A MILLION ANGELS (10 page)

I
t's better in the cinema. I like the dark because nobody can see how much I'm trembling. I hang on at the end of the line so I can sit near the aisle, in case I need to escape. Tory drags Ned in next to her. Another bird in her nest. The rest follow with Jess at the end and then me. My brain is a bee buzzing from topic to topic, trying to find something fun and interesting to say. But every time I land on something I think might work, someone else makes a better joke or comment and swats mine away. I don't even know why I feel so jumpy. I'm sitting next to Jess and I've known her for a hundred years. But it's different being out together, all alone, without
our mums. I wish my mum would understand things like that and let me be alone in peace.

Eventually I find some words.

“How's your dolphin collection going, Jess?”

Her eyes squash me flat and twist me under her shoe.

“How's your pathetic gas mask one and those stupid angels?”

When the titles roll and Johnny Depp's pirate face flashes across the screen, I whisper into her ear, “Why did you even invite me, Jess?”

“I didn't invite you,” she snaps, piercing my skin with her stare. “My mum did. I've got new friends now, real friends, and I don't need to hang out with you. But your mum's so worried about you because she thinks you're a freak, so she asked my mum if we could invite you along. Then my mum goes off shopping and I get dumped with you! Brilliant! Let's face it, Jemima, we've only hung out together because we've had to, because of the stupid army. I never really liked you, you know.”

My cheeks burn as great waves of cinema sound crash over my head.

“And I've never really liked you either, Jess,” I say,
“so that makes two of us. And I don't want to be here any more than you want me to be.”

I wish I could stand up on the cinema chair and say to Jess, AND IF YOU REALLY WANT TO KNOW, I'D RATHER BE AT HOME WAITING TO SEE IF MY DAD MIGHT CALL. But I don't. I slide down in my seat and slurp on my Coke. I really need to talk to Dad; I just need to hear his voice, then I'll feel better for a while. I can't believe my mum
asked
Georgie if she would invite me to the cinema. It's so embarrassing! Why does she always have to stick her big nose in?

About halfway through the film Ned squeezes past me for the loo and five minutes later he's back.

“I don't understand you,” he whispers. “I thought you were nice. I thought you were different to the rest.”

Now the film is a blur and I don't even know why I'm crying. Twelve is so confusing! My eyes keep pulling themselves over to ogle at Ned and Tory. They're all cosy in close together. Sharing their popcorn.

I don't know what's wrong with me. I don't even
like
Ned.

After the cinema Tory Halligan begs Ned to come with us to Pizza Express.

“Please come, Neddy,” she squawks. “It'll be fun.”

She looks at Jess. “Your mum wouldn't mind paying for Neddy and Callum too, would she, Jess?”

“No, she won't mind,” says Jess.

“Yay! Please come, Neddy.”

“I'll have to call home first,” says Ned, “just to let my gramps know where I am.”

Tory rolls her eyes in her head. “That is
so
childish, Neddy,” she says.

Ned's eyes blaze. “Well in case you haven't noticed,” he says, pulling out his phone, “we are still children. And anyway this call has nothing to do with being
childish
, Tory, it's more to do with caring about other people.” He laughs, then bumps his shoulder against hers in a jokey way. “So shallow, Tory Halligan. Only interested in yourself!”

Beth mouths K.I.S.S.I.N.G. and her and Sameena fall about sniggering. A jealous dagger twists in my heart and I don't even know why.

Jess pushes closer to Ned, trying to be part of the fun, but he rolls his eyes at them all and pulls out his phone.

“It's OK, Gramps,” I hear him say, “I won't be too
late, I promise… That's right, you have another cup of tea and I'll be back before you know it.”

I wish I didn't have to go to Pizza Express. I wish I could just go home. Ned won't speak to me, I don't want to speak to Jess and I'm scared of Tory's tongue.

I sit as far away from Tory Halligan as possible. I can't trust her words, they're too confusing. Her nicey nicey voice makes her
sound
like she really might want to get friendly with me and talk about my clothes for her presentation, but there's something in her eyes I don't trust.

Georgie sits alone at a table in the corner. She reads a magazine. She sips coffee while we choose our food.

“I'll leave you kids to it,” she giggles from her table. “You don't want an old fogey like me messing up your fun. Order what you like. The bill's on me.”

“Yay! You're so
kind
, Georgie,” smirks Tory Halligan. “So
generous
. I wish you were my mum.”

“Yay!” says Jess, beaming like a torch on a dark night. “Then we would be sisters, Tory. I've always wanted a sister. That would be the best!”

Georgie's smile is as big as the sun.

I wish I were as good as Tory at sewing and weaving
people in. She draws them close to her with her big shiny smile, then sets to work stitching them on. And there they stay like colourful little patches on a beautiful handmade quilt. I'm more like a boat. Every time I bob a little bit close to someone a huge tide comes and sails them away. Just like Ned really, and I thought he liked me. He came to my house with his guitar and everything.

I can't eat much. The pizza crust sticks in my throat. My mind buzzes around for something interesting to say. Ned and Callum make jokes and do tricks. The parrots split their sides with laughter that tinkles through the air. Georgie's smile stretches over to our table. Her big pink-lipped mouth tells us to order more food.

