Seeing Red Read online

I turn away again and she knows I’m hiding something. She’s not stupid, after all.

  ‘You haven’t been fighting, have you?’

  Her tone suggests that she can’t imagine I’m capable of fighting. I don’t know how I feel about that; I mean, it’s true to say that I’ve never been involved in a fight, but I’ve never considered myself to be soft. And the fact that I dress the way I do and haven’t been bullied would suggest that there isn’t a general perception that I’m feeble. At least, I think that’s how it works. Of course, there’s the question of last night and the business with Eddie, but like I said, I am in no mood to pursue that train of thought.

  ‘You’re not being bullied are you darling?’

  It’s like she’s reading my mind. In a way, I wish she was. Evidently she finds the thought of me fighting unlikely and she’s taken the next logical step and assumed that I must be a helpless victim or something. And what cuts like a cold blade is the fact that nothing in her tone suggests that she finds this unbelievable. So in her eyes there’s no chance I could be a fighter, but a feeble loser victim is something she can see in me.

  I’m not getting what I want here so I might as well get out, go to school. It’s sunny and it won’t hurt to hang out at the bus stop and take in some rays. I’m going to need my books and some shades – Fendi black wrap-arounds with this suit, I think – and they are back up in my room.

  ‘Tom, if you want to stay home from school and talk…’

  I hear her calling after me as I stomp up the stairs but I ignore her. I grab the briefcase with my books in it and slide on the shades. In moments I’m out on the landing again, heading for the stairs.

  ‘Tom… come in here a minute.’

  Madeleine’s door is ajar. I push it open and step inside. Madeleine is dressed – blue Versace skinny jeans and a white cotton Fiorucci top – and sits at her dressing table brushing her hair. She turns and looks at me. Just the briefest part of a second and just the briefest movement of her eyes and I know that she is giving me the once over.

  ‘Looking very very sharp, Tom. Too cool for school.’

  Right now I want to kiss her for that. I want to hold her and I want her to hold me and I want to kiss her. But of course, I don’t. I stand here, gently nodding my agreement, because I do look sharp.

  ‘Looking good yourself, sis.’

  Trust Madeleine to know exactly what I want and to give it to me. I just love her to bits. I think I might have said that before.

  CHAPTER 3

  Who’s that girl?

  There’s no one about at the bus stop. It’s too early for kids going to school and trust me, no one from this part of town travels to work by bus. Just look at the road. Already it’s like a Mercedes and BMW convention.

  No sign of the bus, so you’d think I’d sit down on the little wooden bench right there next to the bus stop. But look at it; peeling paint and the wood beginning to splinter. And I’m wearing a Loro Piana suit, remember? I set my briefcase down on the bench though, and open it. I reach in and take a slim, worn, paperback volume out. It’s a pocket edition of a book that is dear to me. It’s a book I like to carry with me most of the time. Nearly all of the time, if I’m honest; and I am trying to be honest talking to you.

  I don’t need to scan the cover, and I slip it neatly into an inside pocket. It’s a pocket edition, I told you. I feel comfortable with it sitting there, out of sight but next to my heart.

  Anyway, the bus is here and I’d better get on. At least it will be too early for Eddie; I can delay that pleasure, and that’s a relief. I can watch the houses and the fields and the cars as the bus passes them by. It’s an uneventful journey.

  I get to school and there’s no one about. Well, some of the teachers are here I suppose; cars are already parked in the car park. The doors will be open too and there will be somebody in the library, so that’s where I’ll go, even though it’s sunny out and all. Don’t think that I’m some kind of super-swot or something; this is not something I’d normally do. But today, I don’t want to be standing outside when people arrive. I particularly don’t want to be cutting a lonely figure when Eddie arrives.

  So I go to the library, and you know what? When I’m in there, damned if I can settle and read anything, damned if I can. Does that ever happen to you? You have this big idea that you are going to read this or that, and it’s hours away and you tell yourself yeah, it’ll be just great to read this or that and you work yourself into a state of anticipation and then when the time comes, you just somehow don’t feel like making the effort? Well maybe it’s just me. Sometimes I wonder if I’m crazy. I really do.

