Heartbeat Away (8 page)

‘How come?' I ask, with a nervous laugh.

He shrugs. ‘There's something about you.'

I force a smile but don't know what to say.

‘I live with my mum, Auntie, three sisters . . . even the dog's female,' he tells me. ‘They're all in-your-face bossy, noisy, messy and it's always full-on make-up, boy bands and gossip. To be honest, most days it's a relief to get out. But you're different . . . a mystery. You're so calm and quiet, but underneath . . .'

‘Maybe you just don't know me very well.'

‘I guess not.'

‘That's my house, on the left. With the red front door.'

‘Becky?'

I turn to Sam, his dark brown eyes serious and thoughtful.

‘Back in the park, why did you say you knew me?'

I shrug, playing for time. Shall I tell him everything? Now's my chance.

I bottle out. ‘I . . . don't know – I guess I must have just confused you with some other boy. You know how it is.'

‘Course.' He looks disappointed. ‘So you often mistake random strangers for people you know, then?'

I force another smile. ‘Occasionally.' I sneak a look at his face. He's smiling too. Can I trust him? I desperately want to.

‘Or . . . maybe I have already met you,' I venture cautiously.

‘How? In a past life or something?' he says with a frown. ‘Like reincarnation, you mean?'

‘Could it happen?' I ask, searching his face.

He thinks for a moment. ‘Knowing my luck I'd come
back as an insect,' he jokes. Then he notices my expression. ‘You really believe in all that stuff?' he asks.

‘I don't know what I believe any more,' I say.

We stand awkwardly by the front gate. From the corner of my eye I see Danny's bedroom curtain twitch back and a small bored face, topped with spiky hair, press itself against the glass of the window. A few seconds later, Mum opens the front door and stands in the doorway, her face like thunder.

‘I'd better go,' I tell Sam.

‘Can I see you again?' he asks.

My heart soars. I nod.

‘Will your mum kill me if I call for you next Saturday morning?' He glances fleetingly at Mum's furious face.

‘Meet me at the end of the road.'

‘What time?'

‘Eleven . . .'

‘Becky!' calls Mum impatiently.

‘I really have to go.' I run up the path, watching him as he walks off down the street.

‘Becky, where have you been? A walk, you said. A walk! You've been gone five hours!'

‘I didn't mean to be that long, Mum. I did try to text you . . . but my battery was flat.'

‘We've been frantic! Joe's been out in the car looking for you and I even rang round all the hospitals thinking something terrible had happened.'

‘I'm really sorry.'

‘Sorry?' Tears start to roll down her cheeks. ‘Oh, Becky, how could you?'

I don't explain about Sam. I don't really explain anything. How can I? I don't understand myself. If I tell Mum about me seeing things and people, she'll really freak. So I decide to be slightly economical with the truth, and mumble that Sam is just a boy I know. She assumes he's someone from school and I don't put her right.

‘You're a bit young to get involved with boys, Becky,' says Joe. ‘You've got your GCSEs coming up next year.'

‘I'm not “involved” with boys!' I protest, glaring at him, annoyed that he always feels he has to interfere.

‘Becky, that's enough!' snaps Mum. ‘You've had us both worried sick.'

I look at Mum's anxious face and feel terrible. ‘I'm sorry. But Sam's just a friend. Honestly.'

And the weird thing is, although I've only just met him, I feel like I've known him for years. Which is, of course, completely bonkers. I hardly know him at all.

Leah's the only real friend I've known for any length of
time. We've grown up together. We played and argued and made up all the way through primary school; spent long summer holidays dressing up in old net curtains and making perfume out of rose petals. She was the only person I told when Mum and Dad split up.

We stuck together like glue when we moved up to secondary school and swapped homework, gossip and clothes. We were both in the cross-country running team and spurred each other on through races on dank November afternoons. And although she always had to look after her little brother, when I got ill she was the one who texted me to cheer me up on bad days, when just getting out of bed was a challenge.

‘Mum,' I say, later that day, when she's calmed down about me being out for so long. ‘I don't want you to drive me to school any more. I want to meet my friends and walk with them, like I used to.'

