To Be Honest (16 page)

I tell him that’s fine (but I do draw the line at admitting I find Taff quite sexy). He’s looking well fit and his sparkling wit has been really on form since my taxi dropped me off back at home. He gets up to roam round the house like he’s never been in it. I say,

“What’s wrong, Taff?” and he looks kind of amazed but then shakes himself.

“Wine’s well nice, innit?”

We sit down at seven. The lasagne’s heaven and I think Miss Mint’s missing a treat, but when we’ve all eaten the main course, with feet on the table, Taff rocks back his seat. Resisting the urge to say, “Mr Broxley-Hunt, feet off,” I just smile ‘cos it looks like he’s waiting to speak.

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, and he’s picking his teeth with a

Little gold toothpick.

“What about something less daunting?” He’s flaunting and rocking and flexing his muscles in front of Mr Morlis in a rather strange way, I would say. “Let’s just see how it goes, yeah?” and he wiggles his toes in his socks, ‘cos his shoe’s fallen

Off.

Mr Morlis looks grim. He leans forward and picks up his knife, stabs it down on his plate, once. “Does Kai know?”

There is silence, then Taff shakes his head.

“No!” and then yells, “ow, ow, ow!!!” and he grabs at his knee. “Sorry, kids, I just have like, a recurring thing. Torn cartilage, right, Lisi ... Phee?”

And I think,
Phee
? And
kids
? And
innit
? And why this great pain in his knee? And my skin starts to bubble and boil like there’s been burning oil dumped on top, like in history where they chuck it on your head and things are out of sync now, they’re odd; they don’t

fit together like they were just beginning to.

Mr Morlis gets there first.

“Kai Swanning?”

And Taff takes his feet down immediately.

* * *

“So, when did it happen?”

I’m perching on
Posy
, all liquid, with Mr Morlis solid, chilled, next to me. Taff’s letting off steam by pacing the floor. I mean, Kai is.

“Monday. In the storm. I saw Taff when you both walked to school.”

I think back to yesterday. Yes, big rain, in the morning, when he’d walked me and dropped me and Kai’d said, my hero and I’d seen Debono and Joe and I’d talked to Miss Mint by the gate and he’d got in my car and he’d driven ... wait.

“You
drove?
You drove my car home? You’re sixteen. That’s
illegal
!”

He says, “you can talk! It’s not even your car!” and I think, Taff’s Lamborghini. Did he get home, take it out?! Then I think, this is a lot of unnecessary exclamation mark-type comments to be making, and anyway, that isn’t the point. Mr Morlis agrees.

“Let’s get back on track,” he says, templing his fingers. “This makes things all quite awkward.” And he twists his face so his forehead disappears into his scalp, then comes back again. It happens twice, then he’s got it.

“The thing is,” he says, “with four people it either makes it doubly hard to switch back or it
might
, in fact
should
make things easier.”

“How do you work that out?” I say, but only half-listening ‘cos I’m thinking of the night I’ve already spent in this house with Kai Swanning and the fact we’ve only got three days left to switch back if we’re going to and how can we still be in with a chance.

“Well, with two people, they need to be utterly honest, which can be draining. But with four, you all know what’s in store, so you can use each other for support.”

“Will we swap back the same time?”

I’m quite scared, to be honest. ‘Cos what if the KaiTaff swap stops Pheebs’ and mine from reversing? What if we all get held back?

“I can’t see why not if no one breaks the rules. So no lies. Just stay true to yourselves.”

He smiles, winningly, charmingly and I think of Olly Goddard in physics last term, shivering in swimming trunks, climbing into a dustbin full of water to demonstrate density and

Displacement.

That’s why Mr Morlis is a legend. I cheer up a bit and when he’s gone and it’s Kai and me, first thing I say is, “we’re not sleeping in the same bed.”

He looks at me, touches my hair like outside his house a lifetime ago and it’s better then ‘cos he says, “yes, so Taff said. That’s totally cool. I mean, you’re a schoolgirl.”

I look at him then and say, “right. You’re at school too, just to remind you.”

Then we snog pretty much the whole night.

Debono’s debunked to the dark side.

