Is (8 page)

‘Yes, Sir?'

‘Something amusing you, Morgan?'

‘No, Sir.'

‘Then why are you giggling, may I ask?'

‘I don't know, Sir.'

‘“I don't know, Sir,”' Mr Gregory imitated me in a particularly silly voice.

Then he reverted to his normal silly voice: ‘And I don't suppose you know where young Williams is this fine day either do you?'

‘No, Sir.'

‘Is there anything you do know, Morgan?'

I resisted the temptation to say ‘No, Sir' once again and instead tried to look contrite.

At that Mr Gregory ignored me, thank goodness. ‘Wilson.' he continued.

‘Here, Sir.'

And so another day at school began…

* * *

Finally it drew to a close and I decided to go round to Isabel's on the way home to see how she was.

I was right at the corner of Walton Road and about to turn into it when I stopped. What was I doing? Is wouldn't want to see me and to be honest I didn't think I much wanted to see her at the moment either. She had lied to me about her father. She was always going off in a huff or something. In fact she was acting pretty weird all round. And yet… Talk about being indecisive. I started down Walton Road, then stopped, retraced my steps and stood again on the corner. I must have done that three or four times before eventually I found myself standing on the other side of the wall from the laburnum tree.

Well I was here now, I reasoned, and quickly walked up the path to the door before I had a chance to reconsider. I rang the bell and it opened almost straight away. Isabel's mother didn't look anything like she had two days ago. Her hair was tied back roughly with an elastic band and she had no make-up on. And it looked to me like she had been crying because her eyes were all puffy.

She wasn't wearing the smart clothes I'd seen her in before. Now she had on a pair of scruffy trousers miles too big for her and a t-shirt with paint on.

‘Oh, hello, Robert,' she said as she recognised me. She didn't smile, but then she didn't seem particularly put out either, just sort of neutral.

‘Hello, Mrs Williams,' I replied.

‘Sorry you caught me doing the decorating,' she explained as if an explanation was called for. ‘We're doing Isabel's room, you see.'

As she spoke she wiped both her cheeks with the back of her hand, not realising it had green paint on. The two streaks left by her hand made her look like a Red Indian.

‘I'd invite you in, but we're right in the middle of things, you see,' she continued.

‘That's all right,' I said, ‘I was just wondering if Is – Isabel – was okay.'

‘Yes, yes, she'll be fine. Bit of an upset that's all. She'll get over it, don't you worry. That's why we're doing her room. Take her mind off things. Doesn't do to brood on things, does it?'

‘No,' I agreed. ‘She's all right then? She'll be back at school tomorrow will she, only I feel sort of responsible, somehow, you know?'

At that Mrs Williams' face looked sad and happy at the same time. She sniffed as she smiled. ‘Come on, there's no need for you to feel that, Robert. Don't be daft. It's something Isabel's got to come to terms with herself.'

‘Maybe I could have a talk with her then? Is she here?'

‘Not right now. We're in the middle of things anyway.' Mrs Williams turned on a pleasant but false-looking smile. ‘You'll see her at school tomorrow; you can talk to her then. She'll be there, don't you worry.'

That part was certainly true. Is was at school when I got there. She was in the corner by the school tennis courts talking to Veronica Biggleswade. But the minute she saw me crossing the playground towards her she turned her back on me.

‘Please yourself,' I muttered under my breath and changed direction to go towards the main entrance. I had my hand out to push the door open when my name was called out.

‘Rob! Oi! Over here!'

I looked round to find Kevin Ryder smiling at me from a crowd of older boys, most of whom I only knew by sight.

I walked over, uncertain as to what Kevin Ryder could possibly want with me. I thought I had made my feelings towards him as plain as I could but then, as I've said before, he does have particularly thick skin. In fact he's pretty thick all over.

‘Yes?' I asked with as much annoyance in my voice as I could manage.

‘We've got a little proposition for you, Rob,' said Kevin gleefully.

‘Proposition?'

‘Me and the boys here are forming a group!' he announced.

‘Group?'

‘Yeah you know, like music.'

‘Music?'

‘Why do you have to keep repeating everything I say?' asked Kevin, beginning to become annoyed himself.

‘Yeah, why do you have to keep repeating everything Kev says?' repeated one of Kevin's extra thick mates. Two Short Planks I called him.

‘I'm sorry, I don't know what you're going on about,' I replied truthfully.

‘Me and the boys here are forming a group.' Kevin said once more. ‘We're going to make records and things, you know.'

‘But you can't play an instrument, Kevin,' I said with great difficulty – trying not to laugh in his face.

‘Don't matter.'

I knew I'd regret asking, but I did anyway. ‘Why doesn't it matter?'

‘I'm the lead singer!'

That did it. I nearly doubled up. I could feel my face twitching and I began making strange guttural noises as I fought to hold back the roar of laughter ready to burst from inside me.

Kevin looked confused. ‘What's so funny?'

I looked at Kevin and then at his large mates from the upper forms.

‘Nothing,' I said with a reasonably straight face. ‘Just a joke I remembered.'

Luckily Kevin didn't pursue it; he was much keener on getting to the point of his little chat.

‘Thing is, all we need is a few more quid and we'll be able to get all the gear we need. That's why we thought of you. It's like an investment, you know. You put your money down and then when we make a fortune you get a share.'

‘No thanks,' I said as politely and firmly as I could.

‘Kev's offering you a share in our group,' said Two Short Planks.

‘Well,' I smiled, ‘thanks for the invitation, but no thanks.'

‘Kev wasn't asking you if you wanted in or not,' Two Short Planks persisted. ‘He was telling you.'

‘I see.' At last I began to understand. I looked from one member of Kevin's ‘group' to the next.

