Checkmate (5 page)

Daddy, are you watching me? Can you see me? I wish you were here to help me. Daddy, what did I do?

Mummy's going to get real stressy over this one. I still don't understand why Mrs Hoyle sent me out of the class to stand in the corridor.

What did I do?

And I've only been in her class for two days. She didn't have to send me out. D'you think Mrs Hoyle will tell Mum? I was so looking forward to moving up to the junior school, but not if it means I get sent out of the class for no reason. I want to cry but I'm not going to. Mummy says that crying is a waste of good water. I wish I could go back into the classroom. It's so boring standing out here. And there's not even anything to look at on the walls because it's the start of term. No drawings. No paintings. No pictures. No words. No nothing.

It's not fair.

What did I do, Daddy?

Mrs Hoyle pounced on me the moment I set foot in the playground. One look at her pinched-in, sour-trout expression bearing down on me and my heart plummeted. She strode across the playground to where I stood chatting to Joshua and Rupal, parents who had children in the same class as my Rose.

'Miss Hadley, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but I had to send Callie Rose out of my classroom today.'

'Oh yes?' I said with studied calm. 'And why did you have to do that?'

My face began to burn, partly from embarrassment but mostly from angry disbelief. Why did Mrs Hoyle feel it necessary to tell me this in front of every other parent in the playground? I could guess. Mrs Hoyle didn't approve of me and my 'mixed race' child.

God, how I hated that phrase! When I had first met the teacher at the end of the previous term, Mrs Hoyle had given me a startled look and a really limp handshake. Maybe she had expected Callie Rose's mother to be a Nought, not a Cross. There were mostly Crosses in Callie Rose's class, and some Noughts, but my Callie Rose was unique. At that end-of-term meeting, some of the parents who had children starting at the junior school had also given me more than one look. I had to keep telling myself that everyone who did a double take was not my enemy. But memories had made me wary of glances, askance or otherwise.

Mrs Hoyle's bloodless lips narrowed still further. 'Your daughter swore at me.'

Now I wasn't going to have that. No way would Rose swear at her or anyone else for that matter.

'Rose doesn't know any swear words, so how could she have sworn at you?'

'Forgive me, Miss Hadley,' Mrs Hoyle said, her tone super-supercilious. 'But all parents think their children can do no wrong. I assure you, your daughter did indeed swear at me.'

I counted to ten, then ten again before I could trust myself to speak. If she used that imperious tone when calling me 'Miss Hadley' one more time . . .

'I'll have a word with Rose and find out exactly what happened,' I replied at last.

'I'm not lying, Miss Hadley.'

'I never said otherwise, Mrs Hoyle,' I said. 'But I'm sure all this is just a misunderstanding.'

'Hhmm! Well, I trust it won't happen again,' said Mrs Hoyle.

Get out of my face, you old hag, I thought. And a lot more besides. But I smiled, careful to keep almost all of what I was feeling out of my eyes. And I turned away first, just in time to see Rose come out into the playground. She started running towards me, only to stop abruptly when she saw her teacher standing with me. And, even from where I was standing, I saw the light go out of her. She walked towards me, her eyes down, her shoulders drooped. One tear dripped to the ground, rapidly followed by another and another as she made her slow way towards me.

And Mrs Hoyle had done that. Not content with spoiling Rose's first week in the junior school, she'd deliberately sought to humiliate me in front of all the other parents. I wasn't going to forget that in a hurry.

'If you'll excuse me, Mrs Hoyle, my daughter needs me.'

I didn't wait for her to reply. I made my way over to my daughter.

'Rose, stop crying. Don't let your teacher or anyone else ever see you cry. D'you hear me?' I said softly.

'Yes, Mummy,' Rose sniffed.

I squatted down in front of her. 'Callie Rose
–
stop crying. Now.'

Rose sniffed and gulped and the flow of tears was stemmed.

'Now we're going to walk out of this place with our heads held high. D'you understand?'

'Yes, Mummy.'

'Come on then. Let's go home.' I took my daughter's hand in my own, careful not to hold on too tightly.

We made our unhurried way out of the school, without catching the eye of a single person. I didn't say a word until the school was way behind us. Then I stopped and looked down at my daughter.

'OK, Rose. Let's hear why Mrs Hoyle sent you out of the classroom today.'

Tears reappeared and threatened to wet Rose's cheeks.

'Uh-uh!' I shook my head. 'No waterworks. What happened?'

'I don't know why she sent me out,' said Rose. 'I really don't, Mummy.'

'So tell me what happened before you got sent out,' I said.

'Well . . .' Rose worried her bottom lip as she thought back. 'Mrs Hoyle was telling us the story of Chicken Licken
–
the one where an acorn falls on her head and she runs around in a panic, telling all the other animals that the sky was falling. D'you know that one?'

'Yes, love. So what happened then?'

