him.’
However, I needed to speak to Jamie in a dead-casual, almost-friendly way to find out exactly where he lived in Oxford Terrace. He knew what Jo looked like. We’d both been going to this school since we were practically babies. For years and years our mums had delivered us or collected us. I had noticed that Jamie’s mum was plump and beady-eyed like him, with lots of hair and jazzy jumpers and coloured tights and bright boots, none of them matching. He had probably noticed that Jo was much younger than the other mums, and dyed her hair to match mine and wore high heels to make her just a tiny bit taller.
It’s awfully hard to strike up a dead-casual, almost-friendly conversation with someone you can’t stick. We’re barely allowed to breathe in Miss Beckworth’s classes anyway, let alone converse. But at playtime I took ages putting away my books and let Lisa and Angela go off by themselves. Jamie always took his time too, not at all keen to go out into the playground. He’s not the outdoor type. He’s hopeless at football and he can’t even run properly, his arms and legs go every which way. He isn’t bullied by the other boys because he can be quite quick and cutting with what he says, but he’s not exactly number one popular person with his peers. (Not like
some
people I could mention if I wanted to be disgustingly boastful.)
He generally slopes off into a corner by himself and reads a book. I watched him take one out of his satchel. It was covered in the Victorian wrapping paper so you couldn’t see the title.
‘What’s that you’re reading then, Jamie?’ I asked.
He looked at me suspiciously. ‘Why?’
‘I just want to know, for goodness’ sake,’ I said.
‘With you it’s usually for badness’ sake,’ said Jamie.
‘Let’s have a look, then,’ I said, reaching for it.
He hesitated, holding it away from me. ‘Are you going to hit me again if I don’t let you?’ he said.
‘That was different. That was
my
book. So what’s yours? Why have you got it all wrapped up like that? Hey, it’s a dirty book, that’s it, isn’t it! Shock, scandal, swotty old Jamie’s reading a rude book. And you didn’t want anyone to see you’re reading it. What is it, eh? Show me!’
‘Get off!’ said Jamie, trying to push me away, but he was still wary of me. I snatched his book easily and opened it.
‘“Esther Waters”,’ I read, flicking through the pages. ‘Oooh! What a swizzle. It’s just some boring boring boring old Victorian book. Typical you, Jamie Edwards. You’re just doing some extra swotting up for your project, aren’t you?’
‘The Victorians thought it was a rude book,’ said Jamie. ‘They were ever so shocked when it came out.’
‘Well, they were shocked by anything. They were so stupid they even covered up their piano legs! If a woman raised her skirt a few inches above her ankles the chaps practically fainted dead away,’ I said scornfully. ‘So what does this Esther Waters get up to, Jamie? Is she so dead brazen she flashes her kneecaps?’
‘Oh, ha ha,’ said Jamie, sighing.
I saw he had his bookmark more than halfway through.
‘Gosh, have you read all that? It looks
terribly
dull and difficult. You’re mad,’ I said.
‘It’s a good story actually,’ said Jamie. ‘It’s about this girl Esther—’
‘No!’
‘—and she’s a servant and—’
‘She’s a servant?’ I said, stopping messing about.
‘Yes, and she goes to this big place in the country and this footman chats her up and she doesn’t really want to go out with him but he forces her and she ends up having a baby and she doesn’t know what to do because she’s young and she’s not married and she’s lost her job . . . Why are you staring at me like that?’ said Jamie. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing. It just doesn’t sound quite as boring as I thought. Maybe I’ll borrow it after you, OK?’
I mostly stuck to reading horror stories, the spookier and scarier
However, I needed to speak to Jamie in a dead-casual, almost-friendly way to find out exactly where he lived in Oxford Terrace. He knew what Jo looked like. We’d both been going to this school since we were practically babies. For years and years our mums had delivered us or collected us. I had noticed that Jamie’s mum was plump and beady-eyed like him, with lots of hair and jazzy jumpers and coloured tights and bright boots, none of them matching. He had probably noticed that Jo was much younger than the other mums, and dyed her hair to match mine and wore high heels to make her just a tiny bit taller.
It’s awfully hard to strike up a dead-casual, almost-friendly conversation with someone you can’t stick. We’re barely allowed to breathe in Miss Beckworth’s classes anyway, let alone converse. But at playtime I took ages putting away my books and let Lisa and Angela go off by themselves. Jamie always took his time too, not at all keen to go out into the playground. He’s not the outdoor type. He’s hopeless at football and he can’t even run properly, his arms and legs go every which way. He isn’t bullied by the other boys because he can be quite quick and cutting with what he says, but he’s not exactly number one popular person with his peers. (Not like
some
people I could mention if I wanted to be disgustingly boastful.)
He generally slopes off into a corner by himself and reads a book. I watched him take one out of his satchel. It was covered in the Victorian wrapping paper so you couldn’t see the title.
‘What’s that you’re reading then, Jamie?’ I asked.
He looked at me suspiciously. ‘Why?’
‘I just want to know, for goodness’ sake,’ I said.
‘With you it’s usually for badness’ sake,’ said Jamie.
‘Let’s have a look, then,’ I said, reaching for it.
He hesitated, holding it away from me. ‘Are you going to hit me again if I don’t let you?’ he said.
‘That was different. That was
my
book. So what’s yours? Why have you got it all wrapped up like that? Hey, it’s a dirty book, that’s it, isn’t it! Shock, scandal, swotty old Jamie’s reading a rude book. And you didn’t want anyone to see you’re reading it. What is it, eh? Show me!’
‘Get off!’ said Jamie, trying to push me away, but he was still wary of me. I snatched his book easily and opened it.
‘“Esther Waters”,’ I read, flicking through the pages. ‘Oooh! What a swizzle. It’s just some boring boring boring old Victorian book. Typical you, Jamie Edwards. You’re just doing some extra swotting up for your project, aren’t you?’
‘The Victorians thought it was a rude book,’ said Jamie. ‘They were ever so shocked when it came out.’
‘Well, they were shocked by anything. They were so stupid they even covered up their piano legs! If a woman raised her skirt a few inches above her ankles the chaps practically fainted dead away,’ I said scornfully. ‘So what does this Esther Waters get up to, Jamie? Is she so dead brazen she flashes her kneecaps?’
‘Oh, ha ha,’ said Jamie, sighing.
I saw he had his bookmark more than halfway through.
‘Gosh, have you read all that? It looks
terribly
dull and difficult. You’re mad,’ I said.
‘It’s a good story actually,’ said Jamie. ‘It’s about this girl Esther—’
‘No!’
‘—and she’s a servant and—’
‘She’s a servant?’ I said, stopping messing about.
‘Yes, and she goes to this big place in the country and this footman chats her up and she doesn’t really want to go out with him but he forces her and she ends up having a baby and she doesn’t know what to do because she’s young and she’s not married and she’s lost her job . . . Why are you staring at me like that?’ said Jamie. ‘What is it?’
‘Nothing. It just doesn’t sound quite as boring as I thought. Maybe I’ll borrow it after you, OK?’
I mostly stuck to reading horror stories, the spookier and scarier
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