‘I don't mind giving you a lift, Becky. It's on my way to work.'

‘Mum, please, I'm fourteen!'

She glances at Joe who pulls a face. Suddenly she looks doubtful. I try not to glare at Joe.

‘Look what happened today,' she says hesitantly.

‘Nothing happened today! I just . . . forgot the time, that's all. I'm sorry I scared you. But you can trust me. Honestly. I'll be all right on my own.'

‘I suppose walking will be good exercise,' Mum says finally, ‘and if you're meeting your friends, there'll be someone with you. But you must keep your phone charged, Becky.'

‘I will. Promise.' I hug her.

It's time to start getting my life back again, I think, as I hurry off to text Leah.

Monday morning, I set off to walk the mile or so to school. Since meeting Sam, I'm feeling braver and stronger. Maybe I've turned a corner, I think happily. Maybe things are going to finally settle down.

Ahead of me, by the parade of shops, I see Jodie and Alesha, waiting for me by the newsagent's, so I call to them and wave.

We head off down the road towards the estate where Leah lives, chatting about her party next month and the nerdy boy Jodie fancies (but swears she really, really doesn't, OK?), and it feels just like old times, before I got sick.

‘So, how you doing then?' asks Jodie as we approach the block of flats where Leah lives. I'm just getting ready to tell them about Sam when I see Jodie glance at Alesha, who makes a face back at her and shakes her head slightly as if to say, ‘Don't.'

‘What?' I ask.

‘Nothing,' says Jodie. But they're both staring at me now.

‘What's wrong?' I ask, forcing a grin. They exchange looks again. ‘What's going on?'

‘Well . . . We were just wondering . . .' Alesha begins.

‘Leah told me . . .' Jodie can't meet my eye.

My heart sinks. ‘What did Leah tell you?' I ask hesitantly.

Jodie flushes bright red and starts biting her bottom lip – she only does this when she's nervous, or Mr MacNamara tells her off.

Alesha threads her arm through mine. ‘It's nothing, Becky . . . Leah just told Jodie that since you got your new heart you'd been sort of . . .'

‘Sort of what?'

‘Well . . . seeing things . . .'

‘Really weird stuff,' interrupts Jodie.

‘Leah promised me she wouldn't tell anyone,' I blurt out anxiously.

‘She only told me,' says Jodie lamely.

‘And you told Alesha.'

The pair exchange guilty looks.

‘You didn't tell anyone else though, did you?' I ask, dreading the answer.

‘No . . .' Jodie still won't look at me. ‘Not really.'

My stomach starts to churn. ‘Oh Jodie . . . Who?'

‘I only sort of mentioned it to . . . Sophie Morgan.'

‘
Sophie Morgan
? You told Motormouth Morgan?' I yell at her.

‘Yeah . . . but she promised on her sister's life not to breathe a word to anyone . . .'

I'm feeling sick. By now, all our year, if not the whole school, will know that Becky Simmons – that girl who's had the heart transplant – is seeing weird stuff. I spin around as two girls from Year Eight walk past us. One glances at me then whispers to her friend, who eyes me warily.

‘I . . . I've got to go,' I mumble.

‘Becky?'

‘Aren't you coming with us to Leah's?'

‘I'll see you at school,' I tell them, and rush off down
the street, feeling their stares burn into the back of my head. Leah is the last person on earth I want to see right now.

I walk into my classroom. Twenty-nine pairs of eyes turn to stare at me and the noisy buzz of chatter subsides, leaving nothing but a stony silence. I'm right. Gossip spreads like bushfire at our school and word has already got round. Everyone knows something. The brief Chinese whisper that Leah started has clearly circulated and grown and morphed into goodness knows how many crazy tales.

The crowd of kids standing in the centre of the room quickly parts to let me through, fearful that if I touch one of them by mistake I may contaminate them in some way.

Wesley and a whole bunch of other boys snigger as Darren starts softly humming that creepy tune to
The Twilight Zone
. With her eyes fixed on my reddening face, Shannon mutters something under her breath to Masher, who bursts into a sudden guffaw of laughter.

