Skippy Dies (23 page)

They listen to his footsteps echo off to the car park, the car door
chunks
open and closed and the motor starts; and then, as it revs off into the night, there is a mighty cheer.

‘You are all suspended!’ Acting Principal Dennis Hoey cries. ‘Hallowe’en is banned! Study your navels! Cut those notes!’ Niall
shakes his head and silently thanks God, whom he has promised never to listen to Dennis again.

The doors are opened, and the line progresses swiftly forward. But before the party can begin, there remains one last trial
to get through – the Sports Hall antechamber where, seated alone at a table, Father Green is taking entrance money. The light
here is sterile and unforgivingly bright, reducing them, no matter how glamorous or outlandish their attire, once more to
children; as they shuffle by him to drop their crumpled fives into the bucket, the priest thanks them in an impersonal, excessively
courteous tone, keeping his eyes firmly averted from the almost universally sacrilegious costumes, not to mention the acres
of goosepimpled flesh – still, the transaction leaves them with a strange chill of ignominy, and they hurry away as quickly
as they –

‘Oh, Mr Juster…’

Skippy reluctantly turns back from the door. What is the problem? Didn’t he see him put in his money? The priest’s lashes,
long and surprisingly feminine, waft upwards, uncloaking the coal-black stare.

‘You appear to be losing a wing…?’ He extends a knotted finger.

Looking down, Skippy sees that the feathers have come unpinned from the ankle of one dragonskin boot. He bends quickly and
adjusts it, then mumbling his thanks hastens into the hall.

The others have disappeared; everything is dark, and Skippy stumbles around for what seems like an age, bumping his way through
witches, mutants, trolls and terrorists, unable to make out anyone he knows. Every available inch of space has been covered
with black cloth, decorated in turn with crescents, stars, mystical runes. Black balloons float overhead like lost souls,
ropey black webs drip from the eaves, mutilated mannequins climb out of the walls, and over the DJ booth, where Wallace Willis
– lead guitarist with Shadowfax, Seabrook College’s number one rock band – is spinning the discs, a gap-toothed pumpkin exults
as though presiding over the bacchanal. When his eyes have adjusted to the darkness, Skippy finds he can identify most of
the male half of the revellers. That Zeus over there, in cotton-wool beard and bathrobe, is Odysseas Antopopopolous; the IRA
man in camouflage gear and balaclava can only be Muiris de Bhaldraithe. But some of them still defy him. That eerie Death,
for instance, face lost beneath the hood of his robe, standing six and a half feet tall at least, who is he? And eerier still,
the pink rabbit jitterbugging feverishly over beside Vincent Bailey and Hector O’Looney? And these
girls
– can they really be the same ones he sees every day, queuing up in Texaco for cigarettes and phone credit? Have they secretly,
all this time, been
this
? If it weren’t for the worn-down lines of the basketball court underfoot, the only trace of the hall’s previous incarnation,
Skippy’d think he’d somehow wandered into the wrong place…

‘
Hallo, Skippy
,’ a sepulchral voice says. ‘
Happy Holiday of the Dead
.’

‘Thanks, Geoff.’

‘
Isn’t this incredible
?’

‘It’s pretty amazing…’

‘
Would you like some fruit punch?
’

‘Okay.’

Elf follows zombie to the table where ‘Jeekers’ Prendergast is ladling punch from a huge vat prepared by Monstro from the
ends of various cans of fruit concentrate. Dennis is there too, with Ruprecht; the former has just suspended Jeekers for his
gay costume (eighties tennis ace Mats Wilander) and then expelled him for not ensuring there is booze in the punch. A moment
later Niall bursts onto them. ‘Hey everybody, Mario just got turned down by a girl!’

‘I was not turned down, you faggot who is dressed as a woman,’ Mario snaps, arriving behind him. ‘I told you, she is a diabetic
and she must go and take her insulin.’

‘I saw the whole thing!’ says Niall with an unrepentant air of jubilation. ‘
Wiiiipeouuuuut
.’

‘Keep laughing, Mr Funny, and when this bitch comes back from taking her insulin you are going to look pretty silly.’

‘Well, even if she doesn’t…’ Geoff begins consolingly.

‘She will.’

‘Yes, but even if she doesn’t, there are plenty of other ladies here anyway.’

‘And most of them are drunk,’ Dennis adds.

‘Fascinating,’ Ruprecht muses to Skippy. ‘The whole thing seems to work on a similar principle to a supercollider. You know,
two streams of opposingly charged particles accelerated till they’re just under the speed of light, and then crashed into
each other? Only here alcohol, accentuated secondary sexual characteristics and primitive “rock and roll” beats take the place
of velocity.’

