Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,36
Comprehensive, which stood in the village of Liston six miles from Midham, the teachers she liked (her French teacher and her science teacher, who was leaving) and those she didn’t like (everybody else). She told me about her friends—all three of whom were called Deborah, and whom Tracey never seemed to talk about as individuals but simply referred to collectively as “the Debbies.” The Debbies, whom I’d visualized as identical triplets with matching outfits and black hair worn in ribboned plaits, all lived in Liston. Tracey told me she didn’t see much of them during the summer holidays. “So it’s great you moved here,” she added. “I won’t be as bored now.”
She’d gone on to talk at length about some of the boys she knew at school—a jumble of Petes, Mikes, Tonys, and Andys, who were alternately “gorgeous,” “dishy,” or “drop-dead bloody gorgeous.” When she asked me if I’d had a boyfriend in Hull, I thought for a moment of making one up, but somehow I couldn’t work up the enthusiasm for this particular lie.
Later, before we’d left the churchyard, Tracey wanted to take me inside the church. But when she tried the big wooden door it was locked. “Must be after the vandalism,” she said, explaining to me that the previous month someone had spray-painted “Black Sabbath Rules!” across the stained-glass window above the church altar. The vicar had discovered the graffiti, concluded that this was the work of devil worshippers, and, so the village gossip went, discussed the possibility of conducting an exorcism with the verger. Fortunately, before he could go to these lengths, someone had informed him that Black Sabbath was, in fact, a heavy-metal group, and though spray-painting his priceless stained-glass window was indeed a crime, it wasn’t quite the desecration he’d imagined. Still, after that he’d embarked upon a virtual inquisition, demanding to speak with every Black Sabbath fan within a ten-mile radius of the church. So far, no one had squealed, although attendance at the monthly Heavy Metal discos in a neighboring village hall had noticeably declined.
“Of course, if he’d asked me I could have told him who did it,” Tracey said, adding, “Not that I would have, mind you.”
“Who?”
“Oh, I can’t say,” she said, shaking her head solemnly. “It’s a secret, and I wouldn’t want to get him into trouble. All I can say is he’s drop-dead bloody gorgeous.” I sat impassively as Tracey let out a high little giggle, wondering if I would ever meet a boy who made me squirm and blush like that.
“Where does she live, then, this Tracey?” my mother asked, pulling her chair closer to the kitchen table.
“On the Primrose Estate,” I answered, tearing open a plastic bag of potatoes I’d found at the bottom of one of the cupboards. I watched as they tumbled into the sink. With those and the half-dozen eggs left in the fridge, I would make egg-and-chips for tea, one of my father’s favorite meals. “It’s nice there,” I continued, turning on the tap. “The houses are really new, and they have little gardens and flowers.”
“Hah!” my mother barked. “Well, in that case they’re not living in a bloody dump like this. I can tell you now, Jesse, this house is really getting me down.”
Of course, I shared her sentiments, but I couldn’t say that when I needed to buoy her spirits, to make sure she didn’t sink even further. “Dad’s going to fix it up. He told me this morning that he’s going to make a start right away.” I picked up one of the potatoes. It was muddy and full of eyes, and I remembered that I still hadn’t managed to unearth the potato peeler from among all the boxes.
“That’s a laugh, that is. Couldn’t fight his way out of a wet paper bag, your father. It was always me that did the decorating in our old place. Put hundreds on the value of that house, what with all that work. You remember what a lovely job you and me did of the upstairs? Looked great, didn’t it? Those lilies in my bedroom. And you loved that Rupert the Bear wallpaper, you remember?” She began singing the theme song from the television cartoon, gently swaying her head in time with the childish melody. “Rupert, Rupert the Bear, everyone knows his name. Rupert, Rupert the Bear, everyone come and join in all of his games.”
“Mum.” I was cringing. “That was years ago.”
“Yes, but you loved that program, you really did. And the