The announcement seemed to hang in the air between them.
‘This is a little sudden.’
‘Not really, I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I’ll wait till after the Cambridge trial, of course.’
‘Have you told anyone?’
Lacey shook her head. How could she have done? She’d only made the decision ten seconds ago. ‘I just can’t do it any more,’ she said.
‘Can’t do what, exactly?’
‘I can’t look into people’s eyes and see the dark.’
15
‘BARNEY?’
The usual midday smells of congealing gravy and chemical sweeteners were seeping through the air-conditioning system when Mrs Green called Barney back. He stepped to one side and let the other children walk round him. ‘Push the door to,’ she told him, when the last curious face had disappeared.
Mrs Green was Barney’s form teacher. She’d joined the school just under a year ago when she and her husband had moved south to London. Mr Green worked at the school too. He was the games teacher and Barney’s favourite teacher ever. Not that Mrs Green was bad. She never lost her temper, but somehow always managed to keep control of the class. And she was tidy. The books on the shelves were always neat, arranged in alphabetical order, and she always cleaned the whiteboard completely after each lesson. As she walked towards him, she pushed chairs back under desks, neatening the rows.
‘You look tired,’ she said, when she’d reached him. ‘I thought you were going to drop off during science. Is everything OK?’
Barney nodded. ‘Everything’s fine,’ he said, because that’s what you always said, even if it wasn’t. He hadn’t checked Facebook that morning, but he’d felt it, hanging over him, since he’d got up. Sooner or later he’d have to log back on and see what was waiting for him. Whether Peter Sweep had left him another message.
Mrs Green was giving him an Oh, really? look. ‘So those shadows under your eyes are just purple paint to make me feel sorry for you and give you less homework?’
‘Well, less homework would be good,’ he said, keeping a perfectly straight face. ‘Because actually, my dad woke me up last night with the washing machine.’
At that his teacher blinked hard in surprise, then half frowned, half smiled. It was a nice sort of look. Friendly but puzzled. Mrs Green had pale-red hair that she’d worn long until a couple of months ago and then cut in a more complicated style that flicked around her shoulders and chin. Barney decided Mrs Green looked quite nice for an older woman; when his mum came back, he hoped she would look a lot like that.
Jesus, he had no idea what his mum looked like!
‘Barney, what’s the matter? Look, sit down for a second.’
Mrs Green had pushed him gently into a chair and was at the back of the classroom, running the tap. Her heels clicked on the floor as she came back and she left a trail of splashes behind her. She’d overfilled the glass.
Concentrate on something. Don’t cry in front of a teacher.
‘What time did you go to bed last night, Barney?’ she asked him, in a low voice that told him she knew she was being nosy.
‘Half nine,’ he lied.
Mum would have light-brown hair, wouldn’t she, like him? His dad’s hair was grey, but he’d seen photographs in which it had been darker. And his dad was tall. So was he. Did that mean Mum was too? Jesus, tall with light-brown hair, was that all he had?
‘Barney, Barney, you’re going to hurt your hands.’
He was doing it again, that thing with his fingers, tracing a square pattern on the desk. He watched his hands jabbing and darting as though they belonged to someone else and then Mrs Green did something very odd. She reached out and stroked her own hands over his. Very lightly, first the left then the right, then the right and then the left again. Just like his dad did when he was trying to soothe him. Funnily, it worked better when Mrs Green did it. Must be her softer hands.
Barney felt himself calming down. It was OK, there’d be a photo of his mum somewhere at home, he just had to find it; finding things was what he did, and what did it matter what she looked like? It didn’t matter what mothers looked like, you just loved them anyway.
‘Feeling better?’
Barney nodded. He was.
‘Early night tonight?’
He nodded again.
‘Off you go, sweetheart.’
Mrs Green stood and pushed her chair back. As Barney walked