apologize to Mrs Wilkinson for being late, and to ask if she might have some cornflakes. As the woman shook cereal into a bowl for her, Fliss said, ‘There’s an old lady sits in the shelter across the road. She seems to be there all the time. Who is she?’
Mrs Wilkinson smiled, pouring milk. ‘You must mean old Sal,’ she said. ‘Sally Haggerlythe. She’s mad, I’m afraid. Got some sort of bee in her bonnet about this place – mumbles on about fate and doom and dread and I don’t know what. I’d steer clear of old Sal if I were you.’
Fliss said nothing, but thought it might be interesting sometime to have a word with mad Sal Haggerlythe.
She carried her cereal bowl to the dining-room and slipped into the only empty place. None of the other three was at her table, but two tables away sat Gary, facing her. He was looking at her with an expression which was angry and questioning at the same time.
She began mouthing at him, voicelessly, exaggerating her lip-movements and pointing to the ceiling. She’s in bed, she mouthed. Sick. I didn’t get to talk to her. She spread her hands, palms upward, and shrugged. What do we do?
Gary might have been good at all sorts of things, but lip-reading wasn’t one of them. He glared at Fliss, scowling and shaking his head. She began again, even more slowly, stretching her lips and jabbing at the ceiling, then bent forward, goggle-eyed, clutching her throat and shooting out her tongue as if puking into her bowl.
‘What on earth’s the matter with you, Felicity Morgan?’ Mrs Marriott was looking at her as though at a lunatic.
‘She’s lost her marbles, Miss,’ said Gary, and some of the kids sniggered.
‘Nobody asked you, Gary Bazzard. Well, Felicity?’
‘I had a bit of cornflake stuck in my throat, Miss. It’s gone now.’
‘I’m glad about that,’ said the teacher, acidly, ‘because, you see, the rest of us have finished our cornflakes and Mr Wilkinson is waiting to clear, so that Mrs Wilkinson can serve sausages and bacon before they go cold.’
‘Yes, Miss.’
She spooned cereal into her mouth and chewed, keeping her head down. Everybody was looking at her. She could feel their eyes. She ate distractedly, thinking about mad Sal and the whispering voice of her dream. It seemed like hours before her bowl was empty.
When everybody had finished breakfast, Mrs Evans stood up and said, ‘Now – I want you all to go back to your rooms and get ready for our walk. We’re running a bit late, so you haven’t got long. I’d like everybody in the lounge, kitted up and ready to go, by nine o’clock. What time did I say, Felicity Morgan?’
‘Nine o’clock, Miss.’
‘Right. Table one, off you go.’
Felicity’s was the last table to be dismissed, but the others were waiting for her outside Gary and Trot’s room on the third landing.
‘What was that pantomime you were putting on for me down there?’ demanded Gary. ‘I couldn’t make head nor tail of it.’ He was holding the giant stick of rock, which he’d sucked almost to a point at one end. He sucked it now as he gazed at Fliss. She shuddered.
‘I don’t know how you can,’ she said, ‘straight after breakfast. Mrs Evans and old Hepworth were by Ellie-May’s door when I came down, so I didn’t get to see her. That’s what I was trying to tell you.’
‘The point is, what do we do?’ said Lisa.
Trot looked at Fliss. ‘There’s nobody by Ellie-May’s door now, is there? The teachers are all downstairs. You could go and talk to her, like you were going to.’
Fliss shook her head. ‘The other kids’re there. She wouldn’t tell me anything in front of them, would she?’
‘I reckon we’ll just have to tell about last night,’ said Gary. ‘She was poorly yesterday, and now she ’s worse. Who knows what might happen if we keep it to ourselves? I think you should go to Mr Hepworth, Fliss.’
‘Why me?’
Gary grinned. ‘He’d never believe me, nobody does, but he’ll
Mrs Wilkinson smiled, pouring milk. ‘You must mean old Sal,’ she said. ‘Sally Haggerlythe. She’s mad, I’m afraid. Got some sort of bee in her bonnet about this place – mumbles on about fate and doom and dread and I don’t know what. I’d steer clear of old Sal if I were you.’
Fliss said nothing, but thought it might be interesting sometime to have a word with mad Sal Haggerlythe.
She carried her cereal bowl to the dining-room and slipped into the only empty place. None of the other three was at her table, but two tables away sat Gary, facing her. He was looking at her with an expression which was angry and questioning at the same time.
She began mouthing at him, voicelessly, exaggerating her lip-movements and pointing to the ceiling. She’s in bed, she mouthed. Sick. I didn’t get to talk to her. She spread her hands, palms upward, and shrugged. What do we do?
Gary might have been good at all sorts of things, but lip-reading wasn’t one of them. He glared at Fliss, scowling and shaking his head. She began again, even more slowly, stretching her lips and jabbing at the ceiling, then bent forward, goggle-eyed, clutching her throat and shooting out her tongue as if puking into her bowl.
‘What on earth’s the matter with you, Felicity Morgan?’ Mrs Marriott was looking at her as though at a lunatic.
‘She’s lost her marbles, Miss,’ said Gary, and some of the kids sniggered.
‘Nobody asked you, Gary Bazzard. Well, Felicity?’
‘I had a bit of cornflake stuck in my throat, Miss. It’s gone now.’
‘I’m glad about that,’ said the teacher, acidly, ‘because, you see, the rest of us have finished our cornflakes and Mr Wilkinson is waiting to clear, so that Mrs Wilkinson can serve sausages and bacon before they go cold.’
‘Yes, Miss.’
She spooned cereal into her mouth and chewed, keeping her head down. Everybody was looking at her. She could feel their eyes. She ate distractedly, thinking about mad Sal and the whispering voice of her dream. It seemed like hours before her bowl was empty.
When everybody had finished breakfast, Mrs Evans stood up and said, ‘Now – I want you all to go back to your rooms and get ready for our walk. We’re running a bit late, so you haven’t got long. I’d like everybody in the lounge, kitted up and ready to go, by nine o’clock. What time did I say, Felicity Morgan?’
‘Nine o’clock, Miss.’
‘Right. Table one, off you go.’
Felicity’s was the last table to be dismissed, but the others were waiting for her outside Gary and Trot’s room on the third landing.
‘What was that pantomime you were putting on for me down there?’ demanded Gary. ‘I couldn’t make head nor tail of it.’ He was holding the giant stick of rock, which he’d sucked almost to a point at one end. He sucked it now as he gazed at Fliss. She shuddered.
‘I don’t know how you can,’ she said, ‘straight after breakfast. Mrs Evans and old Hepworth were by Ellie-May’s door when I came down, so I didn’t get to see her. That’s what I was trying to tell you.’
‘The point is, what do we do?’ said Lisa.
Trot looked at Fliss. ‘There’s nobody by Ellie-May’s door now, is there? The teachers are all downstairs. You could go and talk to her, like you were going to.’
Fliss shook her head. ‘The other kids’re there. She wouldn’t tell me anything in front of them, would she?’
‘I reckon we’ll just have to tell about last night,’ said Gary. ‘She was poorly yesterday, and now she ’s worse. Who knows what might happen if we keep it to ourselves? I think you should go to Mr Hepworth, Fliss.’
‘Why me?’
Gary grinned. ‘He’d never believe me, nobody does, but he’ll
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