9
Gemma
Found
It was in the fourth to last scrapbook. Gemma was beginning to think she’d made a mistake and that she’d never find it, when suddenly, on the last page, there it was. Just as she remembered. Mike and his mum being pulled apart with a huge headline below them which screamed, WIFE OF COMA VICTIM FOUND.
A flash of irritation lanced through Gemma at the lack of details. She’d cut out the headline and the photo as usual and now, for the first time, she found herself desperate to know more about the woman in the picture. Gemma didn’t even know her name. She racked her brains to remember more of the story. Snippets flitted tantalisingly before her. Coma victim . . . She remembered something about a house, and a man found in a coma by a neighbour, and a murder trial but that was all. Gemma studied the article closely. Just above the headline she’d caught ‘14th Ju’, but that was all. What was ‘Ju’? June or July? Either way it was months ago, almost a year.
Gemma knew which newspaper the headline came from. She recognised its tabloid ‘look’ so that was no problem. It was definitely from the Daily Chronicle, so her first stop after school the next day would be the library. But did they hold newspapers going so far back? Gemma really hoped so.
She turned her attention from Mike’s mum to Mike himself. She couldn’t resist a secret smile. He’d been laughing at her earlier. Laughing with all his new friends. Well, he certainly wasn’t laughing in this picture. Gemma wondered what Kane and the others would say if they saw his picture in her scrapbook. She wondered what Mike would say. He wouldn’t be quite so arrogant, that was for sure.
Gemma looked back at Mike’s mum. What was she like? What had happened to the man in the coma? Who was he? Gemma wanted to find out about Mike and his mum and all about the events which had led to that picture being taken.
By this time tomorrow, she would.
10
Mike
Smiles
‘What is it with you and Gemma?’ Kane asked.
Mike frowned. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘She’s been smiling and nodding in your direction all day.’
So Mike hadn’t been imagining it. He wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or even more worried now. It seemed like every time he looked up, she was there with a secret smile on her face. And over the course of the day, it’d got worse. Mike had tried to smile back at first, but Gemma’s smile had never wavered, never faltered, never changed. Slowly Mike had realised that Gemma wasn’t trying to share a smile with him, she was simply enjoying her own private joke. It was like having someone laugh at you, except that Gemma’s smile was far more unsettling, far more sinister. A cat eyeing up a trapped mouse – that was exactly what she reminded him of. She hadn’t said a word all day. Not to him or anyone else as far as Mike could tell, and apparently this was a common occurrence. Maybe she was seriously nuts!
It was strange the way she didn’t go around with anyone or speak to anyone. She seemed to do her best to fade into the paintwork – except where he was concerned. Maybe his first impressions had been right. Maybe she did know who he was. Maybe . . . Maybe . . . Maybe. All these maybes were driving him crazy.
Let it go, he told himself fiercely. He had nothing to be ashamed of. So what if she did know? He didn’t care. So what if his heart felt heavy and its thud was almost painful? So what if the queasy, uneasy feeling which had been turning his stomach over all day was growing progressively worse? Mike closed his eyes. Who was he trying to kid? Despite what he told himself, he did care if she knew. He cared very much. And if she did know, what would she do? Wondering about that was the worst thing of all.
11
Gemma
The Library
Gemma sat down in front of the microfiche machine and burst out laughing. At the strange look from the woman next to her, Gemma clamped her lips together, forcing her laugh into an unconvincing cough. She couldn’t help it! Every time she thought of Mike, she creased up laughing.
All day, she’d deliberately wound him up by smiling at him. Nothing else. She’d just smiled and watched as he grew more and more uncomfortable. Gemma would never have thought that a smile could be so disconcerting if she hadn’t read an article about it in one of her newspapers recently. A psychiatric nurse was being interviewed and she’d said that the patients you never turned your back on were the ones who smiled a lot. Not the ones with happy ‘Hello! How are you?’ smiles, but the ones whose smiles said, ‘I know something you don’t . . .’ The ones whose smiles said, ‘Watch out!’ Not that Gemma was mad! Of course not! But her smile had meant that try as he might, Mike hadn’t been able to ignore her. At last she’d found someone who couldn’t force her to wear her cloak of invisibility.
