Solitaire, Part 3 of 3 (10 page)

Fifteen minutes later, I push my way through a hedge to get into school because the main gates are locked. I get a big old scratch on my face and, upon inspection using my phone screen, I decide I quite like it.

The car park is deserted. I trudge through the snow towards the main entrance and, as I draw closer, I see that the door is ajar. I head inside, immediately noticing the white burglar and fire alarm box on the wall; or what used to be a white box on the wall. It’s been torn away and is hanging from the plaster by only a couple of wires. The rest have all been cut. I stare at it for a few seconds before moving on down a corridor.

They’re here.

I drift for a while, a Ghost of Christmas Past. I’m reminded of the last time I was here at a stupid hour of the day – weeks ago, with the prefects and Zelda, and the violin video. That seems like a long time ago. Everything seems colder now.

As I draw closer to the end of the corridor, I begin to hear unintelligible whispers coming from the corner English classroom. Mr Kent’s classroom. I flatten myself like a spy against the wall by the door. There’s a dim light glaring from its plastic window. Carefully and slowly, I peer into the room.

I expect to find a horde of Solitaire minions, but what I see instead are three figures huddled by a cluster of tables in the middle of the room, illuminated by an oversized torch shining upwards from the table. The first is the guy with the large quiff who I’ve seen Lucas with a hundred times, in a very Lucas-ish hipster get-up – skinnies, boat shoes, bomber jacket and Ben Sherman polo.

The second person is Evelyn Foley.

Quiff has his arm round her. Oh. Evelyn’s secret boyfriend is Quiff. I think back to The Clay. Had the Solitaire voice been a girl’s? It’s too cold for me to remember anything, so I focus my attention on the third figure.

Lucas.

Quiff and Evelyn seem to be kind of ganging up on him. Lucas is whispering hurriedly at Quiff. He told me he wasn’t a part of Solitaire any more, didn’t he? Maybe I should jump into the room and start shouting. Waving my phone. Threatening to call the police. Maybe—

“
Oh my God
.”

At the other end of the corridor, Becky Allen blinks into existence, and I almost collapse. She points at me with an accusatory finger and hisses, “I knew you wouldn’t go home!”

My eyes, wild and unfocused, spin crazily as she storms down the corridor. Soon, Becky is beside me, in Superman pyjama bottoms tucked into at least three pairs of socks and furry boots, along with a hoodie and a coat and all other kinds of woolly clothing. She’s here. Becky came here. For me. She looks very strange with no make-up on and her purplish hair all scraped into a greasy sort of bulb, and I don’t know why or how this happens, but I am actually
relieved
that she’s here.

“Oh my God, you’re insane,” she whispers. “You. Are. Psychotic.” And then she hugs me, and I let her, and for several seconds I really feel like we’re friends. She lets go, withdraws and cringes. “Dude, what have you done to your
face
?” She lifts her sleeve and wipes it roughly against my cheek, and, when she draws it away, it’s stained red. Then she smiles and shakes her head. I’m reminded of the Becky I knew three years ago, before boys, before sex, before alcohol, before she started to move on while I stayed exactly where I was.

I point towards the door to the English room. “Look inside.”

She tiptoes past me and looks. And her face opens up in horror. “
Evelyn?
What th— And why is
Lucas
—” Her mouth hangs wide open as the sudden realisation dawns. “Is this – is this
Solitaire
?” She turns back to me and shakes her head. “This is too much mind-fuckery for this time of day. I’m not even sure I’m actually awake.”

“
Shh
.”

I’m trying to listen to what they’re saying. Becky dives past the door and we stand, hidden in the dark, on either side of it. Vaguely, we begin to decipher a conversation. It’s 6.04am.

“Grow some balls, Lucas.” Evelyn. She’s wearing high-waisted denim shorts and tights and a Harrington jacket. “I’m not even joking. We’re
terribly
sorry to tear you away from your electric blanket and Radio 4, but can’t you just
grow some balls.
”

Lucas’s face, dotted with shadows, grimaces. “Can I please remind you that
I
am the one who started Solitaire in the first place – therefore, my balls are in no position to be questioned, thanks.”

