Lottie Project (26 page)

I didn’t know where I was going. I wanted to get away from him, away from Lisa and Angela, away from the whole school . . .

I made for the gate, deciding to make a dash for it and bunk off school for the afternoon. But Miss Beckworth was on playground duty and her eagle eyes were beady-bright.

‘Charlotte Enright! Where on earth do you think you’re going, young lady?’ she called.

I was so desperate I kept on running but I collided with a bunch of little kids coming back into school after going home for dinner. I tripped as I dodged them and fell flat.

I heard them squealing excitedly. Ominous footsteps paused by my side. I didn’t try to get up. I just lay where I was – and cried.

‘Out of the way, children. There’s no need to gawp. Off you go. Shoo!’ said Miss Beckworth. She seemed to be bending down beside me. ‘Charlotte?’

I howled harder.

‘I need to know if you’ve really hurt yourself badly and need medical attention,’ said Miss Beckworth. ‘Can you try and sit up so we can examine the damage?’

So I had to sit up, snivelling and snorting. I’d cut my knee and grazed the other, but it was nothing much. Certainly nothing to cry about. Though I was spouting like a fountain.

Some other kids were coming nearer, eyes popping at the sight of Charlie Enright bawling her eyes out.

‘Will you go
away
, please?’ Miss Beckworth said briskly. ‘Charlotte, you’d better come with me.’

She put her hand under my armpits and got me to my feet. She walked me across the playground, shielding me from the stares. She took me right into school and sat me down in the empty classroom.

‘There.’ She looked at me, and felt up her sleeve for a tissue. ‘Use this.’

I blew and mopped.

‘That’s better. Now. What’s the matter?’

‘I’m not crying because I fell over,’ I said.

‘I realize that.’

‘And I’m not crying because I shouted at Jamie. Though I feel bad about that.’

‘I expect Jamie’s used to your shouting at him,’ said Miss Beckworth drily.

‘And I shouted at Lisa and Angela too and I think they’ve broken friends with me, but I’m not crying about that either,’ I said.

‘So . . . what are you crying about?’

I said nothing.

‘The little boy who was lost?’

I nodded. ‘He’s ill. He’s got pneumonia. Everyone says he’s going to be all right, but I’m so scared that maybe . . .’ I cried harder.

‘Now, calm down, Charlotte. I haven’t got any more tissues! You mustn’t worry. Look, I’ve had pneumonia myself and I recovered perfectly. I know you’re obviously very fond of this little boy—’

‘No, I’m not! I’ve been horrid to him.
That’s
why I’m crying. You think I’m being all kind and concerned but it’s because I’ve been so bad.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Miss Beckworth. ‘Go on. I think I’m pretty shockproof after twenty-five years of teaching. So tell me.’

So I did. All of it. And stuff about Jo and me from way back. Stuff I’d never dream of telling anyone – let alone
Miss Beckworth
.

She listened to it all – and then she put her arm round me and let me cry on her shoulder even though I was all slurpy and snotty.

‘I know you think you’re all-powerful, but the little boy didn’t run away
just
because of you,’ said Miss Beckworth. ‘You’re only a little part of all this. You were a bit silly and spiteful but you’re truly sorry now – and you certainly didn’t mean any of this to happen. I’m sure the little boy will get better.’

‘You’re really sure?’ I said, sniffing. ‘Because you’re never wrong about anything, are you?’

‘That’s right!’ said Miss Beckworth. ‘Now, you’d better run along and wash that poor old face. Try to cheer up, Charlie.’

It wasn’t until I was right along in the girls’ cloakrooms that I realized. Miss Beckworth had called me
Charlie
!

SICKNESS

HE’S BEEN FOUND!
I can scarcely believe it. Little Freddie is back with us – though we are all still so worried about the poor lamb because he is sick.

He wasn’t taken by thieves and robbers. It was a woman half-demented because all her own babies had died. She watched us in the public gardens, she admired Freddie’s chubby cheeks and golden curls – and when Louisa fell in the pond and I rushed in after her this woman snatched our Freddie and made off with him.

She was all set to make him her child, but her brain was so addled she scarcely fed our poor little boy and left his napkin unchanged. She covered him with just one thin sheet at night and of course the poor child caught a chill. She took fright as he grew dangerously sick and eventually she wrapped him in her cloak and left him on the doorstep of the foundling hospital. (She was observed and followed, and is now in police custody.)

The Master and Mistress were sent for when Freddie was found and great was their
rejoicing
– but their joy turned to terror when they saw the state of their poor darling. They took him home and we put him straight to bed and called the doctor. He listened to Freddie’s rasping breathing and felt his fevered brow.

‘There is nothing I can do,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘Keep him warm, feed him sugared water, and let us hope the Good Lord sees fit to spare him.’

The Mistress and I have been taking turns to nurse him. For once we are not like Mistress and servant at all. We are more like sisters, united in our desire for Freddie to recover. I feel as much for Freddie now as little Ada-May at home.

Victor and Louisa are being as good as gold. Eliza is looking after them, while I nurse Freddie. Mrs Angel is forever bringing him bowls of nourishing broth but the poor mite is too poorly to even suck the spoon.

Oh, please let him be saved!

SEASIDE

WE WERE BACK
to Charlotte the next day. We had English first lesson, one of those boring writing exercises – a formal letter of apology. It seemed a perfect opportunity to make things up with Lisa and Angela. (I didn’t need to go to letter-writing lengths with Jamie as I was sitting right beside him. I could just give him a nudge and mumble, ‘Sorry I yelled at you to shut up. You can tell me to shut up some time if you want.’ Jamie blinked at me. ‘I’d have to make sure you were in a good mood first!’ he said – displaying his famous intelligence.)

Anyway, I got cracking with my apology letter. I think I did it beautifully, in my very best handwriting, no blotches, no smears. I put my address at the right-hand corner, I remembered the date, I flaunted an amazingly varied vocabulary, I didn’t make a single spelling mistake, I signed off appropriately, and I even personally decorated my piece of paper. You look:

My Desk

Miss Beckworth’s Class

Avondale Junior School

Truly Terrible Tuesday

Dear Lisa and Angela,

Do not rip this letter up in disgust when you see it’s from the appalling, beastly, crosspatch, dolthead, egotistic, foul, gross, horrible, irritating, jealous, knavish, loathsome, mangy, nerve-wracking, odious, presumptuous, quarrelsome, ratty, spoilt, terrible, unkind, verminous, wicked, X-rated, yucky, zero called Charlotte Alice Katherine Enright (commonly known as Charlie), who used to be your friend. No wonder you both broke friends with me! I have been Utterly Foul (though with just cause seeing as I’ve had Terrible Things on my Mind) but that is no excuse to be hateful to you two, who are the dearest sweetest kindest friends any girl could ever wish for. And if I had a wish it would be this: Please will you make friends with me again?

Yours utterly sincerely – and with lots of luv and XXXXXXXX

Charlie