Mike looked at him.
‘Well? Have you?’
‘No. Never,’ he whispered.
‘Then why in heaven’s name did you decide to start now? If you needed a jumper why didn’t you say? Your nan and I would’ve bought you one.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Sorry!’ Gramps spluttered over the word. ‘Sorry and a pound might get me half a cup of coffee – but not much else.’
Mike looked away. Gramps was right. Sorry was a useless word. Inadequate and pathetic. Mike had spent the last year saying sorry. Sorry to Mum. Sorry to Mum. Sorry to Mum. And she was still in prison. Sorry didn’t change anything.
43
Gemma
Make It Right
Gemma stood outside Mike’s front door, trying to find the courage to ring the doorbell. She’d been standing there for the last half-hour and she still hadn’t summoned up the nerve to do it.
Come on. Get on with it, she told herself sternly.
It was dark now and cold. Gemma looked up at the clear, dark sky. There seemed to be only one star out there. No, tell a lie . . . The longer she looked, the more stars she could see. Until the sky was almost more silver than evening blue. Millions of stars, shining for millions of years.
Taking a deep breath, Gemma pressed on the doorbell before she could change her mind. A light appeared in the hall. Gemma swallowed hard. It would be so easy to turn around and run all the way home, but she couldn’t.
The door opened. A wave of warmth rushed out to meet her. An elderly woman stood at the door. She wore a blue skirt and a frilly white blouse and she had a face which looked like it smiled easily. But not at the moment. She frowned when she saw Gemma.
‘Hello. Is . . . is Mike in?’
‘He’s getting ready to go to bed.’ The woman looked at Gemma curiously.
‘You must be Mike’s grandmother. I’m Gemma. I’m Mike’s . . . I’m in Mike’s class.’ Gemma took another deep breath. ‘Can I see him please?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Mike’s grandmother shook her head. ‘You can see him tomorrow in school.’
‘Oh, please. It’s really important.’
‘No. We’ve all had a . . .’
‘It won’t take long, I promise. Please?’
Mike’s nan studied her. Long moments passed. ‘Come in then,’ she said at last.
Gemma stepped slowly into the house. The front door shutting behind her made her jump.
‘Mike? Mike, there’s someone here to see you,’ Mike’s nan called up the stairs.
Moments later Mike’s head appeared over the upstairs banister. His expression clouded over the moment he laid eyes on Gemma. ‘What are you doing here? What d’you want?’
‘Mike!’ his nan admonished.
‘Can I talk to you . . . please?’ Gemma asked. She didn’t even try to keep the desperation out of her voice. He had to talk to her, he just had to.
‘No. I’ve got nothing to say to you. And if you’ve come to gloat you can at least do it from outside my own house.’
‘I didn’t come to gloat.’
‘D’you know something about that business earlier?’ Mike’s nan asked. Her eyes narrowed as she regarded Gemma. ‘Who did you say you were again?’
‘Gemma. Gemma Elliott.’ Gemma could feel her face getting redder.
‘Are you Mike’s girlfriend then?’ said Mike’s nan.
Gemma had never been so embarrassed. ‘No! No. No,’ she replied quickly. ‘I . . . no.’
‘Do you know what happened earlier?’ the elderly woman asked again.
Mike came charging downstairs, oblivious to the fact that he was in his pyjamas. ‘Nan, it’s OK. I’ll talk to her. You can go back into the sitting room now.’
‘I . . .’ Whatever else his nan was, she wasn’t stupid. It was obvious that Mike wanted to talk to Gemma alone.
Gemma forced herself to stand her ground. Mike looked like he wanted to pick her up bodily and toss her out the door.
‘Would you like a drink whilst you’re here?’ Mike’s nan asked.
‘No, thank you.’ Gemma shook her head. Her gaze returned to Mike who waited until his grandmother had gone back into the sitting room before he spoke.
‘Happy now? Have you got what you wanted?’ Mike whispered bitterly.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘I was taken to the police station.’
‘I . . . I never meant . . .’
‘I don’t want to hear it. I want you to leave. Just go. And don’t come back.’
