Dream Guy (6 page)

The door closed behind Smokey, and Joe sighed, hoping at last to be able to get his head down. But Mr. Thomas had given up on Lindsay and now glanced in Joe’s direction.

“Start us off, would you, Joe? From the beginning of chapter fourteen, if you wouldn’t mind.”

So Joe read at a steady drone, doing his best to kill off Scout’s characteristic individuality, desperate to be left to his own devices. Mr. Thomas soon tired of his monotone and took over the job, throwing himself into the reading, perhaps in the hope that Harper Lee’s prose would transport him elsewhere. At last, Joe was able to find a fresh page in the sketchbook he always carried with him. He placed the drawing he’d made from the photo of the Gallardo fob and keys beside it and started copying. It didn’t take long. Fortunately, Mr. Thomas was by now so immersed in his own performance that he did not notice as Joe’s head drooped and settled against the wall, his hand on the drawing he’d just completed.

The problem was that Mr. Thomas’ voice kept intruding into Joe’s dream, particularly when he put on a strange accent to play the part of Dill, who’d run away from home, reached the Finch house and hidden under Scout’s bed. Then there was a knock at the door and in slouched Smokey, followed by an implacable Mrs. Elphick, who was neither prepared to babysit on behalf of her colleague, nor willing to put up with Smokey’s continual taunting of his teacher. Joe shook his head to clear the sleep away.

“Silas, I believe you have something to say to Mr. Thomas and the rest of this class.”

Smokey turned slightly, caught her eye and wheeled back to the rest of the room.

“I apolo—” But as he began speaking, a small child in shorts held up by braces, a grubby white shirt and a pale-blue bow tie plowed past both Mrs. Elphick and Smokey. He paused, saw the vacant seat by Joe and sat himself down.

“Boy, am I glad I found you. You wanted this, didn’t you?” His voice was high, like someone on helium, but there was an unmistakable Southern drawl to it. Joe looked at him then closed his eyes and mouthed, “Holy shit.” Dill
surreptitiously
handed over the Lamborghini keys and sat back in his chair, his feet dangling.

“Young man,” demanded Mrs. Elphick, “just who do you think you are and what on earth are you doing in this classroom?”

“Why, I’m Charles Baker Harris, ma’am, but everyone calls me Dill.” The boy looked around him for the first time, perplexity furrowing his brow. “I don’t rightly know what I’m doing here, ma’am, ’cept I had to give something to Joe Knightley here.”

By this time, the whole class was alert, an extraordinary break with the tradition of Thomas’ groups. As one, they gazed at the boy, uncertain whether they could believe that this was truly Dill Harris or whether this was some bizarre stunt that Thomas had resorted to in yet another attempt to engage their evanescent interest.

“Where are you from?” Mrs. Elphick suddenly switched her attention to Mr. Thomas. “Do you have a budget to hire child actors, Mr. Thomas, or have you prevailed on someone to dress up for free? I know it’s been suggested that you liven up your approach, but this seems a little extreme.”

“I don’t know where he’s come from. He’s nothing to do with me.”

“Guv,” added Mrs. Elphick crushingly, “no doubt it’s more than your job’s worth.” She swiveled away from Thomas and turned her laser glance on Dill. “So you had to give something to Joe Knightley. Is that right, young man?”

“Yes, ma’am. I guess I can go back now. Back to Alabama. Ain’t I in Alabama anymore?”

“No, young man, we are
not
in Alabama. And how we are to get you there is beyond me. I suppose I’d better get onto social services. How is it, Joe, that recently you have become the epicenter of any confusion in this building? It comes back to me now. We owe Mr. Tucker’s temporary absence to your apparently being sucked into a wall. And there’s the state of Mr. Crosbie’s room, which reeks of fish and seems to have been flooded.”

Joe looked at Mrs. Elphick and shook his head. “I don’t understand that, Mrs. Elphick, but Dill is staying with us. He’s meant to be shadowing Liesel, my little sister. If it’s okay, can I keep him with me until the end of this lesson? Then I’ll take him over to her on my lunch break?”

“Take him back now. I’ll sign you out. Come with me. You, Silas, will return to your seat and cause no further trouble. I will see you this afternoon at three-thirty-five for your detention.” She beckoned at Joe and Dill to follow her, turned as precisely as a drill sergeant and stalked down the corridor, expecting the boys to tag faithfully behind her. She was not disappointed. Meekly, Dill slipped his little paw into Joe’s hand and trotted beside him as Elphick’s kitten heels tapped along the corridor.

