Chapter 20
An April afternoon, finishing up after-school volleyball. It’s spring, the grounds are exploding with bluebells and daffodils in every corner, but the sky is thick and grey, and it’s airless without actually being warm; the sweat won’t dry off their skins. Julia flips her ponytail up to cool the back of her neck. Chris Harper has just under a month left to live.
They’re picking up the volleyballs, taking their time because the showers will be full anyway by the time they get inside. Behind them, the Daleks are taking down the nets, slowly, bitching about something – Gemma calls, ‘. . . thighs like two walruses shagging, disgusting . . .’ but it’s not clear if she’s talking about someone else or about herself.
Julia calls, ‘Saturday night. We’re going, yeah?’ It’s the social evening at Colm’s.
‘Can’t,’ Holly yells back, from a corner of the courts. ‘I asked. Family time blah blah.’
‘Same,’ Becca says, tossing a ball into the bag. ‘My mum’s home. Although she’d actually probably be delighted if I put on an entire makeup counter and a miniskirt and went.’
‘Make her day,’ Julia says. ‘Come home drunk, E’d up and pregnant.’
‘I’m saving those for her birthday.’
‘Lenie?’
‘I’m at my dad’s.’
‘Well, fuck,’ Julia says. ‘Finn Carroll owes me that tenner, and I need it. My earbuds are going.’
‘I’ll sub you,’ Holly says, spiking the last ball at the bag and missing. ‘It’s not like I’m going to get any shopping in this weekend anyway.’
‘I want to rub it in, though. That smug bastard.’ Julia has just noticed how much she’s looking forward to seeing Finn.
‘He’ll be at the debating next week.’
For a second Julia considers going to the social on her own, but no. ‘I know, yeah. I’ll catch him then.’
They give the courts one more scan, and head off. ‘Water,’ Julia says, as they pass the tap by the gate, and peels off from the other three. Up ahead, Ms Waldron calls, ‘Chop-chop, girls! Hup, two, three, four, march!’ The others drift on, Becca spinning in circles swinging the bag of volleyballs, leaving Julia to catch up.
She drinks out of her hand, splashes her face and her neck. The water is underground-cold and gives her a quick, pleasurable shiver. A stream of geese pour overhead, honking, and Julia squints up to see them against the clouds.
She’s turning away from the tap when the Daleks march up. Joanne stops right in front of Julia, folds her arms and stares. The other three fan out and stop one step behind Joanne, fold their arms and stare.
They’re blocking Julia in. None of them say anything.
Julia says, ‘Are we doing something? Or is this it?’
Joanne’s lip curls – Julia figures she thinks it makes her look superior, but if she did it in front of a mirror just once, she’d never do it again. She says, ‘Don’t show off.’
Julia says, ‘Bored already.’
Joanne’s pale flat stare gets paler and flatter. Julia remembers – amused, like it was a different person, some small silly cousin – how a few months ago that stare would have had her zinging adrenaline.
Joanne says, ominously, ‘We want to talk to you.’
‘They talk?’ Julia enquires, nodding at the rest of them. ‘I thought they were your robot bodyguards.’
Orla does an outraged noise, and Gemma throws Joanne a slantwise look. Joanne’s face is pinching up. She says, tight as spitting, ‘You tell that fat slut Selena to stay away from Chris Harper.’
Which is not what Julia was expecting. ‘Loser say what?’
‘Don’t act innocent. We know all about it.’ Nods from the robots.
Julia leans back against the wire fence and blots water off her face with the neck of her T-shirt. She’s starting to enjoy herself. This is the problem with hoovering up gossip the way the Daleks do: every now and then, you’re going to end up having an eppy over something totally imaginary. ‘What do you care what Selena does?’
‘That’s not your problem. Your problem is to make sure she backs off, before she ends up in big trouble.’
Obviously this is meant to be terrifying. More impressive nods; Alison even says, ‘Yeah,’ and then cringes.
‘You fancy Chris Harper,’ Julia says, grinning.
Joanne’s chin jams out at a furious angle. ‘Excuse me, if I fancied him, I’d be going out with him? Not that it’s any of your business.’
‘Then why do you care what Selena does with him?’
