"Lucy Burgess, I won't tell you again, young lady." Now, if Lucy had even one
pence for every, like, eighty-six zillion times that her mother, older sister, Charlotte, and teachers, came out
with a line like that, on an average week, she'd be an extremely rich thirteen-year-old girl.
If only they would see their threats through occasionally, and refrain from "telling her again",
Lucy would enjoy a comparatively easy life.
Lucy sulkily replaced the cream-and-chocolate swiss roll on the shelf, undamaged. She
had been really looking forward to squashing that poxy swiss roll.
"Honestly, Lucy, you really do live in another world, at times. Maybe Miss Jenkins was
right. Maybe you do have attention-whatsit disorder. I can't believe that you've not grown out of this sort of
thing, at your age. You'll be doing your GCSEs next year, for Heaven's sake!"
Lucy cringed. Bloody Miss Jenkins, indeed! The headmistress talked such bollocks.
Surely even Mum realised that? She had been on a few courses about "special needs", and returned to Lakefield
School, armed with a copious supply of "diagnostic labels", which she, almost randomly, applied to as many kids as possible
- with the same intense passion, with which Lucy's brother, Ronnie, had once stuck football stickers, into that album of his.
If Lucy's mother wanted an example of someone who lived in "another world", she need look no further than the scrawny, purple-skirted
Jenkins woman.
"Talking of Miss Jenkins..."
"Do we have to?"
"Don't be so cheeky! I wouldn't have dreamed of addressing my parents like that."
So she was always saying! 'Anyway, what I was about to tell you was that I've made another appointment with your head,
to talk some more about your - your difficulties."
"Mum, do you have to keep showing me up? Nobody else's parents do this - nobody's!
And nobody else gets dragged around Asda with their Mum, every single time, like a little kid.'
Lucy waited for Mum to say that "maybe nobody else acted like you".
"Stop shouting, please, Lucy. You show yourself up. Maybe other children's
parents are able to trust them, on their own. Maybe they don't act like you do." Ha! What a surprise!
Lucy could have written her mother's scripts for her and saved her the trouble.
It's couldn't, let's face it, be any more boring than that Chemistry homework, which Lucy would,
no doubt, be forced to struggle her way through, after Mum's next "appointment" with the head.
"You've been hanging about with that Christine again, haven't you? I can always tell."
"No."
"Well, that's not what Nicky's mum was telling me."
"What's it got to do with Nicky's mum? Hey, we need more Crunchy Nut Cornflakes, Mum!"
"The sugar's no good for your teeth. Why can't you just eat the ordinary ones, like the
rest of us?"
"Because they're boring - a bit like Nicola Smith, and her big, fat mother."
"Mrs. Smith is a nice lady. And I certainly think that Nicky is a better influence on
you than Christine Peterson."
"At least Chrissy's a laugh!"
"Yes, well, unfortunately, not everyone finds Christine's behaviour terribly amusing.
It certainly won't get her a job, when she leaves school - or not a very good one, anyway."
"Who cares about jobs? I'm going to be rich and famous, anyway - and so is Chrissy."
"Oh, change the record, please, Lucy. Now, let's go and find queue, to pay for these
things. You can help me to pack."
Riveting, thought Lucy.
She was beginning to wonder if her friend didn't have a point. Maybe they should both
get the Hell out of this shitty life - make a new start somewhere else.
Or "time to shoot through", as Christine had phrased it.
Lucy wondered if there was any "credit" on her mobile. Probably not. Oh well, she
could always nick Charlotte's. It was better than Lucy's ancient, "hand-me-down" Motorola, anyway.
Lucy glanced quickly around the pink-and-peach bedroom, which she and her sister shared.
Yeah, there it was. It would have been very unusual for Charlotte to have taken her phone with her to her boyfriend's
flat, as she liked to remain un-contactable, whenever she was with Danny. This might have been partly due to the fact
that Charlotte so rarely was with her so-called 'boyfriend', who tended to spend most of his time with his partner,
Sam.
Sam, as in Samuel. Never did go for the straight forward relationships, did Charlotte.
Lucy grabbed the phone, and punched in Chrissy's mobile number.
"Who the fuck is this?"
Although momentarily taken aback, Lucy realised that her friend wouldn't have recognised her
sister's mobile number. Christine didn't like answering calls, unless she knew who she was speaking to, and would either
answer aggressively, as she had just done, or not at all. It was just as well that she hadn't selected the latter option,
on this occasion. If Lucy's call had been diverted to voicemail, she might well have lost her nerve, and simply hung
up.
"Chrissy, it's me, mate."
"Hey, Luce! You got a new mobile or something?"
"I've nicked our Charlotte's," she explained, which went down well.
Lucy always did like it when she managed to impress Christine; it didn't happen much, though.
Generally, her mate thought that Lucy was a bit of a wimp - although she tended to express it in somewhat stronger lingo,
it had to be said.
"Listen, Chris, you know what you said the other day, about that cousin of yours? Yeah,
well, I've been giving it some thought and, well, I'm sick of things around here. I mean, my family, that bitch Jenkins,
the whole damn lot of them - they are so pissing me off right now."
"Shit, Lucy - never thought you'd have the guts! That's brilliant news! I'll give
Becca a quick call, and let her know that we're on our way. Meet me tomorrow morning, by the shops, yeah? About
half-seven? Just leave 'for school', as normal, like we said."