Skippy has gone to replenish his punch. Ruprecht sighs quietly, and looks at his watch.

Patrick ‘Da Knowledge’ Noonan and Eoin ‘MC Sexecutioner’ Flynn pimp-roll by, plastic Uzis tucked under their arms, the faint
frisson of tension still detectable between them, the aftermath of a heated debate earlier today over who was going to come
as Tupac, which debate Patrick won, meaning Eoin is now waddling along in a fat suit, dressed as Biggie Smalls. The squalling
riff from Cream’s ‘Layla’ blasts from the speakers; in the DJ booth, Wallace Willis nods to himself: oh yes. ‘Flubber’ Cooke,
who has come in his supermarket shelf-stacking uniform, explains to a sexy nun that while it’s part of his costume the trolley
is actually company property, so although he’d like to let her ride in it, he can’t. Mr Fallon, the history teacher, drifts
along the periphery with his hands in his pockets and a melancholy air.

‘I’d like to say a few words about bullying,’ Dennis, in an authentic sheen of perspiration, is declaiming to anyone who’ll
listen. ‘Here at Seabrook, we simply will not tolerate bullying of a second-rate nature. Bullying must meet the same standards
of excellence we expect everywhere else. If you need help with your bullying, please do not hesitate to speak to me or Father
Green or Mrs Timony or Mr Kilduff or…’

And then, grabbing his arm, Geoff Sproke says, ‘Hey, Skippy, look! Isn’t that your girlfriend over there?’

‘Skippy?’

‘… uh, Skippy?’

‘Hey, we’re going to need a new Skippy over here!’

It’s just like in a film. The music dims to nothing, voices fade out, everything melts away, leaving only her. She is talking
with her friends, dressed in a long white dress, a slender tiara woven into her dark hair. She seems to glow like she is lit
from within, and even though he is looking right at her, Skippy can’t believe how beautiful she is. He looks right at her,
and he still can’t believe it.

‘Hubba hubba,’ Mario says. ‘Like a steak on a barbecue, this bitch is smokin’. It is lucky for you that you have first dibs,
Juster, otherwise she would be the prime candidate for some of Mario’s Special Sauce.’

‘Keep an eye on him, Skip,’ says Dennis. ‘Never trust an Italian. The Nazis did that, and look where it got them.’

‘You’re not going to throw up again, are you?’ Ruprecht asks.

‘I can’t believe she’s
here
,’ Skippy whispers dazedly.

‘Skippy, old pal,’ Dennis claps a hand on his shoulder, ‘it doesn’t make any difference whether she’s here or not. As far
as you’re concerned, she’s on the North Pole. She’s on the
moon
.’

‘What’s the deal with her costume?’ Niall wonders. ‘She looks sort of like one of the elves from
Lord of the Rings
.’

‘Or the girl from
Labyrinth
?’

‘You clowns, she’s obviously Queen Amidala from
Phantom Menace
.’

‘Oh, right, you mean in that scene in
Phantom Menace
where she wears a tiara in her hair? The special magical scene that doesn’t exist? That scene?’

But Skippy doesn’t think she looks like Queen Amidala, or the girl from
Labyrinth
, or anyone else. He has seen beautiful girls before, in films, on the Internet, in pictures pinned to locker doors and dorm
rooms; but the beauty this girl has is something bigger, something beyond, with infinitely more sides to it – it’s like a
mountain with an impossible shape that he keeps trying to climb and falling off, finding himself lying on his back in the
snow…

‘Ladies and gentlemen…’ Geoff announces, arriving back on the scene with Titch Fitzpatrick. ‘Frisbee Girl’s true identity
is about to be revealed!’

Titch, in a red Formula One jumpsuit crowded with company logos, clearly has other fish to fry tonight: from every side, girls
wave and pout and send him amorous gazes. ‘Where is she, then?’ he says impatiently.

‘Over there,’ Geoff points with a decomposing finger. ‘Near the DJ booth?’

Titch presses his lips together, and rising onto his tiptoes cranes his head over in the direction Geoff is pointing. Inside,
Skippy squirms. Finding out her name! This is becoming real! Is that what he wants? He can’t even tell –

She is with three other girls – a GI Jane with sharp, intelligent features and bouncy curls, a scuba driver in a tight-fitting
wetsuit and an overweight girl in some kind of incredibly voluminous Victorian-type ballgown that keeps slipping down her
shoulders. The four of them are huddled together, conferring, Frisbee Girl’s eyes darting repeatedly from the dancefloor to
the door, like she’s watching out for someone.

‘Lori Wakeham, Janine Forrest, Shannan Fitzpatrick, KellyAnn Doheny,’ Titch reels off the names in a bored voice. ‘I presume
you’re talking about Lori Wakeham, she’s the one in the white dress.’

