What They Do in the Dark - By Amanda Coe Page 0,46
played the murder game, Pauline had taken the opportunity to have a really good look around her bedroom. It was like the telly. Everything matched. She had opened a drawer and there were Gemma’s knickers and vests and socks laid out, clean and separate from each other. She didn’t recognize the socks at first, because they were balled in pairs. When she got home that night after she’d scarpered over the fence, she found as many socks as possible – she and Cheryl did what they could from a common pool – and tried to arrange them in these satisfying spheres. It wasn’t the same. Pauline realized that she needed Gemma’s kind of white socks, and she didn’t own any white socks; the best pair she had was some pale green pop socks left by Joanne. She’d been wearing those ever since Joanne had gone, although one of them was now quite badly laddered.
‘I’m not allowed pop socks until I start secondary,’ said Gemma critically, focusing on the ladder. But Pauline was listening. She nicked a blue pair from a shoe shop in town which kept a rack of them by the door and presented the packet to Gemma on her way into school the next day. The day after that, it was a Kit Kat, and on Thursday, a purse that had made its way to the house, brand new and shiny red, with a big-toothed zip all the way round. When Gemma undid the zip, curious to examine the inside, it disclosed a row of long metal loops, one of them holding a key. This disappointed them both.
‘It belonged to my mam,’ said Pauline. ‘She said you could have it ’cos she’s got a new one but she must have forgotten to take out the key, like.’
Gemma seemed satisfied by this.
‘Do you want the key back?’
‘Yeah.’
Pauline took it, although she knew it didn’t open any door round at hers. Her lie made her half believe the key really did belong to Joanne, so it was nice to have. Gemma didn’t play with her for long, though, at playtime, and at dinnertime play she couldn’t find her at all. Now they were in different classes there wasn’t any queuing to do together either, except at dinner. She got kept in after the last bell for swearing, and as Mrs Maclaren started her weary telling off, Pauline could hear the noise of everyone else spreading through the playground and disappearing through the gates.
‘I’ve got to go, Miss.’
‘You’re not going anywhere, Pauline, until you’ve realized what and what isn’t acceptable behaviour in my class.’
‘I know, Miss, I’m sorry, Miss, but I’ve got to go and look after me little brother, Miss.’
‘Well, he’ll have to wait, won’t he?’
Pauline was sure she could hear Gemma laughing in the mix of voices below the window. Mrs Maclaren had quickly finished telling her off and was tidying up the classroom, picking up dropped pencils, repositioning chairs casually upended on desks that might topple on to Mr Fletcher when he came to clean the floor. As she turned with a duster and began swiping her maths lesson into the chalky fog on the board, Pauline made a run for it. She was so quick down the stairs she didn’t know if Mrs Maclaren was coming after her, but once she was out of the gate she allowed herself a glance round and sure enough she was, gasping fury and shouting for other people to stop her, as though she’d stolen something.
‘Come on!’
Pauline grabbed Gemma’s school dress and pulled her past the gate. Gemma ran, docile. She wasn’t as fast as Pauline, and tried to ask what was happening. Pauline tugged her for a good way across the playing field, until she could see that Mrs Maclaren wasn’t going to continue the chase. The teacher was waving her arms a few feet beyond the gate, the stupid bitch.
‘Can I come to your house?’ she asked Gemma.
‘You what?’
‘I can’t go home ’cos me mam’s poorly and she says I’m not allowed to stay hanging round town.’
Gemma cast a look back at stringy Mrs Maclaren, who was retreating into the school.
‘Why were you running? What did you do?’
‘She started chasing me – I didn’t do owt. I reckon she’s turned, you know, like what your dad’s girlfriend did at your house.’
Pauline rolled her eyeballs and lurched, knock-kneed and zombified. Gemma almost giggled, swerved away so she couldn’t get her.