had decided to gang up on her. ‘We don’t want
you,
’ Tracy would say, putting her arm through Donna’s; and, ‘Nobody play with Deborah Sykes, her mum’s a witch!’ they’d tell the others. She couldn’t remember now what had started the campaign, or what had ended it, but she could still remember how miserable it had made her feel. She often thought that the saying,
Sticks and stones may break your bones but words can never hurt you
was one of the most stupid ones she’d ever heard.
As she walked through the town centre, she couldn’t shake off a feeling of foreboding. It was as if she was being watched by malicious eyes. She had felt exposed in the college, asthough people were looking at her, talking about her, but now the feeling chilled her as it followed her through the streets to the station, until she managed to shake it off in the anonymous brightness of the train.
When she finally got home, the phone was ringing. She waited for a minute to see if it would stop, and when it didn’t, she answered it. ‘Deborah Sykes speaking.’ Silence. ‘Hello?’ she said. There was no reply, and then the phone was put down. She tried 1471, but no number was recorded.
Sarah was combing her hair in front of the mirror in the students’ cloakroom, prior to going home. She could smell the smoke from Leanne’s cigarette as Leanne and Rachel chatted over a cubicle door. Sarah stared into the mirror, and wondered if her face was too fat. She was thinking about Nick. Was she attractive enough? When she looked in the mirror she thought she was, but sometimes she caught sight of herself unexpectedly and saw someone frighteningly plain. She was seeing him on Friday. She put away her comb, anxiously looking at her reflection.
‘… essay title?’
‘Sorry?’ Her hand jerked a bit. Leanne was beside her, energetically back-combing her hair.
‘Have you written down that essay title?’ Leanne bundled her hair up on top of her head. ‘Look out, world,’ she said. She usually relied on other people to keep her up to date with assignments. ‘Are you coming to Adam’s party on Friday?’
Sarah felt the usual pang of exclusion. ‘He didn’t ask me,’ she said.
Leanne was applying colour to her eyes. ‘You don’t listen, do you? He asked everybody in the group. You can come with me and Raich if you want.’
Sarah was cautious. Leanne made her nervous. ‘I can’t, thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m seeing Nick.’
‘Bring him.’ Leanne fastened a clip into her hair. Sarah bit her fingernail. Nick could be difficult with other people. He didn’t like students.
‘OK, I’ll ask him,’ she said, not meaning to. ‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t ask him, tell him,’ said Leanne, running the tap overher cigarette end and discarding it in the basin. ‘See you.’ She and Rachel left.
Sarah went back to her contemplation of the mirror. Now Leanne would want to know why she wasn’t there on Friday. She couldn’t say that Nick didn’t want to go. They wouldn’t ask her again. Maybe she should suggest it to him. It was the kind of thing he liked, though Sarah preferred quieter places where her soft voice wouldn’t be drowned out by loud music and shouting. Maybe if they did that they wouldn’t have an argument. She ran a tentative hand over the bruise hidden by the scarf on her neck.
Mick Berryman’s mind shut down on him. He needed a break. The clock on the wall said six, but it hadn’t been altered since the clocks went back weeks ago. He’d been at it for over ten hours. He could go home, put his feet up, but he decided to go over to the Grindstone for an hour or so. He needed a drink and he needed some quiet.
The pub, like most of the pubs in Moreham centre in the early evening, was almost empty. There were a couple of old men at a table in the corner, and a solitary drinker at the bar, reading a paper. As he crossed the room, he realized that the man at the bar was Rob Neave, and slowed his pace for a
you,
’ Tracy would say, putting her arm through Donna’s; and, ‘Nobody play with Deborah Sykes, her mum’s a witch!’ they’d tell the others. She couldn’t remember now what had started the campaign, or what had ended it, but she could still remember how miserable it had made her feel. She often thought that the saying,
Sticks and stones may break your bones but words can never hurt you
was one of the most stupid ones she’d ever heard.
As she walked through the town centre, she couldn’t shake off a feeling of foreboding. It was as if she was being watched by malicious eyes. She had felt exposed in the college, asthough people were looking at her, talking about her, but now the feeling chilled her as it followed her through the streets to the station, until she managed to shake it off in the anonymous brightness of the train.
When she finally got home, the phone was ringing. She waited for a minute to see if it would stop, and when it didn’t, she answered it. ‘Deborah Sykes speaking.’ Silence. ‘Hello?’ she said. There was no reply, and then the phone was put down. She tried 1471, but no number was recorded.
Sarah was combing her hair in front of the mirror in the students’ cloakroom, prior to going home. She could smell the smoke from Leanne’s cigarette as Leanne and Rachel chatted over a cubicle door. Sarah stared into the mirror, and wondered if her face was too fat. She was thinking about Nick. Was she attractive enough? When she looked in the mirror she thought she was, but sometimes she caught sight of herself unexpectedly and saw someone frighteningly plain. She was seeing him on Friday. She put away her comb, anxiously looking at her reflection.
‘… essay title?’
‘Sorry?’ Her hand jerked a bit. Leanne was beside her, energetically back-combing her hair.
‘Have you written down that essay title?’ Leanne bundled her hair up on top of her head. ‘Look out, world,’ she said. She usually relied on other people to keep her up to date with assignments. ‘Are you coming to Adam’s party on Friday?’
Sarah felt the usual pang of exclusion. ‘He didn’t ask me,’ she said.
Leanne was applying colour to her eyes. ‘You don’t listen, do you? He asked everybody in the group. You can come with me and Raich if you want.’
Sarah was cautious. Leanne made her nervous. ‘I can’t, thanks,’ she said. ‘I’m seeing Nick.’
‘Bring him.’ Leanne fastened a clip into her hair. Sarah bit her fingernail. Nick could be difficult with other people. He didn’t like students.
‘OK, I’ll ask him,’ she said, not meaning to. ‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t ask him, tell him,’ said Leanne, running the tap overher cigarette end and discarding it in the basin. ‘See you.’ She and Rachel left.
Sarah went back to her contemplation of the mirror. Now Leanne would want to know why she wasn’t there on Friday. She couldn’t say that Nick didn’t want to go. They wouldn’t ask her again. Maybe she should suggest it to him. It was the kind of thing he liked, though Sarah preferred quieter places where her soft voice wouldn’t be drowned out by loud music and shouting. Maybe if they did that they wouldn’t have an argument. She ran a tentative hand over the bruise hidden by the scarf on her neck.
Mick Berryman’s mind shut down on him. He needed a break. The clock on the wall said six, but it hadn’t been altered since the clocks went back weeks ago. He’d been at it for over ten hours. He could go home, put his feet up, but he decided to go over to the Grindstone for an hour or so. He needed a drink and he needed some quiet.
The pub, like most of the pubs in Moreham centre in the early evening, was almost empty. There were a couple of old men at a table in the corner, and a solitary drinker at the bar, reading a paper. As he crossed the room, he realized that the man at the bar was Rob Neave, and slowed his pace for a
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