  Turning the pages of the book in front of me, I’m not reading any of the words. I’m not even really looking at the pictures, and they’re wonderful photographs of the treasures from the tomb of Tutankhamen, the Egyptian boy-king who died a goddam million years ago. Well, a few thousand years ago, so it might as well have been a million; it’s not like there’s a chance I could have known him or anything. Anyway, I’m just turning pages and not really reading or looking, so what does it matter?

  It’s an hour later and I’m out in the yard. There’s lots of kids around now and there’s yelling and games going on, and laughing and stuff. And it somehow feels safer though God knows why it should. It’s not as if all these kids – who don’t know me or owe me anything – will suddenly become my shield if Eddie shows up and decides he wants to trample me into the dust.

  I’m looking around – trying to spot Eddie, of course – and I can’t see him. But getting back to that point, it’s interesting isn’t it, the idea that there’s safety in numbers? Here in the school yard, that’s just crap and you know it as well as I do. If you’re getting beaten into chopped meat, all a crowd of school kids will do is crush round to get the best view. You’ll have done it yourself. We all have. What the numbers do, I guess, is act like a shield you can hide behind while your eyes are constantly scanning for danger. It gives you a chance to see before you’re seen, if you know what I mean.

  Except that I stand out don’t I? I can’t hide in this crowd. Dressed the way I am, it’s like I have a neon arrow pointing at me. And what makes me stand out even more is the nature of this school.

  You will have got the picture, I’m thinking, that dear old Mom and Dad can afford the finest private education that money can buy. Well let me tell you, there’s nothing private-sector or privileged about the environment that they’ve put me into. I asked them once why I didn’t go to some snotty private academic factory.

  ‘We don’t believe that wealth should be used to buy a head start in life, dear.’

  That’s Mom. Isn’t it enough to make you puke?

  ‘It’s a question of social justice.’

  Dad now, at his most preachy and sanctimonious so that it’s all you can do not to fall asleep where you stand.

  ‘Everyone should have an equal start in life and achievement should be based on merit.’

  How I don’t fall over and beat my fists against the carpet with laughter when he comes out with this crap is beyond me. I’m mentally strong – that must be it.

  ‘And if it was good enough for Paul McCartney’s children…’

  Mom again. I have to put my hand over my mouth in case I do indeed have to hold back the vomit. Tell me, have you ever heard such ill-conceived drivel? It’s not like Mom is stupid or anything. She’s really smart and well-read. And she’s a partner in some hot-shot PR agency for the sake of the Lord! And yet somehow she’s convinced herself that it’s perfectly reasonable to base the way she chooses to educate her children on something she’s read about some geriatric pop star! I imagine that you, not knowing her, must think that she is on drugs or something. It gets worse though. Dad’s a lawyer. You’d think that that would make him pragmatic or something. You’d think that wouldn’t you? And he must be, in so many other regards, because he is incredibly successful. Incredibly. Really, he is.

  I did wonder, once, whether they w
ere perhaps too stingy to spend money on a private education, but they are not stingy people, either of them. Look at the clothes allowance that Madeleine and I enjoy. No, not stingy. Not stingy at all. So I guess it’s all down to some kind of hippy idealism. Goddam morons.

  The other thing is, I think that having gone to all the trouble of having us and all, to complete the checklist and all that, they perhaps wanted us to be around, to be on show when people came around, like the Mercedes and the BMW. So we have to go to a local school. And that thought does make you want to puke, doesn’t it? Sure it does.

  Actually, I have no problem with the school. I mean, it’s nothing special and the teachers do their best, I guess. Even if in some cases, like McGregor who teaches physics, that isn’t saying much. On the whole, it could be much worse.

  Oh shit. There’s Eddie… And the point I was trying to make about me in this school? Well let’s just say that this is a crowd that I can’t hide in. I mean, take a look around. How many other kids do you see wearing a Loro Piana suit? I must stand out like a whore in a church.

