The Secret Read online

Mr Hunt arrived at that moment, having received the frantic message from a distraught dinner lady, that Nicky Mitchell was killing someone in the playground. Mr Hunt pushed his way through the crowd, and grabbed at Nicky’s arm. Nicky went on lashing out with her feet, and there was yet another painful bruise on Gary’s backside. Mr Hunt yanked her backwards so she couldn’t reach – and Nicky kicked backwards at him! It was only because she was so deeply hurt and frustrated she didn’t properly know what she was doing. She was sorry afterwards, about kicking Mr Hunt, but, of course, afterwards was too late.

  ‘Well that’s it, Nicky, isn’t it?’ said Mr Nelson. ‘I mean – what am I expected to do? What do you expect me to do?’

  ‘How is your arthritis today, Sir?’

  ‘Never mind my arthritis – you realize I shall have to stop you coming to Easthaven on Wednesday, don’t you?’

  ‘It was worth it,’ said Nicky. ‘Except I’m sorry about kicking Mr Hunt.’

  ‘Mr Hunt will forgive you. Eventually. I’m not so sure about Gary’s mother. And speaking of mothers, I shall have to have a word with yours.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘There’ll be a letter in the post tonight. For obvious reasons, I shan’t ask you to take it home with you.’

  ‘Don’t you trust me, Sir?’

  ‘I hoped I could trust your good sense this morning!’

  ‘Anyway, I feel better now,’ said Nicky. ‘I feel so much better I’m not going to do nothing to Sanjay.’ She gave a little hopeful, sideways smile at Mr Nelson. ‘I was going to poke his little piggy eyes in, but I’m not now!’

  ‘Good try,’ said Mr Nelson, sadly.

  When she had time to think about it, Nicky found she was quite uncomfortably worried about the letter that was coming in the post. The very thing she had been trying to avoid! One of the little juggling balls had come crashing right down now, so Aunty Four-Eyes could do her worst; there was no more worse to do. ‘Do you know the seaside of Southbourne?’ she asked Joycelyn, in class.

  ‘I heard about it, one time.’

  ‘Do you know how to get there, on the train?’

  ‘Go to the station, and buy a ticket,’ said Joycelyn, unhelpfully.

  ‘I know that,’ said Nicky. ‘Who don’t know that? I mean what station is it? I meant is it Euston, or Waterloo, or what?’

  ‘Ask Mr Hunt,’ said Joycelyn.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Nicky. ‘He’s not speaking to me.’

  When the bell went, Nicky announced that she was not waiting to be dismissed with the others, she was going straight to Roy’s classroom, because he would be needing her this afternoon; and Mr Hunt needn’t bother trying to stop her, because she was going anyway. Mr Hunt sighed, and caressed his kicked shins, and shrugged.

  ‘Have you chose your new goldfish yet?’ said Nicky to Roy.

  ‘I don’t want any new goldfish.’ His voice was flat, and without expression, the words barely audible.

  ‘Don’t be silly, of course you want them! You do say some silly things, Roy Mitchell! Well I want them, anyway. Shall I choose, then? Are you coming to help me? All right, I’ll do it on my own. Is that all right, Mrs Blake? Can I go and choose?’

  ‘Come along, Roy,’ said Mrs Blake. ‘We’ll go and choose your goldfish, shall we? You and me and Nicky together.’

  ‘I don’t want them,’ said Roy. ‘I want Goldy and Fishy.’

  ‘Goldy and Fishy have gone to Heaven,’ said Nicky. ‘As you very well know. You coming to the hall, then? All right, me and Mrs Blake will choose for you. I’ll put some water in the bowl, shall I? Come on, Mrs Blake.’

  Roy trailed behind them, his face a total blank. ‘Look at this beautiful goldfish, Mrs Blake!’ said Nicky loudly and ecstatically. ‘This big one! Oh look, Mrs Blake, isn’t he beautiful? Did you ever see such a beautiful goldfish in your life? Can we have him? Can we really?’

  Roy stood a little way off, twisting his fingers and staring at the wall. ‘And this one,’ Nicky enthused. ‘Oh look, he’s got a bit of red on him. Look, Roy, you got two beautiful fish again!’

  ‘I don’t want them,’ said Roy.

  ‘All right,’ said Nicky. ‘You don’t have to keep on saying it. They can be my fish. Thank you, Mrs Blake, for these beautiful fish. Good night, Mrs Blake!’