“Yeah, you started it,” says Quiff. It’s the first time I get a proper look at him and, for someone with such a large head of hair, he really is tiny. By his side on the table is a Morrison’s shopping bag. His voice is also far more sophisticated than I’d anticipated. “And you left just when we started to do stuff that’s actually
worthwhile
. We’re doing something great and yet here you are saying that everything
you
have worked for has been, and I quote, ‘total and utter bullshit’.”

“This isn’t what I worked for,” Lucas snaps. “I thought that messing with this school would help people.”

“Fucking up this school,” says Quiff, “is the best thing that’s ever happened to this town.”

“But this isn’t going to help anyone. It’s not going to change anything. Changing an environment doesn’t change a person.”

“Cut the crap, Lucas.” Evelyn shakes her head. “You’re not Gandhi, babe.”

“You must be able to see what an idiotic idea this is,” says Lucas.

“Just give me the lighter,” says Quiff.

Becky, her palms flattened against the wall like Spider-Man, whips her head round. “
Lighter?
” she mouths.

I shrug back. I stare harder at Lucas and realise that behind his back he’s holding what at first looks like a gun, but is actually just one of those novelty lighters.

There’s only one thing you can do with a lighter.

“Er, no,” says Lucas, but even this far away I can tell that he’s nervous. Quiff lunges for Lucas’s arm, but he steps backwards just in time. Quiff begins to laugh like some evil mastermind.

“Well,
shit
,” says Quiff. “You went to all this trouble, and now you’re just going to steal our stuff and run off with it. Like a little kid. Why did you even
come here
? Why didn’t you just go and tell on us, like the baby you are?”

Lucas shifts on to his other leg, silent.

“Give me the lighter,” says Quiff. “Last chance.”

“Fuck you,” says Lucas.

Quiff puts his hand to his face and rubs his forehead, sighing, “Christ.” Then, like someone flicked a switch in his brain, he swings his fist at lightning speed and punches Lucas in the face.

Lucas, with surprising dignity, doesn’t fall down; he lifts himself up to his full height and looks Quiff dead in the eye.

“
Fuck you
,” says Lucas again.

Quiff smashes Lucas in the stomach, this time doubling him over. He grabs Lucas’s arm with ease and wrenches away the lighter gun, then grabs Lucas by the collar, holds the barrel against his neck and pushes him against the wall. I expect he thinks he looks like some kind of Mafia boss, but it doesn’t help that he’s got the face of a seven-year-old and the voice of David Cameron.

“You couldn’t just
leave it
, could you, mate? You couldn’t just leave it alone, could you?”

It’s obvious that Quiff is not going to pull the trigger and burn Lucas’s neck. It is obvious to Quiff that Quiff is not going to burn Lucas. It is obvious to all the people who have ever lived and all the people who will ever live that Quiff does not have the strength, will or malice to seriously wound a fairly innocent guy like Lucas Ryan. But I guess, if someone is holding a lighter gun up to your throat, then things like that aren’t quite as obvious as they should be.

Becky is no longer at my side.

She karate-kicks the door open.

“Okay, chaps. Just stop. Right now. Stop the madness.”

With one hand in the air, she strides out from our hiding place. Evelyn makes some kind of squealing sound, Lucas lets out a triumphant laugh, and Quiff drops Lucas’s collar and steps backwards as if afraid that Becky might arrest him right there on the spot.

I follow her in and immediately regret it. Lucas sees me and stops laughing.

Becky stomps up and places herself directly between Lucas and the lighter gun. Her make-up-less face transforms her into a thin-eyed, pale-faced warrior.

“Oh, darling.” She sighs at Quiff and tilts her head, faux sympathetically. “You actually think you’re intimidating, don’t you? I mean, where in God’s name did you
get
that piece of crap? Costcutter?”

Quiff tries to laugh it off, but fails. Becky’s eyes turn to fire. She holds out her hands.

“Go for it, dude.” Her eyebrows are all the way up her forehead. “Go on. Set fire to my hair or whatever. I am relatively intrigued to see if you can pull that trigger.”

I can see Quiff desperately trying to think of something witty to say. After a few awkward moments, he stumbles backwards, grabs the Morrison’s bag, puts the lighter into it and pulls the trigger. The lighter flame glows orange for approximately two seconds, before Quiff pulls it away and casts the bag dramatically towards the classroom’s bookshelf. Whatever is inside the bag begins to smoke and rustle.

