playing field to see if anyone was looking, then a few steps and I was on the path.
I stood under the canopy of trees and listened. A bird was rustling about in the undergrowth and I could just make out the engine hum of cars on Aldenham Road.
Then I heard the bark again. It came from the other way, towards Finch Lane. I walked as fast as I could, wishing I didn’t have to lump my school bag with me. I can’t run because I get wheezy, which is one of the ‘motivators’ Dr Bhatt wanted to put on my list, as if running is something I’d do all the time if I could because it’s such a fun thing to do. I told him I never even need to run. The only time I probably should is for the bus when I’m late for school, but then I wouldn’t dream of actually doing it, because any time I don’t have to spend at school is a bonus.
The end of the path was ahead of me – an archway of white light. When I got there, I stood in the brightness of Finch Lane squinting up and down it and panting, the insides of my thighs stinging from being rubbed together. (Dr Bhatt doesn’t know about my stinging thighs or he’d add them to the list.)
The lane was empty. There was nothing except a cat dozing on the windowsill of one of the terraced houses on the other side.
I took my inhaler out of my bag and had a few puffs, then stripped off my cardigan, tied it round my waist and starting walking slowly back along the path. I thought about how the dog bark could’ve come from the other direction or a garden somewhere or from any small dog – there are enough of them around. I thought, I haven’t even heard your dog bark. I just really wanted it to be your dog.
I’d never been on the wooded path in the middle of the day before. Once I’d calmed down a bit and got my breath back, it was like being in a fairy tale. The sun was sparkling through the leaves high above me, birds were fluttering about with twigs in their beaks and squirrels kept popping their heads round tree trunks or running across the path. I felt like Snow White as I stepped along, looking all round me and listening to the birdsong. I thought how Snow White would’ve started singing, so I sang a couple of notes, but then I stopped because I didn’t sound anything like a Disney princess. I know I don’t look like one either, but imagining how I look when I can’t see myself is a lot easier than imagining I sound lovely when I can hear I don’t.
Some fat people, like the ones that sing in operas, have amazing voices, don’t they? And they look really smug to be as massive as they are because they can do this special thing they wouldn’t be able to do if they were thin. I don’t have a good voice, though. I’m just fat. So I forgot about the singing and just looked at all the animals running and flying about and the sun spilling through the trees and enjoyed being on my own somewhere so nice.
When I got back to near the cut in the fence, I sat on a tree stump just off the path. I still had more than half an hour before the end of sixth period. I was missing History, which if you’re going to skip class, is a good one because Mr Caplin is so blind he never notices if people are missing. He didn’t notice the bin Robert put halfway between the door and his desk either.
There was only one chocolate Hobnob left in my bag. I ate half of it, then crumbled the rest up and threw the bits on the path. None of the animals came though, even after ages. I thought, they can probably see me sitting here – or maybe they’re all on diet programmes too, only better at them.
It was obviously ‘smokers’ seat’ I was on, because there were cigarette butts everywhere. I picked one out of the grass. It had candy-pink lipstick on it and had been mashed out so fiercely the tobacco was all splayed out like crazy hair. I sniffed it, then dug my fingernails into the filter and pulled it apart to look at the fluffy yellow stuff.
I don’t smoke. I wondered if you did. I thought you probably did because you’re old and most old people smoke, especially old people that are bad. Then a voice said, ‘Unlucky for you, Yasmin.’
It was Mrs Wilcox, the French teacher and probably the one person you don’t want to get caught by. She made me walk the proper way to the Head’s office: down the path to Aldenham Road, then along that to the main entrance. She stood watching me till I was out of sight. Then I suppose she must’ve called the school office because the secretary said, ‘In you go, Yasmin,’ when I got there.
Miss Ward didn’t believe I was looking at squirrels. She gave me the usual spiel about smoking, the usual spiel about skipping class, then sent me home, saying that because I was already on report, I was suspended till Monday.
Whoopidoo, I thought, suspended for a whole day. Actually, it was a day and nearly two hours and I decided I was going to make the most of them. In my head I was already there on my bed with all five pillows (four behind me, one under my knees), a bowl of sweet ’n salty popcorn in my arms and Star Trek: The Next Generation playing on my laptop.
I let the first bus go past, though, because I remembered Gary. He might be there. He’s a plumber, which is a pain in the bum because sometimes he goes home between jobs or finishes early, and if he was there, he’d say, What’re you doing home? straight off without even looking at his watch, and then he’d give me the Spanish Inquisition (whatever that is), then phone school to check my story word for word against theirs. The pull of The Next Generation was too strong, though, even in the face of a possible Gary-encounter, and I got the next bus.
I stared out of the window and thought about how it’d be just my luck if you took Alice while I was suspended, and I sent you a message via telepathy telling you that you couldn’t do it yet. I also told you that even though I was happy I was suspended, it was because of you that I’d got in trouble – that because of you, I’d have to explain myself to Mum and maybe even (please God, no) Gary.
It’s official now, I told you. You owe me.
Gary wasn’t at home, but Mum was. I could hear her in the kitchen going ‘Mmmm’ into the phone and sighing every few seconds and when she didn’t put her head round the door to wave at me like she usually does if she’s on the phone, I knew she was talking to school. I thought the Head was probably giving her the same lecture she’d given me about smoking (as if no one else in the world’s ever been told about the dangers of smoking and it’s her duty, as the lone crusader, to spread the word). Then Mum said, ‘Well, we’ve been trying. We’ve done that.’ There was another long pause, another sigh, louder this time, like she was getting annoyed, then, ‘It isn’t easy, you know.’
I went into the sitting room and waited for her, watching a magpie stabbing a snail on the driveway with its beak. When she came in, she flopped into the chair, leaning her head back and closing her eyes like she was completely knackered. She’s a mystery shopper, which means she has to push a supermarket trolley round different supermarkets all day, pretending to shop when really she’s spying on people that hand out those tiny bits of cookies or cubes of cheese on toothpicks to make sure they’re doing their job and not playing on their phones. It’s hard work, even though Gary’s always making fun of it, going, ‘And who’s watching you? Who’s making sure you’re doing your job properly?’
‘I wasn’t smoking,’ I said.
She lifted her head and looked at me. ‘I don’t know,’ she said.
I wanted to say, You won’t tell Gary, will you? but it didn’t seem like the right moment. I said, ‘What d’you mean?’
She sighed again and picked up the Pizza Hut takeaway menu that was on the arm of the chair. ‘I’m just too tired,’ she said. She was looking at the menu, but I could tell she wasn’t really looking. She wasn’t reading it. I thought she probably didn’t even know what it was. It was making me hungry, though.
I said, ‘I didn’t have any lunch.’
She shot me a look to tell me 1) that she knew that was probably a lie; and 2) that she also knew exactly what I was doing and that, in the circumstances, it wasn’t really acceptable. Then she said, ‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow, OK? I’m not letting it slide, though.’
I nodded. I said, ‘Don’t tell Gary.’
She