Edsel Grizzler (4 page)

T
hey were early just as Edsel knew they would be. They were so early, in fact, that the school's car park was still completely empty.

‘Well, at least we got a good spot,' Dad said.

‘It
is
a good spot,' Mum agreed. ‘Have you ever had as good a spot as this before?'

‘I haven't.'

‘Sandwich, Edsel?' Mum was holding out a small greaseproof paper parcel. ‘It's lamb and mustard. With pickles.'

Wordlessly, Edsel took the sandwich and unwrapped it. In the front, his father was unwrapping his own sandwiches, while his mother carefully poured two cups of weak white tea from a thermos.

And Dad was talking again. ‘Actually, there was that time a year or two back when I got a park as good as this. Do you remember, Tilda?'

‘I think so.'

‘Yes, of course you do. It was in that spot there, I think, or maybe the one next to it. We weren't quite as early as this, but we got lucky that night.'

‘You know, I
do
remember that …' Mum said, and at that point Edsel switched off, like twisting the glued-on knob of a second-hand radio. Whatever was happening out in the empty car park had to be more interesting than this conversation.

A car pulled into the space next to them. It was a small white hatchback, which Edsel immediately recognised as Ms Finn's. And as soon as he recognised that small white hatchback, Edsel began sinking down in his seat. He wasn't trying to sink down. He wasn't thinking about sinking down. He just
was.

Ms Finn was leaning over the other way, perhaps getting something out of her bag, or putting something away in the glovebox, and Edsel took this opportunity to sink even lower.

Then came the moment he'd dreaded. A knock on his window. Then another. He turned his head. Ms Finn was making a winding-down gesture with her hand.

Edsel lowered the window. ‘Hi,' he said, his face burning.

‘Hello, Edsel! Mrs Grizzler, Mr Grizzler. You're here very early!'

‘We wanted to make sure that we saw you,' Dad explained. Then he chuckled self-consciously. ‘Imagine if we missed out! We'd never get to hear all the wonderful things you're going to tell us about our boy!'

‘Dad,' Edsel grunted.

‘Well, we do have a few matters to discuss,' Ms Finn said.

‘Everything is all right, isn't it?' Mum asked.

‘Oh yes, it's all fine.'

‘Oh, that's such a relief!' Dad said.

‘Have you had your dinner? Would you like a sandwich?' Edsel groaned inside as he saw his mother offering one of the greaseproof paper parcels to his teacher. ‘It's lamb and mustard. Do you like pickles?'

Ms Finn smiled tightly. ‘I've already eaten. But thanks anyway. I'll see you at …' She glanced at her watch. ‘I'll see you in about an hour.'

An hour. A whole hour. As this realisation washed over him, Edsel started fantasising. But he wasn't fantasising about having lots of money, or being surrounded by pretty girls. He was having another, improved version of the fantasy he'd drawn in his mind when he wrote the ‘If Only …' composition for Mr Sullivan.

‘Can I go for a walk?' he asked his parents.

Mum's voice was anxious. ‘A walk? Where to?'

‘Just around the school. It's okay – I come here every day.'

His father peered at the sky. ‘It's going to rain, I think. You should probably stay here with us.'

‘I won't get wet,' Edsel promised.

‘Well, take an umbrella anyway.'

‘Mum, I'm not going to take an umbrella. I'll stay under cover if it starts raining.'

‘Make sure you do. I should have brought a spare change of clothes,' she sighed, apparently cross that she'd been such a bad mother.

Edsel opened his door. ‘I won't get wet.'

His father turned to look sternly at him. ‘Don't leave the school grounds, son,' he warned.

‘I won't, Dad. Why would I?'

‘Maybe we should all go for a walk,' Mum suggested, breezily, like it would be a fun family adventure.

‘No!' Edsel exclaimed, panic rising. ‘No, you guys should stay here and … and talk. You haven't had a chance to catch up yet today. I'll be fine. I'll be better than fine!' And before they had a chance to change their minds, he got out and headed for the safety of the school buildings.

