Right. I think you’re nearly caught up, in terms of the things you need to know.
It’s now the last week of term, and everyone—including the teachers—seems to be going a bit crazy.
The day after Mum’s memorial was no-uniform day: you bring in £3 for charity and you can wear anything you like. The Lee twins came dressed as Thing One and Thing Two from The Cat in the Hat. Ramzy came in his uniform. He said he’d forgotten, which seems unlike him. And Mr. Parker, the new headmaster, wore a kilt during assembly, which made everyone laugh when he did a little dance.
Ramzy’s eyes were nearly popping out. “He’s wearing a skirt!” he whispered to me. I tried to explain but it was hard.
He hissed, “So do all Scottish men wear them?”
“No! Not all the time! Mostly never, I mean…” I was silenced by Mr. Springham’s loud throat-clearing and a stern look.
It all meant no one was really listening when Mr. Parker delivered yet another lecture about Disease Transmission Risk.
All I picked up was CBE—something-something Ebola—and with a mouthful like that, it’s hardly surprising I didn’t really make the connection with St. Woof’s, like I should have done.
After school, I was dying to tell Dad about Mr. Parker’s kilt and I practically ran home. It was the sort of thing that would make him laugh his deep, coffee-scented laugh, and he’d have a few funny lines of his own to add as well. Only, when I got in, Jessica was sitting at the kitchen table along with Dad and Clem. She wasn’t normally home from work this early (which usually suits me fine), so something was up….
“Georgina,” she said, bringing her sharp elbows up to rest on the table. “I’m afraid I’ve got bad news.” I have to hand it to Jessica: she doesn’t beat around the bush. I suppose this is a good thing, but sometimes I wish she wasn’t so blunt. Sharp and blunt: that’s Jessica. The deflation of my mood, which had begun when I saw her, was instant. I felt as empty as a popped balloon.
She said: “You know I’ve been working a lot lately.”
I nodded. Like I said, Jessica works at a medical research laboratory attached to the hospital, helping develop vaccines. She’d been working late for weeks recently, and on weekends.
“All vacations have been canceled for the next month. It’s an emergency—this CBE thing is getting out of hand, and, well…they need all the expertise they can get.”
I’m sorry to say that my first reaction was not concern about a deadly disease—there had been plenty of scares before. But there it was again: CBE. You don’t hear of something ever, and then suddenly it’s everywhere.
But I didn’t know what the letters stood for, or why it was bad, or where it came from—nothing really.
No, my first reaction was entirely selfish. “Does that mean you’re not coming to Spain?”
Dad piped up. “We’ll still go to Spain, love. It’s just that Jessica won’t be able to come.”
I composed my face into a slump of disappointment, which was the absolute opposite of what I felt. This was to be our first foreign trip in years. I’d bought two new swimsuits already, one with my own money. I had told myself that Jessica’s presence was a small price to pay.
And now I wouldn’t have to pay it! Beneath the table my feet were doing a little jig of delight.
“It’ll be OK, love,” said Dad, and he leaned across to give me a little hug. “I promise Clem and I won’t be too boysy.” He winked at Clem who, bless him, winked back.
I was thinking: Where’s the bad news? It’s all good news so far….And then Dad said, “There is one more thing.”
Uh-oh.
Dad took a deep breath and, very quietly, murmured, “No more St. Woof’s.”
I did this odd thing where I looked first at Dad, then at Clem, then at Jessica, and then all the way around again. Their faces were different: Dad’s eyebrows were practically fused together in anxiety—he knows what St. Woof’s means to me. Clem’s eyes were cast down into his lap. At first, I suspected him of having snitched on me, but then he looked up over his glasses and gave the tiniest shake of his head, which said, Not me. Jessica’s face was cold and hard, like marble.
Dad was speaking. “I’m sorry, Georgie, but it’s just too risky. It’s only temporary. I’ve spoken to Maurice, and he understands.”
I was hardly listening. I was staring at Jessica’s expressionless face, and she stared right back at me. Eventually, I said to her, “This is you, isn’t it?”
And Dad said, “Georgie, love, it’s not—”
I wouldn’t be stopped. “First I have a dog, and then I can’t keep him—because of you. Now I can’t even see him—because of you!”
“It’s not about me,” said Jessica quietly. “It’s about you, Georgina. It’s about keeping you safe.”
“And since when did you care about that? You’re not my mum,” I spat.
Dad said: “Georgie, that’s enough.”
I pushed my chair back noisily and stomped toward the kitchen door, passing Jessica, whose blank face had not changed.
“I’m sorry, Georgina,” she said. “But this CBE thing is serious.”
This CBE thing.
“I don’t care!”
I should have, though.
Later that evening, Jessica was sitting on the sofa, looking at the television, though the sound was turned down. She’s been doing this a lot lately and she didn’t even notice at first when I sat down on the other end of the sofa.
I wasn’t “making peace,” you understand, but the you’re not my mum thing was perhaps a bit much. And it was Dad who had told me that I wasn’t to go to St. Woof’s. It wasn’t all Jessica.
When I’m upset, I can cuddle up to Dad: he has a big, comfortable belly and warm, strong arms and fat fingers and he always smells of, well…of Dad. Even if I wanted to cuddle her, Jessica is just not cuddly. Not at all. She’s not skinny so much as rigid, and her hands are cool to the touch. She’s all edges, really, whereas Dad is curves. She always smells of the soap she uses at work. It’s not a flowery soap—it’s more medical.
I leaned forward to pick up the remote control, and there was this awkward moment when Jessica thought I was leaning in for a cuddle.
As if!
She opened her arms to draw me in, but then I was back at my end of the sofa and she had to lower her arms as if nothing had happened. I almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
Her eyes were closed, and her mouth was drawn thin with worry, with little lines all around. She has short dark hair, and it’s usually gelled up and spiky. Today it was just flat on her head.
“Hello, Georgina,” she said. That’s another thing: she never calls me Georgie. “How was school today?”
“It was OK,” I said. I had been rehearsing in my head how I’d tell them about my day, and Mr. Parker’s kilt, and the little dance he did, and Ramzy forgetting about no-uniform day, but I wasn’t going to waste it on Jessica.
She turned her head toward the window and took a deep breath, as if she was wondering whether or not to say anything. She turned back to look at me and I saw the fear across her pale face.
“Pass me my laptop, please. I want to show you something.”
She typed a few words to bring up the page she had been looking at.
INDEPENDENT NEWS CORP.
BREAKING NEWS
I clicked, though I could feel my hand trembling. I already knew that it would be bad news.