Pushing Mike’s image out of her head, Gemma began to concentrate on the task at hand. She studied the Daily Chronicle microfiche backwards, forwards and sideways. There was no story about Mike and his mum on the fourteenth of June. She removed that microfiche and replaced it with the one for the fourteenth of July last year. Page one. Nope. Page two. Nothing. Page three. Nope. Page four. Still nope. Page five.
‘Eureka!’ Gemma’s smile was so broad her facial muscles were beginning to ache. Toning down the unusual outward display of her feelings, she started to read.
Marsha Woods, 44, was arrested last night on a charge of grievous bodily harm. A police spokeswoman told the Daily Chronicle, ‘Acting on an anonymous tip-off we apprehended Mrs Woods, who was using her maiden name of Clancy at the time, outside the Saddlers Arms Hotel in Darlington. She had fled from her house with her son, Michael.’ Mr Richard Woods, her husband, was found in a coma by a neighbour five nights ago. Marsha Woods is now helping police with their enquiries. It is understood that her son, Michael, is currently staying with friends.
Grievous bodily harm? What had she done? Obviously her husband couldn’t have had a heart attack or a stroke if she’d been arrested for GBH. Gemma wondered how much Mike had known about what was going on. Had he known what his mum had done before they’d both gone on the run? Maybe he’d even witnessed it. Mike said he lived with his grandparents. So where was his mum now? Gemma looked at the newspaper picture, at Mike’s mum, anguish and fear in every line and curve of her face. Then she thought of Mike, laughing and joking with his friends. His mum deserved someone better than Mike as a child, she really did. Gemma would’ve been a better child than him. This was so unfair. How come Mike got a mum who obviously cared a great deal about him, whilst Gemma . . . Gemma had no one. She had to find out what had happened to Mrs Woods. Everything else in the world had paled into insignificance in comparison.
‘I’ll find you, Mrs Woods,’ Gemma said quietly.
And she was going to go through every single issue of the Daily Chronicle right up to the present date until she did.
12
Mike
Two Words
‘Hi, Mike.’
Mike’s heart sank. He looked straight ahead at the shoulders of the person before him in the queue. He wasn’t going to turn around. Maybe he could pretend he hadn’t heard her. He certainly wasn’t going to lose his place in the queue. He’d been standing waiting for his lunch for ten minutes already. The queue was moving at an arthritic snail’s pace.
‘Hi, Mike.’ Now she was tapping on his shoulder. No escape then.
‘Oh, hello, Gemma.’ Mike glanced sideways at his friends who were already grinning. Why couldn’t this girl just leave him alone?
‘Can I talk to you?’ Gemma asked.
‘I’m listening.’
‘In private.’
Mike didn’t move. No way was he going anywhere with her. To tell the truth, she gave him the creeps.
‘It’s about your mother . . .’
Mike stared. His blood turned to ice crystals in his body, in a fast blast from his head down.
‘My . . . what about my mum?’ Was that really his voice, so breathless, so scared?
Don’t panic. He mustn’t pani
c. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know.
‘I wanted to talk to you about her,’ Gemma persisted.
‘There’s nothing to talk about.’ Eyes. Eyes all around him. Watching. And everyone around was listening. Why didn’t they go away? Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone. ‘My mum’s dead.’
The words were out before Mike knew what was happening. And with those words, his body completely froze. He was aware without having to look that he’d wiped the smiles off his friends’ faces. They were no longer sniggering and grinning. Embarrassed sympathy had taken over. But it wasn’t their reactions which concerned him at that precise moment. It was Gemma’s. A strange stillness had come over her. Her eyes narrowed slowly as if she was looking at something she had just stepped in. She moved forward, her head inclined to one side. Mike instinctively stepped back. Gemma took hold of his arm to stop him moving again. She leaned forward, her lips so close to his ear he could feel her warm, moist breath on his skin. She whispered something to him. Two words.