‘Because. Everyone knows Chris Harper wouldn’t even look at someone like her if she wasn’t letting him do it to her. He is way out of her league. She needs to go find some spotty dickhead like Fintan Whatshisname who’s always drooling at her.’
Julia laughs, a real laugh, spontaneous, bubbling up towards the hanging grey cloud. ‘So you’re here because she’s getting uppity and she needs putting back in her place? Seriously?’
The more furious Joanne gets, the more bits of her stick out – elbows, tits, arse – and the uglier she gets. ‘Um, wake up and smell the coffee? We’re doing you a favour. You seriously think a guy like Chris is actually going to go out with a mess like Selena? Hello? The second he gets bored of shagging her, he’s going to dump her flat on her fat backside and send dirty photos to all the guys. Tell her to leave him alone or she’ll be sorry.’
Julia takes a swig of water and wipes drops off her chin. She’d love to bounce Joanne around for a while and then leave – Joanne is almost too easy to play with, once you notice that you’re not afraid of her – but if she doesn’t squash this before it takes off, they’ll be stuck with the Daleks going after them for weeks, maybe months, maybe years, needling on and on like a cloud of mosquitoes till Julia’s head blows off from the overload of stupid. ‘Chill,’ she says. ‘You need better quality tattletales. Selena wouldn’t go near that wanker if you paid her.’
Joanne snaps – she’s getting shrill – ‘OhmyGod, you are such a liar. Do you think we’re stupid?’
Julia raises her eyes to the thickening sky. ‘What, you think I’m saying it to make you happy? Newsflash: I don’t give a fuck if you’re happy or not. I’m just telling you. Selena doesn’t even like Chris. She’s hardly even talked to him. Whatever you heard, it’s crap.’
‘Em, Gemma actually saw them? Totally wrapped around each other? So unless you want to try and convince me that Gemma’s actually blind—’
Then Joanne sees something in Julia’s face.
Joanne could taste one drop of power in an ocean. She eases back. ‘Oh. My. God,’ she says, drawing it out long and sweet and sticky, letting it drip all over Julia. ‘You actually didn’t know?’
Julia has her face back to blank, but she knows it’s too late. Coming from any of the other Daleks, this would have been just yak yak noise, it would never even have occurred to her to believe it. But Gemma; back in first year, when they were just kids, Julia and Gemma used to be friends.
A wide smirk is creeping over Joanne’s face. ‘Oopsie,’ she says. ‘Embarrassing.’ Orla sniggers.
Julia looks at Gemma. Gemma says, ‘Last night. I snuck out.’ Little smile that hints things. The other Daleks giggle. ‘I was heading down the path to the back wall, and the two of them were in that creepy place with the big trees where you guys hang out. I almost had a heart attack, I thought it was nuns or ghosts or something, but then I saw who it was. And they weren’t there to talk about the weather, either; they were all over each other. I’d say if I’d watched for another few minutes . . .’
A scattering of snickers, falling like small grimy rain.
Gemma has perfect eyesight, and no one in school has hair like Selena’s. On the other hand – Julia grabs for the other hand – Gemma lies like a rug. Julia scans her for bullshit, scans and scans. She can’t tell. She can barely see Gemma, the solid dry-witted kid she used to share crisps and pens with, never mind read her.
Julia’s heart is running crazy. She says coolly, ‘Whatever you and your little stud were smoking, can I have some too?’
Gemma shrugs. ‘Whatever. I was there. You weren’t.’
Joanne says, ‘Sort it out.’ Now that she knows she’s in charge, all the twisted bits of her have gone back where they belong; she’s smoothed to angelic, except for that curled lip. ‘We only bothered to warn you this once because we’re being nice. We’re not going to do it again.’
She whisks around – she doesn’t actually snap her fingers at the rest of the Daleks, but somehow it looks like she does – and struts off, out of the tennis courts and up the path towards the school. The others scuttle to keep up.
Julia turns the tap back on and moves her hand up and down between the water and her mouth, in case they look back, but she can’t drink. Her heartbeat is jamming her throat. Her T-shirt sticks to her skin like some clammy sucker-footed thing, dragging. The sky presses down on her head.