Chapter Five

Ditching Dill

At the secretary’s office, Mrs. Elphick signed the form allowing Joe to leave the school premises for no more than fifty-five minutes, which should be enough to walk the mile to Liesel’s school, deposit the child and return before the end of the lunch hour.

It was not warm, and Dill wore only a lightweight shirt. Joe took off his fleece and handed it to him. It swamped Dill, making him look as though he were wearing a fluffy red dress. Joe helped Dill roll up the sleeves then zipped himself in his jacket and put on his backpack before leading the kid out of the school gate.

“What happened exactly? How did it feel?”

“Coming here? Well, I was hid under Scout’s bed, so it was dark anyway. I kept my eyes closed. She was just coming in the room, and I reached my hand out. She squealed and ran to get Jem. I thought she’d be along any time, but I closed my eyes again, and when I opened them, I was holding this key, just outside this schoolroom. I knew exactly what to do. But this ain’t part of the book, is it?”

“No. We should check the book, see whether it carries on as normal.”

“Ya think it won’t? Say, how’m I goin’ to get back?”

Joe paused. He wasn’t sure. It was all very well saying he could dream Dill back into the book, but Joe had now twigged that the consequences of his dreams could be a touch unpredictable. By this time, they had reached a bus shelter between the two schools. They both sat down on the bench and Joe dug in his book bag for the tattered copy of
To Kill a Mockingbird
he had inherited from Ben. He leafed to chapter fourteen and began scanning the text.

“Boy, you sure do read fast. What’s it say?”

“Nothing. Jem checks under the bed and there’s nothing there. There’s no mention of you at all.”

“Do I come back later?”

Joe continued scanning the book. He knew it reasonably well by now, for he had pinched it two years ago when Ben was studying it in class and had reread it this term. But now, there was no trace of Dill after chapter fourteen.

“I have to get you back into the book somehow. The thing is, I have to go to sleep. I just don’t think there’s time. I need somewhere to go to sleep as well.”

Dill didn’t seem to think this at all odd. Something else had struck him. “Say, there were blacks in your class. You have black people in your school?”

Joe nodded. “You’re in England. We don’t have segregation and stuff. And I don’t think it happens any more in the States either. Look, I’ll take you to my sister’s class. You stick with her. Everyone in her class is nine or ten. I hope that doesn’t worry you. But the thing is, you don’t look more than nine. You’ll find it easier in the primary school, and if you just keep your head down until school is over, I’ll come and get you. Then once we’re home, I can try to put you back in the book.” Joe tried to sound calm, since any anxiety might alarm Dill.

“Sure. What’s your sister like? Is she anything like Scout?” Dill hopped off the bench, totally sanguine about events and eager to get going.

Joe shook his head at the idea. “No. Unfortunately, she’s nothing like Scout. She isn’t a tomboy. In fact, she hates boys, and she’s a mouthy little cow.” He stood up and slung on his backpack, leading the way as Dill took two or three steps to keep pace with him.

“Scout can be one of them too—a mouthy little cow.” Dill enunciated the words, striving to imitate Joe’s diction. Joe grinned in response.

“Look, don’t let on I called her that. She’ll pay me back, and she’s mean.”

“Oh, I understand mean. Is she prissy?”

“Yup. She’s really prissy. She’s always neat and tidy and her hair never gets in a mess and she looks after all her stuff. She’s a girly girl. She’s into anything pink and fluffy. Have you met anyone like that?”

“Not that I remember. The only people I remember are the Finches and my mother and her new guy.”

“Don’t you go to school with girls like that?”

“I don’t know that I go to school. I’m always in Maycomb for the summer. I don’t exactly know what happens when I’m not there.”

Joe finally clicked on what he had to do. When a character wasn’t mentioned in the book, they existed in some sort of fictional waiting zone, a limbo. It wasn’t clear if Dill went to school, because no scenes showing Dill in school were in the book.

“I don’t know what you’ll make of school, but see if you can stick it out for the rest of the day. I’ll be along in three hours or so for you and Liesel. Just don’t talk too much. And don’t stick your hand up, even if you know the answers.”

From what Joe had gleaned of Dill’s personality, his last two requests were unlikely to be met. By this time, they had reached Liesel’s school. Joe recognized the lady at the desk, trying to talk on two phones at once, placating one anxious parent while giving a rocket to an intransigent one. When she saw Joe, she rolled her eyes. She clearly remembered this Knightley, even if it had been over three years since he’d last crossed the doorstep. The boys waited until she’d finished her conversations.