When we're piling through the door to leave, Ned turns to Tory to say goodbye.

“Thanks for suggesting I come along,” he says. “It's been more fun hanging out with you than I expected.”

I watch the evening sun kiss his halo of curls and the jealous dagger stabs me again. I keep telling myself,
I'm not jealous! I'm not jealous! I'm not jealous!

B
ack in the car Tory Halligan smells of mozzarella cheese and she sounds like a scary clockwork doll gone mad. Her eyes swivel in her head and words bubble out of her mouth like champagne.

“Can we have a sleepover, Georgie? Can we?” she bubbles. “Pleeeaasssse, pleeeaasssse. You're so lovely, Georgie; I wish my mum were as kind as you. And I've never been to an army camp before. It would be such fun!”

“Can we, Mum? Pleeeaasssee?” parrots Jess. “You're the best mum in the world, I promise.”

“OK!” squeals Georgie. “Why not? Call your
mums and we'll have a drive around to collect your stuff.”

“Sorry, I don't think I can make it,” I say. “I have some prep to do.”

“Prep! Prep! Prep!” says Tory. “You're crazy about prep, Jemima. Let your hair down just this once and come out and have some fun.” Her eyes swivel again and stab me with blue. “I promise you, Jemima, we're going to have
such
fun! The problem with you is that you're so serious about everything. You've never learned to have fun.” She's quiet for a moment. Her mind concentrates hard. “Do you know what, Jemima?” she squeals at last. “I'm going to make it my personal job to teach you all about fun before it's too late.” A high-pitched laugh ripples from her throat. “And you can teach me all about fashion in return! Laugh out loud!”

I wish I could stand up on top of Georgie's car and shout, I DO NOT WANT TO COME TO YOUR STUPID SLEEPOVER. I DO NOT LIKE YOUR IDEA OF FUN. But I don't. Instead, I say, “No, really, I need to do some work on my presentation.”

Jess turns her sly eyes on me. “If Jemima thinks her
work is more important than having fun, then maybe she
should
go home.” She looks at Tory. “We can still have fun on our own.”

“But I want Jemima!” sulks Tory. “I want all of us! Shame Neddy couldn't come too.”

Then Georgie chips in. “Oh, sweetie,” she says, looking at me. “You come too. Like Tory says, it'll be fun.”

“No,” I say. “I really do need to get on with my presentation. I'm behind with it already. There's so much stuff I still have to do.”

But when I get home my mother has other ideas.

“You just need to push through this bit, Jemima,” she says, packing my toothbrush and pyjamas into a bag, “and be brave. It's a great opportunity to make some friends and I'm not going to let you miss it. You're twelve years old and it's time you got out of the house. I promise you you're going to have a great time and then by next Saturday you'll be begging to have them all back for a sleepover here. And they all seem such lovely girls. All so pretty!”

“They're not lovely,” I say. “I hate them, Mum. Especially Jess. There's nothing
fun
about being with them. Dad wouldn't make me. I refuse to go!”

“Oh, sweetheart,” says Mum. “I'm sure you don't hate them, not really. You're just nervous. It's your first proper sleepover.” She pulls me close, wraps me in her arms and strokes my cheek. “Come on, poppet. For me?”

Mothers are strong and their words can make you do stuff you don't want to do. I sigh and pull away from her. I stuff my sleepover things in a bag and drag myself back to the car.

 

After nearly three hours of being at Jess's, everyone's tired and wired with chocolate and fizzy drinks and cupcakes, and the strong smell of nail varnish is invading my nose. I'm tucked in my sleeping bag, in the corner of the room. I'm inking angels up and down my arms.

“What are
they
?” says Tory Halligan, sliding over and inspecting my arms. “God, Jemima, your arms look a mess!”

“They're angels,” sniggers Jess. “Yay! Freaky Jemima blows them to her dad every day. She thinks they'll keep him safe. She went crazy drawing them on
everyone
the day our dads left. Her mum went completely mad! I mean, like my mum said, you can't go promising little kids that their mums and dads won't get killed in the
war when it really isn't true. Can you? And they might, you know!”

Her eyes glow. She looks from girl to girl. Drawing them in.

“It's all right for you lot,” she says, “but our dads actually might die!
We
might be on telly!”

The lump in my throat grows the size of a football and I keep repeating in my head,
Don't let him die! Don't let him die!

“You're so funny! Jemima! So sweet!” Tory shrieks. “But Jess is right. Your dad'll need a bit more than biro angels to keep him alive. Haven't you seen the news lately? He's in big, big trouble over there. The Taliban have gone crazy and nobody knows if their friend is actually a friend any more or if they've turned into the enemy. And then my dad says that people like that will go on using taxpayers' money for years to come. The British Army needs to learn to stand up to the Americans, and say no to war, that's what my dad says.”

She casts her eyes around the room and her words throw sharp arrows in my side.

