Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,33
racks for something that would fit me. Then, gesturing toward my slightly mounded chest, she’d add, “At least we can thank God you’re not taking after her in the bust department. You don’t want to be stuck carrying those things around with you for the rest of your life,” as if Mabel’s breasts were two overladen shopping bags that she’d surely choose to put down if only she had enough sense.
Tracey was remarkably thin, but, unlike me, her body curved from waist to hip, and her breasts strained against the tight fabric of her T-shirt.
“When’s your birthday?” she asked. “March.”
“I’m going to be fourteen in September, so I’m older than you, but we’ll still be in the same year. It’s not fair, but it works out that way. We’ll be third years. That means we’ll get to go first for school dinner twice a week. When I was a second year, we only went in first once.”
She seemed to think this was an important distinction, and it made me wonder what I should expect of the school dinners at my new school. At my old school, Knox Vale, where Spam fritters, liver and onions, and spotted dick were considered the menu’s delicacies, I’d never been in a hurry to get to the dining hall.
“I can’t wait to leave school,” Tracey continued. “I want to be a secretary. I’m going to take shorthand and typing. You can earn good money being a secretary, you know.”
I nodded in hearty agreement, though I’d always thought that typing and answering phones all day would be downright boring. I could think of a hundred jobs I’d rather do.
“Of course, that’ll only be until I get married. Then I’m going to have three kids. A girl and two boys. What do you want to do when you leave school?”
“I want to go to university.”
“Oh. A brainbox, then, are you?” She fixed me with a narrow-eyed stare.
“No,” I said, immediately regretting this confession. “Why do you want to go to university, then?”
“I want to go to London.” For a long time now, I’d known that I wanted to live in London. It was where all the famous people lived, where anything important happened. All the headline events on the news took place in London—Princess Anne’s wedding, peace demonstrations, Wimbledon, IRA bombs. And London was always on the television, on programs about history and current affairs, and in films where red double-decker buses rode by landmarks like Tower Bridge, the Houses of Parliament, Piccadilly Circus, Trafalgar Square. I’d never been to London, but I was sure I’d be happy if I lived there, pulled into that vortex of busyness and bustle, no longer someone who sat in our living room to watch the world’s critical happenings.
“I went to London once,” said Tracey.
“You did?”
“Yeah,” she said, spitting out her gum. It landed in a tight gray ball, barely missing my right shoe. I wondered if she had been trying to hit it. “My mum is president of the Bleakwick Young Wives Club. She organized the trip. We all went shopping down Oxford Street.”
“What was it like?”
“I didn’t like it. We got lost on the tube, ended up getting off at the wrong stop and walking for miles. My feet were killing me. But we did see Big Ben.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, and heard it as well. Doing. Doing. Doing.” She imitated a loud clock chime. “Just like on the News at Ten. Didn’t see the Queen, though.”
“I did,” I chirped. “I saw the Queen.”
“No, you never.”
“I did. When she came to open Hull Royal Infirmary.”
“What, you really saw her?” Tracey’s tone softened and her eyes grew wide. Finally, I’d found something that seemed to impress her.
“Yes, I saw her. About as close as you are to me now.”
It was almost true. I’d been six at the time, and the whole city was abuzz with the excitement of the Queen’s visit. There were Union Jack streamers hung from all the lampposts, and the neighbors had put pictures of the Queen in their windows. (Mrs. Brockett had put up five.) My mother had been too preoccupied with installing a new water heater to pay much attention to anything beyond our front door, and I’d begged my father to take me to see the parade. But my entreaties were useless and seemed only to increase his fury at the event. The way he slammed about the house, kicking chairs and clattering crockery, anyone would have thought the whole thing had been planned not as