“What can I do for you?” Mrs. Cartwright did not sound as though she was inclined to do anything for Joe.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs. C, but Dill here is staying with us and he’s meant to be shadowing Liesel today. My mum asked me to bring him around to the school and check that everything was okay.”

“We’ve had no notice of it. She didn’t think to send us a note, I suppose. We’re not a babysitting service, you know.”

“She was really, really sorry, but she’s in a big rush, and Dill’s parents had an emergency with their documents.” Joe avoided Dill’s admiring glance as he spun his tale.

Mrs. Cartwright harrumphed like an agitated walrus and tapped at her computer.

“Liesel’s in art just now. You’ll have to check with Miss Donohoe. You remember her, I daresay. I’m sure she’ll remember you, Joe. You know where the classroom is, just where it’s always been.”

It was weird to be back in a place that had been his whole universe not so long ago. Except that three years seemed more distant than the Cretaceous period to Joe, and he kept noticing changes, like the carpet tiles that had been renewed and the walls that had been repainted primrose and were hung with different pictures from the ones Joe had known. He led Dill down the corridors and up a flight of stairs and toward a door that had not changed. It still said
Year Four, Miss Donohoe
, and still had a big rainbow sticker beneath the sign. Joe waited for a second or two, listening to see if Donny was having one of her rages or if all was calm. He heard her harsh voice through the wood, instructing year four to tidy up now. It was clean-up time, all brushes to the sink, and William Monks was going to wash the brushes, this time without getting any paint on the carpet. Shrill and aggravating as a corncrake, she rattled on and on, failing to hear Joe’s initial soft knocks. Dill took over, pounding the wood with his fist. The door suddenly opened, then Dill lost his balance.

“Who on earth is making that dreadful racket?” bellowed Miss Donohoe, gazing down at the crumpled boy at her feet. Dill hopped up and her eyes rose to take in Joe’s looming figure. He was taller than she was now but she managed to reduce him back to a quivering four-footer with her gimlet gaze.

“Joseph Knightley. Come back to visit us, have you?”

“No, Miss Donohoe. That is, I’ve been sent with Dill here.” Joe launched into his bizarre tale of lost passports and American houseguests with a degree less vigor than he had used with Mrs. Cartwright. He prayed that Liesel would back him up.

Miss Donohoe turned and summoned Liesel from a small table at the back of the classroom. Joe swiftly helped Dill out of the fleece.

“Liesel, come and sort out your houseguest. He’ll need some paper and a pencil. We’ve got some numeracy skills to work on. You are still collecting them both at the regular time, aren’t you, Joe? Tuesday is one of your days to collect Liesel, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Miss Donohoe.”

“Good. Then off you go.”

Joe turned and left, relieved that Liesel had been given no chance to wreck his shaky story. As he left Liesel’s school, he checked the time and began running. Unless he went full pelt, he’d never make it back for afternoon lessons. He’d just made it back to school by his deadline and sat panting and hungry through a psychology class, most of which passed entirely over his head, an occurrence that the teacher noticed.

“Feeling all right, Joe?”

Joe was about to say, “Fine, sir,” when it occurred to him that here was the perfect solution to his problems. “No, sir. As a matter of fact, I think I’m going to be sick.”

The teacher gave Joe a second look. “You do look a bit peaky. Do you really think you’re going to throw up?”

Joe didn’t say anything, just cradled his stomach and put one hand to his mouth, nodding. The teacher began to look panicked and hastily filled in an excuse note.

Mrs. Naismith was suspicious when Joe turned up at her door, but he managed a convincing retch and she hurried him to her inner sanctum where she had a couch and a bucket for him, returning almost immediately to her paperwork.

Joe closed his eyes and recalled the events of chapter fourteen of
To Kill a Mockingbird
. He went over them again and again, determined that this dream would not run out of his control. But Joe could not summon sleep. Morpheus would not come. To Joe’s astonishment, his body took charge and he was sick, copiously and biliously into the bucket. When he was finally done with throwing up, Joe sat shakily and went over to the washbasin and rinsed out his mouth, shivering a little. He lurched back to the couch and lay there, and this time, he did fall asleep, curved toward the wall, away from the room and all the troubles that awaited him in the outside world.