Is (7 page)

Whenever I had seen anyone's parents turn up at school before, they came in whatever clothes they happened to be wearing. My mother used to have an old pair of jeans and a sweater on most of the time.

Is's stepmum looked like she had gone to quite a lot of trouble. She had on a very smart blue dress with a fashionable grey raincoat and dark blue high heel shoes. Her face was all made up too and her hair fell in soft brown waves around it.

She had a naturally happy face, though. And as Is and I got to the fence, I could see she was smiling with relief.

‘Isabel… Isabel, I came to see you. Are you all right, love?'

‘Course I am.'

‘Well, I didn't know, love. Running off like that this morning, you seemed so upset.'

Isabel said nothing in reply.

‘And after what happened the other morning… 
I didn't know what to think.'

‘I'm all right, okay?' said Is flatly.

‘As long as you are. I do worry about you Isabel, you know that.'

‘I know.'

‘Good,' Isabel's stepmum smiled briefly. Then she looked at me.

‘You must be Robert.'

I was amazed she knew my name. ‘Er, yes,' I replied.

‘Isabel has told me lots about you.' 

‘Oh,' I said.

She laughed. ‘Don't worry. All of it complimentary I can assure you! Isabel was a little worried about coming to St Leonards originally, weren't you Isabel?'

‘No,' she replied with a scowl.

‘Of course you were, dear. You told me so.'

I saw Is squirm at this, not surprisingly, but Mrs Williams didn't seem to notice and carried on. ‘So it's nice that she's got you for a friend, Robert. Very nice indeed. She doesn't make friends easily as a rule, do you Isabel?'

Mothers can be pretty insensitive I know, but talk about showing someone up. I really felt for Is. ‘You must come over one day and have tea, Robert.'

‘Pardon?' I looked at Mrs Williams dumbly. 

‘Yes, come over today if you like. After school. Yes, that will be nice. You'd like that, wouldn't you Isabel?'

Is didn't reply so I had to.

‘Well, thank you, Mrs Williams, that'll be nice,' I managed to say.

‘Good, that's settled. I'll see you both later. I'm so glad you're feeling better, Isabel, you know that.' Still Is said not a word in reply. Her face was set hard and her eyes went black as she stared after the disappearing form of her stepmother teetering off on her high heels.

‘What's up with you?' I asked once her stepmother was out of sight.

‘You know exactly what.'

‘I wouldn't have asked if I did.'

‘What did you have to go and say you'll come for?'

‘To tea? Your stepmother asked me.' I couldn't understand why she was getting so worked up. But I felt myself getting angry.

‘Look, just say if you don't want me to come! I don't particularly want to anyway. But I've said I would now!'

‘Do what you like,' Is muttered under her breath.

After school I collected my stuff and went off to find Is. She was standing outside the double glass doors that led to the assembly hall.

‘Ready then?' I asked as cheerfully as I could.

‘Suppose so.' She was still in the same mood as she had been that morning.

We set off together towards Isabel's house in Walton Road without saying another word. Just past the pub there was a phone box so I went in and rang my mum to say I wouldn't be back for tea.

When I came out she was halfway down the road. I ran after her and caught up.

‘You could have waited; I was only ringing my mum.'

She didn't reply. It was only when we turned into Walton Road itself that she spoke.

‘That's our house there with the laburnum tree.' Since I didn't know what a laburnum tree was and the road was full of trees anyway, this wasn't much help. But a minute later we were standing outside a typical 1930s semi-detached.

It was a bigger house than the one I lived in, with large bay windows and quite a good size front garden; unlike ours where you only had to take a couple of steps and you were on the pavement. There were daffodils poking up through the lawn and right in the middle there was a tree, which I took to be the laburnum.

Isabel gave me a quick backward glance and then walked up to the bright-red front door. As she approached it, it swung open and Is's stepmother stood there with a broad smile on her face.

‘Hello, you're back earlier than I thought! Come on in, Robert, and make yourself at home!'

She went inside and down to a door at the end of the hall, while I followed Is into the front room.

‘What do you want to do then?' she asked.

‘I don't know.'

‘I've got this new puzzle game that's really good. You could see if you could do it.'

‘What do you do?'

‘I'll show you.'

Is went out of the room and up the stairs to fetch it. A second later her stepmum came in.

‘Tea won't be long, you two.' Then, seeing that I was on my own, she added, ‘Oh, has Isabel deserted you already?'

‘No, she's just gone upstairs to fetch a puzzle,' I replied with a smile.

‘That's all right then.'

Mrs Williams sat down in one of the armchairs facing the fireplace. She smiled at me in a slightly nervous sort of way as if she didn't know what to say next.

I looked around the room, desperately searching for something to talk about. And then, on the mantelpiece, I saw a little porcelain ballerina. It had obviously been broken and stuck together again – not too well by the looks of it.

‘Oh, you've managed to repair it then,' I chirped, before realising what I was saying.

‘Pardon Robert? Repair what? The ballerina, you mean?'

‘Er, yes,' I said, looking intently at my hands. ‘Is must have mentioned it – er – got dropped.'

‘In a manner of speaking.'

‘It's nice,' I said, wanting something to say.

Mrs Williams' voice became very quiet as she answered. ‘It's – it was – quite beautiful.'

Her eyes became very soft. Then they hardened and fixed on me. ‘Did Isabel tell you it was broken?'

‘Must have.'

‘I see.'

