Authors: Andrew Norriss
It was a Wednesday, and Francis had had a message from his tutor that Mrs Parsons wanted to see him at break. He was not unduly worried. On previous occasions when he had spoken to the Head Teacher she had been quite friendly – but when he arrived at her office this time, there was no smile on her face as she gestured him to sit down.
‘I’ve had a complaint,’ she said, looking directly at him across her desk, ‘from Quentin Howard. He says Andi Campion attacked him outside the sports hall five weeks ago, and it’s left him almost too frightened to come in to school. He says you were there when it happened. Is that true?’
Francis wasn’t sure how to answer this. If Jessica had been there, he would have been able to ask her advice but Jessica had gone to London with a class of textiles students to see a Vivienne Westwood exhibition at the Victoria and Albert Museum.
He could have lied, but Francis decided against it. He had never been good at lying and he had a feeling Mrs Parsons was probably going to get to the truth one way or another.
‘Yes, I was there,’ he said. ‘But it wasn’t really like Quentin said.’
‘No?’ The Head Teacher leaned back in her chair. ‘So tell me how it was.’
And Francis found himself telling her what had happened – what Quentin had said, how Andi had hit him, twice, and then about all the times Quentin had teased him in the past and how much of a difference it had made to his life now that the teasing had stopped.
Mrs Parsons listened to it all in silence.
‘I see,’ she said, when he had finished. ‘I think maybe we should hear what Quentin has to say about all this.’
She pressed a button on the intercom on her desk and asked the secretary to send him in.
He was looking thinner, Francis noticed. There were dark rings under his eyes, he was clearly nervous, and he had a twitch on one side of his face – but what he said was interesting. Quentin insisted, when Mrs Parsons asked, that all his remarks about dolls and knitting had only ever been meant as a joke. He had no idea, he said, that they might have been upsetting Francis. They were just a bit of fun, and he said all this so earnestly and with such an air of desperation, that Francis was inclined to believe him.
Nor had Francis realised how badly Quentin had been affected by Andi hitting him. It had left him very frightened. So frightened, it emerged, that he had been making up excuses not to come to school – which was why the whole matter had come to Mrs Parsons’ attention.
Francis almost felt sorry for him but, at the time, he was more concerned about what might happen to Andi. Mrs Parsons had said on Andi’s first day that if she was involved in any sort of fight she would have to leave, and
the Head Teacher was not the sort of person to make idle threats.
It was a close-run thing. When Andi was finally hauled in to the office, there were, Mrs Parsons told her, only two reasons why she was not already on her way home. One was that she had had an excellent series of reports from her teachers – who all seemed to think that she was settling in well and making good use of her time at school – but more important than that, said Mrs Parsons, was an appeal on her behalf from Quentin.
‘Quentin asked for you not to be thrown out?’ Francis had been waiting for Andi outside the office to hear what had happened, and was understandably puzzled. ‘Why would he do that?’
Andi gave a shrug. ‘He said he realised it was partly his fault, and it didn’t seem fair for me to get all the blame. He said as long as I promised not to hit him again, he was OK.’
‘So you didn’t get punished at all?’ asked Francis.
‘Three weeks litter duty,’ said Andi, as they set off down the corridor. ‘I can live with that.’ She took his arm.
‘If I
had
been thrown out, would you have missed me?’
‘Hugely,’ said Francis. ‘In fact, I’d probably have had to kill myself.’
And for some reason that made both of them laugh.
Jessica thought Andi had had a lucky escape.
‘If Quentin hadn’t stepped in, Mrs Parsons would have thrown her out. I know she would,’ she said. ‘I wonder why he did?’
‘I wonder why I didn’t tell him to stop with the teasing, like you suggested,’ said Francis. ‘I don’t know if he
would
have stopped, but I should have tried.’
As Andi was still doing her litter duty and Roland had had to go to the dentist, it was just the two of them sitting on the sofa in the attic of number forty-seven. After hearing the story of what had happened with Mrs Parsons that day, the conversation turned to Jessica’s trip to London.
The day out at the Victoria and Albert Museum had had its ups and downs – Jackie Wilmot had been sick over Miss Jossaume on the coach, and there was a story that
someone had seen Lorna Gilchrist stealing books from the museum shop – but the exhibition itself had more than made up for all of that.
Vivienne Westwood was a designer they both admired enormously, and as a ghost, Jessica was able not only to describe the costumes she had seen, but to show them. Francis sat on the sofa while she modelled one outfit after another, finishing up with a dress made from an Aztec print with an angular hem that Francis particularly admired and said suited her brilliantly. The next time the school organised a trip to the V&A, he said, he would have to insist on being allowed to go with them.
One way and another it had been a good day for both of them, though Jessica found she was left with the odd feeling that she had
missed
something.
