This Is Not Forgiveness (3 page)

The Circle didn’t last long, though.

She will peak and she will pine
. . .

Those spells I found on the Internet were
so
cheesy. Never thought for a moment that they would actually work. You can get spells for almost everything. Martha’s spots and hair loss were a laugh, no more than she deserved, but Louise Simpson on life support? That scared the shit out of them. The Circle broke up after that. I was getting bored with it, anyway. At the moment when the spells we were weaving actually seemed to be working, I ceased believing. Ironic that. But then, that’s how I am.

Occult paraphernalia, leached of their power, become mere knick-knacks. The planchette sits on my desk now – just an interesting
objet
. The rune stones look pretty on the windowsill. And the tarot? Doesn’t everybody own a pack of tarot cards?

I take them out of my drawer. I have to admit that I still feel a bit of a tug. A little thrill.

I cut, shuffle, cut again. Just for old time’s sake. I find him there. The Fool. It doesn’t mean bozo, just someone innocent but wise at the same time. The Creative Dreamer. It’s him. Got to be. I feel some of the old excitement stirring inside me.

He was in my mind, I’d just been writing about him, so I would see him, wouldn’t I? That’s how it works.

I cut again. The Knave of Swords. The Berserker. The archetypal warrior. That’s interesting. Now I’ve got the two of them. Jamie and his brother. I’m curious so I cut again. Queen of Swords reversed: devious, underhand, expert in the use of half-truths and slander. That
has
to be Martha.

Chapter 5

‘Come in, if you’re coming in.’

Martha doesn’t look round from where she’s wielding her hair straighteners. She has long hair and it takes her ages. She has to do it every morning. She sets her alarm an hour early just to get ready for school. One of the things that make me glad that I’m not female. Everything takes so long. I don’t know why she does that to her hair. Mum reckons it’s bad for it, making it thin. Martha was having problems with that a while ago, around the time of her GCSEs. The doctor put it down to stress. It seems all right now, although I prefer it when she leaves it curly. So does Mum, but Martha doesn’t take any notice of us. She thinks I’m clueless and that Mum just wants her to stay a little girl.

‘Whatever it is, make it quick. I’ve still got my make-up to do and the girls will be here in a minute for pre-drinks.’ She puts down the straighteners and rummages through her make-up case.

‘I was just wondering
. . .
’ I wander in and start looking at stuff on her table, squaring up her books.

‘Leave it! Don’t touch! Sit!’ She orders me about as though I’m still six. There’s only a bit more than a year between us, but she acts like she’s the only one who has grown up. ‘You were wondering what?’

‘You know that girl, the one they call Caro? She’s got a tattoo here.’ I reach round and touch my shoulder. ‘Shaped like a star with squiggles in it.’

‘If you mean Vanessa Carrington, then yes, I know her. And that’s not a star. It’s a pentacle and those aren’t squiggles, they’re sigils. You’re such a dick!’

I don’t know what sigils are but I’m not about to ask her and prove I’m even more stupid and ignorant than she believes me to be. I look the word up later – an occult symbol or device supposed to have magical powers.

‘What about her?’ Martha doesn’t look at me. She is applying mascara in careful, slow, upward sweeps.

‘Well, what’s she like? I mean
. . .
’

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Oh, um, me and Cal saw her in the
Rendez
.’

‘And?’

‘We were just
. . .
’ I shrug. ‘You know
. . .
interested.’

‘Cal? I thought he’d got a girlfriend. Insufferable Sophie.’

‘Well, yes
. . .
’

‘He doesn’t want another one, surely? I thought they were in
lurve
.’

‘They are. He thinks, anyway.’

‘So, it’s
you
, then. You are the one who is
interested
.’

‘Er, yes. I guess. I was just wondering. I mean, didn’t you two used to be friends?’

‘Long time ago. Not any more, we aren’t.’ She puts down the mascara and swings round to face me, one eye big, the other one small. The effect is disconcerting. ‘So if you were
wondering
do I have her number in my phone, the answer to that is . . . no. Sorry to disappoint you, little bro. Don’t even think about going there. That girl is seriously
bad
.’

