DEAD GOOD (13 page)

‘Sorry – no, don’t worry Amber you aren’t on the wrong side of me. It’s something else.’ I snarl towards Leo’s frame which is still loping alongside us. Annoyingly he grins which is not the reaction I was expecting. God, he’s infuriating.

I don’t think Amber can multi-task. She hardly speaks for the rest of the walk which is most unlike her especially considering the psychic weekend we’ve kinda shared – not – but you get my drift. She seems so hell-bent on keeping the right distance from Ed and Justin that she can’t make her mouth move or construct meaningful sentences whilst she’s performing this delicate feat of balance.

Predictably we manage to arrive at school without either Ed or Justin moving their heads once - even to check for oncoming traffic when they cross the road for the school drive.

‘Idiots,’ Leo mutters as a bike coasts straight through his body.

‘And… rest!’ Amber breathes out dramatically, bending over like she’s a PE teacher as we manage to get to our lockers before the registration bell clangs. ‘Who needs workouts when there’s the morning sprint to school, eh?’ she beams delightedly, straightening up.

I bite back the urge to tell her that silently stalking a couple of ambling fitties does not a cardiovascular exercise make and smile with what I hope she believes to be my wholehearted agreement.

Double History has never been quite so surprising. In fact I may just change my options for Sixth Form to include it. That’d please my parents. Actually it’d please them that I was even thinking about staying on. I did have an idea that I might leave and go to college next year and study… well, I hadn’t really gotten that far in my plans but it would probably have something to do with English. I love English. I’d love to write a book but then I don’t think you get paid to do that, do you? Perhaps there are courses that can train you to become a better writer? I could always start at the bottom perhaps – maybe work for the local newspaper as a reporter or something. I don’t know. I’ll have to look into it. Amber wants to do something with beauty or hairdressing or anything that involves making things look nice. And there’s always pet grooming salons. I know once she even thought about doing make-up in Funeral Parlours. Because dead people are worth it too, she said. And seriously as well. That girl! Now I grin because Leo’s leaning up against the interactive white board at the front of the room and he’s obviously just heard mine and Amber’s scintillating career options.

‘ - do we think of their reasons behind that?’ Mr Mason has just ended some question or other. ‘Um…Madeline?’ he points right at me.

Yeah, now that was going to happen, now wasn’t it? I’ve been paying ziltch attention because that’s what I’m good at, and instead have been applying a solid foundation tint to the dead face of Leo Gardella to give him a bit more colour. And I was just about to start chopping off some of his big floppy fringe too on behalf of my Bezzie, Amber. I raise my eyebrows in surprise and hope that this gives me a kind of pensive, deep contemplative look. It’s Leo’s turn to grin now. Shit. I’m screwed.

‘Tell him you think their reasons were entirely superficial and selfish,’ he calls over to me, crossing his arms. I nod ever so slightly in confirmation. Which I’m hoping makes me look super-intelligent.

‘Well….’ I say, poking my chin with my pencil thoughtfully. ‘I think… and this is purely my own viewpoint…’ I add for greater special effect, ‘that their reasons were probably mostly selfish and entirely superficial.’ I nod just the once to show how satisfied I am with my reply.

Mr Mason slaps the board loudly with his hand and I flinch. Bugger Leo and his words of wisdom. Now I’m stuffed.

‘You see?!’ Mr Mason says. ‘Even we, nearly sixty years later with just these brief facts at our disposal can see how phoney and self-seeking these so-called world leaders truly were! Good, Maddie. Let’s turn to the atrocities on page 74 and see what we make of those now shall we?’

I breathe out v-e-r-y slowly and silently thank whichever god was paying attention just then. Or just Leo.

“Good Maddie” I repeat in my head. Good Maddie. Never before – especially in a History lesson – have the words Good and Maddie ever been placed alongside each other in the same sentence. And my god, but wasn’t my reply a bit… well, vague? And a bit… well, opinion-based rather than fact-based? I mean, surely my answer can’t have been the one he wanted? Surely?

