Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,155

bus driver. He frowned over his shoulder at Malcolm, his brows knotted into a single heavy line. “As you know full well, lad, I can’t move this bus an inch until you put your bum on one of them seats.”

“Sorry,” Malcolm said. But before moving away he looked down at me again. “Thanks, Jesse,” he said. “That was really—” He paused in apparent embarrassment. “Well, I just want you to know that I thought you were really brave.”

As he smiled at me I felt pride, a burst of glorious yellow light, flood through me.

“You want chucking off this bus, lad?” the bus driver bellowed.

“Sorry,” Malcolm said again, and shuffled along the aisle to find an empty seat.

I didn’t look out the window at Tracey and Greg as we drove through the school gates. Instead, I closed my eyes and let my head loll against the seat back. As the bus pulled away, my heartbeat slowed and my breaths began to lengthen, while a feeling of utter satisfaction thrilled through my veins. I had stopped something terrible from happening. For once, the fear of consequences hadn’t left me silent and afraid. I had, as Malcolm said, finally been brave. I knew I ought to be worried about Tracey’s anger, the threat of reprisals from Stan Heaphy and Greg Loomis. I knew that I’d stepped over a line that would separate me from them, and that now that I’d done it there would be no going back. But instead of worrying I felt deliciously carefree. I felt weightless, unhampered, as if, like my satchel after I’d thrown it into Stan’s face, I could defy gravity, dance upward, spinning, through the air.

And then I remembered. The thought plummeting into me with all the force of something heavy falling and then crashing to the ground. I had left my satchel behind.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I GOT OFF THE BUS IN REATTON HIGH STREET. “JESSE, WHY DON’T YOU come to the caravan?” Malcolm said, pushing his way through the other kids on the pavement to reach me. “When my dad gets back, he can give you a lift home.”

I shook my head. I felt dull, dazed; there was a hollow dread pushing from my stomach into my chest. “I’m going home,” I said, turning and striding toward where the road veered off to Midham.

Malcolm jogged after me. “He won’t be long, Jesse. You’ll probably get home sooner if you wait for him. And I don’t know about you, but I’m a bit—well, I’m still a bit shaken up.”

His face was flushed, mottled red, his clothes rumpled where Tracey had grabbed and pulled at them, his hair messy and snarled. His eyes were wild and watery. But it wasn’t fear that held him now; he was flying high on the thrill of victory. I felt a surge of anger at him for still being able to occupy that place.

I said nothing. I kept on walking. The wind, brisk and cold, pushed my hair back from my face and sent grit into my eyes.

“Slow down, Jesse,” Malcolm said as he strained to keep up with my rapid march. “You don’t need to leave. It’d be nice if you stayed. We could look at some of my library books. I’ve this really good one right now about London….” He touched my arm.

“Get off me!” I yelled, swinging my arm away as I spun around to face him. “Just because I helped you it doesn’t mean I want to be your friend, you stupid little poof!” I stood there watching as his expression changed from concerned to confused, then to bemused and stung. I stared at him, daring him to say something. When he stayed silent, I turned on my heels and marched off down the road.

I DIDN’T SLEEP MUCH that night. This was partly because of my mother, who had decided that the outfit she’d made for herself for Mabel’s wedding—a beige-colored smock that looked more like a sack than a dress—didn’t do enough to show off her newly acquired fake tan. So she’d pulled out a bolt of bright yellow Crimplene from her stash of dressmaking supplies and at ten o’clock that evening had begun pinning out the tissue-paper pattern pieces for a sleeveless frock and a matching bolero jacket. At midnight, Ted arrived home after another excursion with Frank. I heard him slam the front door behind him, trudge up the stairs, then sing tunelessly in the bathroom until he flushed the toilet and marched off to bed. By