I was so anxious not to say anything wrong that I did exactly that.

‘She said it was an accident,' I rushed on.

‘Oh, did she?' replied Mrs Williams.

‘She said he just kind of knocked it as he went out that's all,' I lied.

A frown crossed Mrs Williams' face. ‘He? Who do you mean, Robert? Who did Isabel say knocked over the ballerina?'

I'd obviously put my foot in it, but at this stage I had no idea how.

‘Mr – er – Williams of course.'

My reply evoked the kind of silence that is so acute, you can almost hear it. Then Isabel's step-mother spoke crisply and without emotion.

‘There is no Mr Williams, Robert. Isabel's father died three years ago.'

The shock was like someone slamming a door in my face. It couldn't be true. What on earth was she talking about? Of course Isabel had a father. It was her mother who had died. This Mrs Williams was her stepmother. Her father had married again. That's what Isabel had told me. Why would she lie about something like that? But then why would Mrs Williams lie either? I was starting to feel really confused.

I remembered the first time Isabel had talked about her stepmother. ‘She's a cow.' That's how Is had described her. But here she was: seeming perfectly reasonable. I stared at her in disbelief, searching her face, questioning.

‘Are you sure that's what Isabel told you, Robert?'

I didn't know what to say. The last thing I wanted to do was drop Is in it.

‘He died three years ago, Robert,' Mrs Williams repeated. ‘Isabel was heartbroken. I don't think she's quite got over it even now.'

‘I see,' I said glumly. I was just about to say something else when, over Mrs Williams' shoulder, I caught sight of Is's face peering round the door. It was ashen.

She must have heard everything we had said. Her head darted back quickly and she ran back up the stairs.

The sound made Mrs Williams turn round. ‘Isabel. Isabel, is that you?' There was no reply.

Mrs Williams stood up and went to the foot of the stairs. I did the same, not knowing what to do.

Then, from one of the rooms upstairs, came an unexpectedly loud scream which soon subsided into sobbing, a terrible unrestrained sobbing.

‘Wait here, will you Robert?' asked Mrs Williams and, without waiting for an answer, she ran swiftly up the stairs. She stood outside what was evidently Isabel's room and called out in a soft reassuring voice, ‘Isabel, it's all right, love. No one's cross with you. Come back down and we'll forget all about it, okay?'

But there was no reply, except the sound of Is gulping for air between sobs.

‘I'm sorry, Robert,' Mrs Williams called down to me. ‘Another time, perhaps. Soon. There's nothing I can do at the moment. You understand?'

I nodded sadly and let myself out of the front door.

6

A Cause for Concern

‘I thought you were having tea round at Isabel's,' said my mum when I got home.

‘I was.'

‘You must have gulped it down then.'

‘I didn't have any. Isabel wasn't feeling well.'

‘Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.'

She picked up the magazine lying open on her lap and started flicking through it again. I sat down in a chair opposite her and looked vacantly out of the window. It was still nice outside. The late afternoon sun was making the bricks glow on the houses over the road.

Maybe I should go down the road and see Brian, I thought. But I didn't move. I was thinking about Is. Why had she told me all those things?

She said her mother had died and her father had remarried when she was four. But it was her father that had died. So Mrs Williams was her real mother, not her stepmother at all.

‘Penny for them.'

‘What?'

‘Penny for your thoughts,' said mum. ‘You looked miles away.'

‘Oh, did I? I suppose I was.'

‘Shall I get you some tea then?' she said, as she put her magazine down and got up. ‘Or what about a drink and we'll both eat with Dad when he gets home?'

‘Okay, yes.' I looked back out of the window, lost in thought again for a second. ‘At least I've got a dad though. Isabel hasn't.'

A horrified look crossed my mum's face. ‘What do you mean Rob? You mean he's died! But when? Oh, poor Isabel!'

‘Years ago.'

‘But…? What are you talking about, Rob? I don't understand.'

‘Neither do I. I've only just found out myself. Isabel's father actually died three years ago and she lives with her mother on her own.'

‘I thought she lived with her stepmother. I thought her mother died and her father remarried…'

‘That's what I thought too. It's what she told me.'

‘Why on earth would she say such a thing?' Mum shook her head in disbelief and disapproval. Then she sighed, ‘Ah well, I'll make some drinks shall I?'

‘If you ask me,' she continued from the kitchen, ‘that Isabel lives in a fantasy world.'

That certainly seemed true enough. After all, if Isabel believing she was Isambard Brunel wasn't living in a fantasy world what was? Reincarnation indeed! Who did she think she was kidding?

Mind you, I had to admit she did seem to know an awful lot about Brunel. She must have seen a film or read a book or something – yes that was it. And all this about her father was just another fantasy. It was then I realised another thing. It must have been Isabel who smashed that ballerina. Of course!

The blazing row had been between her and her mother, not between ‘Dad and Penny', like Isabel had said. Next day when I got to school I was going to have a good talk with Isabel Williams.

As it happened, when I arrived at school the following morning, there was no sign of her.

‘Isabel Williams,' called out Mr Gregory and, hearing no reply, he looked up.

‘Isabel Williams,' he repeated, looking straight at her empty chair. He could see there was nobody there. Did he expect the chair to answer? How on earth he got to be a teacher I'll never know. He was like a dinosaur: an enormous lumbering body with a pea-sized brain. The thought of Brontosaurus Gregory made me giggle.

‘Morgan!' The booming voice of Bronto stopped me mid giggle.