Another Life Altogether: A Novel - By Elaine Beale Page 0,68

said, in a voice clearly meant to imitate that of an elderly teacher, “this does not mean that you should act like apes. So, I’d appreciate it if you’d cease swinging from the coat hooks in the cloakroom.”

I laughed. “Sounds like the headmaster here is a lot like the one at my old school.”

“They make them all out of the same mold,” Malcolm said. “Doddery and boring. If that old fart tells one more story about how he served his king and country in the war and we should think of Liston Comprehensive as our country and bad reports as the enemy we have to conquer, I think I’ll shoot myself.” He put two fingers to his temple and mimed pulling a trigger.

I laughed again.

“So, what class are you in?” he asked.

“2D.”

“Oh, with Taffy Davis. He’s all right, is Taffy. I’m in 2J with Jefferson. He’s a little fascist. But maybe you and me will have some lessons together. I hope so. And listen, you’re still invited to come to the library with me if you want.”

“Oh, yes, I—” I was just about to tell Malcolm how I could definitely come next time his father planned a visit to Bleakwick when I noticed Tracey stalking down the corridor toward us, a deep scowl on her face.

“Bloody hell, Jesse, first you disappear and then I find you talking to the biggest bloody poofter in all Yorkshire.”

“I just—”

“Stop hanging about in the corridor, nancy boy,” she said, ignoring me and turning to Malcolm.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Tracey Grasby,” Malcolm said, a bright flush flooding his face. “Who died and made you queen, anyway?”

“There’s only one queen round here, and it’s not me,” Tracey said, her face twisted in disdain. “What are you doing here, anyway? Hanging about in a dark corner so you can wank off while you think about little boys?”

“God, you are so ridiculous,” Malcolm said, trying to dismiss Tracey with a haughty look. But I could see how those words stung him. Poofter. Nancy boy. Queen. Suddenly, I realized that this was how a boy like Malcolm was summed up. There had been a few other boys like him at my last school, boys whose movements were sweeping and fluid, whose voices weren’t big and booming, whose expressions were more animated than boys’ were supposed to be. They were the boys who stood on the sidelines when the others played football or rugby, whom everyone laughed at when they ran or threw a ball. Those boys were teased far more relentlessly than I ever had been. They were not just mocked; they were hated. And no one, not even the teachers, ever stood up for them.

“Malcolm lives on the edge of a cliff,” I said, hoping somehow to ease Tracey out of her animosity. “In a caravan. The council said they’re going to have to move it or it’ll fall off.”

“Bloody hell,” Tracey said, laughing. “Is that true, nancy boy? Hey, with a bit of luck maybe you’ll be in it when it goes over the edge.”

“Hah, hah, very funny.” Malcolm’s voice was flat, his face now a blazing beetroot red.

“It is as far as I’m concerned. Right, Jesse?”

She peered at me, belligerent, expectant. Malcolm stared at me, a question folded into his face. I bit my lip.

“Hey, what’s that you’re reading?” Tracey made a grab for the book nestled under Malcolm’s arm. Malcolm tried to turn away, but he was too slow and she wrenched it from his grip. “Crime and Punishment?” She began flipping through the pages. “A book about poofs and homos, is it? Now, that’s a crime that needs to be punished.”

“Give it back,” Malcolm demanded, his voice high and thin, his arms scrabbling at the air. I watched while delight bloomed across Tracey’s features and Malcolm’s twisted in distress. “Give it back, you bloody cow,” Malcolm said again.

“Right, that’s it,” Tracey said. “I’ll teach you to call me a cow.” And with that she turned and ran down the corridor to a window and began wrestling it open. Malcolm stumbled after her, slack-limbed and uncoordinated. He did run like those boys that everyone laughed at, and in my mind I could hear the taunts: “poofter,” “nancy boy,” “the homo runs just like a girl.”

Before Malcolm caught her, Tracey managed to open the window and hurl the book outside. I watched it glide in a single sweeping arc, its pages fluttering like flimsy futile wings as it curved upward, then plunged onto the