‘Marsha Clancy.’
Just two words. But they were enough to fracture the ice inside and around him and set his whole body on fire.
Gemma turned and walked away. Mike watched her go. All he could think about was that she knew.
She knew.
13
Gemma
Liar
Liar! How dare he lie about his mum like that? How dare he? It had taken Gemma three days of going back to the library each evening and scouring the Daily Chronicle microfiches and other newspapers to find out about Mike’s mum. And he was a liar. How could he look her straight in the eyes, open his mouth and lie like that? He was despicable.
And to think she’d wanted to say how very sorry she was about what had happened to his mum. She’d done her best to bury her envy at his ability to make friends, and tried to tell him that she understood about his mum, that she sympathised. She knew what it was like not to have a mum. She knew what it did to you. But to deny he had one . . . To tell everyone that his mum was dead . . .
By the time Gemma sat down on her favourite bench in the school grounds, she was shaking. She looked around. There was a game of rounders going on and others were sitting around in groups reading or playing games. Gemma seemed to be the only one who was by herself. Invisible again. She should be used to it by now, but she wasn’t. She had been invisible for as long as she could remember. In fact, she couldn’t remember being any other way.
That was why, when it got too much to bear, she’d play a secret game and pretend she was wearing a cloak of invisibility. But the truth was, it wasn’t a cloak she really wanted to wear, but one that others had forced upon her. And she hated it.
Gemma bent her head. Who was she trying to kid with her secret thoughts of invisibility? She was about as invisible as the bench she was sitting on. And she commanded about as much attention. It wasn’t that she was hated – even that would’ve been better than nothing. But all she got was indifference. At home, at school – the place didn’t matter. She was treated the same way wherever she was, wherever she went.
That’s why she just couldn’t understand Mike.
He had a mum. Why would he want to become like her? He already had the kind of popularity that Gemma could only dream of. What made him want to turn his back on all that? Gemma knew only too well the moment she had started to disappear. It had been when her mum had died years before. And by saying what he had, Mike had declared out loud that he wanted to be just like her. Why? Why?
14
Mike
Find Her
He had to find her. Where had she gone? Mike ran down the school corridor, looking in classroom after classroom. With each step he grew more and more desperate. Apart from the girls’ toilets – and he certainly wasn’t going in there – there was only one place he hadn’t tried. Outside. She had to be outside. What would he do if she wasn’t?
You mustn’t panic, he told himself sternly. Just find her first, then you can sort out everything else.
Mike ran out of the school building and followed the path around to the grounds. He saw her almost at once, sitting on her own. He stopped running, watching her from behind, waiting to get his breath back. Gemma’s shoulders were slumped, her head drooped, her whole body was closed in on itself as if she was trying to make it as small as she could.
Funny that she should be the one to know about his mum. How had she found out? Had she always known? No, Mike didn’t think so – but that was academic now. He had to decide what he was going to do. If only he hadn’t said that his mum was dead – and not just in front of her, but everyone. Mike still didn’t know why he’d said that. Maybe because saying his mum was dead was easier than telling the truth. A wave of self-disgust washed over him. That was what it was all about, wasn’t it? That was always what it was about – what was easiest for him.
As if she knew she was being watched, Gemma turned her head. They watched each other as countless moments ticked away. Mike tried for a tentative smile. It was not returned. Instead, the look Gemma cast him was one of pure disgust. As Mike started walking towards her, Gemma turned away. Mike’s steps slowed but didn’t stop. He walked around the bench to stand before her. She looked up at him, still not speaking. He wished she would say something, anything. After a moment’s hesitation, he sat down.
‘Hi,’ he began. ‘I’ve been looking for you.’
Gemma looked at him. ‘Why?’
‘I’d like to talk to you.’
