‘Carla stole my friend’s pencil case. I told you. But no one would believe me ’cause he socked her with the football.’
It was no good. She couldn’t help the burning flush creeping up her cheek. ‘It is not true.’
The teacher’s eyes narrowed. ‘Are you sure?’
She sat up straight. ‘Very.’
‘I see.’ The teacher nodded before moving on to the next table.
‘Liar, liar,’ chanted the children.
If Charlie was here – the real Charlie – he would tell her to ignore them. But instead she had an impostor (she was on the ‘I’s now in her dictionary), who just sat on her lap and did nothing.
‘Liar, liar.’
‘If you do not stop, then God will punish you.’ Carla’s eyes flashed at Jean, the girl who was nearest and loudest. ‘You will die!’
There was a shocked silence. Carla was shocked at herself too. She was not even sure where the words had come from.
‘Carla Cavoletti! Leave the table this instant.’
Good. That was exactly what she wanted. Head high, she sailed out of the dining room and into the corridor.
‘You will sit there for the rest of the afternoon.’
Good again. She would not be bullied if she wasn’t in the classroom. It was then that Carla had her idea. She knew now just what she needed from Larry next.
‘I hate school,’ Carla declared over and over again that evening. The teacher had, of course, told Mamma about the detention. Carla had tried to explain her side of the story. But Mamma was cross with her.
‘I have told you, cara mia. You have to fit in with these Eenglish.’
For the first time she could remember, Carla wished Larry would visit that night so she could get on with her plan. Mamma was expecting him because she had put on her pink dress and sprayed Apple Blossom down her chest. But then the phone had rung. Larry’s wife needed him after all. Mamma was desolate. And so was Carla.
The next morning, when she dawdled through the school gates, there was a strange air of quietness in the playground. The others were huddled in groups, shooting her horrible looks.
There were whispers. The name ‘Jean’ was said several times.
‘What has happened?’ Carla asked one of the girls who sat at the front of the class and was not quite as nasty as the others.
But the girl shied away as if Carla was a dangerous dog. ‘Do not come near me.’
When they trooped into assembly, Carla finally understood. ‘Sadly, we have some bad news,’ began the headmistress. Her eyes were red like Mamma’s had been last night after Larry had phoned. ‘Jean Williams was knocked down by a car last night on her way back from Brownies. She is in hospital and, I’m afraid to say, very poorly.’
In hospital? Jean Williams? The girl who had been horrid yesterday? The one who she had told would die?
Carla became uncomfortably aware that the girls on either side of her were moving away. Several people were turning round to look at her warily. That day in the playground, no one taunted her. No one spoke to her.
By the end of the week, Carla was neither eating nor sleeping. When she did eventually drift off, she dreamed of Jean falling under the wheels of Larry’s shiny car. Then she would wake up screaming.
‘What is wrong, cara mia?’ said her mother, stroking her brow. ‘Is it because of that poor little girl?’
All the parents knew about it. A letter had been sent home about ‘road sense’.
It was my fault, Carla wanted to say. But something held her back. If she could make Mamma continue to feel sorry for her, she would succeed with her plan.
‘The others, they are not nice to me,’ she said instead. ‘Jean … Jean was the only kind one.’
The lie slipped out of her mouth so easily that it felt like the truth.
‘My sweet.’ Mamma’s eyes filled with tears. ‘What can I do to make you feel better?’
This was her chance! ‘I want to go to a different school. The one that wears brown uniform and doesn’t take boys.’
‘But I have told you, piccola. The nuns will not let us in.’
Carla looked up from under her lashes. ‘Ask Larry. He can do anything.’
Mamma flushed. ‘Even he cannot fix this. But perhaps he might consider sending you to a private school …’
That night, when Larry came to dinner (even though it was a Saturday!), Carla did not need telling twice when it came to bedtime. Putting her ear against the wall, she could hear muffled voices. ‘I know it is a lot to ask, but …’
‘Impossible! What would my wife say if she found out that such a large sum of money was leaving our account every term?’
More muffled voices.
‘There is something I might be able to do, however. That convent you mentioned just now. Our firm sets aside an annual amount for local donations. I can’t promise anything. But it might be possible to pull a few strings. Even for naughty lapsed Catholics like you, my darling …’
The music finished before Carla could hear more. There was the sound of a door clicking. They were going into the bedroom. Soon, Larry would come out and go to the bathroom.
There he was. Quickly, she leaped out of bed and opened her door.
‘Larry,’ she whispered.
Then she stopped. Horrified. Instead of his suit, he was wearing a shirt that was open, and underneath … ugh! Desperately, he covered himself with his hands. His face showed that he was as shocked as she was. ‘You are meant to be asleep!’ He sounded angry.
Carla glanced at Mamma’s closed bedroom door. ‘If you don’t help me go to the school with the brown uniform, I will tell Mamma about the woman in the car.’
His face scowled. ‘You little –’
‘Larry!’ Mamma’s voice called out from the bedroom. ‘Where are you?’
Carla glared. ‘I will not tell you again.’
I will not tell you again. It was what one of the teachers had said when she’d missed what was being said in class. Now it was her turn to be tough.
The following morning at breakfast, Mamma was all smiles. ‘My darling, guess what? I told Larry how unhappy you are and he is going to see if he can get you into the convent school. Isn’t that wonderful?’
Yes! Yes!
Carla gave Larry a steady look. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.
‘Aren’t you going to give him a kiss on his cheek to express your gratitude?’
Bracing herself, she walked across and brushed her mouth against his skin. It felt old. Dry.
‘Mamma,’ she said sweetly when she sat down again. ‘Have you thought again about what I asked before? You know. Going to work on Sunday so that I can see Lily and Ed?’
A quick look passed between her mother and Larry. ‘Is that what you would like?’ Mamma’s voice had an edge of excitement.
‘Yes, please.’
‘Then I will ask if they mind.’
Mind? Of course they didn’t. Carla heard Lily’s voice from down the corridor. ‘We love having her round. Just drop her off when you go.’
Something had changed. Carla felt it from the minute she entered the flat. Ed was barely speaking to Lily. And Lily, instead of greeting her with a new cake recipe or a ball of wool to make some more pompoms, was sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by books.
‘She is working on a case,’ Ed said, as he asked her to sit a certain way on the sofa. ‘We must not disturb her, must we?’
‘Just as we must not disturb you when you are painting,’ snapped Lily.
Carla began to feel uncomfortable. ‘I thought a case was something that you carried things in.’
Ed took a swig out of the glass in front of him. It had a dark-brown liquid inside and smelled like the whisky Mamma gave Larry when he came round. ‘Believe me, we are carrying enough baggage at the moment.’
‘I think that’s enough, don’t you?’ The words sang out of Lily’s mouth, but her eyes were empty.
‘Sure.’ Ed turned round to face Carla. ‘Now I want you to sit there without moving and think of something nice.’