They're both right about my angels. I know they are. I'm a stupid baby and my dad probably
will
die. I don't
even know what Tory means about the taxpayers, but I do know that when I'm near her my body turns to milk. I have no bones left to hold me up and keep me strong. What I don't understand is what have I ever done to Tory to make her be this mean to me? It's not fair. It's the same with Jess. I know she says stuff about our dads getting hurt on purpose to upset me, and I wish it didn't, but it does.
She
does. And what's worse is when she pretends to be friendly. Everything is so confusing. Twelve is confusing, the most confusing time in my life.

Everyone starts playing hairdressers and beauticians with Georgie's hair straighteners and make-up. I slide down in my sleeping bag and blow a million angels to my dad. Tory and Jess might be right. I might be stupid and babyish. But I promised. I can't stop now. I blow them one by one, brilliant flapping flashes of radiant white. Zooming. Fluttering through the sparkling stars. Skirting around the shining moon. Heading towards the stifling desert, towards the baking sun.

To my dad.

To my own dad.

I wish he'd call home. I wish this war would end. I
wish someone, somewhere in the night would send a beautiful angel to me.

Tory Halligan is whipping up the room like egg whites. She's laughing hysterically from too much sugar but the devil is dancing in her eyes.

“I know!” she squeals. “Let's play a game.” She gathers her flock round her on the bed. It's Jess's bed, but Jess is sleeping on the floor tonight because Tory Halligan is the queen.

“Yay! A game!” smiles Jess, her eyes sparkling in fairy-light glow. “How about Monopoly or Cluedo?”

Tory rolls her eyes. She sighs. “God, no! They're boring games, Jess. We need something a… a little more spicy than that. We mustn't forget we need to teach Jemima about fun! Real fun!”

Her eyes glitter over to me. She's thinking. Thinking. I'm shrinking. Shrinking.

“I know,” she says, squealing like a pig, “how about Truth or Dare? What do you think, Jemima, Truth or Dare?”

I hate Truth or Dare. I look in her eyes and can tell that something evil is stewing in her brain.

“You play,” I say, sliding further into my sleeping bag. “I'm too sleepy.”

“No, no, no,” says Tory, fluttering Sameena, Jess and Beth away. She pats the warm patch on the bed next to her. “I
want
you to join in, Jemima, this is part of your education on fun, and anyway the game wouldn't be the same without
you
. Freaky girls always have such
interesting
things to tell.”

I wish I could stand up and say, GO TO HELL, TORY HALLIGAN AND THE REST OF YOU. I WILL NOT PLAY YOUR GAME.

But true life isn't my imagination, true life is real, and I watch myself slide out of my slippery nest and slither towards the queen.

“Now, who's turn is it first?” she says, swivelling her eyes around the room. Sameena, Beth and Jess shrink back; even they can see the poison on her tongue.

I freeze like a dummy on the bed.

“I know…” She smiles, turning her gaze on me. “How about…?”

Tory is thinking hard. Her eyes press into me and bruise my skin.

“How about…?” She slowly pokes out her tongue and pops her pink chewing gum. “I know!” she squeals. “Let's take a vote.”

“Yay!” says Jess. “Let's take a vote.”

Tory's eyes land on Jess. “Shut up, Jess!” she snaps. “Stop copying me! You're getting on my nerves. You're boring. Can't you think of your own thing to say for once?”

Tory's words bite Jess. She shrinks into her skin and her beady eyes sparkle like black gems.

“No!” says Jess. “Let's not take a vote. It's my sleepover and I say Jemima's first.” She looks at me. “Truth or Dare?”

I'm dead. I wish I
were
dead. I hate Truth because they'll laugh at anything I say so I swallow hard and go for Dare.

“Yay!” says Jess, “I LOVE dares. OK, I dare you, Jemima, to eat a whole tub of ice cream in one go.”

“No! That's a lame dare,” says Tory. “How about…”

“How about make a phone call to a random number and make kissing noises down the phone?” says Beth.

“Mmmm, less lame,” says Tory, “but it's still not it.”

My heart thumps. Please someone send me an angel.

“OOOH, I've got it,” says Tory Halligan, grabbing my arm and jiggling up and down. “I dare you to take off all your clothes and have a freezing cold shower for one whole minute.”

I look from Tory to Jess to Sameena to Beth, hoping someone might rescue me. All their eyes are blank and closed.

I take a deep breath.

“OK,” I brave, “I'll do it!”

I head for the bathroom and am about to close the door when Tory Halligan puts her foot in the way.

“No, no, no!” she cackles. “You have to do it in public, Jemima. Otherwise we won't know if you really got in.”

She runs the shower until it's
freezing
cold, then steps back and invites me in. It's not the cold water I'm worried about. Cold water's not so bad. It's taking my clothes off in front of everyone. That's what I hate. It's different at school, after games, because everyone gets in. But they're all watching me now. Like I'm on TV. They're all looking with wide eyes. Zipping their giggles inside.

My fingers tremble on my buttons and slip and slide on my clothes. I'm having second thoughts.

“What if I don't do it?” I ask.

Tory's laughter cuts the air. “You'll have to do a forfeit,” she smirks. “Which, believe me, will be way worse than this, and it will definitely include snogging a B.O.Y!”