Everyone in the room looks at the bag.

The smoke gradually thins. The plastic bag withers a little before flopping off the shelf and on to the floor, upside down.

There is a long silence.

Eventually, Becky throws her head back and roars with laughter.

“Oh my
God
! Oh my
God
!”

Quiff has nothing to say any more. There’s no way he can take back what just happened. I think this is just about the stupidest thing I have ever seen.

“
This
is Solitaire’s grand finale!” Becky continues to laugh. “Oh my God, you really are the most deluded of all the hipsters I’ve met. You bring a whole new meaning to the word deluded.”

Quiff lifts the lighter and sways a little towards the bag, as if he’s going to try again, but Becky grabs him violently by the wrist and with her other hand wrenches the gun away. She waves it in the air and withdraws her phone from her coat pocket.

“Take one step towards that plastic bag, bitch, and I’m calling the popo.” She raises her eyebrows like a disappointed teacher. “Don’t think I don’t know your name,
Aaron Riley
.”

Quiff, or Aaron Riley or whoever, squares up to her. “You think they’d believe some slag?”

Becky throws her head back for the second time. “Oh, man. I’ve met
so many
bellends like you.” She pats Quiff on the arm. “You do the whole tough-guy thing really well, mate. Well done.”

I steal a quick glance at Lucas, but he’s just staring at Becky, absently shaking his head.

“You’re all the same,” says Becky. “All you idiots who think that, by playing the self-righteous intellect, you rule the entire world. Why don’t you go home and complain about it on your blog like
normal
people?” She takes a step towards him. “I mean, what are you trying to do here, dude? What’s Solitaire trying to do? Do you all think that you’re better than everyone else? Are you trying to say that school isn’t important? Are you trying to teach us about morals and how to be a better person? Are you trying to say that if we just laugh about it all, if we just stir up some shit and put smiles on our faces, then life’s going to be hunky-dory? Is
that
what Solitaire’s trying to do?”

She lets out a monstrous cry of exasperation, actually making me jump. “Sadness is a natural human emotion, you giant
dick.
”

Evelyn, who has been watching with her lips pursed the entire time, finally speaks up. “Why are you judging us? You don’t even understand what we’re doing.”

“Oh, Evelyn. Really. Solitaire? You’re with Solitaire?” Becky begins to flick the lighter on and off. Perhaps she’s as deranged as I am. Evelyn cowers backwards. “And
this
prick has been your special secret boyfriend all along? He’s wearing more hair product than I’ve used in the past
year
, Evelyn!” She shakes her head like a weary old person. “Solitaire. Bloody hell. I feel like I’m in Year 8 all over again.”

“Why are you acting like such a special snowflake?” says Evelyn. “You think you’re a better person than us?”

Becky screeches with laughter and tucks the lighter gun into her pyjama trousers. “A better person? Ha. I’ve done some shitty things to people. And now I’m admitting it. You know what, Evelyn? Maybe I want to be a special snowflake. Maybe, sometimes, I just want to express the emotions that I’m actually feeling instead of having to put on this happy, smiley façade that I put on every day just to come across to bitches like you as
not boring
.”

She points at me again as if she’s punching the air. “Apparently, Tori understands what you guys are trying to do. I have no idea why you’re trying to destroy our crappy little school. But Tori thinks that, you know, on the whole, you’re doing something bad, and
I fucking believe her
.” Her arm drops. “Dear God, Evelyn. You severely piss me off. Jesus Christ. Creepers are the ugliest shoes I have ever seen. Go back to your blog or Glastonbury or wherever you came from and
stay there
.”

Quiff and Evelyn give Becky one last horrified glare before giving up.

It’s kind of remarkable, in a way.

Because people are very stubborn and they don’t like to be proven wrong. I think that they both knew that what they had been about to do
was
wrong though, or perhaps they didn’t have the guts to go through with it, deep down. Maybe, when it came down to it, they’d never been the real antagonists. But if they’re not then who is?

We follow the pair slowly out of the room and down the corridor. We watch as they wander away out through the double doors. If I were them, I would probably change schools immediately. They’ll be gone in a minute. Gone forever. They will be gone.

We stay there for a while, not saying anything. After a few minutes, I begin to sweat. Maybe I feel angry. No. I don’t feel anything.