‘It’s a bit like when I was at the hospital,’ she said, trying to explain what she meant, ‘on the day I found I was dead, you know? When I felt there was something I should be doing.’
‘I seem to remember the trouble then was you had no idea
what
you were supposed to be doing,’ said Francis.
‘I didn’t. I still don’t. But I’ve been thinking about what Roland said – about there being someone else, and how I need to find them so I can move on. I wondered if maybe I shouldn’t go out and start looking for them.’
‘I don’t see how you can,’ said Francis. ‘Unless you plan on walking around town and shouting to ask if anyone can hear you.’
This was in fact pretty much what Jessica had had in mind.
‘It might work, mightn’t it?’
‘It might,’ said Francis, ‘but I doubt it.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, if I was walking round town and heard someone shouting, “Can anyone hear me? I’m a ghost and I need to talk to you,” I’d probably start walking in the other direction as fast as possible.’
‘Ah …’ Jessica sighed. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’
‘And anyway it’s not how it’s worked before, is it?’ Francis continued. ‘I mean, you didn’t have to look for me, did you? You didn’t have to look for any of us. We were just … there.’
‘So I should just sit around and wait?’
‘That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?’ said Francis. ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m quite enjoying all this. I’ve got three friends now – one of whom has a swimming pool, another who makes me feel like I’m protected by the SAS, and a third who is not only incredibly beautiful but goes around after school in a Vivienne Westwood original … I’m having the best time I’ve had in years.’
From downstairs, there came the sound of the front doorbell.
‘That’ll be Andi. I’d better let her in.’ Francis headed for the stairs, but turned before leaving. ‘I know Roland’s friend said it was important that you move on and not be stuck here, but I don’t want you to go. I don’t want you to go anywhere. As far as I’m concerned, the longer you stay the better.’
Jessica watched him leave, and decided that perhaps he was right. Maybe there was no real need for her to
do
anything. If there was someone else who needed her help, they would turn up – or not – in their own good time. In the meantime, she could, as Francis said, make the most
of things while she waited. Enjoy her friends. Enjoy their company. Enjoy being together …
And what was that other thing Francis had said?
Incredibly beautiful …
Jessica smiled to herself.
Funny if he was right about that as well …
At Easter, Roland’s mother took all four of them on holiday to Center Parcs at Longleat. Mrs Boyle thought she was only taking three people, of course, but none of them would have gone without Jessica, who took up very little room in the car, sitting in the middle of the back seat.
Center Parcs is chiefly designed for families that enjoy outdoor leisure activities and, despite the fact that Francis had no great interest in sports and that Jessica was a ghost, it worked remarkably well. The apartment they had taken was spacious and comfortable and almost the first thing Francis discovered when they arrived was about a hundred back numbers of
Harper’s Bazaar
left in one of the cupboards. He and Jessica spent a large part of the
holiday sitting by the pool flipping through the pages and taking notes, and occasionally joining Andi and Roland as they swam, roamed the woods on bicycles, played badminton, rode horses and climbed rocks.
Andi thought days spent doing things out of doors were sheer heaven, and Roland was usually the one who kept her company. Why someone so bulky should be prepared to climb rocks or cycle for miles when he was clearly designed to spend most of his day sitting in front of a computer was a mystery, but that was what he did. When Andi suggested another swim, Roland would stand up and get his towel. If she suggested a bike ride or a bit of rock climbing, he was out there, strapping on his safety gear. If she wanted to climb a tree, play a few sets of tennis, or do a circuit of the assault course, Roland was right behind her. He might look as if the effort was killing him, but he was always there.
It puzzled Francis. ‘Why does he do it?’ he asked Jessica one day as they watched Roland and Andi battling it out on the badminton court. ‘I mean, he can’t enjoy it, can he?’
‘It’s because he likes her.’ Jessica was standing behind him, massaging his shoulders.
‘I know he likes her,’ said Francis, relaxing in the warmth that spread through the muscles of his back, ‘we all do, but—’
‘No,’ Jessica interrupted. ‘I don’t mean that way. I mean … he
likes
her.’
Francis was quite taken aback. Andi? Roland
liked
Andi? He stared at the two of them out on the court.
Roland, despite his size, was able to give his opponent a good run for her money in a badminton game. He was big, but he was surprisingly nimble and had a knack of flicking the shuttle to just the point where it would drop out of Andi’s reach. As Francis watched, he won the game and Andi threw down her racket in disgust, ran over to Roland, pushed him to the ground and started pummelling his chest. She was hitting him quite hard but Roland didn’t seem to mind. For all his protests, it looked as if he was having a thoroughly good time.
‘Does she know? That he likes her?’
‘Oh, yes!’ Jessica smiled.
‘And she doesn’t mind?’
‘I think …’ Jessica put her head on one side ‘… that someone liking her like that is something she’s never had before, and she’s rather enjoying it.’
