Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,154
and hurled it with as much strength as I could muster, right into Stan’s face.
First there was the sound, an enormous hollow thud as the satchel struck him, and then there was Stan’s roar—a simultaneous cry of pain and consternation. I saw his head snap upward, his back arch, and then he took two, three, four staggering steps back. My satchel continued upward, spinning on itself, sweeping loose, so that for a moment it looked as if it might take flight and never return to earth. Then, caught by the tug of gravity, it ceased spinning and fell, like a rock, to the ground.
It was just at this moment that Greg caught up with Stan. He’d seen me slam Stan with the satchel, and he was enraged, yelling at the top of his lungs. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you stupid cow?”
I stood there gaping at Stan as he floundered, appearing for a moment to find his balance before teetering forward, and then, like one of those unfortunate murder victims shot during the opening sequence of Columbo, he crumpled to the ground. I looked up, horrified, expecting now to feel the full force of Greg’s fury. But Greg, like me, hadn’t expected my blow to have such an impact, and he hadn’t anticipated Stan’s sudden fall. So, as he continued to run forward, pulling back his arm, readying to land his fist on me, he careened into the buckling Stan and fell with him, headlong onto the ground.
I simply stood, blinking, staring at the bundle of tangled arms and legs at my feet. Then I looked around, feeling as disoriented as if I’d been woken from a deep sleep. Everyone’s eyes were on me—Tracey, the Debbies, Malcolm. They were all motionless as they gawked, mouths flaccid and wide open, eyebrows arched high, foreheads creased with shock. And then Greg let out a little moan and began trying to haul himself up. I felt a surge of fear and energy, and I began to run.
“Run!” I yelled at Malcolm as I approached him. I saw him turn and try to move away, but he was pulled to a halt as Tracey grabbed him again.
“Come on!” she cried at Greg, who was pulling himself to his feet. “I’ve still got him, Greg. Come and get him. Smash this little poofter’s face.” Then she let go of one of Malcolm’s arms only to grab hold of a hank of his hair. “I’ve got him!” she yelled, her voice shrill and victorious. “Come on, Greg, he’s not going to get away!” Malcolm flailed and pummeled at Tracey, then yelped in pain as she twisted his hair around her clenched hand and yanked his head back, hard. At the same time, I saw Greg finally lift himself off the ground, and I saw the Debbies move closer to Tracey, apparently readying to help her hold Malcolm down. So I did the only thing I could think of. As I came level with Tracey, I halted, swung my leg back, and issued the hardest kick I could muster to her shin. As she screamed, I prepared to kick her again, but she relinquished her grip on Malcolm to double over and grab her leg.
“Run!” I yelled at Malcolm again as Greg ran toward us. We both turned on our heels and ran back along the path and through the school gates. We kept running at full tilt into the car park, sweeping over the dark asphalt and easing to a stop when we reached the single bus still standing there, its passengers already loaded, all of them staring out the windows at us.
“That’s my bus,” Malcolm said, panting. “Quick, get on. It’s leaving.” He tugged at my arm.
I hesitated and looked back. Greg and Tracey hadn’t pursued us. They were standing just inside the school gates, their faces furious. “You fucking bitch, Jesse!” Tracey yelled.
“Come on,” Malcolm said, pulling at my arm again. “Otherwise you’ll be left here with them.”
I followed him onto the bus, flopping down into the nearest seat as the doors swished shut and the engine rumbled to a start.
“Are you all right?” Malcolm asked me. There were no other empty seats close to mine, and he stood over me in the aisle.
I nodded. “Are you?” I asked.
“Yeah, my head’s a bit sore.” He patted the place on his head where Tracey had pulled so viciously on his hair. “I think I—”