  Nicky carried the bowl with great care. ‘Gosh, it is heavy! You must be very strong, Roy, to carry this bowl to school this morning! You must be strong like Tarzan!’ She chattered at him over her shoulder, trying to rouse him out of his depression, but he didn’t answer, didn’t even look at her. His feet moved sluggishly, scuffling along the pavement; his eyes wandered from side to side, and over Nicky’s head.

  ‘All right,’ said Nicky. ‘If you won’t talk to me, perhaps the fish will talk to me. My fish. Good afternoon, fish, how are you today, fish? What do you think of this lovely weather, fish?’ She bent her head over the bowl, holding her ear to the opening. ‘Oh you don’t think it is lovely weather! You rather rain!’ Without pausing in her stride, Nicky turned her head briefly, to see if Roy was smiling by any chance – and her foot caught in a nasty little hole in the pavement. She stumbled forward, lost her balance, tried to regain it and failed. And the goldfish bowl flew from her hands as she instinctively stretched them to break her fall.

  The glass shattered into a dozen pieces, the water poured over the pavement, the fish were floundering and gulping in the gutter. Roy stared blankly at the disaster, almost without interest. Stunned with dismay, Nicky sat one moment more amongst the debris, then scrambled to her feet. She bent to grab at the fish, and they slithered out of her hand. She grabbed again, and managed to hold one. She hesitated, then abandoned the other and ran quickly, quickly, to save the life of this one fish at least, if she could.

  Roy trailed after her, still only half aware.

  At home, Nicky put the fish in the washing-up bowl in the kitchen – but it was obviously dead. She emptied it into the dustbin, and went to find Roy.

  He was in the Back Room, sitting on the shabby sofa, the tears streaming down his face at last. Nicky sat beside him, and put her arm round his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drop them!’

  Roy began to cry noisily, his body shaken with sobs. Nicky’s arm tightened around his shoulders. ‘Oh Roy, don’t, don’t! Please don’t cry any more, I can’t stand it, I’m so miserable! I’ll buy some more fish for you when I’ve got some money, I will!’

  He pushed her arm away and turned his back to her, still sobbing.

  ‘Roy! Please!’

  ‘Do you think I’m crying about your old fish, then?’ he said, bitterly, still not looking at her.

  ‘They weren’t my fish really,’ said Nicky. ‘I thought you would understand that. I was just keeping them for you.’

  ‘Well you needn’t have bothered, because I didn’t want them. I only want Goldy and Fishy, and they’re d-dead!’

  ‘Oh Roy!’

  ‘And that’s what I’m crying about n-now.’

  ‘Won’t you never want any more fish?’

  ‘No. I finished wanting fish. Anyway, I don’t think I’m lucky enough.’ He had never sounded more sad, but at least his crying had stopped.

  ‘What you mean, not lucky enough?’ she scolded him. ‘Now you’re talking silly. Now you’re saying silly things again.’

  ‘I’m not lucky enough to have fish. I’m a unlucky person.’

  ‘No you’re not, you’re a very lucky person. You’re a very lucky person indeed, and if you don’t believe me I’ll show you how lucky you are! You’re so lucky I’m going to let you choose anything you like for tea. Anything!’ she said recklessly. ‘You can have whatever you like.’

  ‘Even if it costs a lot of money?’

  ‘I got plenty money,’ Nicky lied.

  ‘Can we have Chinese?’ Roy had not touched his school dinner and now, with his grief partly out, he was beginning to feel hungry.

  ‘If that’s what you choose.’ Chinese was exp
ensive, they didn’t often have it, but Nicky would have given Roy the food out of her own mouth tonight, if that would comfort him.

  ‘Can we have those crispy balls with the sweet stuff on them?’ His eyes gleamed, just a little bit.

  ‘Yes we can, we can. We’ll go as soon as they’re open.’

  In the Lotus Garden, Sonia and Eric were also waiting for their take-aways. ‘What are you having?’ said Eric.

  ‘If it’s any of your business, we’re having sweet and sour,’ said Nicky. ‘And some egg-fried rice.’

  ‘Is that all? That’s not much. We’re having all this, look, six different things!’

  ‘Everybody isn’t as greedy as you.’

  ‘We have to share it,’ said Sonia. ‘In the whole family.’

  ‘So?’ said Nicky. ‘We have to share ours.’

  ‘Only two things, between three people?’ said Eric, scornfully.

