CHAPTER 35
Forging Morag’s signature had always been easy. Actually, I wondered if Morag had made it easy on purpose. Her signature was just an M followed by a squiggle. I’d been giving myself signed permission on Morag’s behalf for things since Year Two.
On Tuesday, Mrs McDonald – Katy’s mum – seemed surprised when I produced the screwed-up yellow permission slip from my trouser pocket. We still had to wear our school uniform on trips, because apparently we were representing the whole school. She ticked my name off the register and hesitated.
“And the, er…” Mrs McDonald cleared her throat. “Have you got the ten pounds?”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Here.” I fished around and produced an equally crinkly ten-pound note, which Chetna’s parents had given her to buy snacks with. She’d told them ten pounds was the recommended amount. She was getting good at lying.
“Brilliant,” said Mrs McDonald. “OK. Hop on! So glad you could join us, Solo. Don’t forget to collect your map from the pile at the front of the coach!”
I took a map from the top of the pile and climbed onboard.
The coach smelled of dust and packed lunches. Chetna had saved a seat for me in the middle. It was far enough away from Kai Bailey and his gang who had taken up the entire back row, thinking it made them look tough.
“Did it work? With the permission slip?” Chetna asked.
I winked. “Always does. Thanks for the tenner, by the way. I promise I’ll give it back as soon as I can.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Chetna checked over her shoulders to make sure nobody was listening. “Tell me the plan again. I need to make sure I have everything straight.”
“OK. When we’re walking around Normley-on-Sea, you and me sneak off. We check Morag’s favourite places, and then we re-join everybody just before the coach brings us home at five o’clock.”
Chetna seemed scared. “This feels risky, Solo. Really risky.”
“It is,” I said. “But it’s going to be fine. We got away with it yesterday, didn’t we?”
Chetna nodded, but she looked sick and pale, even though the coach wasn’t moving yet.
“What if we don’t?” she whispered. “Make it back in time, that is.”
“Well, then I guess we’ll be sleeping on the dodgems for the night.”
Chetna gasped, horrified. “Don’t say that.”
“I’m joking,” I said. “There’s always the train.”
“Right then, everybody!” Miss Carmichael stood at the front of the coach, holding a microphone. “Who’s ready to see some real-life coastal erosion? Give me a cheer!”