‘Mike, please. I came here to say . . . to say I’m sorry. I . . . I wasn’t thinking straight.’
‘Oh yes you were!’ Mike shot back. ‘You wanted the jumper or you wanted me to get into trouble, you didn’t particularly mind which.’
Gemma opened her mouth to argue but the words wouldn’t come – because he was right, and they both knew it.
‘Well, for your information the police cautioned me. I’m sure you’re sorry I didn’t get arrested and taken into custody immediately. That would have suited you, wouldn’t it?’
‘No, I . . . I’m glad they didn’t arrest you,’ Gemma told him.
But Mike hardly heard her. ‘Of course Gramps and Nan are bitterly disappointed in me. They’ll probably never trust me out of their sight again. Gramps has spent the last two hours telling me how he’s never been so ashamed, and Nan . . . and Nan . . .’ Mike’s voice choked up. Gemma saw him swallow hard. ‘Nan was crying.’
‘Mike, I . . .’ Gemma’s hand was touching Mike’s arm before she knew what was happening.
Mike sprung back as if her hand had suddenly turned white-hot. ‘Get out. Go on. Get lost!’
Gemma’s hand dropped to her side. She wanted to say so many things but no words would come.
She didn’t get the chance to say anything else. Mike turned around and went back upstairs. Gemma watched him until he was out of sight, then she let herself out of the house. It was going to be a long walk home.
44
Mike
Everyone Knows
Mike opened the door. Immediately, the whole classroom went quiet. Every eye was upon him.
Everyone knows, Mike realised, anguished.
What should he do? Bending his head so that all he could see was the floor, Mike walked to his desk. He sat down. Kane moved his bag away from Mike to the other side of the table.
Silence.
‘Is it true you were caught stealing from Material Girl?’ Kane asked. His voice rang out in the stillness like the peal of a bell.
Mike looked at Kane. He looked around the room. They were all waiting for his answer.
‘I didn’t,’ Mike denied.
How had they all found out? Gemma. She must’ve carried out her threat to tell everyone. On top of everything else, she’d told on him. Mike turned glare at her. Gemma shook her head slowly. Mike turned to face the rest of the class.
‘What did the police do when they took you to the police station?’ Kane continued.
‘I’m not a thief,’ Mike repeated.
‘Yes you are. My mum owns Material Girl,’ Robyn called from across the room. ‘She told me all about it. I couldn’t believe it when she told me the name of the boy the police had taken away.’
‘I . . .’ Shocked, now at last Mike realised why the owner of Material Girl looked so familiar. And why Gemma had insisted he took the jumper from that shop in particular. It was Gemma’s way of getting back at Robyn for not receiving an invite to Robyn’s birthday party. And she’d used him to do her dirty work. She really did hate him – and everyone else in the class.
‘Mum said you’re not to come anywhere near me or her shop again,’ Robyn added coldly. ‘She’s going to come up the school and ask if I can be put into another class.’
‘I’m not a thief!’ Mike hissed. ‘Leave me alone.’
‘Gladly.’ Robyn turned away, but not before she made sure that her expression told Mike exactly what she thought of him.
Mike shouted at the others who were still watching him. ‘I’m not a thief.’
They didn’t believe him. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t. If it hadn’t been for Gemma, he would never have taken the jumper. The thought would never have entered his head. Inside, in his heart, he wasn’t a thief. In his heart he was . . . something much worse.
Mr Butterworth breezed into the room. ‘Sorry I’m late, everyone. OK, English books open. We’re going to study chapter twelve today.’
Mike dug into his bag to get out his workbook. When he looked up, Kane was watching him.
‘I never figured you for a thief,’ Kane said in a matter-of-fact voice.
‘Don’t tell me. Let me guess. You don’t want to be friends any more.’
‘We can still be friends.’ Kane shrugged.
But not the same kind of friends as we were before, Mike realised.
