2.

As her school years passed, it gradually dawned on Biddy that she didn’t quite fit in. She knew she wasn’t pretty like the other girls at school, as during the ritual catchy-kissy sessions which had become customary in the playground, she was the only one in her class from whom the boys would run away, screaming.

‘Ugh! She touched me, she touched me,’ they would shout, cupping their hands over their mouths, pretending to vomit if one of them even brushed against her accidentally, or ran too close to her, as she wandered round the tarmac doing her daily count of bird poo patches. But Biddy didn’t care. She never wanted to join in the game anyway. And she wasn’t in the least bit jealous of the other girls, who all looked so similar that she sometimes had difficulty in telling them apart. Biddy wasn’t worried about her wild frizzy hair or her badly fitting, grubby uniform. She was much more interested in bird poo.

Biddy had studied bird poo since she was little, after witnessing a seagull poo on another child’s head, and over time she had become something of an expert. She knew, for example, that a large splatter of poo dotted with berries or seeds was probably deposited by a big black crow, or a magpie. A big white patch splashed with grey belonged to a seagull. That was the kind she liked best. A small whitish splodge, which could sometimes be mistaken for chewing gum, was the work of a tit or a sparrow. Biddy wasn’t interested in dog’s dirt or cat shit or rabbit droppings. Just bird poo. She was fascinated by the colours and textures, and loved the fact that birds could shit in mid-flight, hitting an unsuspecting human if they were lucky. She’d never been struck herself, but she’d seen it happen, often, and she couldn’t understand why people always reacted with horror, screeching or wailing or swearing when they were hit. She’d often stand on the beach, perfectly still for minutes and minutes at a time, arms outstretched, staring up at the gulls, willing them to hit her. But the birds never did shit on Biddy.

So Biddy knew that she was different, and that was fine. But she didn’t realise that she was actually a weirdo, never mind a bloody one – until, that is, Alison Flemming joined her class.

Alison Flemming was beautiful, smart, sporty and a talented pianist. With her honey-blonde hair, smooth skin, deep hazel eyes, and tantalising smile, she wooed people wherever she went. If Alison Flemming had lived in America, she would have been heading for the Prom Queen crown from the day she was born.

And Alison Flemming had another skill: even at the tender age of ten, she was a clever, accomplished and manipulative little bitch. It was a talent she would hone and develop over the years, becoming a master in the process. And like all good bitches, Alison liked to make sure she had a dependable team of devoted followers. Disciples, she liked to call them. It was only when she came to Ballybrock that she recognised her true potential, and fully comprehended the power she could have over others: both those who adored her, and those who did not. There were many hangers-on, but the true believers, the hard-core Alison Flemming fans, were Jackie McKelvey, Georgina Harte and Julia Gamble.

When Alison arrived at Prospect Park in November 1979 – the third month of Primary 6 – she was an instant hit with everyone in the class. Well, everyone except Biddy. At first there were fleeting feelings of jealousy from Jackie, Georgina and Julia, who until that day had generally been regarded as the collective leaders of the Primary 6 female pack. But the threesome quickly realised that Alison was something special and that, for the sake of their long-term prospects, they should become the new girl’s closest allies. So, by the end of break time on Alison’s first day, the three girls had cooed and clucked and flirted with sufficient eagerness to be awarded the honour of being regarded as the new girl’s new best friends. And that was how it stayed, for years.

Alison knew that she would be adored, as that was all she had ever been used to. Well, apart from when the thing with Selina Burton had happened. But thankfully, that was all behind her now. The thought of moving to a new small town from the big city hadn’t fazed Alison in the slightest, as she had had no real emotional attachment to any of her old friends, especially after the incident with Selina. She was looking forward to the challenge of making new people fall for her, and this time she was determined not to mess up. But even she didn’t expect it to happen quite so quickly. The swiftness of her positioning as the most popular girl in the class was a pleasant surprise that inflated her already lofty ego to new heights, and gave her a formidable flush of bravado.

So when she noticed the odd-looking girl from her class with the horrible hair and the dirty, ill-fitting uniform, walking around the playground, head bent, hands clasped behind her back, stopping every so often to stare at – what? – her interest was instantly piqued.

The girl was the only female pupil who hadn’t clamoured to talk to her, or flash her a toothy smile, or offer to show her where the cloakroom was, or the canteen, or the gymnasium. In fact, she hadn’t even acknowledged her arrival in any way at all. How dare she?

Alison took a closer look. She really was quite repulsive. Her socks were a colour she couldn’t put a name to. Her cardigan was missing several buttons. She was certain she smelled of something rotten. She kept glancing at her during the History lesson after break, and the Maths one before lunch, certain the girl would finally look her way, flash her a smile, try to befriend her – which, of course, she would not allow. But she didn’t. It appeared that she, Alison Flemming, was entirely invisible to this, this ‘thing’. Memories of Selina and the aftermath of the ‘incident’ flooded her, and she felt an irrational sense of rage. This hideous girl might not have noticed her yet. But she would. Oh, she would.

By the end of lunchtime, Biddy’s fate was sealed.