  ‘That’s enough for Roy and me,’ said Nicky.

  ‘Doesn’t your mum want anything to eat tonight, then?’ said Sonia.

  ‘She doesn’t like Chinese,’ said Nicky.

  ‘Yes she does,’ said Eric, remembering friendlier days.

  ‘She changed her mind,’ said Nicky.

  ‘I haven’t seen your mum,’ said Sonia. ‘Not for ever such a long time.’

  ‘That’s funny,’ said Nicky. ‘She’s seen you!’

  ‘When?’

  ‘The other day,’ said Nicky. ‘She told us, didn’t she, Roy? She said, “I saw that Sonia Morris on her way to school, isn’t she getting tall?” You must have forgot.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Sonia, puzzled.

  ‘Our mum’s not speaking to your mum,’ said Eric.

  ‘And our mum’s not speaking to your mum,’ said Nicky. ‘But she quite likes Sonia, she said.’

  ‘Which day was it?’ said Sonia.

  ‘Which day was what?’

  ‘When your mum saw me.’

  ‘Tuesday. Perhaps you didn’t see her after all. I think she said she walked up the road behind you.’

  ‘I didn’t go to school Tuesday,’ said Sonia. ‘I had a tummy-ache.’

  ‘Well Wednesday then,’ said Nicky. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘My dad took me to school in the car, Wednesday.’

  ‘Some other day then,’ said Nicky. ‘Don’t go on and on about it, it’s boring.’

  There had been enough money to pay for the meal, but precious little over. ‘I’ve got 46p left now, and that’s all,’ said Nicky, in the house.

  ‘Is that all you’ve got really?’ said Roy, dismayed. ‘Are you joking?’

  ‘That’s all. Go on, eat your Chinese now I bought it.’

  ‘What are we going to do though? Without enough money?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Nicky. ‘I’ll think tomorrow.’

  In the night Roy woke, and his sheets were soaking wet. He went to Nicky for comfort, but she was not feeling like comforting anyone, just then. ‘What you want to do that for?’ she scolded him. ‘You supposed to be ten years old! Funny sort of ten years old! Anyway you can change your bed yourself, I’m not going to do it for you!’

  7

  Hungry!

  THE WOMAN IN the hospital was fretting. She wasn’t lying in bed any more; the cruel nurses made her sit in a chair for most of the day, which was painful; and even walk about sometimes, which hurt even more. They didn’t do it to be cruel, they said, they did it to help her get better. And she was getting better, in one way. She was feeling stronger every day. The only thing was, she still couldn’t remember her name.

  It was very strange, having arms and legs and a body and a face, and no memory of any past life. The woman didn’t like not having any memory; it made her feel as though she wasn’t quite a real person. Over and over each day, she struggled to force the memories back – but it was as though a thick black curtain had come down over part of her mind, and however hard she tried, she couldn’t lift it.

  ‘You’re probably trying too hard,’ the nurse explained. ‘Just relax. It’ll come when it’s ready.’

  ‘It’s all very well for you saying that,’ said the woman. ‘You’ve got a name!’

  ‘Well I haven’t been in a coma, have I?’ said the nurse. ‘Which is what we call the long sleep you had. People do lose their memories after a coma, sometimes.’

  ‘But I’m fed up with this, I’m fed up with not knowing who I am!’ the woman burst out; and she added a few words that were not nice to hear at all.

  ‘Charming!’ said the nurse, walking away.

  ‘Oh you lot are so pleased with yourselves!’ the woman shouted. ‘How would you like to be me, then? How would you like it?’ And she let fly with some more not-very-nice language, but since no one took the slightest notice of her tantrum she soon tired of that, and sat glaring dejectedly at the wall.

  ‘It begins with a M,’ she said suddenly.

  ‘What does?’ said the woman in the next bed.

  ‘Margaret Thatcher!’ said the woman in the chair, tartly. ‘No! My name, of course. One of my names anyway . . . I think.’

  ‘Well that’s a start then, dear, isn’t it?’ said the woman in the bed.

  ‘And I think I live in London,’ said Mrs Mitchell, sounding quite excited.

  Nicky got up in a bad mood. Troubled and confused about what to do, now Mum had been gone a whole week, she took out her ill temper on the house. ‘Look at this place!’ she complained. ‘It’s like a rubbish heap. Look at all those cushions on the floor! And the chairs knocked over. And papers and stuff everywhere. Who done all that mess?’

