After Iris: the Diaries of Bluebell Gadsby (4 page)

‘Popularity,’ said Joss Bateman, ‘is a mystery.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed, because I have often thought this.

‘But usually, if a person is
un
popular, it’s for a reason.’

I said nothing.

‘Take you, for example,’ he argued. ‘You’re a nice kid, you don’t smell or dress like a freak. And yet here you are. Alone.’

‘Not
completely
alone,’ I mumbled.

‘Alone until I got here,’ said Joss. ‘You also go to class alone and spend break in the library. Don’t
argue
. You know I’ve been watching you.’

‘That doesn’t mean . . .’

‘There’s got to be a reason for it,’ said Joss.

Behind him, at the sixth-form table, Flora was waving her hands above her head. ‘Are you OK?’ she mouthed. Joss turned, just in time to see Flora clutch her throat and pretend to choke.

‘Is she always like that?’ he asked. If he guessed that Flora’s gagging had anything to do with him, he didn’t seem to mind. He actually looked like he thought it was funny.

‘Always,’ I said. I couldn’t help smiling, even though a moment before I wanted to cry, because that is the thing with Flora. However annoying she is, she can always make you smile when you need her to.

‘What do you want?’ I asked Joss.

‘To rescue you,’ he said. He leaned back in his chair so it was tipping back on two legs, and grinned. ‘I’m your knight in shining armour.’

What with Dad being a professor of medieval literature, our family knows a lot about knights in shining armour. All our games when we were little were about Merlin and Arthur and Lancelot and the evil Morgan Le Fay.

Even in our wildest imagination they never wore hoodies and hightops. 

Twig was fine. Obviously. He pulled the emergency cord as soon as he realised we had got off the train without him and then when all hell broke loose at the next stop and the transport police tried to work out what the emergency was, the nose bar and tattoo couple bundled him on to a train going the other way and brought him back to South Ken. The whole thing took precisely seven minutes.

Twig was all ‘I don’t know why you were so worried’, and Jas sobbed even louder and said he was stupid and she hated him and then the uniformed
official
said ‘There there, little girl’
and Jas looked like she might bite him. And Zoran said he was sorry but he had to go to the pub where we all had Cokes except for Zoran who ordered a double vodka which he drank in one go. And then we went to the Natural History Museum, because that’s why we were in South Ken in the first place, to visit the Darwin wing for Twig’s science project, where I had the weirdest conversation with Zoran over a Blue Morpho butterfly, which started with me saying I hate the way they pin butterflies on to boards.

‘The pins are not the worst part,’ said Zoran.

‘They are for me,’ I said.

I held out my hand and traced the contours of the Morpho through the glass of its case. When I looked up Zoran was still standing there, watching me.

‘Little Blue,’ he said. Just that.
Little Blue.
‘I was thinking,’ Zoran continued, ‘how strange that the butterfly carries your name.’

‘Hardly,’ I said. ‘And I am not little,’ I added.

‘You are little to me. And you’re right, it’s not strange. Maybe it’s appropriate.  I hope that one day you too will learn to fly.’

Like I said. Weird.

Mum came back from China this morning very early. She took us all out for breakfast, and then she went to football with Twig and watched a DVD with Jas and ate the lunch that Zoran cooked (sausage soup –
quelle surprise
). Then she started to sway and said she thought she had better go to bed and that was when Zoran said he would take us all to the museum, except Flora who had a rehearsal and wouldn’t have come anyway. I went in to see her – Mum, I mean – when we got back, and she was sitting on the side of the bed, trying to get up and looking like she had been crying.

Later Flora said guess what, Dad called to say he couldn’t come home this weekend because he has to do extra work on his latest unreadable book and Mum took it really badly. And even though Flora and I don’t agree about much these days, we both thought she was being a bit dramatic. If we cried every time our parents didn’t come home when they said they would, we would drown in a vale of tears, as Grandma would say. And we always knew Dad wouldn’t be home this weekend – he was all vague on the phone when Jas asked him. Flora said he probably has a girlfriend and that this is the Beginning of the End, then got cross because Jas believed her. Jas asked, what did I think, and I said I didn’t know and then Flora said, ‘For God’s sake, Blue, for once in your life get off the fence.’

Mum is still on Asia time and got up at the crack of dawn, which meant that Jas and Twig did too because they both insisted on sleeping with her last night.

Zoran had the day off today and left early without saying where he was going. At lunch we talked about Joss and the rats, Twig on the Tube and Flora’s hair. All things, says Flora, we couldn’t really talk about in front of Zoran, because he really should have told the parents about them himself except we begged him not to but now that Mum’s here we want her to know anyway.