 

‘What’s her name, then?’ Alison asked her new admirers, glancing over at Biddy as they returned to the classroom.

‘Oh, her,’ sniggered Julia, ‘that’s just Biddy.’

‘Biddy?’ laughed Alison, almost choking. ‘Biddy? What kind of a stupid name is that? Who on earth would call their child Biddy? Bet her parents are as odd as she is.’

‘Yeah,’ agreed Georgina with vigorous enthusiasm. ‘Bet.’

‘Actually, her dad’s dead old,’ said Jackie, keen to provide some juicy information for Alison. ‘He looks like her grandpa. Don’t think she has a mum.’

‘No wonder she looks like that, then,’ Alison sneered. ‘What’s her other name?’

‘Weir,’ said Georgina, Julia and Jackie in unison, ‘Biddy Weir.’

‘More like Biddy Weirdo,’ laughed Alison, flicking her long golden mane behind her, and her little group of admirers laughed with her.

‘Biddy Weirdo,’ screeched Georgina with glee, crossing her legs, as if she might wet herself. ‘That’s class.’

Alison was pleased with herself. She looked Biddy up and down with undisguised revulsion. ‘Bloody Weirdo, actually,’ she ventured, and they all laughed even louder.

Until that point, Biddy had mostly been ignored by the girls in her class, and that was the way she liked it. Jackie, with her perfect snub nose, Georgina, with her brooding dark eyes and Julia, with her glossy blonde hair held back in a shiny Alice band, never included Biddy in the girly games or secret meetings they hosted in the school playground. Yet they didn’t deliberately exclude her either. It was just one of those unspoken, taken-for-granted, shrug-your-shoulders kind of things. They didn’t play with Biddy, and Biddy didn’t play with them. They shared a silent, mutual understanding. Biddy got on with her thing and the other girls got on with theirs. That was just the way it was. But Alison quickly realised there were going to be advantages to having a weirdo like Biddy Weir in her class. Magnificent advantages. Ignoring Biddy, she decided, would not be an option, but neither, of course, was befriending her. She would have to find something else to do with her. As she made her way back to her desk after the lunch break she discreetly kicked a leg of Biddy’s chair. Biddy glanced up from her reading book, a look of concerned confusion on her face.

‘Bloody Weirdo,’ hissed Alison, narrowing her eyes and holding Biddy’s gaze for a second, finally making her notice her. Then she flicked her hair in that way of hers, and skipped across the room to take her seat.

Biddy wasn’t prone to tears. Even as a baby, she had rarely cried and never had toddler sulks or terrible tantrums. And if she fell over and cut her knee or grazed her elbow, the sight of blood would intrigue her so much that it never occurred to her to cry or seek attention. It wasn’t that she totally lacked emotion, for she knew what it was to be excited about birds and bird poo. It was just that because she had always been a bit of a loner, an outsider of sorts, she had developed her own private world, which no one had ever tried to penetrate. But on this day, for the first time ever, she experienced something very strange indeed. When the new blonde girl hissed at her and kicked her chair, she felt a jolt in her chest, like she had a big, sore lump in her throat, which she instinctively knew she had to get rid of. So she opened her mouth to let the lump out. It didn’t come out of course – but a loud and rather unpleasant retching noise did.

‘Bloody Weirdo,’ muttered Alison Flemming again, loud enough for Biddy and some of the other P6 children to hear, but expertly pitched just outside the hearing range of Miss Justin.

A snigger quickly spread throughout the classroom, with some of the children almost peeing their pants at the thought of this great new girl, Alison, swearing and calling Biddy Weir a ‘bloody weirdo’. They’d never seen or heard anything like it.

‘Class! Class!’ yelled Miss Justin. ‘QUIET now or you’ll all get extra homework!’ Silence descended quickly upon the room, as the children looked at their teacher in nervous, wide-eyed apology.

‘Now, who is going to tell me what is going on?’

Julia, obviously eager to impress her new best friend, smiled at Alison and raised her hand.

‘Please, Miss Justin. It was Biddy, Miss Justin.’ She paused, a flicker of panic creasing her face.

‘Well, go on, Julia. What exactly did Biddy do to make you all so excitable?’

‘Well, Miss, she erm, she burped and then she swore. She said b-b-bloody, Miss Justin.’

‘Thank you, Julia. Please sit down now. Everyone, get out your reading books and turn to chapter four.’

Julia sat, smiling again at Alison who grinned back and nodded her obvious approval.

‘Biddy, come to the front please,’ said Miss Justin sharply. She reprimanded Biddy for being rude and disruptive, gave her lines, extra homework and made her sit at the front for the rest of the day. The girl repulsed her. She’d always wanted to punish her for something, and at last Julia Gamble had given her good reason.

Biddy said nothing, for she couldn’t speak. The lump was still there, only now it was bigger. She thought it might burst out of her chest. Her tummy felt sick, her eyes felt hot and it felt like her body was shrinking. She didn’t know what was happening, but she didn’t like it at all and she wanted it to stop. It did stop eventually, but only for a while. Sadly for Biddy, that was just the start of it. That was the day that everything changed. The day that Biddy Bloody Weirdo was born.