What was he going to do now? Up in Darlington, once his mum had been arrested he’d been treated like a leper until the only choice left open to him was to get harder than those around him. It’d been his only way to survive. He’d thought that moving down here to live with Gramps and Nan would make things different. He wouldn’t have to pretend to be someone he wasn’t any more. He could be himself. But that hadn’t worked either.
A spiral of faces swam around him. Gramps’s embarrassment. Nan’s disappointment. Robyn’s scorn. Kane’s distrust. How was he supposed to live like this? And he couldn’t move on and start again – he had nowhere else to go.
45
Gemma
All Right
Gemma stood a few metres behind Mike, watching as he sat alone on her favourite bench in the school grounds. She walked over to him.
‘Mike, are you all right?’ she asked.
Gemma waited. Nothing. Moving around the bench to stand directly in front of him, she repeated the question. Still nothing. Gemma wasn’t even sure if Mike was aware that she was standing there. And the expression on his face scared her. Because his face was like a mask. It held defeat and nothing else. She recognised that look from seeing it in her own reflection countless times.
‘Mike?’
Mike stood up and walked away from her. After a moment’s hesitation, Gemma ran to catch up with him. They walked in silence until Gemma realised that Mike was heading for the school gates. It was only lunchtime and he was leaving the school. He would get into awful trouble. He might even get suspended. Gemma would’ve laughed at her thoughts if they’d been funny. Mike couldn’t be in any more trouble. She’d seen to that.
‘Mike, where are you going?’
Mike turned to look at her. No, that wasn’t true. He turned in her direction but his eyes looked straight through her.
‘Nowhere. I’m just going for a walk. Go away.’
‘You can’t leave school now. Mike, listen.’
‘I said, go away!’ Without warning, Mike shouted at Gemma, making her jump. She took a step back but then held her ground. He wasn’t going to get rid of her that easily. But Mike looked straight ahead, ignoring her again. He opened the school gates and stepped out into the street. Gemma looked around desperately but there was no one in sight. No one that she knew. No one she could call on to help her. She had no choice but to follow. She tried to pull Mike back but he shrugged out of her grasp without even looking at her.
‘Stop following me,’ Mike told her once they’d reached the bottom of the road.
Gemma didn’t reply, but no way was she going to let Mike out of her sight. The look on his face frightened her. All the more so because she knew she’d put it there.
They walked for several minutes in silence. Mike strode along as if he was in training for the Olympics. Gemma was beginning to get a stitch but no way was she going to stop now. She concentrated on breathing regularly to get rid of her stitch and keeping up with Mike. Those were the only two things she had on her mind.
‘I said, stop following me!’ Mike stopped to glare at her with loathing.
Gemma shook her head.
Mike turned and carried on walking. Did he know where he was going? Gemma didn’t think so. She didn’t think he even cared. He was just trying to get away. And if she hadn’t been with him, he would still be trying to get away. Gemma wondered what she should do. If only he would stop long enough for her to marshal her thoughts.
It was when Mike turned down the canal road that Gemma felt the first grip of fiery panic. Why was he going this way? There was nothing around here but old bits of junk, discarded shopping trolleys and other unsavoury items that no one wanted to take a closer look at, tipped into the canal. The canal ran frothily shallow and nasty in some places – murky, deep and dark in others. A footbridge at least a storey high over the deep water was the only bridge for about three-quarters of a kilometre. And even the footbridge was disgusting. Filthy and covered in graffiti, it was an eyesore to say the least. Gemma hadn’t been to this part of the canal in close to a year and it hadn’t changed. If anything it had got worse. So why was Mike here? His grandparents didn’t live in this part of town.
Mike walked on to the bridge over the canal but stopped halfway across. Gemma stood at his side, watching as Mike looked down into the murky brown-grey water metres below them. Panic had now been overtaken by choking fear. Why had he stopped? She hadn’t wanted him to walk on to the footbridge but now that they were here, Gemma longed for him to keep on moving.
They stood in silence for what seemed like for ever. Gemma because she could think of nothing to say, and Mike because as far as he was concerned, Gemma wasn’t even there. He was alone in his utter misery. He was nowhere. Gemma could read every line and curve on Mike’s face. It was like looking into the window of Material Girl all over again.
