Authors: Robert Swindells
THEY WATCHED FROM
across the street. Two men brought out rolls of carpet and threw them in the skip. A great battered van came nosing along the street and drew up, blocking their view. They crossed over a bit further along and watched from there. The men were carrying out seats of steel and worn plush. These didn't go into the skip. They were lifted from the men's shoulders by two youths in the back of the van, who stacked them in the cavernous interior. âWonder where they're going?' whispered Fliss.
âAnother cinema?' suggested Lisa.
When the van was crammed with seats, the two youths jumped down, secured its shutter-door and clambered into the cab. The engine coughed and
roared and the van lurched away in a fog of blue exhaust. Three demolition men in vests and jeans stood, hands on hips, watching it leave. As they turned to go back inside, one of them noticed the two girls and called to them. âWanna buy a cinema, ladies?'
Lisa shook her head. âNot today, thanks.'
âHow much?' asked Fliss.
âOh, let me see.' The man pretended to calculate. âFive quid?'
âSorry, haven't got it. How about sixty-two pence?'
âNo chance. Good, solid building this, shoved up in nineteen thirty-two.'
âNo seats in it though,' grinned Fliss.
âYeah, there is â hundreds yet. And anyway, what d'you expect for five quid?'
âSixty-two pence,' Fliss reminded.
âAaa â miser, that's all you are.' He turned to follow his mates inside, muttering, âSixty-two pence!' as he went.
âYou aren't half cheeky, Fliss,' giggled Lisa.
âNo I'm not. He started it.'
âI wonder what he'd have done if you'd pulled a fiver out and said “OK”!'
âSold it to me, of course.' Fliss chuckled. âCan you imagine my mum's face if I walked in and said, “Mum, I bought the Odeon.”?'
Lisa nodded. âShe'd say, “Well, you can't have
the dirty old thing in your room â you must keep it in the shed.”'
The two friends were laughing so much when the man reappeared that he had to whistle piercingly to attract their attention. âIf I can't sell you a picture house, what about a nice bit of dress material?' They looked, and saw that he was carrying a mass of satiny green fabric which lay in shimmering folds across his arms. It was so slippery, and there was so much of it, that he was having to steady it with his chin to stop it toppling forward.
âHey!' breathed Fliss. âWhat is it?'
âCurtain,' the man told her. âYou know â they used to pull it across the screen between films. There's another just like it inside. D'you fancy it?'
âYou bet. How much?'
The man laughed. âI don't want your money, love. Here â take it. It'll only get burned if you don't.'
Fliss started forward, but Lisa's fingers snatched at her sleeve. âWhat d'you want with an old curtain, Fliss? Come on â let's go, huh?'
âNo.' Fliss freed her arm. âDon't you see? It's exactly what we need to cover the worm with. It's green, it's shiny and it's very, very long. In other words, it's perfect.' She walked up to the demolition man.
âWatch it, love,' he grinned. âIt's heavy.' He tipped it into her arms, and she staggered under its weight.
Her knees buckled as she bore her prize back to Lisa.
âSee?' she beamed. âWhat a fantastic stroke of luck.'
Lisa shook her head. âNot luck, Fliss. Fate.'
âWhat do you mean, fate? What are you on about, Lisa?'
âFate is what I'm on about, Fliss. The thing that made the frame perfect and the head perfect and the teeth perfect. The thing that made us walk down here, today of all days, so that you could find a perfect skin for our perfect worm. Don't you see? It's all coming too easily.'
Fliss gazed into her friend's troubled eyes. âOh, Lisa â it's a run of luck, that's all. It happens. Are you going to help me carry this, or do I have to cripple myself?'
Lisa shrugged. âI'll help. You know I will, but I wish we hadn't come this way. I wish the horrid thing was all burned up.'
â
WANNA BUY A
powerhouse, ladies?'
She and Fliss were on a street. The man wore jeans and a vest and had perfect teeth. âHow much?' asked Fliss.
âMcDonald's,' said the man. âShoved up in thirteen ninety-two.'
Fliss laughed. âWhat d'you want with a powerhouse, Lisa? Lisa-pisa monkey-greaser.'
âNot the flesh, Fliss. The power. I've thought it all out.'
âI never knew stuff like that went on inside your skull. It's only papier-mâché.'
âNot to me it isn't. It's too perfect.'
âIt's a run of luck, that's all.'
The man whistled shrilly to attract their attention. He was much further away now. âYou want this stuff or not?' He was cradling something in his arms but she couldn't see what it was.
âYou bet!' she cried, running towards him. Behind her, Fliss was laughing. Her laughter echoed in the street.
For a long time the distance between the man and herself seemed to stay the same, and then in a moment she was with him. He smiled. Close up, she could see fingerprints on his teeth. âWe can always touch 'em up after,' he said, and she saw he'd turned into Trot. âHere.' He held out what he was carrying.
Fear seized her. âWhat is it?'
âA man-eating tiger. They used to pull it across the screen between films.'