And the next. They were all as ugly as each other and all were expecting an answer. The question was how much did I value my face? A few pence seemed a small price to pay to keep my nose intact.

‘How much?' I asked.

‘Two pounds,' answered Kevin with a smirk.

‘How much?' I was aghast. Two pounds may not seem like much now, but back in the early seventies it was quite a lot of money and a lot, lot more than Kevin's last scheme – Brains United. You could buy an album for £2 – by someone decent. So paying two quid to have Kevin Ryder and his Morons inflicted on everyone hardly seemed like a bargain. Nevertheless I dug deep into my pockets, but only came up with 85 pence, some creased picture cards, some sticky sweet wrappers, two sticks of Wrigleys, a button and lots of fluff.

‘You'll have to do better than that,' said one of the other members of the group, pounding one fist rhythmically into the flat of his other hand. I figured he must be the drummer.

‘It's all I've got,' I said in an alarmed voice. ‘I can get the rest for tomorrow.'

‘Make sure you do,' was the only answer I got. And then, relief of reliefs, the bell went to signal the start of school.

I rushed inside without another word. Isabel must have slipped by me while I was having my little chat with Kevin and his mates. When I got into Mr Gregory's class she was already sitting, grim-faced, at her desk.

‘Ah you're back with us today are you, Isabel? Good. Good,' remarked Mr Gregory when he looked up. ‘Not another fit I hope.'

‘No, Sir.' Without saying another word she got up and went over to his desk, nearly being knocked over in the process by Kevin as he tore into the room.

‘Not so fast, Ryder!' yelled Mr Gregory, and amazingly he managed to catch Kevin by the back of his shirt as he tore past. For a glorious moment I thought Mr Gregory had choked him, but no such luck.

Kevin managed a squeaky ‘No, Sir' and continued to his desk at a snail's pace. Then Mr Gregory turned his attention to Is.

‘Right, have you brought a note?'

She pushed her hand into a blazer pocket and pulled out a crumpled envelope which she handed over. Mr Gregory ripped it open and looked at the letter with a frown on his face.

‘This is from your mother, is it Isabel?'

‘Yes, Sir. Of course it is – Sir,' replied Isabel. I was pleased to see that she was back to her old stroppy self.

‘Then what has happened to her handwriting?' wheezed Mr Gregory. ‘Why has it changed so dramatically from the last note you brought in, eh?'

‘I don't know.'

‘You don't know! YOU DON'T KNOW! You're as bad as Morgan. He doesn't seem to know anything either. But I'll tell you this my girl…' He tapped the letter angrily with his podgy fingers. ‘This letter here is a forgery!'

He stood up, raising himself by his fists from the desk, and his face was bulging. Isabel looked really scared.

‘No, Sir,' she said in a very quiet voice.

‘Yes, Sir!' bellowed Mr Gregory. ‘Yes, Sir indeed! I know a child's handwriting when I see it.'

‘I didn't write it Sir.'

‘No, one of your horrible little friends did, I've no doubt. You forget, Isabel Williams, I've seen your mother's handwriting. Proper handwriting it was, when you brought in her note last time. Why you can't even think of a decent excuse, can you? ‘A little upset,' it says. ‘Please excuse Isabel for not being at school yesterday, she was a little upset.' What rubbish! I'll give you upset, my girl.'

And with that he screwed the note up into a tight little ball and threw it into the big bin by his desk.

‘Write out “I must never forge sick notes in future” two hundred times. Then we'll see what your handwriting is like won't we?'

Mr Gregory sat back on his seat with a smug smile of satisfaction on his face. I looked over at Isabel and gave her what I hoped was a reassuring look.

7

Another Piece of the Puzzle

For the rest of that week and virtually all the next I hardly saw anything of Is. She was there in the classroom for lessons but the minute we got outside she disappeared. It was obvious she was avoiding me. Couldn't bear the fact that she'd been found out lying I suppose. Though I couldn't blame her really. I'd have done the same in her position.

I may not have seen much of Is but I saw plenty of Kevin. After I managed to come up with two pounds, he started treating me like one of his mates, which was really horrible. As an investor he said he owed it to me to keep me informed as to his group's progress. It turned out that he had managed to get two pounds (and sometimes more) from half the class. I wouldn't have been at all surprised if he hadn't managed to get ‘investments' from half the school. He certainly raised a lot of money, because within a couple of days he proudly announced he'd bought a new guitar.

‘So your little investment's starting to work, isn't that good?' he said smugly.

I couldn't see what was so good about having helped buy him a guitar.

‘Yes, terrific, Kevin,' I replied in a bored voice. ‘In any case, I thought you were the lead singer of this group. What do you want a guitar for?'

‘Adds to the effect doesn't it?' he said as if I knew nothing. ‘Don't you know nothing?' he added. I resisted the temptation to say that I knew what he could do with his new guitar and there would be no shortage of people willing to help him shove it there. Instead I said I'd have to come and see him play some time, to see how my ‘investment' was coming along.

‘Good idea! Why not?' He leapt at this, which made me think how stupid I was for suggesting it. ‘We're having a rehearsal on Friday night in the old scout hall, you can come then!'

‘Oh, great, thanks.' I accepted the invitation without enthusiasm, not intending to go.

But Kevin invited everyone else who had been coerced into putting money into his group. By Friday everyone I talked to seemed to be going to the rehearsal. So what else could I do but join them? At least we'd all have a laugh at Kevin's expense.

As it happened, we didn't even get that. Against all expectations, The Strangers, as they were called (not Kevin and the Morons, after all), turned out to be pretty good. I even had to admit that Kevin could sing. Although he did look pretty ridiculous with a guitar round his neck that he never once attempted to play…