‘It’s meant to be quite deep here,’ Mike said softly. He wasn’t talking to her, he was talking to himself.
He wasn’t going to do anything stupid, was he? Please don’t let him do anything stupid.
‘It might not be that deep. It’s too dirty for anyone to really tell.’ Gemma’s words fell out in a breathless rush.
‘So it’s drown or break your neck . . .’ Mike had a strange, faraway smile on his face. A smile that froze Gemma’s blood in her veins.
Please don’t let him do anything stupid . . .
Could she stop him if he decided to do something . . . rash? Gemma didn’t think so. And worse than feeling so ineffectual, was the knowledge that he was here because of her. If anything did happen to him, how would she ever live with that fact? She couldn’t. She wouldn’t be able to.
‘Mike, let’s go back to school – OK?’
‘I’m never going back there.’ There was a finality about his words that chilled Gemma to the bone.
‘Mike, listen. I’m sorry. Let me tell everyone the truth. It wasn’t your fault. Once I tell everyone that, I’m sure they’ll understand.’
‘Just like you understood?’
Gemma wasn’t sure what to say. ‘Mike, let’s go back to school. We’ll go to Mr Butterworth and I’ll tell him the truth – I promise.’
‘I haven’t got any more money.’
‘I don’t want your money!’ Gemma shouted at him. ‘Shut up about money.’
‘Then what do you want from me? I haven’t got anything else.’
‘I . . .’
‘It doesn’t matter. Go away, Gemma. I need to be alone.’
Gemma’s heart stopped beating. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘Just what I said. You’ll have to find someone else to torment.’ Mike laughed bitterly. ‘That’s my one consolation at least. You won’t be able to touch me.’ Mike pulled his bag off his shoulder and dumped it on the bridge.
Gemma grabbed his arm. ‘Mike, please. Let’s just go back to school.’
‘So you can tell Mr Butterworth the truth?’
‘Yes. I will, I promise.’
Mike’s eyes burned into her. ‘Well, you’ll have to have your fun without me. Go and tell him the truth on your
own.’
Mike pushed himself up with his hands to sit down on the waist-high wall that formed the barrier on either side of the bridge. He sat with his back to the canal, his legs dangling down over his school bag.
‘I just need to be alone,’ he whispered to himself.
Gemma glanced down into the canal water, but she couldn’t bear to look at it and turned away. Could Mike swim? The answer came to her as plain as day.
Not if he didn’t want to.
Gemma could only swim about three strokes before she was in trouble. And there was still no one around. Mike closed his eyes, his head tilted back. Gemma watched as he took one deep breath, then another and another. His fingers stretched and relaxed as he moved his fingertips over the rough wall. Then his hands were still. Somewhere in the distance came the rough cry of a crow. Mike turned his head towards it. But only for a moment. He swallowed hard, then swallowed again. It was as if he was allowing each of his senses to focus just one last time. He leaned forward slightly, then leaned back. His body seemed suddenly boneless, swaying in the slight breeze as if it had no will of its own.
All he had to do was lean backwards a little bit more . . . All he had to do was push back with his hands . . . Gemma tried to force the image out of her head. She told herself she was being stupid, she had too much imagination. Mike wasn’t going to do anything like the horrific pictures she had in her head. But her hand reached out for him and her stomach lurched sickeningly. She didn’t touch him, she didn’t dare. That might send him over the edge just as much as one wrong word.
‘Mike, what’re you going to do?’ Gemma looked around but there was no one near. There was nothing. Just a warm summer’s day and a feeling of desperation and a deep, murky canal. She watched nervously as Mike stopped swaying. He looked straight at her.
‘Why are you still here?’
Gemma couldn’t answer.
‘Turn around and run away – you’re good at that. You don’t even have to tell anyone that you saw me.’
And still Gemma couldn’t speak.
‘Go on. Go back to school. Tell Mr Butterworth the truth about me.’ Mike’s voice was a monotone. ‘Tell him it wasn’t Mum who killed my dad. It was me. Go and tell him.’