‘I’m listening.’ Gemma turned to stare straight ahead.
‘You said . . . Marsha Clancy, before. Just now. In the canteen.’ Mike knew he was rambling but he couldn’t help it. All at once he was sorry he’d found her. Maybe he should’ve left well enough alone.
‘So?’
‘Why did you say that name?’ Mike asked.
‘That’s your mum, isn’t it?’ Gemma was looking straight at him now, her expression fierce.
‘Yes, she’s my mum.’ Mike’s voice came out in a whisper.
‘Why did you say she was dead?’
Mike hung his head. ‘I don’t know. It came out before I knew what was happening.’
‘It was a wicked thing to say.’ Gemma’s voice was soft as petals and hard as steel. ‘Your mum’s not dead. She’s in prison.’
And in that moment, the whole world came crashing down around Mike’s head. He could hear the sky falling to be followed by a silence like nothing he’d ever known before. He felt sick, like he was actually going to vomit. His mouth kept filling with saliva. He swallowed and swallowed, willing himself not to throw up. He didn’t say a word because he couldn’t. Gemma didn’t speak either. They sat in a bubble of silence. Until Gemma had said those words – ‘she’s in prison’ – there was always hope, the slim chance that she might somehow know his mum’s name but not much else. Now that hope had vanished.
‘So what’re you going to do?’ Mike asked at last.
Gemma looked surprised at the question. ‘Me? I’m not going to do anything. What d’you want me to do?’
Mike didn’t reply.
‘Did your mum really . . . really do what the papers said?’ Gemma asked.
‘She . . . It was an accident,’ Mike whispered.
‘What happened?’
Mike shrugged. ‘Dad liked to . . . play games. Mum and I learnt to be terrified of him and that’s the way he liked it. Then one day he went too far and . . .’ Mike paused as he waited for his voice to start working again. ‘D-Dad fell and hit his head. He was in a coma for ages but then he died and Mum was charged with manslaughter.’ The words came out faster and faster, like a dam which had burst its barrier. ‘She was trying to protect me. Mum’s always trying to protect me.’
‘Are you ashamed of her?’
‘No, of course not.’ The angry denial came out at once. ‘My mum . . . my mum’s the best mum in the world.’
‘You’re the one who said she was dead, not me,’ Gemma reminded him.
> Mike hung his head. No matter how he tried, he just couldn’t come up with a way of arguing for what he’d done. Even now he was appalled at the words that had spilt out of his mouth. He wasn’t ashamed of his mum. He was ashamed of himself.
‘Have you seen your mum since she went to prison?’
‘No.’
‘But that was over three months ago.’
‘I see you’ve done your homework.’ Snatches of contempt fell out alongside Mike’s words.
‘It wasn’t that difficult.’ Gemma shrugged.
‘Why the interest?’ Mike tried to keep his voice even this time.
‘I remembered a picture of your mum – and you,’ Gemma said. ‘Your mum looked . . . nice, so I remembered her.’
Mike frowned. As far as he was aware, the only picture the papers had of his mum and him together was the one taken outside the Saddler’s Arms where his mum had been arrested. But that photo was taken months and months ago. Had Gemma recognised him from that photograph? He’d grown a little, lost a lot of weight and he now wore glasses for schoolwork. All those changes and she’d still recognised him? Mike turned to look at Gemma. She was so . . . strange. Try as he might, he just couldn’t figure her out.
‘Didn’t your friends think it strange that you should come charging after me?’ asked Gemma.
‘I didn’t . . .’
Gemma looked at him and the denial died on Mike’s lips. No more lies. Instead he shrugged.
‘You should’ve finished your lunch first at least.’ Gemma smiled drily.
Mike shrugged again.
Silence.
‘So how come you didn’t have any lunch?’ Mike continued.
‘I spent all my money this morning,’ Gemma replied.
Mike remembered all the newspapers bulging out of her bag, the tabloids and broadsheets. Was that where her lunch money had gone?