11

Will he or won’t he?

NICKY WENT STRAIGHT into school and up to Mr Nelson’s office. ‘Good morning, Mr Nelson, how is your arthritis today?’

‘Good morning, Nicky. Bad, thank you very much.’

‘And your other things, that I forget what they’re called?’

‘How about coming to the point?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Well?’

‘Will you let me off, Sir? Please!’

‘Isn’t your mother coming to see me today?’

‘She can’t, actually, she’s ill.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘She’s got the ’flu. It’s a special ’flu you have in July. Roy’s got it as well. That’s why I was away yesterday, Sir – I had to look after them both. It was very hard work, and I had to walk about a lot, and I had to go and get their medicine, and it was a very long way because the first chemist didn’t have it. And the second chemist didn’t have it neither. And I got a blister on my foot, so now you and me are the same as each other!’

‘And I’m supposed to let you off because we’ve both got gammy legs?’

‘No, Sir, not that.’

‘Go on, I’m listening.’

‘Well, Sir, it was me done the wrong things on Friday, wasn’t it?’

‘Indeed it was.’

‘So it’s not fair if Roy has to be punished.’

‘How is Roy going to be punished?’

‘Mum says Roy can’t go on the outing if I don’t.’

‘Oh, Nicky, really!’

‘I know what you’re thinking, Sir. You’re thinking about I make a baby of him, but it’s not that. It’s about he’s not well, and I got to keep an eye on him.’

‘Are you sure he’s well enough to go anyway?’

‘Oh yes, Sir, he’s at home today, but he will be well enough to go tomorrow, the doctor said. And the doctor said it will do him so much good to go to the seaside. But he can’t go unless I do.’

‘H’m!’

Mr Nelson did not know what to make of this tarradiddle about the ’flu you get in July. The stories children offered were not always strictly true, but who had the right to judge that? And Mr Nelson was glad of any excuse, really, to give Nicky another chance.

‘I’ll tell you what.’

‘Yes, Sir?’

‘Suppose you were to be perfect for a whole day? I’m only supposing, mind, I don’t imagine for a moment you can really do it!’

‘Want to bet?’

‘I don’t mean ordinary good, I mean extra specially good.’

‘I shall be like a angel!’ said Nicky, with a joyous face.

‘Gary and Sanjay will have to have the same chance, of course.’

‘That’s all right, Mr Nelson, I don’t mind,’ said Nicky, generously. ‘I don’t mind how many creeps go on the outing, as long as me and Roy can go.’

In Assembly, Mr Nelson talked to the school about going to Easthaven. They had been looking forward to it, he knew, and so had all the teachers, and now the great day had nearly come! The weather forecast was hopeful, he was glad to tell them, in spite of yesterday’s rain, but they must all remember their warm clothes, just in case, and their packed lunches, of course.

Just one serious thing he had to say, and they must all listen to it very carefully. Some of them didn’t go to the seaside very often, he knew – perhaps some of them had never been before. So they might not know that you have to treat the sea with respect. There could be dangers; they must all be quite sure to stay with their teachers and their groups, and not wander. Then everyone could have a happy day, and come back safely.

In the classroom, Nicky turned the pages of the big atlas. ‘Come on, Nicky,’ said Mr Hunt. ‘Maths time!’

‘In a minute.’

‘Now!’ said Mr Hunt.

‘Oh yes, Sir, yes, Sir!’ Nicky scuttled back to her seat. She had nearly found what she was looking for, and she had to leave it in order to be perfect! She began to work ostentatiously, hunching over her book, and screwing up her face to show how hard she was concentrating. ‘Have you noticed how good I’m being, Sir?’

‘Was I supposed to?’

‘Yes. Will you tell Mr Nelson I’m being good?’

‘Oh I don’t know about that,’ said Mr Hunt. ‘Mr Nelson wouldn’t be specially interested, would he? Do you really think Mr Nelson would be interested?’

‘Oh, Sir!’ said Nicky. ‘You’re teasing me.’

‘We should have outings more often,’ said Mr Hunt, marking Nicky’s work.

‘Can I look at the atlas now, Sir?’ said Nicky.

‘Why the sudden passion for maps?’

‘I want to see where we’re going, tomorrow.’

‘Where the rest of us are going, you mean. Where you may be going, I understand, if you can manage to achieve the impossible.’

‘Oh, Sir!’

She opened the heavy book, and found the map of England. There it was, there it was – Easthaven! . . . And there it was! Almost touching! Only a titchy-witchy centimetre away. You could walk that easy, just like she said to Roy. A brilliant idea began to form, in her mind.

‘You look happy,’ said Mr Hunt.