Lori.

‘Who is she?’ Geoff asks.

‘Uh, Lori Wakeham? Did I not just say that?’

‘No, I mean, you know, what’s her story?’

Titch shrugs. ‘Just your typical Foxrock princess.’

‘She going out with anybody?’ Mario says.

‘Dunno,’ Titch says indifferently. ‘I’ve seen her with people at LA Nites. I don’t know if she’s got a boyfriend. She acts
a bit like no one’s good enough for her.’

‘Frigid,’ Mario comments.

‘So basically you’re saying Skipford here is wasting his time, right, T-dog?’ Dennis interprets. ‘You’re saying that Skippy
fancying her is like some kind of slime or ooze fancying, you know, Gisele. It’s like some sort of disgusting slime or algae
seeping over to Gisele and telling her to get her coat.’

‘That’s not what he’s saying,’ Geoff objects. ‘He’s just saying she acts like no one’s good enough for her. But that’s because
she hasn’t met Skippy yet.’

‘What’s so great about Skippy? No offence, Skippy.’

‘Well, okay, he’s a very good swimmer? And he’s – he’s nearly finished
Hopeland
?’

‘Actually,’ Titch remembers, ‘I did see her with Carl a couple of times last week.’

Instantly, as if it’s been sucked into some awful vacuum, all conversation ceases.

‘I saw them together in the mall,’ Titch says obliviously, ‘and once outside Texaco. I don’t know if they’re going out. I
can ask around if you want.’

‘Good idea, you ask Carl, and if he comes over and smashes Skippy’s face in, we’ll know she’s spoken for.’ Just then, as though
sensing the eyes on her, the fat girl in the unfortunate dress turns and squints in their direction; next thing they know,
Titch has bolted into the crowd.

‘Sorry, dude,’ Niall commiserates. Skippy is gazing at the floor as if counting the fragments of his shattered life.

‘I think you should go and talk to her anyway,’ counsels Ruprecht.

‘You fat moron, didn’t you hear what he said?’ Dennis rebuts. ‘He said he’d seen her with
Carl
.
Carl
is the key word there. It means get the hell out of the way, or start digging your own grave.’

‘He only said he’d
seen
her with Carl,’ Ruprecht corrects him. ‘There could be any number of explanations for that.’

‘Oh sure, maybe they’re in stamp club together.’

‘Let’s just stop talking about it,’ Skippy says desolately.

‘But
Carl
,’ Ruprecht says. ‘Why would anybody want to go out with Carl?’

‘Because that’s what girls do, you idiot,’ Dennis returns. ‘The more of an asshole a guy is, the more girls he’s got lining
up to give him blowjobs. That is a scientific fact.’

‘You can’t just
say
something is a scientific fact,’ Ruprecht rejoins.

‘I just did, fatass. And what do you know about it anyway? Who the hell ever gave you a blowjob?’

‘Your mother,’ Geoff prompts
sotto voce
.

‘Your mother,’ Ruprecht says to Dennis.

‘
Step
mother,’ Dennis corrects sulkily.

‘Ruprecht has a point though,’ Niall says. ‘Like, is Carl even here?’

‘Can we just stop talking about it?’ Skippy remonstrates.

‘No, but, if they were together, he’d be here, wouldn’t he?’

‘It seems to me that the only way of establishing the truth is for Skippy to go and talk to this girl,’ Ruprecht repeats.

‘Would you all just fucking shut up?’ Skippy interjects. ‘Just fucking shut up about it, why can’t you.’

Surprised, they fall silent, and remain so a moment. Then Mario, with some remark about beavers, turns and plunges quixotically
into the dancefloor; Dennis and Niall follow after him, already chuckling. Ruprecht pats Skippy on the shoulder, and directs
another surreptitious glance at his watch. Skippy looks over at Lori. The other two girls are both speaking to her; she nods
without seeming to be listening, thumb jabbing frenetically at her phone. He wishes he’d never told anyone about her, never
found out anything about her, that he could have gone on just watching her through the telescope. Now, just like Dennis said,
even though she’s right here, she’s on the other side of the world. ‘
Don’t give up yet, Skippy
,’ Geoff’s voice sounds in his ear. ‘
Strange things happen at Hallowe’en
…’ And at that very moment, in the middle of the twin lead-guitar break in ‘Hotel California’, one of Wallace Willis’s all-time
favourite solos, the music cuts out and the lights too, and in the interregnum of darkness there is a fierce peal of thunder,
like some huge, amorphous black animal snarling right over their heads. Everybody cheers. Skippy’s hand tightens on his sword.