She was meant to be backing me up on Review: said it was “unlikely to amuse” if I mimed
Happy Birthday, Mr President
as Marilyn to Mr Underwood’s John F. Kennedy, in a sort of so-cringey-it’s-almost-cool way. I agreed. A quick, “it’s all make believe, isn’t it?” and a little kiss-blow at the audience was more what I had in my mind.

But she’s changed hers. Stepped in instead. Says we’ll do songs as well, not just
Happy Birthday
and “it’s bound to be more entertaining” if she becomes Kennedy. In drag. The fact there’ll be nine hundred ravening children and we’re wafting metaphorical Nando’s in front of them doesn’t seem to register. But there’s no time to think about Friday. ‘Cos Alicia Payne has an exam.

It’s not ‘til tomorrow but she’s starting to worry and fret. She says, “Miss, I bet I’ll do crap,” and I say, “better not, ‘cos I’m giving my afternoon nap time up for you.”

And she laughs but there’s something behind it, like when Tao bundled her. She looked just as shit scared back then.

I’ve remembered the girl from the dentist. It’s Alicia Payne’s brother’s ex-girlfriend, Katie. I recognised her from a photo Alicia showed me, stuffed in her wallet and treasured, of James and her licking ice-creams on the beach. They’re giggling, closed in together. The girl’s on a picnic rug, just out of reach. They went out with each other in year 10, when James was my mentor. He told he’d “done it” with Katie but wearily, hungrily, then he’d said, “oh dear, I’m sorry. I forgot you’re twelve. You seem so much older.”

I’d blushed and been flustered ‘cos just for a second he’d made me feel special but even then, even then, ‘cos my friend’s Josh, I’d known: James is gay.

And so it was. When, in year 10, he got caught by the bike sheds with Sugar Berry founder by me.

I’d said nothing, but next time at mentoring, I’d just said, “hey, you know it is fine to like boys, don’t you, James?”

And he’d stopped spouting stuff about mothers and brothers and GCSE options. Stopped quite abruptly and said, “I knew you’d know. I’ve seen you with Josh. It’s really an honour to be with a year 7 girl who’s so streetwise and knowledgeable.” But I’d read the relief in his eyes far beneath all the sarcasm. After that we were friends. I think he might have thought he could trust me.

* * *

Mum’s at it again. Bedroom banging all night. Miss Mint’s shocked but I’m not convinced. “You’d know if a man came to stay.”

“Not necessarily,” she pouts. “I do have a life, you know.”

“Yeah,” I say. “Mine.”

She’s taken the news pretty well. About TaffKai, I mean, and their swap. She’s worried, of course. About not turning back, either in time or ever, but she’s what I heard Mum once call ‘stoic’. Oh, and annoying, too.

“I could tell,” she’d said. “Well, I mean Taff
is
my husband.”

“Fiance,” I’d said, rather too quickly.

But she’d let it go.

* * *

We rehearse at lunch break. Debono appears, late of course, in the studio, hair crazy-wild, like she’s come from a backwards hedge-dragging. Her sagging great shopper contains all the props.

“Your hair. Platinum.”

I look at the dry, bleached-blonde wig. Kai’s said, yet again, that short hair’s his thing and nobody will recognise me for a while with it on but still, when they do, even though I’m not me, I’m embarrassed. I waffle all this, leaving out obvious bits, to Debono.

“You’ll be fine,” she says, blowing a smacker. Her frizz all slicked back, makes me retch. It’s too weird.

In comes Mr Morlis.

“Debono!” he cries, like the kids, and she winces, “just the, ah, man.” And he tells her she’s down for car parking duty.

“It’s just you do it so well,” and he stands, flipping coins up and down and he shuffles his trainers a bit.

With an, ‘I’m so invaluable’ sigh, she ups sticks and then turns as the penny

Drops. Says,

“Oh, you mean for Review. Oh, I see.”

“Yes,” he says gently. “I’ll be Kennedy.”

And I’m a lot happier, to be honest.

So school rushes on. Teaching’s hard. It’s been fun but I’m tired, god I’m tired. And after a full Thursday, my throat’s expired. But there’s a very important event to take place. And really it shouldn’t require a loud voice. Three fifteen comes ...