‘I know you probably hate it now, but look.’

Flora undid the scarf that holds her dreadlocks up and they fell down her back like a curtain of puce. ‘You see? Isn’t it
dramatic
?’

‘It’s certainly a statement,’ said Mum.

‘The babies are so cute,’ said Jas. ‘Don’t you think they’re cute, Mummy?’

‘Adorable,’ said Mum.

‘I wasn’t frightened at all,’ said Twig. ‘It was nice to be on my own for once.’

‘You and the thousand other people on the Tube,’ said Flora.

‘What kind people to bring you back,’ said Mum.

‘I’m thinking of adding red streaks,’ said Flora.

‘Zoran says we have to separate them,’ said Jas. ‘He says otherwise we will be overrun by rat babies and that would be unhygienic.’

‘I
was
alone,’ grumbled Twig, ‘because I didn’t
know
anybody.’

‘Or purple would be good,’ said Flora.

‘But they
love
each other,’ cried Jas. ‘It’s cruel to separate people who love each other.’

‘They’re rats,’ snapped Flora. ‘Not people.’

‘I think Zoran’s right, darling,’ said Mum. ‘You can have too many rats.’

‘But what about Daddy!’ Jas burst into tears. ‘He’s not here, and it’s
miserable
!’

And then there was lots of cuddling Jas, and Flora stropping because no one cared about the red or purple and Twig sulking because no one understood him. By the time she got to me she was so frazzled – her word – she just collapsed on my bed and we didn’t have a good conversation at all.

‘Thank goodness for my sensible Blue,’ she said between two yawns and I didn’t answer because who ever, in the history of families, wanted to be
the sensible one
?

‘I’m a bit worried about this crazy boy next door,’ she said. ‘Jumping over the wall and interfering with the rats and everything. I must talk to Charlie.’

Charlie is Mr Bateman.

I thought about Joss climbing up to the roof to meet me and in the canteen saying he was my knight in shining armour.

‘He’s not that bad,’ I said.  ‘I mean, he’s a bit weird, but I think he’s all right.’

‘Darling Blue.’ She moved over to make room for me on the bed and opened her arms for a hug. ‘Always so sweet.’

Sweet
is even worse than
sensible
.

‘Everything all right at school?’ She asked like she already knew the answer, because unlike Flora I have always been a model pupil. I thought about telling her the truth – about Dodi and Cressida and nobody talking to me and being invisible – but she had already fallen asleep.

I turned out the light and I lay there next to her with my head right on her shoulder, and she smelled of
Diorissimo
and the garden. Sometimes, when we were little, she used to lie down with us for our afternoon naps, and it felt just like this. I would have been happy to stay like that all night, but then Jas started yelling from the Babes’ room that Twig was sleeping under his bed instead of on it.

‘It’s for my
survival
training
!’ roared Twig.

‘It’s
creepy
!’ she screamed back.

‘He’s also naked.’ Flora barged into my room looking like the Living Dead with purple hair dye dripping down her neck. ‘No wonder she’s freaking out.’

And so the whole mad circus started again.  

Dodi Cartwright is a Total Cow.

That is what I told Jake Lyall this afternoon when he took me to the infirmary because the cut on my forehead was bleeding.

‘Technically speaking,’ Jake said, ‘Cressida is the cow, because she is the one who pulled away your chair.’

‘She did it to impress Dodi,’ I said. ‘And Dodi laughed.’

‘Dude,’ said Jake, ‘
everybody
laughed.’

Once when we were in Devon after Iris died Dad took us to the sea during a storm and he made us all stand in a line and yell as loud as we could.  It was winter and with the wind and the waves crashing into the shingle and the sound of our own bellowing, we couldn’t even hear each other. ‘Louder,’ Dad shouted. ‘Louder!’ and Jas started to cry and Mum said, ‘David, stop,’ and Flora said, ‘This is stupid,’ but I went on shouting even after all the others had stopped, just me looking at this big angry sea. My voice started to crack but I didn’t move until the spray started flying up almost as high as the waves and Mum dragged me off the beach.

That is where I would like to be in moments like today, when Cressida the Cow’s Best Friend pulls away my chair and everybody laughs even though I’m bleeding and Anthea Foundry is too dumb to realise what has happened and nobody stands up for me. Jake and I were friends at St Swithin’s. Once, in Year 4, he tried to kiss me behind the toilets. I didn’t let him. In fact, I ran away screaming, but still. It ought to count for something.

‘Blue?’ said Jake. ‘You all right?’

Jake looked worried, like he thought I might burst into tears or something, and I realised that my front teeth were clamped together, which makes my chin stick out like I’m about to cry or lose my
temper
.

