Elizabeth leaves the teacher’s seat and goes to sit beside Alex. Then she takes out her things and looks patient.
I know Duncan will never get up to replace her: he’s too shy. Alex is both shy and too young: he’s only six.
We hear Calum Ian’s chair screeching. He scrumples his pages then goes to the teacher’s desk.
On the whiteboard he writes his name, then underneath:
I AM A BOY NOT A FUCKING TEACHER
‘There’s no point pretending to be a teacher, because I’m not,’ he says. ‘There’s no point in any of us pretending because none of us are. The – bloody – end.’
After this he draws an arse on the whiteboard, and I have to admit this is kind of funny.
But when we start to laugh he gets furious; he rubs off what he’s written then shouts: ‘Shut your traps! Sguir dheth sin! That means you as well, Ugly-face!’
He’s talking to his brother, Duncan.
Duncan hides as deep as he can in his jacket, to match the quietness of the rest of us.
Now Calum Ian looks worried to have said what he did. He goes back to his seat, rolls down his sleeves – but they’re clarty, so he rolls them back up again.
‘Duncan could teach us the fiddle,’ Elizabeth says in a quiet voice. ‘We could get them out of the music cupboard?’
‘I’m going home.’
Calum Ian begins to pack his bag. Duncan begins to collect his things, too.
Elizabeth: ‘We could do messages?’
‘Another crap idea. Who’s looking out for them, tell me that? We send and send but we never get any back.’
‘And never will if we don’t keep sending.’
‘Fine, you do it then. See if I care.’
‘But we have to stick together. Remember the saying: “What’s going to work?”’
This is Elizabeth’s saying. She always does it when we’re struggling, or disagreeing, or needing a boost up.
When nobody adds on the next bit, she has to add it herself: ‘Teamwork! That’s what’s going to work, right? We’re all going to be a team. Right?’
‘Do your stupid sums for the team, then.’
After this Calum Ian gets up, scraping his chair, and leaves, with Duncan hurrying behind.
I look across at the drawing Duncan left on his desk.
It’s the same drawing he always does: of a face with black scored-out holes for eyes.
Elizabeth goes into one of her quiet moods. She walks me and Alex to the swing park, then leaves us.
‘See you at home,’ she says, her voice sounding like we’ve not to follow too soon.
Sometimes if I’m not concentrating I still think we’re living in our last house. We’ve moved twice now, usually when the mess gets too much. Elizabeth isn’t sure if this means we live like kings – having a new house when it suits us – or like orphans. I prefer the king choice.
It’s only Calum Ian and Duncan who’ve stayed true to their old home. This gets me the big envy sometimes, when I think of my old home, abandoned.
Alex and I sit on the swings for a bit, eating rice crackers with mango chutney spread on top.
The wind mushes the water in the bay, and the sun makes the mush glittery. The wrecked trawler out on the rocks of Snuasamul looks like the world’s biggest whale. I hold it between finger and thumb. It’s tiny.
Alex: ‘Do you think there’s a ghost on that ship?’
Me: ‘As usual – too much imagination.’
Alex goes back to nibbling his cracker. He frowns at his chutney then says, ‘Don’t want more of this. If you eat the same thing over and over you get a heart attack.’
‘Who says?’
‘No one. I just think it.’
‘Well you shouldn’t think it. It’s crazy! That’s only if you eat too many chips and you get a fat arse and you smoke. If this isn’t you, don’t worry.’
He still looks worried, though, so I decide we need to do something brave, just the two of us.
First of all, I command us in getting an offering. We pick some of the flowers we don’t know the names of, plus dandelions from the grass strip by the History Centre.
Then we go bit by bit closer to the side entrance of the big kids’ school.
No one likes going here. They made it different to the little kids’ school because of who they put in it.
It takes a while to get our confidence up: so we kick the rainbow-painted stones along the pathway, then run up and down the slopey concrete.
After that we go in.
The wind goes in first, fluttering leaves and bits of paper by the door. There’s broken glass outside one room. Dirty black stuff in spots trailing up along the corridor. On both walls are the message boards. Some of the paper displays have come down. I hold one up: there’s a bit at the top called ‘Our Wall of Achievement’, but the bit underneath has fallen away, so there’s nothing. I think this is kind of funny in a dark way, but Alex doesn’t.
He walks ahead of me, trying not to step on the black spots, or the rubbish.
He’s looking at me for braveness, but I don’t feel massively brave without Elizabeth.
Going through double doors, there’s another corridor. Skylights making it go bright, dark, bright. A broken window inside one classroom: maybe a bird hit it, or the MacNeil brothers throwing stones again? Rows of posters about bullying, some about road safety, some about littering. Along the corridor on brightly-coloured card, with a wiggly blue border, are the pictures of all the kids who went to school last year.
I’m there, in P4, alongside Duncan. Elizabeth is in P7. Calum Ian’s in P6. Alex, only in P2. We didn’t really know each other then, but we do now, for sure.
There’s a short bit outdoors between our school and the big school. We get to the playground. It’s marked up and ready for games: basket- and netball. The hill rising away behind, the rocks going silver with sun.
It’s like going underwater. We put on our nose-clips, wait behind the door. Then I count to ten and go in.
Top corridor, heading to the gallery above the gym.
We put our perfume-hankies over our faces.
Going inside we hear a noise like the world’s biggest bee. Millions of the world’s biggest bees.
I run forward, and throw our flowers onto the dried and drying pile of old flowers – then we get out fast.
As the door slams I hear the flies buzzing up into the air. They’re down in the gym. The noise is giant.
Back outside I smell myself for the stink that stays. It feels like we got away with it, just.
Elizabeth started the offerings. But she doesn’t always like us doing it on our own, in case the dead down there make us sick. Still, I figure as long as we stay up in the gallery, run in and out, we’ll be fine.
Alex doesn’t look too much happier now that we’ve done a brave thing. His hands shake, only this time I don’t think he needs food, or medicine, just fresh air.
Leaving him outside on his own I take a minute to go back to my old real classroom.
Its windows are broken, and the floor’s wet; there’s a shelf swollen