... and then goes.

Lloyd Parker scratches his nose and draws a big cock and balls on the page as he sits at his desk with some lined paper soon to be checked. But not yet.

‘Cos Alicia Payne’s late.

I’ve done all these things, like email Debono, who she has for last lesson (
whom
) and nagged her and dragged her away from the bike sheds at lunch to remind her it’s ‘three fifteen sharp’ if she wants to take part in CA. And I thought she did.

Controlled assessments are usually done in a classroom of kids from one class. But Alicia was ill for it, Lloyd was off too and so one more chance, Alicia. Just one more chance, to be honest.

Lloyd glances up to the door and she’s there, with her hair swinging wildly, escaped from its band. There’s a full can of unopened Fizz in her hand (which is cider). I choose to ignore it.

“Sorry, Miss. It’s just this boy came up to me, asked me to walk his dog before Review.”

And it’s, ‘phew, Alicia doesn’t hate dogs!’ that’s the first thing I think, but I say,

“Drink can away now. You know that’s forbidden. Sit down next to Lloyd.”

She does what she’s told, a mood-swung, loved-up, out-cidered girl

Trying to pass GCSE.

“I can’t see,” she complains.

“Nothing to,” I retort and write the instructions and time on the board and they start.

The two of them pick up their pens. They’ve notes pages; A4 sides scribbled on, quotes and notes and occasional rubbings out. The clock ticks: three, four, five

And I pause, say, “pens down,” and they both stretch and sigh but then Lloyds eye has wandered.

“Oi, Miss! I could see ...”

I instinctively cover my chest, hold my breath, ‘cos I’m wearing a vest underneath Miss Mint’s oversized, pink maxi-dress.

“ ... Alicia cheating.”

“You ... what?”

Nasty boy, I think. How dare he say such a thing. Not my Alicia. Not Payne. But she clings to the desk in the way she did when we looked at rhythm, viewpoint, Sugar Berry. Exact same. But it’s her desk, not mine.

I say, “Alicia, come here.”

She gets up.

“Thank you, Lloyd. You may go. Leave your papers behind.”

He gets up.

“But Miss ...” but he does.

I look at her work. It seems fine. No paragraphs; only seven words a line ‘cos her writings all big and girl-loopy, but still. Then I look at her notes and my throat starts to fill up and if I’m not careful, the words will spill out. So I
am
careful. Calm and serene, like an un-trollied lake or a warm summer breeze. I’m just all Mint and pleasant.

“Alicia Payne.”

“That’s my name,” but she won’t meet my eyes.

“How’d it go?”

“I’ve got loads of stuff down, Miss. Look. See?” And she points at my desk, at Lloyd’s and her work all stacked up.

“Do you want to tell me ... anything?”

“Oh, my god, Miss!” she pops, like a cork or the top of her can of Fizz-y. She kicks back her chair and she’s gone, quick as that. And I sit down and think, Oh Em Gee.

* * *

I make a beeline for the staffroom, seeking out a corner ‘cos the loo’s being cleaned, I ease into Miss Mint’s now tight jeans and out of my dress.

I’m a mess. Day eleven. How dare he? I can’t believe Lloyd would lie. I tried to find him after Alicia had scarpered. Lloyd Parker’s a sharper tool than he’d have you believe. Although lazier than Tao after he’d got into the larder and eaten and eaten his fill, he’s got radar for things that are out of the ordinary. Like cheating.

My school’s good like that. Kids aren’t wont to cheat ‘cos they know they’ll get caught. All my friends know the code: you just don’t. ‘Cos we all know you’re cheating yourself. That sounds lame, but it’s true. Like that time when Rach got stressed. She’d missed French, she’d been smoking; we’d a test and I’d offered to help. In tech, I’d said, “fait accompli: moi vous aider,” just to show off. What I’d meant was, I’d give her a look at my book. Mais non, ‘cos although Josh’s reckless in English, Rach wouldn’t accept it ‘cos we all knew Fairmere’s policy’s pretty hardcore.