‘Really? She looked all right to me.’

‘You can’t tell by looking, can you?’ She starts on the other eye. ‘Not what you’d be looking at, anyway. She’s a real troublemaker – involved in some
pretty
bad stuff.’

I’m even more intrigued, but she doesn’t go into exact details about what that ‘bad stuff’ might be. She’s keen to tell me something else. ‘She’s just been chucked out of school.’

‘Really? What for?’

‘For being an über bitch and über slag, quite apart from all her other misdemeanours, that’s what for.’

‘What’d she do?’

‘Had an affair with one of the teachers, who’s since been sacked. She’s got a thing for older guys. She’d eat you up, and not in a nice way.’ She smiles at herself in the mirror, as if that idea amuses her. She turns her head this way and that to judge how her make-up is coming together. ‘Now, how do I look?’

She stands up, shimmying her hips to release the flimsy, shiny material of her dress. She’s got good legs. Long, slender and a golden brown colour. She’s been at Mum’s fake tan again. She’s not wearing so much make-up since her skin cleared up. I like that. The natural look. Suits her better.

‘Great!’ I smile at her. Not that there is a choice, but I do mean it. ‘You look pretty good.’

‘Pretty good! Is that all you can come up with!’ She turns back at herself in the mirror. ‘I look bloody fantastic! That’s the bell. It’ll be the girls.’ She’s trying to put in earrings and get into her heels at the same time. ‘You get it. Send ’em up. I’ve got some voddy, no, you can’t have any, and don’t stare at their tits when you let them in, or any other parts of their anatomy. Girls know what you are doing and it’s embarrassing.’

It’s hard not to notice. They are dressed for going out, which means low-cut and very short, but I manage to let them in with eyes averted. They’ve been to the corner shop on their way and come in supplied with half-bottles of Smirnoff. Martha’s best buddies. Melissa, Sally and the other one, whose real name is Letitia but they call her Lee. She’s a recent addition. Part of Martha’s outreach work. She’s quiet, not as flamboyant as the others. She’s wearing ballet pumps and jeans, a white top and almost no make-up. The other two are tricked up like Pussycat Dolls.

They all go upstairs and Martha shouts down orders for glasses and ice and cranberry juice. I go to the kitchen and fetch what’s needed: a bowl of ice, tall glasses, orange juice, cranberry and Coke, in case anyone wants a different mixer. I even find the packets of nuts, crisps and corn chips left over from the barbecue last weekend and shake them out into little dishes. I stack the lot on a tray, fold a tea cloth over my arm and mount the stairs.

I’m happy to play barman and waiter. I want to know more about this Caro and if Martha won’t tell me, I’m betting one of the others will – especially after the hefty vodkas I’ll be pouring for them tonight. I consider going to get a baggie from the stash Rob kindly bequeathed to me and rolling a spliff or two, but decide against it. Might be too much with the vodka. I don’t want anyone passing out on me.

I’m not wrong. It doesn’t take them long. All I have to do is say her name and they’re off. The girls love to gossip and it seems that she has given them plenty to gossip about. Besides, they like having me around. They think I’m kind of cute, but more important than that, I’ve got male friends. That’s enough for Mel and Sal.

Mel starts. ‘Van the Maneater? She’s left our school. I thought she’d gone to yours. She missed her A levels, so she’ll have to repeat a year.’

‘I haven’t seen her about.’

Mel shrugs. ‘Haven’t heard anything from Joss and the others, come to think about it.’ A lot of girls from their school transfer to ours. ‘She’s unlikely to have slipped under their radar. Maybe she dropped out. She doesn’t like school.’

‘Excuse me.’ I pretend to be insulted. ‘Sixth form college.’

‘Same difference. Why do you want to know about her, anyway?’

‘Just interested.’

Martha gives a snort, but doesn’t interrupt.