‘I’m extremely happy,’ said Nicky.

‘Is the sea really dangerous, Sir, like Mr Nelson said?’ said Joycelyn.

‘No, no,’ said Mr Hunt. ‘Mr Nelson just said that for fun. Just to fill up the Assembly time.’

‘Oh, Sir!’

‘Anyway, what does it matter? A few lost, a few drowned, what’s the difference?’ That was Miss Powell’s joke, not his, but Mr Hunt was often too lazy to make up his own jokes.

‘You don’t mean it, Sir!’

‘Every word of it. . . . Come on – playtime! Books away, chop, chop!’

‘You didn’t tell us yet. Why the sea is dangerous.’

‘Playtime!’ said Mr Hunt, who didn’t want to miss a second of his break.

By now the whole class knew about the second chance Nicky had been given, and the terms of it, and some of the boys thought it might be fun to tease her a bit. And safe, today, since she couldn’t do anything back.

‘Pity if we got to have you in the coach, after all!’

‘Get lost!’ said Nicky.

‘Pity if we got to listen to you singing!’

‘Yeah, give us all a pain!’

‘Make the driver crash!’

‘I can sing if I want to, so bad luck!’

Marcus came close, and pushed his heavy face near to hers, and blew down her neck.

‘Push off!’

Marcus danced about, taunting her. ‘Come on then, make me, make me!’ He got behind her and blew again.

‘Leave me!’

Good – she was getting angry. They all began blowing then, as many as could get close enough; until Mrs Blake, on duty that morning, came striding on her spindly legs and shooed them off.

‘I didn’t hit them,’ Nicky pointed out.

‘Well done!’ said Mrs Blake, who had also heard about the second chance.

‘Did you notice, Mrs Blake, I didn’t hit any of them!’

‘Yes, I did notice. Well done!’

‘Will you tell Mr Nelson?’

‘I shouldn’t be a bit surprised.’

Nicky sat on the steps, feeling very pleased with herself. Two good reports, anyway. But ordinary good wasn’t enough, Mr Nelson said, it had to be extra specially good to count. What could she find to do, that was extra specially good? Helping the teachers would count like that, wouldn’t it?

After eating the school dinner for which she had not paid, Nicky lurked outside the staff room. Miss Powell emerged soon, carrying a pile of books. ‘Shall I carry them for you, Miss?’ said Nicky.

‘What are you doing in school?’ snapped Miss Powell. ‘You’re supposed to be in the playground.’

‘I want to help,’ said Nicky.

‘OUT!’ said Miss Powell, who had heard about the second chance but wasn’t interested.

‘Can’t I ask in the staff room,’ said Nicky, ‘if anyone wants me to help?’

‘There’s only Mr Hunt in the staff room.’

‘Where are the other teachers?’

‘For heaven’s sake, how should I know? In their classrooms, I suppose.’

‘Can I go round the classrooms and ask?’

‘Give me strength!’ said Miss Powell.

‘Please!’

‘Oh go on then,’ said Miss Powell, to put an end to the pestering. ‘But straight out if nobody wants you, understand?’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die!’ said Nicky.

She found Miss Greenwood, putting out painting things all by herself. ‘Hello, Miss Greenwood, would you like some help?’

Miss Greenwood regarded Nicky nervously. Her class were first years, and she had very little contact with the fourth year children. And Nicky Mitchell, in particular, had a reputation for difficult behaviour, Miss Greenwood knew – violent behaviour, even! She did not want this dangerous child in her classroom, but she didn’t want to offend her either. ‘No thank you, dear,’ she said. ‘I can manage.’ Miss Greenwood was one of the teachers who had not heard about Nicky’s second chance.

‘But Miss Greenwood, it’s too much for you all by yourself,’ Nicky persisted. ‘Please let me help.’

The blue gaze was unnerving. ‘All right then,’ said Miss Greenwood, weakly.

‘I’m good at putting out paints,’ said Nicky. ‘I can do it all for you, if you like. And you can go to the staff room and have a cup of tea. . . . And then you can tell Mr Nelson I’m doing the paints for you.’

‘I don’t think I’m allowed to leave you on your own,’ said Miss Greenwood.

‘Well never mind,’ said Nicky. ‘You can tell him after. You won’t forget, will you?’

‘No, no, I won’t forget.’ In fifteen minutes the bell would go; and this eccentric person, whose motives Miss Greenwood could not begin to guess, would have to go to her own class. Roll on fifteen minutes! And in the meantime, it had to be admitted, it was useful to have another pair of hands. . . . Now what was the other thing she meant to do? Oh yes, the room was stuffy: the day had turned out really fine and warm, she must get the bottom windows open as well as the ventilators. She struggled with a sticky sash.

