to you further about this matter tonight.”
And that was it. She turned and, hauling the monstrous Slasher, who looked as if he still had designs on the fleshier parts of my body, disappeared into her house.
I waited around for ten or fifteen minutes, well away from the house, of course, to see if Kiffo had made it out in time.Nothing. Either he had snuck out the back and legged it for home or he was stuck in there with the Pitbull. Whichever, there was nothing more I could do. I plodded home, feeling completely miserable. What had I done? Not only was I an accomplice in a serious crime—and if the Pitbull did catch Kiffo trashing her house then it wouldn't take her more than a microsecond to see my pathetic attempts at distractions for what they were—but even if I did get away with that, I'd be labeled a pervert, a teacher molester. It was a mess, and no mistake. And why? Because of some misguided sense of loyalty, based on the flimsy premise that Kiffo and I shared some history. That there was a bond we were both forced to acknowledge. Stuff it! Kiffo was right. This wasn't any of my concern. I resolved, there and then, to mind my own business in the future. I'd say that the whole thing was an attempt at a joke, a malicious joke intended to embarrass an unpopular teacher. I knew I'd be in deep trouble. The school authorities didn't take kindly to that type of behavior, but what else could I do?
I was so deep in thought that I was home before I was aware of it. The Fridge, for once, was waiting for me and offered to heat up some soup, but I didn't feel like talking to anyone, so I made an excuse and went to bed. She looked a little hurt and I guess I could understand why. I was constantly taking the piss out of the fact that she was absent all the time, and when she did get a chance to spend time with me, I could only slink off to bed. It was eight-thirty, for God's sake! But I was tired.
So much for my Friday evening! I fell into a deep but troubled sleep. The Pitbull's face kept appearing before myeyes, then Slasher and finally Kiffo. What a nightmare. Even Stephen King couldn't have dreamed up a more terrifying trio of ugliness.
I was woken by a scratching sound. I raised myself up in bed groggily and looked at my alarm clock. It was 5:31 in the morning. I put my head back on the pillow and gathered the covers around me. The sound came again. It wasn't scratching. It was gravel being thrown against my window. I thought I had had my full quota of sinking feelings, but it was with another that I made my way to the window and saw the bala-clavaed, camouflaged figure of Kiffo in the front yard.
Chapter 7
Three conversations
“Bloody hell, Kiffo,” I said. “What time do you call this?”
Kiffo looked tired and fed up. He shook his head. “Dunno.”
“Well, at least you're safe. I had visions of you in a police lockup, spilling your guts. I was half expecting the police to show up. What happened, Kiffo? How did you get out of there?”
Kiffo sat down wearily on the grass.
“I've been in there all night, Calma,” he said. “I only got out about twenty minutes ago. Came straight here. It was a nightmare.”
I hadn't been feeling too charitable toward Kiffo, as you can probably imagine, but the sight of him melted my resentment. He was trembling slightly and there were large bags under hiseyes. He looked on the point of exhaustion. I made him wait outside while I crept back into the dark kitchen and made him a strong cup of coffee. More skulking around. If Mum woke up, she'd throw a fit. I couldn't imagine her being too keen on early-morning trysts in the front yard with camouflage-geared persons of dubious moral character. I slipped out the back door, banging my ankle on the doorframe and spilling scalding liquid over my hand. Strangling yelps of pain, I forced the cup onto Kiffo. Only when he'd got himself outside of half a cup did he tell me what had happened.
“I didn't hear her come back until it
And that was it. She turned and, hauling the monstrous Slasher, who looked as if he still had designs on the fleshier parts of my body, disappeared into her house.
I waited around for ten or fifteen minutes, well away from the house, of course, to see if Kiffo had made it out in time.Nothing. Either he had snuck out the back and legged it for home or he was stuck in there with the Pitbull. Whichever, there was nothing more I could do. I plodded home, feeling completely miserable. What had I done? Not only was I an accomplice in a serious crime—and if the Pitbull did catch Kiffo trashing her house then it wouldn't take her more than a microsecond to see my pathetic attempts at distractions for what they were—but even if I did get away with that, I'd be labeled a pervert, a teacher molester. It was a mess, and no mistake. And why? Because of some misguided sense of loyalty, based on the flimsy premise that Kiffo and I shared some history. That there was a bond we were both forced to acknowledge. Stuff it! Kiffo was right. This wasn't any of my concern. I resolved, there and then, to mind my own business in the future. I'd say that the whole thing was an attempt at a joke, a malicious joke intended to embarrass an unpopular teacher. I knew I'd be in deep trouble. The school authorities didn't take kindly to that type of behavior, but what else could I do?
I was so deep in thought that I was home before I was aware of it. The Fridge, for once, was waiting for me and offered to heat up some soup, but I didn't feel like talking to anyone, so I made an excuse and went to bed. She looked a little hurt and I guess I could understand why. I was constantly taking the piss out of the fact that she was absent all the time, and when she did get a chance to spend time with me, I could only slink off to bed. It was eight-thirty, for God's sake! But I was tired.
So much for my Friday evening! I fell into a deep but troubled sleep. The Pitbull's face kept appearing before myeyes, then Slasher and finally Kiffo. What a nightmare. Even Stephen King couldn't have dreamed up a more terrifying trio of ugliness.
I was woken by a scratching sound. I raised myself up in bed groggily and looked at my alarm clock. It was 5:31 in the morning. I put my head back on the pillow and gathered the covers around me. The sound came again. It wasn't scratching. It was gravel being thrown against my window. I thought I had had my full quota of sinking feelings, but it was with another that I made my way to the window and saw the bala-clavaed, camouflaged figure of Kiffo in the front yard.
Chapter 7
Three conversations
“Bloody hell, Kiffo,” I said. “What time do you call this?”
Kiffo looked tired and fed up. He shook his head. “Dunno.”
“Well, at least you're safe. I had visions of you in a police lockup, spilling your guts. I was half expecting the police to show up. What happened, Kiffo? How did you get out of there?”
Kiffo sat down wearily on the grass.
“I've been in there all night, Calma,” he said. “I only got out about twenty minutes ago. Came straight here. It was a nightmare.”
I hadn't been feeling too charitable toward Kiffo, as you can probably imagine, but the sight of him melted my resentment. He was trembling slightly and there were large bags under hiseyes. He looked on the point of exhaustion. I made him wait outside while I crept back into the dark kitchen and made him a strong cup of coffee. More skulking around. If Mum woke up, she'd throw a fit. I couldn't imagine her being too keen on early-morning trysts in the front yard with camouflage-geared persons of dubious moral character. I slipped out the back door, banging my ankle on the doorframe and spilling scalding liquid over my hand. Strangling yelps of pain, I forced the cup onto Kiffo. Only when he'd got himself outside of half a cup did he tell me what had happened.
“I didn't hear her come back until it
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