Blind panic, in addition to the Atkins Diet, made Lucy come over momentarily dizzy. She
took a deep breath, and grabbed on to her sister's bookcase, for support.
"You still there, Lucy?"
"Yeah - yeah, I'm still here. Listen, Christine, the thing is..."
"You're not bloody well backing out, are you?" demanded Christine, ferociously, reminding Lucy
that she was still the same terrified three-year-old inside. The same little girl - albeit minus the bunches, and that
ridiculous obsession with Rupert the Bear - who had been kissing her friend's, somewhat sizable, arse, ever since the "good
old days" at playgroup. Lucy felt sick, just thinking about it. Chrissy and another girl - Sarah, or was it Sally?
- had regularly bullied her into going into the Wendy House with them - and therein, allowing herself to be teased and
"beaten up" by them both.
And they had been so much bigger than Lucy - as, indeed, Chrissy still was...
Lucy gave herself a mental shake. "No, of course I'm not. But I don't think tomorrow
morning would work." Lucy hoped that Christine wouldn't ask why not. She had so far just about managed
to conceal from her friend the fact that her mother and sister now took it in turns to - get this - walk her to school.
This was on, as per usual Miss Jenkins' poxy advice; how Lucy hated that bloody woman! "It's going to have
to be tonight." Lucy only hoped and prayed that Mum wouldn't try to drag her along with her, to Nan's. She judged
not, because she could always get out of it on the plea of "overdue homework", which was one of the few excuses that almost
never failed with her mother.
It wasn't a total lie. That is, she did have plenty of outstanding homework, some of
which was phenomenally "overdue". It was a bit far-fetched that Lucy would actually have any intention of doing
any of the said work, in the forseeable future - but if Mum didn't know her well enough, after thirteen-and-a-quarter years,
not to fall for that one, then that was her bloody problem, wasn't it?
"Okay, then. Tonight it is," agreed Christine, after a slight pause, during which Lucy's
heart had been performing a triple back somersault. "Meet me in five, at 'The Camp', yeah?"
"It might be a bit more than five minutes - ten or fifteen, say."
"Whatever. Give me a call when you're ready to leave, Luce. I don't want to be
hanging around for too long, in this bloody heatwave. And bring some cans of Coke or something."
It had seemed to take forever to get rid of Mum, but it had actually been relatively quick:
a mere seven minutes and thirty-three seconds, and counting.
Almost the instant that Lucy, near enough slammed, the front door behind her mother,
her phone rang.
Lucy snatched it, almost as if though the thing would explode, if she didn't.
"Chris?"
"Hi, sis. It's Ronnie. Who's Chris, anyway? Someone I should know about?"
"R-Ronnie?"
"Yes, you know - your brother, Ronnie. Tall - brown hair - eighteen - lived in the same
house as you for years? I know I don't see much of you, since you started seeing whatshisname, but I'd have thought..."
The penny dropped. "Bruv, hi! It's not Charlotte. It's Lucy. I - I
- just answered her phone, that's all." Could she have sounded any more guilty?
It was lucky that Ronnie was so thick, or he'd definitely have sussed that something was going
on.
'Oh - oh, right. That's a shame, actually. I thought for a minute there that 'Chris'
must be Charlotte's new bloke, instead of that idiot she...but, well, you're not Charlotte, and 'Chris' must be - no, hold on.
'Chris' isn't Christine whatshername, is it? The one Mum and all your teachers don't...'
Shit, even at this mega-slow pace, Ronnie's logic was going to reach its destination eventually,
and then he'd be straight on the blower to Nan's...
"N-no, of course it isn't Christine. Actually, I was waiting for a call from - from Christina
Smith. You know, Nicky's sister." Where had that come from?
"Nicky's sister? But I thought that she was about three. Why is she...?"
"Listen, Ron, I'd love to chat all day, if I could, but, well, I really have got to
be going. Loads to do - homework and stuff, you know." Why was she such a crap liar? As if even he'd
fall for that one!
But, then again, one should never underestimate the stupidity of men.
"Oh, that's good. I'm glad you've started taking your school work more seriously.
As I've always tried to tell you, Luce, you'll never get a decent job unless you're prepared to..."
"'Bye, Ronnie! I'll tell Charlotte you called."
Now Lucy was going to be late. Bloody marvelous!
Christine, in the event, took twenty-odd minutes to turn up, after Lucy's arrival, at the spot
in the local woods where their childhood "Camp" had once been located.
The tradition of still calling it "The Camp" was one that secrety meant a lot to Lucy; it showed
that, in spite of Christine's usual indifference, and even spite, towards her friend, she did at least remember the
fun that they had had together, as kids.
Some of it had been fun, after all - well, sort of...
"Hi, Lucy," said Christine, who wasn't even remotely apologetic about being late. "Did
you get my text?"
That was a point. Lucy had switched "her" phone off, after getting rid of her brother.
"Fancy going down the pub? I've changed my mind about 'shooting through'. Don't
need the hassle, and my cousin's a cow, anyway. She'd just wind me up, even more than Mum and our Jayne. Hey,
where the Hell are you..?"
But Lucy wasn't listening. Christine could cancel her own plans, but not Lucy's - not
anymore. She was doing what she should have done, years ago. She was sick to death of the lot of them.
It was definitely "time to shoot through".