'Mrs Hoyle read out, ". . . Chicken Licken ran up to the Goosey Loosey and said, 'The sky is falling! The sky is falling!'" Then Mrs Hoyle looked around a-and she asked, "What d'you think Goosey Loosey said? Hands up." So I put my hand up.'

'And what did you say?' I asked.

'What Tobey told me. Goosey Loosey said, "Bloody hell! A talking chicken!" And that's when Mrs Hoyle sent me outside.'

I sucked in my cheeks and bit the inside of my bottom lip. 'I see,' I said when I could trust myself to speak. 'Rose, "bloody hell" is swearing. And that's not the original ending to the Chicken Licken story.'

'It isn't?'

'No, love. Not even close.'

'But that's what Tobey told me.'

I sighed deeply at the mention of Tobey. Not only did he live next door to us, he also lived for the fun of winding up my daughter
–
and he almost always succeeded. I should've guessed that Tobey's version of 'Chicken Licken' wouldn't be the same one everyone else in the country knew and shared. Rose looked up at me, trepidation painting her expression.

'Mummy, are you going to shout at me?'

'Would you like me to?' I asked.

Rose shook her head vehemently.

'If I were you, Rose, I wouldn't be quite so quick to believe every word Tobey tells you,' I said.

When Rose heard that, her eyes went all squinty and her cheeks filled with air. It was just as well Tobey wasn't standing in front of her.

'Rose, you're puffing up like a balloon. Take a breath, dear.'

She hissed out then inhaled sharply. 'So how does the real story end then?'

'Chicken Licken and all her equally idiotic friends get eaten by Foxy Loxy for being so stupid,' I told her, all trace of humour fading.

'Oh!' Rose blinked in surprise. 'I don't think much of that ending. The fox wasn't very nice.'

'That's the way the world works, Rose,' I warned her. 'If you're naive – which means immature, inexperienced or a bit thick – you get eaten alive.'

'Oh!'

We carried on walking.

' "Chicken Licken" is not one of my favourite stories any more,' Rose told me unexpectedly.

No, Rose. I didn't mean to upset you. And I didn't want to spoil one of your favourite stories. It's just that . . . I was just trying to . . .

I opened my mouth to show Rosie the thoughts not waving but drowning in my head. But then as usual, as always, I closed my mouth and said nothing. And the words of comfort and reassurance that I was desperate to say floundered and got washed away.

'Come on, Rose,' I sighed. 'We have to get a few things from the shops before we go home.'

'Yes, Mummy,' said Rose, subdued.

The local supermarket was about ten minutes out of our way, but I didn't want to go home and then have to come out again. We walked up and down the aisles, Rose lost in her own thoughts. I rehearsed in my head the different things I could say to make her feel better, but everything sounded wrong.

We were just turning the corner of one aisle when I almost bumped into two Cross men who were chatting away, not looking where they were going.

'Sorry,' I said, inanely. After all they'd almost walked into me, not the other way round. Both men looked me up and down, then looked at Rose. The taller one narrowed his eyes.

'Slag!' he hissed at me. 'Blanker-lover.'

And they carried on walking. Astounded, I turned to stare after them. To say that to me . . . they didn't know me from a hole in the ground, but one look at my daughter and I'd been assessed and judged. I glanced down at Rose but she was oblivious, still lost in her own world – thank goodness.

And if she hadn't been with me . . . Both men were taller and stronger and younger than me, but I would've taken them on. I wanted to rip their tongues out.

If Callie Rose hadn't been with me.

I don't particularly like swinging backwards and forwards. Everyone does that. I like to twist round and round and round. That's much more fun. I like to sit with my head tilted back so I can look up at the sky and play cloud busting. I like cloud busting. Just look at that cloud! It looks just like a giant long-eared dog, racing after something I can't see. Or maybe it's running away from something I can't see. I wonder which one is right? I do like to sit on the swing and twist. I do it most afternoons after school if it's not raining. But today, twisting isn't cheering me up the way it usually does. The breeze teasing round my face has stolen all the smell from Mum's garden flowers
–
and I love the smell of flowers – but even that isn't making me feel any better.

The kitchen door opened. I dug my heels into the ground to stop myself swinging.

'You're horrible, you are!' I shouted at Tobey the moment he set foot in our garden. He was wearing the T-shirt Mum and me bought for his eighth birthday – the one with a photo of Tobey's pet snake, Cuddles, on it. Mum took a photo of Cuddles to a special shop where they did stuff (I don't know what!) and put the photo on a Tobey-sized T-shirt. But the whole thing was my idea.
Now I was really sorry I'd bothered. And why had Mum let him in after what he did?

'Sorry, Rosie. Your mum just told me off for what happened at school today,' Tobey said as he walked towards me. His mouth wasn't laughing, but his eyes were.

