LITMIR.BIZ

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cheese, sweet-corn and a muffin: one of my favourite lunches.

      ‘At least your mum won’t start wailing, “Where did I go wrong?” like mine does and suggest we schedule in more “quality time”,’ said Fifty.

      ‘Your mum’s nice – well, apart from all the kissing,’ said Bee. ‘All my mum does is feed me and buy my school shoes. At least your mum’s interested in you.’

      ‘Too interested,’ said Fifty. ‘Kids aren’t meant to be interesting to their mothers. Kids like junk food and danger, that’s it. Like C.P. here.’

      For the first time since ‘the incident’ Copper Pie smiled. ‘Don’t forget telly and football.’

      Fifty smacked him on the shoulder, which meant something like, ‘You’re our mate no matter what.’

      Eventually we had to go out. Copper Pie went to meditate outside the Head’s office and the three of us headed for the tree. I had a quick peek to make sure HE wasn’t there. No. No sign of him. I didn’t want to see Newboy for a while. I was worried he might have fingerprints on his neck.

      Tuesday afternoons are my favourite. I got top marks in the science test so Miss Walsh put my name on the board in the tick column, making me officially a keener. Copper Pie was already up there with the crosses! And I worked hard at my model in D.T. – it’s a Spitfire, made from two boxes and the cardboard tube from the kitchen roll all covered in brown paper with wooden sticks attaching the wheels, clear plastic for the windscreen and a working propeller with a battery under the wing. I can’t wait to paint it. I’ve got a picture to copy so it’ll be an exact replica. Fifty’s making a fire engine. It’s rubbish. He says he’s going to burn it in the metal bin in his room.

      The bell went and I still wasn’t packed up so everyone skedaddled without me. When I came out, the playground was nearly empty. Fifty was waiting with my mum, my sister Flo, and (what was HE doing there?) Jonno. Peculiar. Unbelievably, after all that had happened, he was still bothering us. And where was his mum? She was obviously super-late.

      As I walked towards them, Fifty stepped towards me doing a mini version of the cut-throat sign. He looked worried. Perhaps his mum was in with the Head who was advising her that her son should stop mixing with a certain ginger-haired ruffian. Perhaps my mum would be called in next?

      ‘Disaster,’ Fifty said in my ear. There was no time to ask what he meant because Mum was right behind him.

      ‘There you are. Honestly, anyone would think you didn’t want to come home.’

      I smiled, keeping my eyes focused on Mum and not on Fifty who was making an I’m-being-strangled face behind her.

      ‘It looks as though we’ve got a houseful for tea today. Come on, you lot.’

      I started to walk beside Fifty – he was obviously coming for tea. He comes most weeks so it wasn’t really a reason to make I’m-about-to-die faces, but he does like acting.

      Mum and Flo followed . . . and so did Jonno.

      He was probably hoping to be invited too, I thought. No chance!

      I was about to ask Fifty what he thought Jonno the shadow was doing when Mum bent her head forward and whispered, ‘It seemed kind to offer to have him round for tea. You don’t mind, do you?’

       What did she mean? Why did we need to be kind to Fifty? Why would I mind my friend coming over?

      Uh-oh . . . A nasty thought found its way to the front of the queue.

       Surely she couldn’t mean Jonno?

      No. Of course she couldn’t. It wasn’t possible that Jonno could be coming for tea because I hadn’t mentioned a new boy to Mum. Maybe Fifty’s mum was ill . . . or worse, in hospital. Yes, that would be it. Be kind to Fifty while we break the news. The fact that we were all walking together was a coincidence, that’s all. Or maybe Jonno was still hoping to worm his way in with us, even though we’d shown him we weren’t interested.

      I couldn’t wait to talk to Fifty about how completely crazy Newboy was.

      Mum leaned forward again. ‘Only I met Jonno’s mum this morning at the surgery. It’s so hard being the new boy in a class.’

       tea with the enemy

      I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. There was a tight feeling as though someone had bandaged up my lungs a bit too tight with parcel tape.

      Loads of questions were flying around my head, out of my ears, back in through my nose, buzzing in front of my eyes.

       Will Jonno rat on us?

       If he does, what will Mum say?

       If he doesn’t, will we all pretend to get on like proper mates?

       Will Jonno go along with it?

       Will I be able to swallow my tea with Jonno staring at me?

       Does Jonno have any telltale signs of being throttled?

      The words started to reorganise themselves into nonsense:

       I like to swallow throttled rat.

      Mum drew level and gave me a worried look. ‘I know you don’t like things that aren’t planned, but Jonno’s mum was so pleased that I asked, and when she suggested today . . .’

      I could feel my legs start to tingle. Luckily Mum knows the signs.

      ‘Take a breath NOW,’ she ordered.

      I did.

      ‘That’s right. And another.’

      HOW I BECAME A BREATH-HOLDER

      When I was a tiny baby and couldn’t walk or talk or get food in my mouth without smearing it over my face first, my mum had a bright idea: I think I’ll take this little baby (who can’t even sit up) for a swim. So she took me and my sister Amy (who was five) to the pool and (because she’d been told that babies can swim underwater) she let go of me. I floated below the water for a bit while she chatted to Amy and then (when she remembered I was there) she pulled me out of the water.

      At that point, I was meant to take a big breath but no one had taught me that, so I didn’t. That was the first time I went blue.

      Amy says that after that I did it every time I didn’t get my own way. But that’s a lie.

      Everything started to come back into focus. I’ve been a breath-holder since before I could talk, although it doesn’t happen very often now. I don’t mean to do it. It just happens. I forget to breathe, go bluish and then faint. Luckily as soon as I begin to faint my body takes over and I start breathing again. Fifty’s mum says it’s attention-seeking behaviour. My mum says it’s a quiet version of a tantrum and tells everyone to ignore me. That’s what it’s like having a mum-doctor! Even if I’m really ill, all I get given is a spoon of pink medicine and a vest.

      The breathing helped. I needed to stay calm.

      ‘The car’s just along here. Jonno, would you like to sit in the front with me so we can get to know each other?’

      ‘Thank you,’ said Jonno. I hadn’t noticed his voice before. It was proper, like on the radio.

      Flo scrambled on to her seat and I got in the middle, followed by Fifty. Using faces and signs, we panicked silently. Mum did the talking. ‘Your mum’s description was spot on, Jonno. I had no trouble finding you.’ She paused. ‘So how are you settling in?’

      ‘OK so far,’ he said. Phew!

      ‘Snack?’ Mum asked as we walked into the house.

      ‘Yes, please,’ said Fifty and Jonno at the same time.

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