It explained a lot, thought Francis. It explained why Roland always did whatever Andi suggested. Why he followed her around like some huge devoted spaniel. Why he was always asking what she wanted to do. Thinking about it, it also explained why he turned down so many biscuits and snacks these days, like he was on some sort of diet.
Once it was pointed out, Francis wondered why he hadn’t seen it before. Roland did indeed like Andi. He would have walked through fire for her and, in a way that was what she asked him to do.
Because it was Andi who told Roland he should go back to school.
‘Why would I want to go back to school?’ Roland was plainly puzzled when it was first suggested. ‘I hated it there.’
‘I’m not saying you should go back to St Saviour’s,’ said Andi. ‘I’m saying you should come to school with us. At John Felton. Then we can all be together during the day, not just in the evenings.’ She threaded an arm through his. ‘You could join the badminton club. We could help each other in lessons. I think we’d have a really good time.’
The words ‘good time’ and ‘school’ did not fit in the same space in Roland’s head, but this was Andi asking him. The thought of being with her all day through the summer term was the strongest possible temptation. Even so, he wasn’t sure.
He was still uncertain on the last Saturday of the holidays, when the four of them were out shopping. They were in Dummer’s department store, and Andi was in the changing room with Jessica, trying on clothes, while the two boys waited outside.
‘The thing is,’ Roland was saying, ‘I can’t see it would be any different at your school than it was at mine. I’m still the same shape. People would still be laughing at me and saying things behind my back …’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Francis.
‘Why not?’
‘Two reasons.’ Francis ticked them off on his fingers. ‘One is that we’ve got this new Head who makes a real fuss if people do things like that. And the second is that everyone’ll know if they said anything rude to you, Andi would beat them to a pulp. She can be quite scary, you know.’
‘I’m not sure I want Andi to beat up anyone for me.’ Roland sat gloomily on a bench, his chin in his hands. ‘It’s nice to know she would if I asked, but …’
‘You wouldn’t have to ask,’ said Francis. ‘I’ve never asked her to lay a finger on anyone. But I promise you, as soon as people know you’re a friend of hers, no one will dare say anything. That’s all it takes.’
Roland looked doubtful, but at that moment the curtain of the changing room swept back and Andi appeared. She was wearing a tiny micro skirt and an even tinier sparkly boob tube. Jessica was wearing the same.
‘Ta-dah!’ The two of them flung out their arms, took up a pose, and grinned at the two boys.
‘What do you think?’ asked Andi.
‘I thought you were supposed to be trying on the trousers,’ said Francis.
Roland said nothing. He simply stared, but inside, that was the moment he made his decision. He would go back to school. Whatever happened, if it meant he could spend more time with Andi, it would be worth it.
Francis was given the job of explaining things to Roland’s mother. He was a little concerned that, after all the time and money she had invested in home schooling, Mrs Boyle might not be overjoyed at the news that her son had decided, after all, to go back to school.
He could not have been more wrong. Her instant reaction to the news was a great cry of delight and a long, rather embarrassing hug. Her Roland was going back to school! She could scarcely believe it! He would go off in the morning with his friends like a normal boy and come home, happy, at the end of it. It was how she had always dreamed it should be.
How Francis had done it, she had no idea, but she
suspected he had planned the whole thing this way from the start. He had deliberately let Roland relax for a couple of months, let him regain his confidence by some time at home, and now he was bringing him back into school. The skill with which he had managed it all left her awestruck.
‘You’re sure he’s ready for it, are you?’ she asked, as they sat at the kitchen table. ‘You don’t think anything will … happen?’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Francis. ‘But if it does, he’s got Andi and me to help sort it out.’
‘Of course he has.’ Mrs Boyle reached across the table and patted his hand. ‘And Ronnie and I are so grateful to you. I’ll ring your Mrs Parsons tomorrow and arrange an interview.’
‘Great.’ Francis stood up. ‘I’ll go and tell Roland.’
‘I was going to ask your advice about one other thing,’ said Mrs Boyle, ‘if you had the time?’
‘Yes, of course.’ Francis sat down again.
‘Doing all this with Rollo …’ Mrs Boyle gestured to the text books that littered the table, ‘I found the work
wasn’t quite as difficult as I’d expected, and it occurred to me I might carry on, and maybe even take one or two exams.’ Absent-mindedly, she took a strip of paper and began twisting it round her fingers. ‘Do you think that sounds silly?’
Francis wasn’t sure what to say.
‘You want to take some exams?’
‘I know I’m probably too old, and I’m not as clever as all of you …’
‘She’s brighter than most of the people at John Felton,’ said Jessica, ‘and she works really hard. Tell her to go for it.’
‘I think you’re cleverer than most of the people I know at school,’ said Francis, ‘and you work really hard. I think you should go for it.’
Mrs Boyle blushed, then a great smile spread across her face. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I was hoping you’d say that.’