‘He’s not after the “right” answer, Maddie,’ Leo is crouched down beside my desk now as Mr Mason is stroking a chart on the whiteboard. ‘He wants you to use your brain and think about what happened back then. He just needs to know that what he’s teaching you is being understood and ultimately that it’s making you more aware that people – world leaders especially – weren’t really any different then than they are now. Yeah?’

Bearing in mind my current state of tormented irritation, mainly due to a persistent dead person who won’t leave me alone, I am actually quite lifted right now. I can only equate the feeling to noticing that clouds are moving away as the first shaft of sunlight breaks through the sky.

‘Ever tried your hand at allegorical verse?’ Leo smiles before dissolving away.

sixteen

I cannot remember a time when I had more fun at school. Unless you count nursery and Early Years of course. I mean, I’m sure I had a lot of fun when I was little but since I’ve actually been having to learn stuff, proper stuff – proper meaningful stuff that ends up with a SATS test or a mock GCSE then the word ‘fun’ hasn’t exactly been a word I’ve ever associated with school. Even breaks and the odd social occasion like Proms have always held a certain amount of anxiety largely due to the fact they’re always full of students and teachers I guess. I’d started to believe that once my GCSE’s were over then that would quite easily, thankfully, be that. But since today’s lessons went so well I feel slightly more in tune with what I’m supposed to be learning and the way my teachers responded to some of the things I said.

Y’know, I said a lot more today than I think I ever have in a whole term before – and some of it was entirely unprovoked. I even put my hand up in English to ask the teacher to clarify something she was speaking about. And she seemed delighted to repeat what she’d already said and even embellish on it. Ha! I thought she’d have gone mental at me for not paying enough attention to start with – not the opposite! I’m beginning to see what Leo meant when he said that teachers aren’t out to get me – they just want to get the best out of me. Clever boy. And of course the more I learn, the more they earn, right?

‘Not exactly,’ he’s beside me again as we walk from Amber’s house back home. ‘Teachers get paid a pittance – for what they have to put up with.’

‘Yeah right.’ I laugh. ‘The pay’s crap but the holidays make up for it?’

‘I guess. And did you know that after Social Workers, Teachers have the most time off sick from work due to depression and other stress-related illnesses?’

I didn’t. ‘I do now,’ I say.

‘He’s been a bit miserable,’ Leo says and I turn, shocked. What, so he can hear a thought even before I’ve thought it now then? How did he know I was wondering what I was going to be facing when I got back home?

‘Just a considered guess,’ he tries to explain. ‘like that word-association thing that Psychiatrists get you to do, you know?’

‘No. I mean yes I know the game but I don’t know about Psychiatrists.’

‘Your dad thinks he’s failing you all,’ Leo continues. ‘It’s been a bit strained actually. Your mum feels like she’s treading on eggshells ‘round him and trying not to mention the J.O.B. word and hoping that he’ll miraculously snap out of it and he’s waiting for some encouragement from her. It’s one of those horrible, uncomfortable...’

‘Catch 22 situations,’ I finish for him. ‘Shit.’

‘Yeah,’ he agrees. ‘And you think being stuck here in limbo is all fun, eh?’ he tries to make me smile. ‘Sometimes I just don’t have enough hours in the day!’ he moans theatrically and then bounds in front of me and does his walking backwards thing like he did before because I’m not responding to his attempts at cheering me. Typical. I have an unusually, no - unprecedented Good Day at school and now this has to bloody well happen. Flippin’ great. Now I don’t want to go home. It used to be the other way around. I didn’t want to go to school and I couldn’t wait to get home. Shit and double shit.

When I get back, it looks like dad hasn’t moved since I left this morning. He must have, surely?