‘Keep an eye out for lightning, son!' he heard his father call.

‘And sharks,' Edsel muttered beneath his breath.

As he came around the corner of the main block, he saw Ms Finn crossing the quad. She was carrying a cardboard box, and a calico bag hung off her shoulder.

‘Hi, Ms Finn. Can I carry something for you?' he offered.

‘I'm fine thanks, Edsel, but do you know what you can do? In the top of this box are my keys. The one with the red dot on it is the classroom key. Could you open the door for me?'

‘Sure,' he said, finding the key and unlocking the classroom. He held the door open for her to go in, before standing in the doorway with the keys held out. ‘Where would you like me to put these?'

‘Just drop them on my desk,' she said, setting down the box.

‘What's in the box?' Edsel asked.

‘Lost property,' Ms Finn replied. She lifted out a green jumper, all pilled around the neck and the ends of the sleeves, and held it up. ‘Not quite your size, is it? Why don't people write their names on their stuff?'

‘What else is in there?'

‘Um, let's see … a pencil case, a lunchbox, a couple of books, some knitting needles, this lovely pair of football socks …' She pulled out a pair of black and white striped socks, which had been folded together into a thick bunch. ‘Again, no name.'

‘Oh, they'd be Harry Musgrove's,' Edsel said. ‘He's a mad Magpies supporter.'

‘You know, you're probably right.' Ms Finn placed the socks to one side. ‘I'll ask him when he comes in tonight. Thanks, Edsel. Oh, and then there's this,' she said, and from the bottom of the box she took out a white, shiny object, about the size of a mobile phone.

‘What is it?' Edsel asked.

‘If you can tell me, Edsel, I'd be really grateful,' Ms Finn replied, handing it to him.

He turned the object over in his hands. It was smooth on all sides except one end, which had pins like a computer plug, and the opposite end, which had a logo set into the plastic. The logo was in the shape of a curvy V in an uneven circle.

‘This logo – I've seen it before. Ms Finn, where did you get this?'

‘I don't really remember. In fact, I don't remember even picking it up. Is it yours?'

Is it mine? he thought, turning the object over in his hands some more, and weighing up his possible answers. He'd never seen it before, so no, it probably wasn't his. And yet it had a logo that matched the last unusual object he'd seen, which he
did
own, thanks to the generosity of Pete. And if this unique plug-like thing and that unique egg-like thing belonged together, which the logo suggested they did, then there was a very good chance this was, in fact, his.

Besides, he was curious.

‘Yes, it's mine,' he said.

Ms Finn looked surprised. ‘Oh, is it? Excellent! That's one less thing in my box of missing stuff. Thanks, Edsel.'

‘That's okay,' Edsel said, jamming the plug into his pocket. ‘Well, I guess I'd better leave you to get ready.' He stood up, and took a couple of steps toward the door.

‘You're very keen, aren't you?' Ms Finn said.

Edsel stopped. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Being here so early.'

‘Oh, that. Yeah, well …' He paused and thought before opening his mouth to speak again. ‘Ms Finn, I'm … I'm sorry about my parents.'

She frowned. ‘What do you mean? What have they done?'

‘Nothing yet. But I just know that they're going to ask lots of questions.'

‘That's what these interviews are for, Edsel.'

‘I know, but they're going to be asking you stupid stuff. And I just wanted to say that I don't think they should ask you those sorts of things.'

‘Like what? What sorts of things?'

‘You'll know when they ask you. But just so you know, I don't think there's any way to make my parents be quiet.'

Ms Finn's eyebrows tightened. ‘All right. So I shouldn't hold anything they say against you?'

Edsel gave her a relieved smile. ‘Oh, that would be great. If you could just answer their questions and say whatever you have to say, then we can get this over with and go home.'

‘All right. It's a deal, Edsel.'