  Despite the glowing radioactive nature of my appearance, Eddie hasn’t noticed me. It’s not encouraging to see him with Dougan and Fletcher though. Look at them all coming through the gates, hoodies up and swaggering. They walk with that affected swing of the shoulders like they’re straight out of South Central LA or something. I particularly like the way that Dougan smokes with the cigarette just hanging out of his mouth. If you see him up close while he’s doing it, you realise that he hasn’t got the hang of it; the smoke drifts into his eyes and he constantly has to squint like some inbred retard. That kills me. It really does. Not that I laugh in his face. He doesn’t have a sense of humour, Dougan. And Eddie is a different person when he’s with these two. I wonder if Eddie has said anything about last night to them. What am I saying? Of course he has. How could he not? You would, wouldn’t you? And yeah, so would I.

  I’m making myself as inconspicuous as I can in the hope that they don’t notice me. There’s only a minute or two before the bell goes and there will be at least the temporary sanctuary of the classroom. I’m looking around and oh – it’s her. Sitting on the dry grass shaded by the tree, she’s reading a book. Who? Oh right, that girl I was telling Eddie about last night – not Helen, not his sister; the other one, remember? No, that’s right, I didn’t tell him, did I? I kept her to myself. Well she’s sitting right there under a tree reading a book. She’s not more than a few yards away. She’s got this thick, wavy black hair that falls over her shoulders. It’s very dark without quite being black really. It’s as near to black as hair gets without using some colouring agent. Her hair has not really been cut or styled or shaped, but it’s very attractive all the same. Her skin is quite pale in contrast, like it doesn’t get exposed to the sun much. I like that. There’s nothing worse than these orange-skinned girls you see. Do they really think that we’re fooled into believing they’ve been to Barbados or Tahiti or something? Joanna Stevens has skin like that. It’s less Acapulco and more the local tanning salon and it shows. You just don’t see girls in Acapulco with orange skin. These orange girls, like Joanna Stevens, they just make me want to puke. They really do.

  But this girl under the tree is pale. And she’s sitting with her legs crossed under her and her shoes kicked off and all, and she’s wearing this sort of burgundy dress that’s very fine corduroy. It’s not particularly fashionable and I’m guessing it’s not particularly new either, because there is a slight fade to the colour and some very slight fraying of the corduroy at the edges. I’ve noticed her wearing it before and I guess I like to see her in it. It’s kind of bohemian and hippy, and you’d think I’d be snobbish about that, me being obsessed with fashion and all, but it’s the girl wearing the dress who makes the dress is what I think. At least it’s what I think in this girl’s case.

  I realise that I’m kind of staring at her. I’m not worried about that though; she’ll never notice me – she’s too wrapped up in that book. She’s looking at the pages very intense, like she’s trying to suck the words up from the paper through her narrow black-framed glasses and directly into her brain. I’m getting a kick out of watching her read in that way. I always get a kick out of watching someone reading when they’re really concentrating on something. It’s like what they’re doing is the only thing in the universe, and even though everything is going on around them they are never aware of it; it’s like they’ve found a new universe in the words on the page and they’re mad keen on living there and not here. It would be a neat trick if you could pull it off. Anywhere would be better than here.

  Another thing I’m noticing about her is the white cotton blouse she’s wearing. It’s long-sleeved and sits under the dress and you can see that it’s not expensive or anything, but the sleeves flare slightly at the cuffs and there’s some ever so slightly pink embroidery at the edges. It’s so cute it all but stops your heart. I swear that it does.

  And do you know something? I’ve been so wrapped up in watching this girl that I’ve forgotten about Eddie.

  ‘Hey pervert!’

  It’s a loud shout even though Eddie is quite obviously standing right behind me. It’s funny, but right away I’m aware that everyone in the yard has stopped what they’re doing and they’re turning to watch. Kids can sniff out humiliation like a dog sniffs out crap. And if you ever get the chance to watch, look at their faces: glee. They’re relishing what they’re about to see. Kids are bastards. They really are.