‘Don’t worry – he has moved.’ Leo says soothingly. ‘He’s been to the loo - twice. He’s eaten – not much but a sandwich – and, oh – he’s just come back from the corner shop with a copy of last week’s paper for the Jobs section and he’s been sitting there…’

‘Okay, okay!’ I hiss as quietly as possible, holding up my hand to ghost-boy. What? Do I look like a need a running bloody commentary on all my father’s movements from this morning up until now? Hmm? Do I? I hope to hell this thought is loud enough to shut him up, I really do.

‘Hey!’ I try all breezily as I swing my bag through the door and throw it down beside Dad at the table. ‘Good day?’ I am suddenly mindful that this scenario is a bit… well… contradictory. Usually it’s mum and dad who are asking me how my day went. This is feeling weird already and he still hasn’t answered me yet.

I don’t often think things like this but I want my mummy. She’d know what to do or say to defuse this abnormal state of affairs.

As if by cue, she comes through the door carrying a heavy-looking Davey who looks completely wiped out. Which seems to be the norm since he started Nursery. I guess it is exhausting for his tender little body and I feel an unusual rush of love for the dribbling bundle of brother. Bless.

‘Maddie, you’re back,’ she says with a sigh. I bite back the urge to congratulate her on stating the obvious because I’m trying to be tactful. I know that this whole new-house-no-money- general-misery is not worth making any worse than it already is with my so-called clever remarks. My dad doesn’t even look up from the paper he has spread out on the table. I can see he’s ringed about three small ads with red pen and wish I could see exactly what it is he’s thinking of applying for.

‘Take Davey from me, lovey, will you?’ Mum says. ‘Just stick him on the sofa or … oh, actually…’ she glances quickly at Dad and I’m guessing she’s calculating how loud their “discussions” can get before they wake him up and perhaps just leaving him next door on the sofa is not going to cut it. ‘…ah… just take him up to his bed will you?’ she nods stair-wards, ‘okay?’

I haul both our limp frames upstairs and into Davey’s room, kicking his door open and then shut as gently as I can so that I don’t get one of them hollering up “there’s no need for that!” which I’m almost certain would happen if the incorrect decibel of noise were overstretched. And they think I’m complicated!

I sit on the side of Davey’s bed and watch as he rolls into a more comfortable position and tugs on his stuffed dinosaur which he has wedged under one arm. He looks the picture of sweetness and innocence. Which I guess he kind of is. For the minute at least. I sigh. My head is thumping and I wonder if I should maybe stay upstairs and let mum and dad sort out whatever it is they have to – without fighting please – and get on with my homework whilst it’s still fresh in my mind…. now there’s a first! Or whether I should go and referee any kind of parental altercation before it even starts.

‘I’d leave it if I were you,’ Leo says as his body forms properly in Davey’s doorway. ‘They seem to be talking to each other like mature adults… which they are, I know… what I mean is they’re not…’

‘Ripping each other to shreds.’ I finish for him, sighing again. ‘Jeez, parents eh? Who the hell’d have ‘em!’

It’s about ten seconds before I realise he’s raised his hand and is looking more than a leetle sad. My heart sinks. Stupid. Stupid remark. Of course – he’d have his parents, wouldn’t he? Given the chance he’d probably be back with them in a heartbeat. If he still had one, of course. Which again begs the question “Why does he hang around here so much when he could be with them?”

‘That’s a good one,’ he says and slides his (non)body down the wall and sits cross-legged on the floor in front of me. ‘I don’t know how to explain it – but it makes me even sadder to be where they are. Now that they’re alone I mean…’

‘But don’t they live with your uncle? At the restaurant?’

‘Yeah. No, what I really meant was that they’re alone. Y’know - without us – their family, their kids. I don’t exactly know how badly they must be feeling because I’ve never had kids but if it feels even half the way it feels for me, being able to see them but not being able to speak to them, or touch them– then it must hurt like hell. Plus, don’t forget I could hear whatever they were thinking when I was there – so, no more.’