Mel takes a quick draw on the cigarette she’s holding and blows a thin stream of smoke out into the evening air. She and Sally have lit up and are puffing out of the window. I don’t know why they bother. Smoking is a pure waste of money and they don’t even do it properly. Martha doesn’t like this. She clicks her long polished nails on the desk. She doesn’t approve of smoking and she’ll be thinking Mum will smell it. Mum’s out right now. Gone to a barbecue with Jack, her partner. Martha is worried she’ll know. She can pick up smoke of any kind. They could use her at the airport, instead of sniffer dogs. That was one of the sources of friction when Rob lived here. He was always in trouble for lighting up in the house.

‘You watch yourself with her.’ Mel takes another quick puff. ‘They don’t call her maneater for nothing. She did for Charlie at school.’

I look blank.

‘Just-call-me-Charlie Hands, the Art teacher.’

I think I know who she means. He was part-time at our school for a while. Thirty-something but going for mid-twenties. Hair receding, what there is left in a bit of a fin, beard half a centimetre longer than stubble. Thinks he’s pretty alternative. Wears combat and T-shirts to school and gets away with it because he’s an Art teacher. Normal rules don’t apply.

‘So what happened?’

‘Well, he’s been sacked and she’s been expelled. Should have got rid of her ages ago, if you ask me, after she was suspended for wagging school to go on that demo –’

‘Day of action,’ Martha corrects.

‘Whatever.’ Mel carries on, eager to continue the gossip. ‘Anyway, the Head saw her on the news wearing a riot helmet and jumping all over a police van.’

‘And what about when she sprayed anarchist signs all over the language lab wall?’ Sal adds.

‘No one proved that was her,’ Lee points out.

‘Who else is it gonna be?’ Sal sneers back. ‘Banksy?’

‘What happened with this Charlie guy?’ I ask, trying to get them back on topic. That’s the story that interests me.

‘Well
. . .
’ Sal leans forward, eager to share. ‘She was shagging him and – ’

‘He deserves sacking,’ Martha says, ‘and she deserves expelling. Little slag!’

‘She’s not the only one,’ Mel points out. ‘Remember that girl – what’s-her-name Bridges? Went to Goldsmiths? He was doing her for years. Still is. Goes to see her in London. Her sister told me.’

‘Why didn’t he get the sack for that?’ I ask.

Mel shrugs. ‘That time no one found out.’

‘This time?’

‘There was no hiding it,’ Mel continues. ‘There was this student teacher. Don. Gelled hair. Taught Geography. Fancied himself. He was hot for her as well. Hands totally lost it. They had a fight. A real brawl. In the dining room. Rolling about on the floor. Tables tipped up, plates flying, water jugs ditto, custard all over. The lot.’

Mel’s eyes gleam at the memory.

‘I missed it! I had netball practice.’ Sally expresses real anguish.

A fight between members of staff in the dining room? I don’t get why they dislike this girl. Members of staff fighting over her? At our place that’d be enough to make her legend.

The other one, Lee, pipes up. ‘That wasn’t how it happened,’ she says. She’s not as gobby as the others. Not shy, just contained inside herself. ‘Caro wasn’t doing anything with that student. He fancied her, that’s all.’

‘That’s not what
we
heard,’ Mel and Sal say together. Lee is deviating from the script, spoiling the fun.

‘Caro didn’t even fancy him. The student, I mean, and she knew Charlie out of school. They were putting on an art show.’

That sets Sal and Mel spluttering their drinks.

‘Yeah, right! Getting it on, more like!’

‘But it’s all just gossip, isn’t it? That’s the trouble with our school.’

‘So what were they fighting about, then?’ I ask Lee.

I’m intrigued by why she’s on Caro’s side while the others dislike her. She looks at me from under her lashes. She’s wary, wondering what my motive might be. I smile back, open-faced, innocent and friendly. Just chatting, that’s all. I want her to go on. I want her to tell me more.

‘The Geography student said something about her. Hands threw a jug of water over him. That’s how the fight started.’