Heavy rain drops were beginning to fall as he left Ms Finn in her classroom, so he pulled the collar of his shirt up high and ran across the quad to the benches beside the tuckshop. He had nothing to do, nothing to read, nowhere to go, but sitting here alone watching the empty playground seemed like a far better idea than sitting in the car with his parents and their lamb and mustard sandwiches and pointless reminiscences of parking spaces.

‘Edsy Baby! Look, it's Edsy Baby!'

‘Yeah, it is! It's Edsy Baby!'

Edsel's heart sank. The gleeful voices were unmistakably Kenny's and Mikey's.

‘Hi, guys,' he said, glancing up.

‘Sitting with all your friends as usual?' Mikey asked, and Kenny giggled like an idiot.

‘That's still funny,' Edsel said.

‘Why,
thank
you,' Mikey said, bowing.

‘So, why are you here?' Kenny asked. ‘Did you fly your spaceship here?'

‘Yes I did, as a matter of fact. Did you come in
your
spaceship? Oh wait, that thing on your front lawn isn't a spaceship – it's a
wheelbarrow
.'

Mikey frowned stupidly. ‘What's he talking about, Kenny?'

‘Nothing,' Kenny muttered. ‘He's talking garbage, as usual. So, you didn't answer me, Edsy Baby. Why are you here?'

‘Oh, why do you think?' Edsel retorted. ‘To paint the school with big pink spots, of course.'

‘You're not here for the parent-teacher meetings?' Mikey asked.

‘I think he is,' said Kenny. ‘You are, aren't you?'

If he hadn't been so annoyed, Edsel would have laughed. ‘Yes, I am. Well done, you guys.'

‘With Ms Finn?'

‘She is my teacher, so yes.'

‘What do you think she's going to say?' Kenny asked.

‘I think she's going to tell them that I've been hanging around with the wrong crowd.'

‘Who do you mean?'

‘He means us, Mikey,' said Kenny. ‘You do mean us, don't you?'

Edsel stood up. ‘Yes, I meant you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to be … somewhere else.' As much as the idea of being stuck in a car with his parents during a rainstorm was an unpleasant thought, it now seemed better than sitting around listening to these two idiots. Even with the car-space conversation.

He was nearing the end of the building when he heard a sound that sent a deep shudder of terror through his body. It was his mother, coming towards him.

‘Edsel! Edsel?
Edsel!'

He increased his pace, hoping to get safely around the corner before his mother stepped into view.

He wasn't fast enough, but it wasn't Mum who appeared from around the end of the corner, but Dad, followed closely by Mum. ‘Edsel? Edsel! Oh! Oh, there you are!' she was shrieking.

‘Yes, here he is, Tilda,' Dad said. ‘I told you he wouldn't have left the school grounds.'

‘Yes, I'm right here,' Edsel replied quickly. ‘Come on, let's go.'

‘Are you wet?' his mother was asking, feeling his shoulders. ‘You are a little wet.'

‘Mum, can we—?'

She hadn't finished yet. First she ran her hands through his hair, then rubbed his chest through his T-shirt. ‘I told you specifically not to get wet.'

‘I'm not all that we—'

‘Don't talk back, son,' his father snapped. ‘We don't say these things because they're fun to say.'

‘No,' Edsel replied.

‘No, we say these things because we want to keep you safe.'

‘Look at you!' his mother said. ‘Your shirt is actually quite damp.'

‘Mum, I'm fine. Please don't … Oh, you are,' he sighed as she slipped her hand up the front of his shirt and began to rub his chest with her palm.

‘You need to look after yourself better, and listen to your mummy and daddy,' she scolded him.

He closed his eyes and tried to shut out the sight of his parents' concerned faces. He wished he could close his ears just as easily, so he wouldn't have to hear Kenny and Mikey laughing so hard that they were beginning to wheeze. So he wouldn't have to hear the footsteps of other kids and their parents arriving, to be greeted by the spectacle of a slightly damp boy with his parents fussing over him, with the father shaking his head with a fiercely concerned frown on his face, and the mother with her hands up the boy's shirt, rubbing away any chance of catching his death.