  Well I don’t get the opportunity to respond to Eddie; I don’t know what I’d say anyway. Probably something witty for sure. Something to turn Oscar Wilde green. But like I say, I don’t get the chance because next thing I know I’m shoved in the back, and as I stumble forward a leg sticks out to trip me. Catches me on the shin actually and hurts like a bastard right away. But it sends my briefcase flying and I go crashing into the tree where the girl is sitting so that she has to roll to get out of the way when I fall. I fall exactly where she was sitting and my face feels like it’s exploding with pain because I’ve hit the tree with my face, right where Eddie caught me last night with his fist. It’s throbbing so bad that I’d like to cry out or whimper or something, but I don’t. I’m lying on my back wondering if my suit is ruined and thinking that the best I can hope for is that it’s creased and I’ll have to suffer it not hanging well for a day.

  I’m lying on my back, squinting up at the sky through the branches of the tree and through the faces peering down at me like I’m a carnival freak that they’ve paid to see. You should watch the faces of people when they’re looking at freaks – it would have to be on TV now of course – but you’ll see that there is a fascination. People don’t know it, but there is the hint of a smile on their faces as they stare at something unfortunate. People are bastards. They really are. When you laugh at someone who has an accident, like in those crappy TV shows where they suck idiots into sending in home videos – have these people no shame? – it’s called schadenfreude. Trust the Germans to have a word for it. But that’s kind of okay really, because it’s just an accident, and it could happen to anyone now and then, who doesn’t think things through. What I’m talking about is looking at unfortunate people who can’t help being the way they are. Most people don’t laugh out loud at them. But if you look at someone’s face when they are watching people who are not ordinary like themselves, then you’ll see what I’m talking about. It’s not nice. It really isn’t.

  And that’s what I see in the faces looking down at me now. I’m squinting of course because my sunglasses have gone flying. But I can still see Eddie snarling down at me from inside the dark hood he’s wearing, and the faces of the gleeful crowd. Bastards. But it’s Eddie’s face I’m fixed on.

  ‘Steer clear of my sister, pervert.’

  Lying there, I can almost hear the thoughts of the crowd as they wonder just what might have gone on between Eddie’s kid sister and me. She goes to this school, so it occurs to me, the way it ob
viously hasn’t occurred to Eddie, that Helen’s life is not going to be easy in the next few days. The speculation will become ever more salacious too, because we’re talking about kids here. And I’ve already mentioned what kids are. I’m one myself really, so I do know what I’m talking about.

  I don’t respond to Eddie. I just lie there, on my back. I don’t even try to get up. Eddie is staring right down at me and his face is contorted with rage. I just take deep breaths.

  Then I’m saved by the bell. It’s obvious that there is not going to be any more action – largely because I’m not going to react, and partly because Eddie doesn’t seem inclined to just kick me to death – so the crowd disperses and heads in a shapeless mass for the school doors. And – I’m not making this up – you can actually feel their collective disappointment. Really, you can.

  Eddie is one of the last to leave and can’t help himself, but he has to scowl a last few words.

  ‘Just you mind what I’ve told you, pervert.’

  I do wish he’d stop calling me that. And then you know what he does? Can you believe this? He spits on the ground next to my head – I don’t know if that was a bad aim or a good one really. Yes, he spits. I’m guessing that Eddie is no longer my best friend.

  So I take a few breaths and when I think everyone is gone, I roll over and get to my knees, and I knock the dust off my sleeves and begin to straighten myself out. And actually I’m not alone at all, because she’s standing there.

  I know she’s there because I can see her bare feet and the hem of that burgundy corduroy dress, so I look up. The sun is behind her and it seems to make her hair glow yellow and warm at the edges, like you see in fancy advertising photographs. They’ve gone out of their way to achieve the effect in those photographs and you know that it’s phoney when you look at them. But this is just a happy circumstance and you know, I think that it’s truly beautiful. I really do.