âI â I don't like it.' She tried to back away but her feet wouldn't move.
âYou don't need to be liked if you're feared.' He tipped the great, snarling cat into her arms and Lisa woke, screaming.
â
ARE YOU SURE
you're all right to go this morning, Lisa?' Mrs Watmough eyed her daughter anxiously. She was pale, and the skin under her eyes looked bruised and puffy.
âSure I am, Mum. I had a dream, that's all.'
âA nightmare, more like. You haven't screamed in the night like that since you were four.'
âI'm OK, Mum, honestly. I feel fine.' She didn't, but both her parents went out to work and she wasn't going to stay alone in the house all day.
âWell, if you're determinedâ'
â'Bye, Mum.'
Determined. Lisa smiled faintly to herself as she walked down the path. I wish I was determined.
About anything. Confused is what I am. Mixed up. Scared, if you want to know the truth. Something's happening to me and I don't understand what it is, except that it's got something to do with the play. Well â we're due to meet with old Hepworth this aft to discuss progress. Maybe I'll ask to drop out. Dunno what excuse I'll come up with though â can't tell him I'm scared, can I?
Fliss was waiting for her at the top of the school drive. âHey, Lisa, you look awful. Is something wrong?'
âNo, why should there be?'
Fliss shrugged. âNo reason.' She grinned. âAnyway, here's Trot. He'll cheer you up.'
âHuh â fat chance.'
âHi, girls,' Trot greeted. âSeen Gary?'
They shook their heads. âWe've some good news for you though,' said Fliss.
âLet me guess â the school burned down?'
âNo.'
âOld Hepworth's got measles?'
âShut up and listen, will you? We've found a skin for the worm.'
âNo kidding! What's it like?' Fliss described the material. âIs there enough of it, though?'
Fliss nodded. âIt's a cinema curtain. It's higher than the school and nearly as long. It'd do for two worms.'
âFantastic. Bring it to the garage tonight. Half-seven?'
âRight.'
Trot turned to Lisa. âHalf-seven OK for you?'
She pulled a face. âDunno. I might not come. Mum says I need an early night.'
Trot laughed. âIt's not a party, kid. No crates of booze. No rock band. You can be home by nine if that's what you want.'
âI don't know, Trot. I'll have to see, OK?' A part of her wanted to be there. The part that liked to be with Trot. But then there was that other part â the voice inside her head which was telling her to pull back â and that voice was growing louder.
âSure.' Trot shrugged and went off in search of Gary.
Fliss looked at her friend. âAre you sure there's nothing you want to talk about, Lisa?'
âI'm sure.' She sighed. âLook, Fliss, I had a nightmare and I'm tired and I've got things to think about, so d'you think you could just leave me alone for a while, huh?'
âSure.' Fliss felt hurt. âI'll leave you alone. I'll stop talking to you altogether, if that's what you want.' She spun on her heel and hurried on down the drive.
âRIGHT!' MR HEPWORTH
rubbed his hands together and beamed at Year Eight. âIt's just a week now since Mrs Evans and I sprang on you the task of producing a play for the Festival, and we thought this might be a good time for people to report back on how things are progressing. Not to us â we're here in an advisory capacity only â but to one another. Now â who'd like to kick us off?'
âI'd like to kick you off a cliff,' whispered one of the boys. His friend giggled.
Mr Hepworth glared at them. âDid you speak, Roger?'
âNo, Sir.'
âThen it was you, Michael. What did you say?'
âI â I said I'd like to kick us off, Sir.'
âSplendid â off you go, then.'
âWell, er â I'm a villager, Sir.'
âYes?'
âAnd â my mum's nearly finished my outfit. She's made it out of sacking, and it's this raggedy old jacket thing with a belt and some really baggy trousers.'
âIn other words, Michael, you'll be dressed much as usual.' Everybody laughed. âAnd you, Roger â what are you up to?'
âI'm a Viking, Sir. I can sew a bit so I've done my own costume. Well â my mum helped a bit. And I've made this really wicked helmet, Sir, with wings on it.'
The teacher sighed. âThere's absolutely no evidence that the Vikings wore winged helmets, Roger. It's a fallacy.'
âNo, it's a helmet, Sir, honest.'
âYes, all right, Roger.' Mr Hepworth sounded tired. âSarah-Jane â you're the producer or director or whatever, aren't you?'
âYes, Sir.'
âSo how's it coming along?'
âWell â we thought about speaking parts, but in the end we decided to have a narrator because nobody knows how people spoke in those days.'
Mrs Evans nodded. âGood idea, Sarah-Jane. Who's narrating?'
Andrew Roberts raised his hand. âMe, Miss.'
Mrs Evans nodded. âI can't say I'm surprised, Andrew. You've spent most of your time in this school narrating when you should have been listening. Go on, Sarah-Jane.'
âWe've had a couple of rehearsals, Miss. Well â not really rehearsals. Trying things out, and it seems OK so far. We don't have people's costumes at school, and of course the worm's not ready, butâ'