I Can't See You

“How’s GCHQ?” he asked Oliver the next day. From the wary way that Oliver glanced up at him he knew that he was on to something. He guessed what the answer would be even before Oliver muttered:

  “He’s not there any more. They’ve moved him somewhere else. But it’s secret. He’s not allowed to tell us.”

  “He’s okay, though, is he?” said Reece. He was just being thoughtful and supportive, like his Dad had said.

  “What do you care?”

  “Hey,” said Joel. “Who? We can’t see him, remember? He’s not there.”

  “Oh, give it a rest,” said Oliver, and he walked away. Reece didn’t know who he was talking to.

  In one way, it didn’t matter any more. Because Ben – the fourth boy at the table – came back to school that morning, minus his appendix, and Reece finally got moved to another table where he sat with Adam, Seth and Cody. Cody was a pain and Seth was a bit weird, but Adam wasn’t bad.

  And because Ben, pale and good-natured, didn’t understand the whole business of Not Seeing Reece, it got dropped over the next day or two.

  But Reece was still watching Oliver.

  It was a habit that he couldn’t stop. He was interested: he wanted to know what Oliver was thinking.

  He saw that Oliver liked Ben the best of all his friends, and although that shouldn’t have surprised him, it did make him feel a little clenched inside. He wished that Oliver could have liked him, Reece, better. It was too late now.

  No matter how he watched and listened, though, he could not learn Oliver’s secret. Nobody could. Not even Ben. When Ben asked, “So where’s your Dad now, Oli?” he got the same reply as Reece had: it was a secret.

  Reece could guess that secret. A hospital. A funny farm. A loony bin. Wherever it was, in Oliver’s eyes it was not good; that much was clear. He glanced again at Oliver.

  “Pay attention, Reece!” Miss Lewis snapped. “You’re dreaming. It’s no wonder you haven’t finished yet. Whereas Oliver’s maths has improved a good deal in the last few days. Well done, Oliver.”

  Oliver smiled faintly, pleased though baffled; and Reece had to stay in the classroom while the others went into dinner, in order to finish his maths.

  “I’ll wait for you,” said Adam.

  “No, it’s okay,” said Reece. He wanted Adam to go away.

  “I don’t mind waiting.”

  “I won’t be long.” He bent over his book until eventually Adam left.

  Once Reece was alone, it only took him two minutes to finish his sums. It took him another two to leaf through Oliver’s book, again, and pull a face at Oliver’s answers. Oliver had been copying off Ben today.

  Reece corrected most of the wrong answers before replacing the book. Then he went off to the cloakroom.

  There he paused, lunchbox in hand. Oliver’s rucksack dangled temptingly from its peg, half-open. There was nobody around.

  Reece did not give himself time to think properly about it. He just did it. He plunged his hand into Oliver’s rucksack, feeling for the mobile phone.

  After all, hadn’t Dad read his private work on the computer? This was nearly the same thing. And he needed to know.

  His fingers met Oliver’s mobile. He pulled it out, switched it on and checked for texts.

  Sure enough, there were two from Oliver’s dad. The first said:

  Will get there for yr open day promise give you a ring Thurs Dad X

  and the second said:

  Tell who you like. Im not ashamed of it.

  With no X.

  Reece checked the outbox. Nothing there. So Oliver hadn’t replied to his dad, or had deleted his replies.

  He switched the phone off and dropped it back into the rucksack. As he turned to leave the cloakroom, he caught sight of his face in the mirror.

  What made Oliver so determined not to see him?

  He studied himself in the mirror, not something he did often. It was not a kindly face that looked out at him: it was too sharp and speculative.

  But Reece was being kind. He was doing Oliver all these favours; he’d given him all those gifts. Like some benevolent classroom god, he was solving Oliver’s problems for him, invisibly.

  And for as long as Oliver kept ignoring him, he’d keep being an invisible god. He’d keep pulling Oliver’s strings.

  “Reece? Did you finish your maths?”

  He whirled away from the mirror. “Yes, Miss Lewis.”

  “I meant what I said this morning, Reece. You’re spending too much time dreaming. What are you doing in here?”

  “Um. I thought I had a nosebleed. But I haven’t.”

  She paused. “Is anything bothering you?”

  “No.” Only Oliver’s dad. His brain began to tick over. According to the texts, Oliver’s dad would be at the Open Day. I’m not ashamed. Ashamed of what? Of being a mental case?

  But Oliver was ashamed, that much was clear. He shouldn’t be, thought Reece. It wasn’t his dad’s fault, was it? Even if he was a loony, he was a soldier, with medals; he was a hero. Oliver should be aware of that.

  “Are you sure?”

  “What?” said Reece. “Oh, yes, thanks.”

  Miss Lewis sighed. “All right, then. Off you go to dinner.”

  Chapter Nine