  ‘We both did,’ said Roy. ‘When we was playing Rough Games.’

  ‘It’s “we were”, not “we was”,’ said Nicky sourly. ‘Where are your manners? Anyway you can clear it all up after breakfast, that can be your job.’

  Roy swore, under his breath.

  ‘Wash your mouth out!’ Nicky scolded him.

  ‘Mum says worse than that, sometimes.’

  ‘That’s different. Mum has a excuse if she says bad words sometimes. She has a hard life, you know.’

  ‘So do we have a hard life.’

  ‘No we don’t, we have a very good life and stop moaning! We have a great life. I do, anyway!’

  The milkman rang the doorbell just then, and since it was Saturday he wanted to be paid. ‘Mum says she’ll pay next week,’ said Nicky. ‘She hasn’t got any change.’

  ‘She didn’t have any change last Saturday.’ The milkman didn’t sound very happy.

  ‘She’ll pay next week for absolute certain,’ said Nicky.

  She went to the bathroom to deal with Roy’s sheets. ‘It’s time they went to the launderette anyway,’ she said. ‘And some of our things. Our knickers and things. Else what are we going to have to wear if they’re all dirty? Hurry up and finish your breakfast, Roy. I could eat four breakfasts while you eat one. You got to take a load of washing to the launderette.’

  ‘You said I got to pick up the cushions.’

  ‘I changed my mind, don’t argue.’

  ‘I don’t think we’ve got enough money for the launderette.’

  ‘Yeah. . . . All right then, we won’t take the stuff to the launderette after all. I’ll do the washing in the kitchen, and hang it on the line. You can pick up the cushions after all, I changed my mind again.’

  She pegged out the sheets and the underwear, and Roy’s school shirts from last week, and her school dress. There was washing on the next door line as well, Mrs Morris had just finished putting it out; a lady’s dresses, and Mr Morris’s pyjamas, as well as Sonia’s and Eric’s things. Nicky went up to Mum’s bedroom and fetched a nightie and a petticoat, and Mum’s best blouse. She dipped them in water to make it look real, and pegged them on the line with the rest. That would fix Sonia Morris and her nasty suspicious questions!

  The bathroom, she observed, was filthy. No use telling Roy to clean that, he wouldn’t know how. Nicky scrubbed at tide marks and
polished taps. Then she dragged Roy off his bottom to help with the rest of the house. He grumbled a bit; he had slumped himself in front of the television that didn’t work, thinking his part was done. But Nicky said there was the hall still, and the stairs, and the kitchen, and their bedrooms; and not to be a lazy slob because for all he knew, for all he knew, Mum might be coming home today, and did he want Mum to think they turned themselves into tramps, just because she wasn’t there?

  ‘I don’t want to talk about Mum,’ said Roy.

  ‘I didn’t ask you to talk. Who asked you to talk? I said to clean the house, so do it!’

  By the time they had finished, the house had had rather more than the superficial wipe-over it usually got when Mum was in charge. It was also dinner time. ‘I’m hungry,’ said Roy.

  Nicky looked in the cupboard. ‘There’s one tin of peas. We haven’t ate the peas yet.’

  ‘Is that all we’re going to have?’

  ‘What’s the matter with you, you want to get fat? You want to get as fat as a pig? Peas are very good for you, you know. She looked in the fridge. ‘Oh Roy, I forgot, I forgot! There’s some of the roast still, from Sunday.’

  ‘It’s old.’

  Nicky smelled it. ‘It’s all right, don’t grumble. You should be glad to have such a good dinner. There’s plenty of children in the world don’t get hardly anything to eat at all, you know.’

  ‘Anyway I don’t like peas. Can’t I have the rest of my birthday cake?’

  ‘We have to save that for our tea.’

  ‘Can’t we buy something for our tea?’

  ‘That reminds me,’ said Nicky. ‘I was going to ask you. Roy, do you have any money?’

  ‘A little bit. It’s mine, though.’

  ‘Don’t be selfish.’

  ‘But it’s mine.’

  ‘Roy, this is special, isn’t it. This is a special thing that never happened before. So you have to do a special thing and give me your money, so we can last out a bit longer, and keep the secret a bit longer.’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about the secret.’

  ‘Well don’t talk about it. Just go and get me your money.’

  In the secrecy of his bedroom, Roy divided his little horde of money into two piles – one pound thirty-five pence for himself and ninety-one pence for Nicky. ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ said Nicky.