Bad Dreams by Anne Fine

Family Swimsaver Ticket.
    While the man at the cash desk was reaching down our locker key bracelets, Imogen and I stood back against the wall. I pointed to one of the framed photographs opposite.
    â€˜That looks exactly like the Harries Cup.’

    Imogen grinned. ‘You really want to win it, don’t you, Mel?’
    â€˜I’ve wanted it for three years ,’ I confessed. ‘The first year, Toby Harrison beat me by a couple of metres. That was fair enough. Then, last year, Mum wouldn’t even let me try.’
    Imogen stared across at my mum. ‘Wouldn’t let you?’
    â€˜I did have flu,’ I admitted. ‘But still I’m sure I could have done it. There was only Phoebe Tucker in the running, and I was a good five seconds faster than her over the whole three lengths. But this year she’s too old to enter. So,’ I said, flattening myself back against the wall to let a man with a pushchair get past, ‘in two weeks’ time, Mr Archibald Leroy, Councillor for Leisure Services, will be handing the Harries Cup to me .’
    â€˜No, he won’t,’ said Imogen.
    â€˜Sorry?’
    I’d turned to stare at her, but just at that moment, Mum hurried over. ‘What a time that took! Let’s hope there’s no more messing about, or it won’t have been worth coming.’ She held out her cupped hands. ‘Right, then. Hand it all over. Money, watches, diamonds . . .’
    She makes the same joke every week. I slid off my watch, and passed it across.
    â€˜And you, dear.’ Mum turned to Imogen. ‘What about that necklace?’
    Imogen patted it. ‘No, really. It’s all right. I always swim in it. The clasp’s so stiff it never comes undone by accident.’
    â€˜I’m not sure that’s wise,’ Mum said. ‘It’s one thing wearing it in a school lesson, when everyone knows it’s yours. But this session is different.’
    â€˜All right.’ Imogen turned her back to me. ‘Can you get it undone, Mel?’
    I struggled with the clasp. She was quite right, it was horribly stiff and difficult. But finally I managed to prise it open. The slim gold chain fell like a tiny living snake into my palm. It was so cold, it startled me. And though I was sure it was imagination, it seemed to stir of its own accord, even before I prodded it with my finger.
    â€˜What are those strange scratches on it?’ Mum asked, opening her bag for me to spill the glittering loops of gold safely inside.

    â€˜My mother says they’re charms,’ said Imogen. ‘The wavy shapes stand for water, and the pointy ones for roots.’
    â€˜Curious,’ said Mum, snapping her bag shut. ‘And much safer here with me than in those lockers.’ She set off up the stairs for the café, and I turned to Imogen.
    â€˜Why did you say that?’ I demanded.
    â€˜About the roots and water?’
    â€˜No,’ I said. ‘About Councillor Leroy not being there to give me the Harries Cup.’
    â€˜I didn’t say that. All I said was—’
    She stopped, and stared at me, appalled. I couldn’t work out what was wrong with her. It wasn’t quite like all the times before, when blood drained from her face. But she still looked horrified enough.
    â€˜Oh, no!’ she whispered, her eyes on me, huge and round.
    â€˜What’s up?’ I asked her. ‘Is it bad news about Councillor Leroy? Is he going to die ?’
    She shook her head and tried to pull herself together. But though she tried to answer sensibly, she still looked weird. Not scared, exactly. More sort of cagey. Shifty-looking, even.
    â€˜What’s going on?’ I demanded. ‘Imogen, what’s going on?’
    She took a breath and said firmly: ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’ But she was still looking hunted, and, desperate to distract me, she glanced around.
    â€˜Oh, look!’ She pointed to the