I want to run straight out of this classroom but I know, if I do, it will immediately confirm all the stupid rumours. With as much courage as I can muster, I finally complete the
walk to my desk and sink thankfully onto my chair. As I pretend to be rummaging in my backpack, Jodie and Alesha come into the classroom, followed by Leah who immediately rushes straight over to me.

‘Becky, I'm so sorry!' she whispers.

‘Sorry for her being a complete weirdo?' interrupts Shannon sarcastically. ‘That's a good one!'

‘Stay right out of this, Shannon,' Leah snaps. ‘This has got nothing to do with you.'

Leah turns back to me but Shannon hasn't finished. She's barely started. ‘Excuse me, but actually I would say it's got everything to do with me. And everyone else in this room for that matter.' Shannon pauses theatrically for a second then asks sweetly, ‘So hands up who's happy with a complete nutter in our class?'

Darren and Wesley exchange stupid grins then thrust their hands in the air and wave them about maniacally, lapping up the sniggers and giggles from the rest of the class.

‘Don't be stupid, Shannon,' Leah protests. ‘You're just stirring.'

‘Me? You're the one who told Jodie that Becky's gone weird since her transplant. And, if you remember, I said right from the start that I didn't think it was very nice having a part of someone else's body sewn up inside you.'

‘Don't listen to her, Becky. And I didn't mean everyone to know. Honestly.' Leah turns to me but I refuse to meet her eyes. This is all her fault, I think angrily. I trusted her and she's completely betrayed me.

Shannon turns to the class and asks loudly, ‘So whose
heart have you got, Becky?'

Everyone's eyes turn on me expectantly. I'm cornered. ‘I . . . I don't know,' I mutter.

‘You don't know? I don't believe it! Haven't you even bothered to ask?'

I really don't want to have this conversation right here, right now, but there's no way out. ‘Course I have!' I protest. ‘The doctors don't tell you. You're not allowed to know. That's the way it works.'

‘And we all know why, don't we? They could give you any old heart. And they're hardly going to go round telling you it happened to belong to someone who was really bad, like a psychopath or murderer or someone. They aren't going to tell you that, are they?'

Shannon's words hit me like a slap around the face. She's right, I think, horrified. My donor could have been a bad person. How would I know?

From the smug look on her face, it's obvious that Shannon's enjoying every minute of this. There's nervous laughter from some of the others. The rest just eye me warily but I know exactly what their looks mean. I'm no longer just plain old Becky Simmons to them. I'm that ‘freaky girl with the bad heart' – the one that sees and does weird stuff.

‘Your gran told my mum you've gone vegetarian since your transplant,' Masher chimes in, grinning like a monkey. ‘Guess what? Hitler was a vegetarian!'

I get up out of my seat and head for the classroom door. I've had enough.

‘Becky, stop!' Leah calls after me.

I spin around to face her, the growing anger inside me smothering all other emotion. ‘I thought you were my friend!' I snap.

‘I am . . .'

‘Well, forget it. I don't want anything more to do with you.'

Leah stares back at me, the colour in her cheeks draining away. I look around at the sea of grinning faces, then rush out of the classroom.

‘Whoooa, steady on now!' A shiny grey polyester suit and bottle-green knitted tie are suddenly blocking my exit. ‘Becky? Shouldn't you be in class now? It's nine-fifteen. I think you'll find the bell went at least ten minutes ago, young lady.'

I bite my lip. I might be completely distraught but I still have a small sliver of dignity left in me. There's no way I'm going to start blubbing over MacNamara.

‘Are you feeling all right?' he asks, peering at me over the top of his bi-focal glasses.

‘Not really, sir,' I mumble, not daring to lift my head and meet his eye. I wonder if the wave of rumours about me has hit the staff yet.

‘I suppose you'd better get yourself down to the office then, pronto,' he says finally. ‘Mrs Andrews'll sort you out.'

‘Yes, sir.'

He hurries away, dismissing me without another thought.

Down in the office, Mrs Andrews is busy, so after a quick check that it isn't anything to do with my heart, she sits me down in the sick room. It's some time now since I've been in this chilly, sunless room, but in the months before my operation it was my second home.