a real mess. I hadn't meant to get so carried away. I knew I'd have to take them off and hold them under the tap in the loos and wipe them off with paper hand towels like I had done last time.

“I'm not going to be here after school,” Stan went on, “so I brought these photos to show you, on the off-chance you'd be here now.”

“Oh, great!” I put my spade down and pulled off my gloves.

“Here we are…”

He took them out one at a time and handed them to me. “There, you can see this was a real working garden, can't you?”

The first picture was black and white, but Stan was right – it looked so different from the bare piece of land we were standing on now. There were rows and rows of tall vegetables.

“This next one was taken in winter. About this time of year actually. See, everything's thriving all the same.”

It was true. I could just about make out broccoli and sprouts, leeks and onions and one I wasn't sure about. “What's that, Stan?”

“That's swede. I used to love a bit of mashed swede. It went a long way in the kitchen, too.” He handed me the last picture. It was in colour, and I gasped at the green that looked so brilliantly bright after the black and white. “This was taken just before that headmistress – Mrs. Cape, that was her name – decided to knock it on the head altogether and bring in all the veggies rather than growing any of our own. Sad day for me. I loved working this garden, I can tell you.”

I nodded as I carried on staring at the photo, and thought I could imagine exactly how poor Stan must be feeling now.

“Ah well, there you are,” he went on. “That's life. I'm way past retirement age and I've been lucky that Miss Carmichael has kept me on to do her bits and bobs. I'll be sad to finally leave the place for good, come spring.”

“You mean, you're leaving at the end of this term?”

“Well before that, actually. Half-term. Just a few more weeks to go. No need for a gardener any more. Miss C has gone crazy-paving mad, so there's only a few tubs and a bit of lawn round her place, and she seems to keep on top of that herself.”

“Oh dear.” I wished I was a grown-up at that moment, because I felt such a wave of sorrow for Stan and I wanted to say the right thing to help make him feel better. “I'm going to see Miss Gerard, you know, and I'm going to ask her about having more than just this little herb garden. And when it looks like it used to look, I'll ask if I can invite you to come and see!”

“So, that's your plan, is it?” chuckled Stan. “Well I'm glad you're full of spirit, because you'll need it. Nothing against the school in general, but I doubt you'll get past Miss Gerard. She's a tough one.” He shook his head sadly.

I thought about Emily Peters and how proud she would be if I brought her vegetable garden back, and I knew at that moment that I would definitely be brave and face Miss Gerard. I'd be doing it for Emily and for Stan, but also for myself.

Stan and I said goodbye to each other and I asked if he'd be there the next day but he said he only did a few hours' work each week at Silver Spires and he probably wouldn't be back till the following Monday.

“I'll come and find you after school,” he told me. Then he looked at his watch. “Aren't you going to be late for lessons?”

I checked the time on my own watch and nearly had a heart attack. I'd been so absorbed with the photos and talking to Stan that I'd done it again. I'd managed to miss the start of afternoon school. This time it was history, but at least it was only Mrs. Egerton, and she's not half so strict as Mr. Pattle.

“I'll clear up here, you get going,” said Stan.

So I rushed off at top speed, calling over my shoulder that I'd see him next Monday, and thanking him for showing me the photos and tidying up my tools.

The last sound I heard as I ran along the other side of the tall hedge was Stan's lovely chuckle.

Waking up the following morning I felt instantly excited but very nervous. I took a quick look round at my friends' beds and saw that, as usual, I was the first one to be awake. I knew I would be, but I really wished that at least Bryony might wake up so I could talk everything through with her.

I was being silly, of course, because I'd already talked and talked to all my friends the day before, and told them about meeting Stan and seeing the photos and how I was determined to try to get Miss Gerard to let me have more land. And that wasn't all. I was going to talk to her about recycling the vegetable and fruit peelings too, so we could use the compost for growing more veggies. I really wanted her to realize that the gardening club was important, and that it was going to be more than just a club. It was going to make Silver Spires a greener place altogether.

Bryony had worn her heaviest frown when I'd told her that last bit, and I always worry when Bryony frowns, because she's so often right about things. I'd told her who Miss Gerard was and what the dinner lady had said about her, and I guess Bryony didn't think I had much chance of getting anywhere with such a scary lady.

“What time is it?” came her sleepy voice out of the gloom. (It wasn't even light outside yet.)

“You've got at least another ten minutes,” I whispered. “Go back to sleep, Bry.”

“'S okay.” She sat up and did a big yawn, then flopped back down again, blinking a bit before she looked directly at me. “Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?”

“No, I'll be fine, honestly.”

I wasn't half so confident as I was trying to sound, but I knew this was something I had to do on my own and I'd gone over and over what I was going to say. The six of us had decided that the best time for me to approach Miss Gerard was right at the beginning of the day, before she got too deep into her work. And we'd also found out from Miss Stevenson that Miss Gerard gets into school really early every morning, at about quarter to eight. The plan was that I'd wait in the main building in the big reception hall, and when I heard Miss Gerard's footsteps come clicking across the hall and up the stairs, I'd give it two minutes, then go upstairs after her and knock on her door.