CHAPTER 8

The tips of my fingers were tingly cold by the time we arrived at the Queen’s Head. When the vicar said the pub was only down the road, he wasn’t lying. But he didn’t mention it was a long and busy road, packed with lorries that kept splashing us with muddy puddles.

“I knew I should’ve brought an umbrella,” Morag grumbled as we stepped carefully along a part of the road without a pavement, so we were walking right next to the traffic. “I bet Imelda is exactly the type of person to pack a lovely pink spotty umbrella everywhere she goes.”

“You don’t even own an umbrella,” I muttered.

Morag didn’t hear what I said over the roar of a passing bin lorry, which swerved to avoid us. Speckles of dirty road water sprayed our faces as it rushed past.

“Not long now,” Morag shouted above the sound of the traffic. “It’s only round the corner!”

And then, round the bend in the road, there it was.

The Queen’s Head looked posher and bigger than any pub I’d ever seen. It was huge, and had those zigzag castle walls at the top with mini cannons sticking out from between the gaps. The gardens looked fancy and were dotted with metal tables and chairs, not the rotten wooden picnic tables we were used to. There was no way we would blend in here, I thought.

Morag let out a cheer when she saw the pub, punching the air with her gloved fist. She even started dancing in the road, her feet splashing through puddles. She grabbed my hand and dragged me under a concrete bridge towards the pub. I snatched it back and stuffed it deep into my pocket. I hated it when Morag tried to dance with me in public.

“Oh, stop being so miserable, Solo,” she said. “We’re going to a party, for heaven’s sake. Lighten up a bit!”

But I felt stiff and tired. I was speckled with mud and dripping with rain. I’d already had enough.

“I want to go home, Morag,” I said. My voice came out more babyish than I wanted. “I’m soaking wet and my shoes keep squelching when I walk.”

“Oh, come off it. You’ll soon get dry once you’re inside. Plus, think of all the amazing food you’re about to eat. Don’t let a bit of rain spoil your whole life, Solo!”

I wrung out a stream of water from my fringe and it splashed on to the tops of my shoes. This wasn’t exactly what I would call a bit of rain.

Morag was so soaked that her black eye make-up streamed down her face like a spider reaching out for its prey. Her lacy funeral hat had gone all floppy on her head like a wet flannel. Surely even Morag had to admit that a few free funeral sandwiches weren’t worth getting soaking wet, freezing cold and nearly run over for. Maybe it gave her a thrill, sneaking into these places. Not that she would ever admit it.

“Morag, please.” I grabbed her hand. “Everyone’s going to—”

“Everyone’s going to what?” she snapped, spinning round, her face so close to mine our noses nearly touched. “We’ve gone to all this effort, Solo! You want us to go home hungry, is that it?”

“N-no. It’s just that I’m really, really cold and I—”

“I’m not just doing this for fun, you know,” she hissed. “Don’t you think I’d rather be at home with a cuppa? Do you honestly think I enjoy going to all these funerals?”

I went to open my mouth, but I didn’t know what to say. Sometimes I did think she enjoyed going to the funerals. She seemed to relish the dressing up and meeting people, the getting out and about.

Morag spun on her heels and stormed ahead of me, marching towards the pub through the downpour, her boots clomping on the ground. I don’t know why, but my hands actually started shaking then. Stinging tears coated my eyes, but I blinked hard to keep them in.

Sometimes Morag made me want to scream. Part of me wanted to run up and punch her in the back of the leg, to show her how I really felt. But I’d never do that. I’d only feel guilty afterwards; plus, I didn’t really want to hurt Morag.

“Well, what about me?” I yelled, stamping my foot into a puddle. “What about what I enjoy? Why do we never do anything I want to do?”

Morag stopped dead, slowly turned on the spot and stared at me as though I’d just called her the worst swear word in the dictionary. I’d really gone and done it.

“I give you everything I can!” she spat. “No one’s helping me, you know. Your dad’s not interested. I’ve applied for sixteen jobs this month. But, still, I make it work. I put food on the table. Just you try lasting five minutes without me making sure the whole world revolves around you, Solo. Now come on, we’re going inside!”

“I’m not going!” I cried, so loud it hurt my throat. “I’m not going in there. We’ll only get caught again! Or have you forgotten all about yesterday? You’re embarrassing me, Morag!”

I felt guilty as soon as I’d said it. Yes, Morag was embarrassing sometimes, but I still liked her. Sometimes I wished I could press the rewind button on my life and undo the stupid things I said.

“I’m sorry!” I said, moving to follow Morag.

Morag was already halfway across the road, heading for the entrance of the Queen’s Head. Before she reached the pavement, she stopped and glared at me.

“You have absolutely no idea what it’s like, do you?”

“No idea what what’s like?” I shouted.

Morag stomped away.

“Morag?”