‘I’ll do that for you,’ said Nicky.

‘It’s all right,’ said Miss Greenwood, struggling some more.

‘I’m strong,’ said Nicky. ‘Let me!’ The window was very stiff indeed. Nicky climbed on to the radiator.

‘What are you doing?’ said Miss Greenwood, alarmed.

‘If I stand high, I can pull instead of push,’ said Nicky. ‘That’ll be better.’

‘Get down before you fall!’ said Miss Greenwood. ‘I’m responsible for you, you know.’

‘Oh I won’t fall,’ said Nicky. ‘I’m a good climber.’

She was right on the high windowsill now, her feet firmly planted among some roughly fashioned clay pots, left to dry before they could be painted. She bent to wrench at the window, and it was awkward because she had to crouch sideways, and her own knees were in the way. She shifted to find a better position.

‘Mind the pots!’ said Miss Greenwood.

The window gave suddenly, and Nicky’s foot shot backwards – and five clay pots lay on the floor, shattered into little pieces!

Miss Greenwood was very upset. ‘Their pots!’ she wailed. ‘They were so proud of their pots! They’re going to be heartbroken!’

Nicky, also, was very upset. ‘We can mend them, can’t we,’ she tried. ‘Look, I can mend them with some glue.’

‘They’re past mending,’ said Miss Greenwood, bitterly. ‘Why didn’t you get down when I told you?’

‘I only wanted to help.’

‘Well now you’ve helped enough. Now please, please, go away! Before you do any more damage!’

‘You won’t tell Mr Nelson, will you? Mr Nelson won’t be interested in the broken pots, will he?’

‘At the moment, I’m only concerned about what I’m going to tell my children.’

‘Haven’t you got any more clay?’ said Nicky. ‘Shall I make some more pots for them?’

‘It wouldn’t be the same.’

‘I’m sorry I broke them. I’m as sorry as anything I broke them. I wish I could do a magic spell and make them come together again. But you don’t have to tell Mr Nelson, do you? There’s no sense worrying him about it, is there? He’s got enough to worry about, hasn’t he? With his arthritis, and his other things that I can’t remember their names. . . .’

The incomprehensible chatter went on and on. ‘Go away!’ begged Miss Greenwood, almost hysterically. ‘Go away before I do tell him!’

Nicky went. She looked for somewhere to hide, so she could watch if Miss Greenwood went to tell Mr Nelson. She flattened herself against the wall, just round the corner from Miss Greenwood’s room, and kept peeping. Miss Powell, on her way back to the staff room, found her there. ‘Why are you lurking?’

‘No reason.’

‘Are you going peculiar?’

‘No.’

‘Get out to the playground then, I shan’t tell you again.’

Nicky stood alone in the playground, with a face like thunder, and when Joycelyn came up, she turned her back on her. ‘What’s the matter?’ said Joycelyn. But Nicky wouldn’t tell her, and afterwards in class she sat brooding, not looking at anyone.

‘What’s wrong, Nicky?’ said Mr Hunt, but Nicky wouldn’t tell him either.

After a while she put up her hand. ‘Can I go and see Mr Nelson?’

‘Is it important?’ said Mr Hunt.

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Will you cheer up if I let you go?’

‘It all depends what Mr Nelson says?’

‘Go on, then.’

Mr Nelson was not in his office. The secretary didn’t know where he was, but thought he would be back soon. Nicky hung around for a few minutes, then found she couldn’t bear to be still. She began to wander round the school, looking for him.

Miss Greenwood’s class were having painting. Nicky thought Miss Greenwood might have got over being angry by now; she could try some more pleading, perhaps. Nicky pressed her face against the glass panel in the door, and tried to catch Miss Greenwood’s eye. Miss Greenwood, looking up from helping one of her little ones, saw Nicky’s face peering through the door, and flinched. Nicky put on a wistful smile, but her nose and lips were partly flattened against the glass, so the smile looked unfortunately like a leer. ‘Go away!’ Miss Greenwood mouthed at her.

Nicky was about to try again, when she saw Mr Nelson coming along the corridor, and went to meet him, falling into step beside him. ‘You’re limping ever such a lot, Sir.’

‘So I am.’

‘Did anybody say anything about me, Mr Nelson? Any of the teachers?’

‘Actually, yes.’

‘Was it good? What they said?’

‘Very good.’

‘I think you should go home early today, Sir, and rest your arthritis for tomorrow.’

‘What an attractive thought!’

‘Well, why don’t you?’

‘Because I have a hundred things to do here.’

‘Why don’t you put a notice outside your room, “PLEASE DON’T DISTURB”? Then nobody can interrupt you from doing your hundred things.’

