When we get to school we sign in at registration and head to the Great Hall. As soon as Miss Mehmet arrives she begins to fuss, she wants it to be perfect. She bosses around the technical crew, two external guys brought in to man the lights and stage effects. It’s the first time we’ve used them and everybody laughs as a whoosh of smoke fills the stage in preparation for the pig-hunting scene. A few of the girls are missing, the art history trip to Paris left this morning, so Miss Mehmet asks me to step in as the pig. I don’t like the idea of being hunted, but I can’t say no in front of everyone.
‘And, Phoebe, I know you’re narrator but we need more bodies on stage for this scene so can you fill in as one of the boys.’
‘Gladly,’ she replies, looking at me.
‘There should be a spear for everyone stage left by the props cupboard. Once you have one, on to the stage please and, Milly, there should also be a papier-maché pig’s head, grab that please.’
I know this scene inside out. It’s a play, not real, but when I put on the pig’s head it starts to feel real. Though light to carry, the head is large and, once on, hard to see out of. The only way not to trip is to look down at my feet. My breath comes in short shallow bursts, creating an intense heat that rebounds off my face, and back again. Through the layers of glue and paper, I hear Miss Mehmet.
‘Milly, you’ll be entering stage right with Jack and his gang closely behind, and remember, everyone, this is a key scene where we start to see real savagery emerging from the boys. Think blood, gore, and use the hunting chant to demonstrate this. Once I call for lights and smoke, Milly, you’re on.’
The girls find it easy to get into role. Somebody to the right bangs their spear on the ground, a repetitive hammering that makes the lower part of my stomach contract. A voice on my left whispers, run, little piggy, run. You never called me piggy, but you often made me run. SO MUCH FUN WE USED TO HAVE, ANNIE, DIDN’T WE?
‘Go on, you’re on,’ somebody says behind me.
I missed my cue, listening to you.
As soon as I step on to the stage I bend my knees, drop low, as pig-like as possible. My breathing is heavy, weighed down by you. There with me. The noise of the spears unites. Thud, thud. THUD. I smell the dry ice from the smoke machine, it swirls around my feet as the stage lights up with flashes of red, punctuated with strobe lighting. The chant begins.
‘Kill the pig, cut her throat, spill her blood.’
Different words from yours, same intent.
Somebody bangs on a drum, the spears move closer, Jack and his boys. I move around the stage, it’s supposed to be a chase.
‘Kill the pig, cut her throat, spill her blood.’
Thud, thud. THUD.
I tried to find new places to hide, but you knew where to look.
‘There it is,’ a voice cries.
A high-pitched bow-wow like the noise a child makes playing cowboys and Indians lifts in the air, it’s their signal. Time to attack. Me. I move into centre stage, stumble by mistake on to the floor, not safe on the floor. Not supposed to be, the pig doesn’t make it out alive, remember? The strobe lights intensify, another release from the smoke machine.
‘Kill the pig. Cut her throat. Spill her blood.’
The feet surrounding me stamp in time with their spears. The first jab happens fast, from behind, I can guess who it was. I roll on to my back. Spear after spear begins to nudge and prod me. The drum slows to a steady hypnotic rhythm, the chant lower, more menacing.
‘Cut her throat, spill her blood,’ another bow-wow released from the person on my left. A loud single beat on the drum calls them to silence. The sound of the papier-maché head sucking in and releasing from my face, the only noise, I’m breathing so hard. The feet around me start to move in a circular motion, disorientate me further. I hated the mask you made me wear, the same feelings now. Can’t. Breathe.
‘This time, no mercy,’ says Jack, played by Marie.
Her spear goes down to the right of me, hits the floor hard. To the audience, through the smoke and the strobes, it’ll look like I’ve been speared through the heart. I’m carried off stage by my legs and my arms but here in my new life, without you in charge, I’m placed on my feet and nothing bad happens. I wish I could cheer and join in with the laughter and jokes backstage, but instead I go to the toilet in the dressing room, peel off the pig’s head, splash my face with cold water, count backwards from fifty. The numbers slowly cast their spell, the flashbacks recede, and after a while I feel safe enough to leave.
As I come down the stairs from the stage, into the hall, Ms James is waiting for me. She invites me to take a seat at the front, away from the girls, she’d like a word.
‘How are you enjoying your first play at Wetherbridge?’
‘Good, thank you, Ms James.’
‘You gave a very convincing performance, Milly, but I was a bit concerned to find out it was you playing the pig.’
‘I’m not, I was standing in for Aimee, she’s on the Paris trip.’
‘I see, and I can also see it might have been tricky to say no, but still, you do need to be aware of situations that could trigger something unpleasant for you, given – you know.’
I want to put the pig’s head back on and cry. There isn’t a minute goes by at school when I don’t feel reminded.
Given – you know.
‘There’s a couple of other things I wanted to chat to you about, Milly. Mr Newmont emailed me to let me know you’ll be going to court, the week after next I believe.’
I nod.
‘Have you been managing to concentrate at school?’
‘Mostly, yes.’
‘You’re clearly very bright, Milly, so it’s not a huge concern if you need to take some time away, we can arrange for work to be sent home to you.’
‘I’d rather be busy, if that’s okay.’
‘Of course. But if you change your mind, just ping my PA an email and ask her to book an appointment for you to see me.’
‘Thank you.’
‘The other thing I wanted to talk to you about is Miss Kemp. I understand you’ve been spending a bit of time with her. The difficulty, Milly, is that Miss Kemp doesn’t know about …’
She nods rather than says it, waits for me to nod back, show her I’ve understood, then continues.
‘So we need to be careful, if you like. I’m aware you tried to give her a gift, which really is very sweet but not something we encourage – in fact, it’s against school rules. However, in your particular case I can perhaps see where the confusion has come from.’
That’s why she hasn’t answered my emails.
‘Miss Kemp is a wonderful teacher, very committed, but that said, one must be clear where one draws the line.’
‘I’m not sure I understand what you mean, Ms James.’
‘What I mean is, if you’d find it easier we can look at assigning you a new guidance teacher.’
‘Why?’
‘I’ve asked Mr Newmont to talk this over with you during half-term, I’m sure he will. Okay?’
‘Yes, Ms James.’
‘There’s no need to look worried, we’re all on your side and I’m sure we can work something out. How does that sound?’
Patronizing.
‘Fine, thank you.’
‘Great, keep up the excellent work with the play, no doubt it’ll be a glorious performance on the night.’
I stand when she does, as we’re expected to.
I wake up crying, halfway through the night. I dreamt I was in court.
When the defence lawyer turned round to face me he shrank to the size of a boy, asked me why I let you hurt him. Tears in his eyes.