filing along the bark-chip trail in the direction of Eden Hall, and lunch. The path has begun its descent, the sun dropping coins of light all about them through the branches.
They continue discussing Mikey, exorcizing the shock of what they witnessed, it seems to Shiv – or, at least, trying to make sense of it. No amount of talking it over can rid her of the image of his smashed-up face. It might be this, or a delayed reaction to the incident – or just that she’s tired and hungry – but Shiv has begun to feel nauseous, trembly, a little light-headed.
“I thought he was trying to kill himself,” Lucy says.
“No chance.” This is my territory , Caron’s tone suggests. Shiv recalls her admission, at Break, about having taken an overdose. “If you’re serious about suicide,” the oldest girl says, “you don’t head-butt a tree with two care assistants standing twenty metres away.”
The trail narrows just here, forcing them into single file; Shiv lags behind, shutting out what the other two are saying about Mikey.
Shutting out that face.
It was there in Make, too: flashes of Mikey’s bloodied features superimposed themselves as she tried to draw Dec’s. She never saw her brother’s face at the end. So, even if she wanted to (why would you?) she couldn’t have drawn his dead face, as Lucy had put it. But she was unable to draw his living face either.
Shiv wasn’t alone in finding Make tough. Caron, sitting opposite her at one of the tables – spare pencil between her lips as a surrogate cigarette – had little to show for the two hours: a few scrawls on the sheet she handed in to Assistant Hensher and several balls of crumpled paper littering the ground where they had sat. By the end, she looked as frustrated, as upset, as Shiv felt.
If Walk had stilled their minds, Make had stirred them up again.
The trees are thinning, big blots of brightness forming up ahead – approaching them, it seems, as though rather than Shiv, Caron, Lucy and the rest walking out into the daylight, the gloom of the woodland is being slowly erased to release them. The other two let her catch up, Lucy in full flow now. Only half listening, Shiv gathers that the girl is well into a monologue about studying marine biology at university, when the time comes. If the time comes, she adds.
Shiv knows she must rest or pass out altogether.
“Hold on a sec,” she says, spotting a tree stump at the edge of the path. She sits down a little unsteadily. Holds her side. “Stitch,” she tells them, as they pause.
Caron gives her a questioning look. Concerned. Not buying the “stitch” excuse.
Lucy just picks up where she left off. “I’ve already been off school for seven months, yeah, and I really don’t know if I’ll be well enough to go back this side of Christmas. And what with my GCSEs next year…” She trails off. Puffs out her cheeks. “Sorry,” she says. “Dad calls me Mimi when I get like this – as in me, me, me . He goes, “Oh, Mimi’s here again.” I mean, he used to. Before.”
Before what? Shiv wonders.
The girl’s cheeks are pink but Shiv isn’t sure if that’s from walking or because she’s upset. Shiv dips her head. The wooziness has eased but the nausea is still there and her skin is cold and clammy. She wonders if she’s about to have one of her turns; she doesn’t think so, but it’s hard to tell when one is sneaking up on her.
Caron rests a hand on Shiv’s shoulder. “All right, girl?”
“Just a bit tired.”
When she’s recovered, they set off again – the last of the group now. Lucy is talking about Marine Biology again. Shiv’s always imagined herself doing English when she goes to uni, or maybe History – nothing science-y anyway. Right now, she can’t imagine going to university at all. Or getting a job, or what that job might be. Or marriage or kids or where she’d be living. Anything. Even her own GCSEs – next summer, same as Lucy’s – seem pointless,
They continue discussing Mikey, exorcizing the shock of what they witnessed, it seems to Shiv – or, at least, trying to make sense of it. No amount of talking it over can rid her of the image of his smashed-up face. It might be this, or a delayed reaction to the incident – or just that she’s tired and hungry – but Shiv has begun to feel nauseous, trembly, a little light-headed.
“I thought he was trying to kill himself,” Lucy says.
“No chance.” This is my territory , Caron’s tone suggests. Shiv recalls her admission, at Break, about having taken an overdose. “If you’re serious about suicide,” the oldest girl says, “you don’t head-butt a tree with two care assistants standing twenty metres away.”
The trail narrows just here, forcing them into single file; Shiv lags behind, shutting out what the other two are saying about Mikey.
Shutting out that face.
It was there in Make, too: flashes of Mikey’s bloodied features superimposed themselves as she tried to draw Dec’s. She never saw her brother’s face at the end. So, even if she wanted to (why would you?) she couldn’t have drawn his dead face, as Lucy had put it. But she was unable to draw his living face either.
Shiv wasn’t alone in finding Make tough. Caron, sitting opposite her at one of the tables – spare pencil between her lips as a surrogate cigarette – had little to show for the two hours: a few scrawls on the sheet she handed in to Assistant Hensher and several balls of crumpled paper littering the ground where they had sat. By the end, she looked as frustrated, as upset, as Shiv felt.
If Walk had stilled their minds, Make had stirred them up again.
The trees are thinning, big blots of brightness forming up ahead – approaching them, it seems, as though rather than Shiv, Caron, Lucy and the rest walking out into the daylight, the gloom of the woodland is being slowly erased to release them. The other two let her catch up, Lucy in full flow now. Only half listening, Shiv gathers that the girl is well into a monologue about studying marine biology at university, when the time comes. If the time comes, she adds.
Shiv knows she must rest or pass out altogether.
“Hold on a sec,” she says, spotting a tree stump at the edge of the path. She sits down a little unsteadily. Holds her side. “Stitch,” she tells them, as they pause.
Caron gives her a questioning look. Concerned. Not buying the “stitch” excuse.
Lucy just picks up where she left off. “I’ve already been off school for seven months, yeah, and I really don’t know if I’ll be well enough to go back this side of Christmas. And what with my GCSEs next year…” She trails off. Puffs out her cheeks. “Sorry,” she says. “Dad calls me Mimi when I get like this – as in me, me, me . He goes, “Oh, Mimi’s here again.” I mean, he used to. Before.”
Before what? Shiv wonders.
The girl’s cheeks are pink but Shiv isn’t sure if that’s from walking or because she’s upset. Shiv dips her head. The wooziness has eased but the nausea is still there and her skin is cold and clammy. She wonders if she’s about to have one of her turns; she doesn’t think so, but it’s hard to tell when one is sneaking up on her.
Caron rests a hand on Shiv’s shoulder. “All right, girl?”
“Just a bit tired.”
When she’s recovered, they set off again – the last of the group now. Lucy is talking about Marine Biology again. Shiv’s always imagined herself doing English when she goes to uni, or maybe History – nothing science-y anyway. Right now, she can’t imagine going to university at all. Or getting a job, or what that job might be. Or marriage or kids or where she’d be living. Anything. Even her own GCSEs – next summer, same as Lucy’s – seem pointless,
Similar Books