‘Dude, I know you’re cross with me.’ Jake looked really sorry, and a tiny bit ashamed, which was good, but not good enough.

‘Just shut up, Jake,’ I started to say, except suddenly Jake wasn’t actually there any more.

‘I’ll take over,’ said Joss. And just like that we were alone together.

Joss took one look at my forehead and announced that what I needed wasn’t the infirmary at all but to get out of school. He marched me across the playground and out through the sixth-formers’ gate without anyone batting an eyelid.

‘The secret to life,’ he announced, ‘is to do things with confidence.’

I don’t drink coffee but he didn’t give me a choice. We went to
Home Sweet Home, where I went for lunch on the first day of term, and while I was in the loo cleaning up my cut he ordered cappuccinos and chocolate fridge cake. While he ate he made me tell him what happened.

‘But why?’ he asked when I finished. ‘Why did she pull away the chair?’

I didn’t answer. Joss leaned forward. His eyes are light brown with these little flecks of gold. He smiled and for a moment I was tempted to explain, I really was, but then I shook my head because it’s too painful and complicated and I honestly wouldn’t know where to start.

‘You would get along much better with people if you actually talked,’ he said.

‘But I don’t want to,’ I said.

‘Fair enough.’ Joss finished his cake and started on mine. ‘Tell me about your family instead. Start with your name. Who the hell is called Blue anyway?’

I told him about the parents and how they had given us all flower names to remember the good old days when they pretended to be hippies at Glastonbury, and how Flora and Jas loved theirs but that I thought Bluebell was better suited to a cow. Joss laughed at that, which was a nice feeling because I can’t remember anyone
ever
finding me funny. I told him that Twig hated that his real name was
Jonathan
and chose his nickname to be more like the rest of us, and that Twig might seem silly but that it was a lot better than his first choice, which was Acorn. Joss laughed again, and then he asked loads more questions, like why is Flora’s hair pink, and what do I film with my camera, and who are my favourite directors and if my life was a movie which one would it be, and Cressida Taylor apart how do I like Clarendon Free School and could he have my email address?  

We talked for ages. We didn’t go back to school. Joss said I might have concussion, and it would be better to go home. I have never bunked off school before, and I rather liked it. We walked through the park and messed around on the swings. It’s colder now the summer’s gone. The leaves are
autumn
-
coloured
and when Joss pushed me the wind on my face smelled of bonfires, but it’s still light enough to stay out in the afternoon. I got home just before Flora. Joss walked me round and told Zoran he’d brought me home because I wasn’t well.

‘I’ll sort it with school,’ he whispered as he left.

‘How?’ I whispered back.

He didn’t say anything, but tapped the side of his nose with his finger and winked. Normally I hate it when people do that, but the way he did it made me laugh.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’ I asked Zoran when Joss had gone.

‘I am not looking at you,’ said Zoran. ‘Or if I am it is completely accidental.’

‘I haven’t done anything wrong,’ I said.

‘Define
wrong
,’ said Zoran.

I don’t
know
if the house has changed since Iris died, or if I just think it has.

My room, which we used to think was so tiny, doesn’t feel small to me any more at all. It feels just the right size but our old room, which used to feel so cramped when there were two of us in it because Iris was the messiest person in the history of messy people, now feels huge. And the kitchen table feels wrong if there aren’t seven people sitting at it, and it doesn’t help if Zoran is here or Grandma or Flora’s friends or anyone else to make up the numbers,
because
the seventh person is supposed to have dark brown eyes and mousy hair cut in a bob like mine, and apart from the fact that she doesn’t wear glasses and always has a bandana round her neck she is supposed to look just like me.

We were in Devon on the first anniversary of Iris’s death. Christmas Eve. Mum and Dad bundled us out of bed and we drove to the beach and as the sun came up we threw her ashes over the sea and watched them scatter on the wind.

For the second anniversary, we went to Midnight Mass. Church is not something our family does much, except for Mum who when she is here goes at odd times like Tuesday night or very early on Sunday morning. But for the second anniversary, Mum insisted. She said it was important to ask God to please look after Iris in heaven. Dad said he would only go to give God a piece of his mind, but when he got to church he lit his candle alongside the rest of us, and by the time we had lit one candle each for Iris, and then for each other, and Jas and Twig had lit a lot of random ones for everyone from the rats to their teachers, there was a whole table of candles blazing just for us. The choir was singing ‘
Silent
Night’, and Dad said it was corny beyond his wildest dreams, but he was crying.

On 3 December it will be three years since the accident, and on Christmas Eve it will be three years since she died. Sometimes I think I’m the only person who actually remembers this.