'It's not funny. I got into tons of trouble – and it's all your fault.'

Tobey tried to hide the smile on his face, without much luck. He smoothed his floppy, brown hair down over his forehead the way he always did. But it wasn't long enough to hide the fact that his eyes were still twinkling. 'Sorry, Rose.'

I sprang off the swing. 'You get out of my garden.'

I lowered my chin and gave Tobey my best worst look. I was so angry my face felt like it was getting smaller and more squashed up. I was so angry that my eyebrows were knitting together.

'I said sorry,' said Tobey. 'I didn't mean to get you into trouble. It was just a joke.'

'Some joke! And you should've told me. I told my teacher what you said Goosey Loosey said, and she sent me out the room for swearing.'

Tobey burst out laughing. My eyes squinched up and my cheeks puffed out and my lips were pressed together so hard, they were beginning to tingle.

'Oops!' said Tobey. 'I'm not very popular in your house today, am I?'

I wanted to say all sorts of thing to him but the words just kept tripping over each other and falling down inside my mouth. Then my eyes began to prickle and itch which was even worse.

'Tobey Durbridge, I'm never going to believe another word you tell me as long as I live.' The words were meant to come out all fierce and angry but instead my eyes began to leak
–
which made me even more mad at Tobey. He was still my next-door neighbour but he wasn't one of my best friends any more.

'Rose, I didn't mean to make you cry,' said Tobey. And just like that the silly, smiley look on his face had gone. He looked all serious but I didn't care. Too little too late, as my mum says.

'I don't believe you,' I snapped like a crocodile.

'Rosie, I really am sorry,' said Tobey. 'Tell you what – you can ask me to do anything you like to get your own back, and I'll do it.'

'You will?'

'Yep! Anything!'

Hhmm! I didn't feel like crying so much any more. Now the afternoon was warmer and the sky was bluer and I was in charge!

'Will you do absolutely anything?'

'Anything.'

'Eat a slug?'

'Anything.'

'Would you kiss my feet?'

'Yuk! Anything.'

'Right then. You're on!'

I looked around. Mum had planted pink and red rose bushes up one side of our tiny garden. And she regularly put horsey smelly doings under each bush. She said it was ferty-liza to help the plants grow. Time to make Tobey suffer! I was actually beginning to enjoy myself now.

'Grab a handful of dirt from under that rose bush.' I pointed.

Tobey looked relieved. 'Is that all?'

'Nope. Then I want you to eat it.'

'Eat what?'

'The dirt you pick up.'

He didn't like that
–
not one little bit. 'Are you serious?'

"Course. Eat dirt and then I'll know you're really sorry.'

Tobey walked over to the closest rose bush. It was covered with dark red roses but half the petals from half the flowers were decorating the ground like the rose bush had had a nose bleed or something. Tobey scooped up a handful of poopy dirt and walked back to me. My stomach flip-flopped. Yukkity-yuk! Wouldn't catch me sticking my hands in that stuff!

'Don't even think about chucking that at me,' I said in my fiercest voice.

'I wasn't going to,' said Tobey, still looking all serious.

We watched each other, then Tobey slowly moved his hand up to his mouth. He bent his head. His hair flopped forward till it was almost sweeping the muck in his hands. Was he really going to do it? No . . . Yes! His lips were just millimetres from the dirt. He opened his mouth. I sprang forward and knocked his arm down. I only meant for the dirt to drop out of his hand. But I hit his arm down and then it came straight up again like it was on a spring and the dirt went SKADOOSH
–
all over Tobey's face. Tobey stared at me through his mask of horsey poo and dirt and we both burst out laughing.

'You'd better wash your face before your mum sees you,' I warned him.

Tobey tried to brush himself off but all he did was rub the poopy doings into his T-shirt. It was in his hair, on his face, over his clothes – everywhere. We walked back to the kitchen, but I kept my distance. He was a bit smelly now. Actually, he was a lot smelly now.

'D'you want me to tell you the real story of Chicken Licken?' asked Tobey.

'Mum already told me. They all get eaten by a fox for being so stupid.'

'I'll tell you another story then. Only . . . it's not really a story. It's a secret
–
about me. And you must promise never to tell anyone else.'

'I promise.' My eyes were almost as wide as my open mouth. But then I remembered 'Chicken Licken'. I looked at him suspiciously.

'It's as true as I'm standing here,' Tobey protested. He sat down on the grass in front of me. 'Sit then. I'm not going to stare up your nose as I tell you.'

I sat down. I liked Tobey's stories. 'I'm still mad at you though.'

'Fair enough,' said Tobey. 'If I were you, I'd be mad at me too. That's why I'm going to tell you something that no one else in the whole world knows.'

'Tobey,' I couldn't help asking before he began. 'Were you really going to eat that dirt?'

Tobey smiled. 'Ah! You'll never know now, will you?'