‘Good idea, but, alas, not fitting!’

It wasn’t too late, though, it wasn’t too late! As soon as Mr Nelson had limped away, Nicky went back to Miss Greenwood’s class to try once more. The sight of Nicky’s face leering against the glass panel yet again was terribly disconcerting. Miss Greenwood waved her away. The face disappeared, and a few moments later came back, its earnest contortions even more grotesque. Miss Greenwood felt the hysteria rising.

She went to the door and opened it herself. ‘If you’ve got something to say, why don’t you come in and say it, instead of pulling those ghastly faces outside?’

‘I didn’t want to disturb you.’

‘Well you are disturbing me. I’m trying to teach and you’re bothering me.’ She was dreadfully upset still about the pots. One or two of her little ones had been in tears. It was too much to have to suffer even more of Nicky Mitchell’s attentions. ‘You’re bothering me! You’re being very rude! Now what is it?’

It was bad luck that Miss Powell, on her way back to class after a free period, came along at that moment, and heard the agitated complaint. ‘Not you again!’ said Miss Powell to Nicky. ‘What are you doing this time, prowling round the school? What is she doing to annoy you, Miss Greenwood?’

‘Oh – looking through the door. Making faces.’

Miss Powell gave Nicky a little push. ‘Get up to my room!’

‘But Miss Powell, I didn’t mean—’

‘MY ROOM! Go on, in front of me, where I can see you!’

Nicky muttered something under her breath. ‘Did I hear you calling me an interfering ugly cow, by any chance? Oh, I thought I did! I must get my ears attended to! Go on, stand there by my table. All right, you lot, find yourself something to do for two minutes. . . . Did you hear me, Jason Charles? Something to do, I said, other than concerning yourself with someone else’s business. Right, Nicky, I shouldn’t think you need bother looking for your swimming costume tonight!’

‘It was a accident though,’ said poor Nicky.

‘What was? Making faces through Miss Greenwood’s door?’

‘No. When I knocked the pots over and they all got broke. It was a accident.’

‘Oh, you broke the pots! When was this?’

‘Dinner time. It was a accident. I didn’t want Miss Greenwood to tell Mr Nelson.’

‘Why should she, if it was an accident?’

‘I thought she might.’

‘How did the pots get knocked over?’

‘I was only trying to open the window.’

‘How?’

Silence.

‘How, Nicky? How were you trying to open the window?’

‘I only climbed a bit.’

‘Did Miss Greenwood tell you to climb?’

‘. . . Not really.’

‘Did she tell you not to climb?’

‘. . . She might have.’

‘It wasn’t an accident, then, was it? It was a very serious piece of naughtiness.’

‘I thought she would be pleased if I got the window open. Please, Miss Powell, don’t tell Mr Nelson!’

‘I’m not going to tell him. You’re going to tell him yourself. Now. About your disobedience, and the damage to Miss Greenwood’s pots, and your rudeness to Miss Greenwood, and your rudeness to me on the stairs coming up, and don’t tell him you didn’t say it, because I know you did!’

Nicky trailed sorrowfully to Mr Nelson’s office. ‘Oh dear,’ the headmaster sighed. ‘Trouble?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Bad?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘What have you done?’

‘Lots of things.’

‘Cheeked someone?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Damaged something?’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Oh dear!’

‘Yes, Sir.’

‘Punched someone’s head in?’

‘No,’ said Nicky, brightening. ‘I didn’t do that. Not today. Not all day!’

‘You haven’t been perfect, though.’

‘No.’

‘And we agreed you must.’

‘I know. . . . All right, Mr Nelson, you needn’t say it, I’ll say it for you! I can’t come on the outing tomorrow, can I? There, I said it myself. . . . I did try to be good, but it went wrong.’ Perhaps the children’s home wouldn’t be too bad. ‘Never mind, Sir, eh?’

‘Nicky,’ said Mr Nelson, thoughtfully, ‘tell me something. . . . Have you been to the seaside at all this year?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘Did you go last year?’

‘No, Sir.’

‘Have you ever been?’

‘I think so. I can’t quite remember. Eric’s dad nearly took us in his car, once.’

‘So you don’t really know what the sea’s like.’

‘Yes I do. I seen it on telly.’

Mr Nelson looked down at some papers on his desk, because he was having a lot of feelings he didn’t want Nicky to see.

‘All right. Remember to bring a warm coat for tomorrow. And make sure Roy has warm clothes as well. You often get cold winds by the sea, even on a nice day.’

Nicky stared at the strands of hair across the dome of Mr Nelson’s head. ‘Sir. . . .’

‘What?’

‘I love you.’