Obsidian Pebble (18 page)

The class had gone very quiet.

“So, what do we all think?” Miss Arkwright asked brightly.

There was a general buzz of approval from the class. But then Skinner put his hand up.

“Can we write our names on it, miss?”

The back row sniggered.

“No, that will not be necessary, Kieron. But I will write a class letter which we can all sign.”

Then Jenks chipped in. “Thing is, miss, my brother says that it's no good giving money and stuff to these people, 'cos they really need to help themselves. I mean, why don't they make their own artifical limbs?”

“Probably because they haven't got the equipment, Lee. I'm sure they would help themselves if they could.”

“How do we know they're not going to just melt it down and sell it for scrap?” Jenks persisted.

“Yeah, so that they can buy iPods and stuff,” Skinner added.

Several people had turned to look at them.

“Well, you never know,” grinned Skinner who was, as usual, enjoying the attention.

Miss Arkwright, looking slightly exasperated and with eyebrows raised, said, “These prosthetics are not made of tin. Besides, I'm sure that this charity ensures that such things do not happen.”

“Yeah, but you don't know miss, do you? I think I'll keep my money if it's okay, miss,” Jenks said.

But before Miss Arkwright could answer, someone else did.

“What for, Jenks? To buy another rubbish ringtone for your phone?” Ellie had turned almost one hundred eighty degrees in her seat and her sudden outburst took everyone by surprise. “And how can you make jokes about this, Skinner? How can you say you'd
like
an artificial limb?”

“Kieron would be brilliant at Paralympics. In fact, there's a chance he'd get in as he is,” Jenks smirked.

The cronies laughed. Skinner grinned uncertainly.

“And anyway, who asked you, Messenger?” Jenks added with a sneer.

Oz could see Ellie's colour rising. Now he knew why Miss Arkwright had spoken to her before she'd mentioned the collection for charity. He suspected that she'd even asked for Ellie's approval. Being sensitive was Miss Arkwright's way. And there was good reason in this instance, since Ellie's little brother Leon had been born with a hand and part of his forearm missing. Not that you'd know that Leon had any problem at all; he was a great football player and almost as fast a sprinter as Ellie. It didn't seem to affect him much, except for the stares he sometimes got.

Yet it was one of the reasons Ellie was so intolerant of people who didn't make the best of what they had. Oz wasn't sure how many of his classmates knew, but with Jenks' malicious skill at baiting people, there was always the nagging doubt that he was yanking Ellie's chain. And Oz knew that she wasn't about to sit there and let him do that.

“You—” she began. But before Ellie could say any more, Jenks went to his shirt pocket and brought out the red-coloured card he had kept for Ellie-type confrontations since their last soccer match. He brandished it in her face, while his own contorted with spiteful glee. There were roars of approval from his cronies.

“Yeah,” Skinner said, joining in again, “get off the field, Messeng—”

But he didn't finish. Suddenly, Ruff was on his feet, eyes blazing with some unnamed emotion at the two class wannabbe clowns. When he spoke, his words rang with a fierce anger.

“I can't believe I'm hearing this. What's the cost of a first class stamp? 60p? You have no idea how much that's worth to some of these people.”

“Oh, and you do, do you, Adams?” Jenks drawled, waving the red card at Ruff.

“No, I don't. But my brother does. Unlike yours, he's actually been there.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jenks mocked, but a little note of doubt had crept into his voice.

“He was a volunteer last summer in Tanzania. The photos he brought back to show me and my mum and dad…” Ruff paused to swallow. It sounded loud in the suddenly silent room. “There's disease and unexploded bombs and mines and kids who even get their legs bitten off by crocodiles because they have to wash in rivers. They have nothing. If we all gave a quid it would mean someone our age or younger might be able to walk for the first time. You're an idiot, Jenks. And an IPOD?” Ruff shifted his blazing glare to Skinner. “Most of these places don't even have electricity. What planet are you from?”

Skinner hesitated and then babbled, “Five-nil,” obviously thinking that reminding Ruff of his team's defeat at the hands of the Skullers was a devastating insult. Unfortunately, no one except Ruff had any idea what he was talking about.

There was a moment of total silence as a flummoxed Skinner looked around at his classmates in exasperation. Jenks, meanwhile, appeared so stunned by Ruff's outburst that he couldn't even speak. All he could manage was to frown at Ruff, his mouth working in a way that suggested that whatever it was he wanted to say had got stuck on its journey between his brain and his tongue. But Oz saw, too, that the only pair of eyes more shocked than Jenks' belonged to Ellie, who was watching Ruff in totally bewildered awe.

Miss Arkwright broke the silence by clearing her throat.

“A good point well made, Rufus,” she said, smiling at Ruff, who suddenly did an impression of a boiled lobster and sat down quickly. “So, shall we put it to the vote?” Miss Arkwright continued. “Who would like to donate their stamp money?”

Thirty hands, including, much to Jenks' astonishment, Skinner's, shot up.

“I will look forward to your donations on Monday, then,” Miss Arkwright said. “And I will get IT to sort out an e-card for us to use, instead of posting one. Thank you, everyone.”

* * *

Oz was still thinking about Ruff's outburst when he got home. So much so that he hardly noticed the funny mood his mother was in at teatime, until she dropped a plastic salad bowl for the second time in as many minutes.

“Mum, you all right?”

“Me?” she said, in a high-pitched, flustered sort of voice. “Yes, fine, absolutely. It's just that there's someone calling this evening that I want you to meet.”

Oz had just finished a yoghurt and was opening his second. “Oh? Who?”

“An old colleague of your father's. She's just dropping by for a chat.”

Oz nodded. People were always dropping by for chats, although there were far fewer now than when his father was alive. Usually that meant that he was expected to say hello, listen to comments on how much he'd grown and how much he looked just like his dad and then, after a few polite minutes, he'd make his escape with homework or football as his pretext. So, when his mother called to him at seven o'clock that evening, he saved the page he'd found on the Internet which explained all about dor beetles and headed down to the living room. There, Mrs. Chambers introduced him to a plump woman with orange-tinted glasses and mousy hair that needed a wash.

“Oz, this is Dr. Mackie.”

“Hi,” Oz said.

Dr. Mackie was so fat, she had to push herself out of the chair with both hands and not inconsiderable effort. She extended a sausage-fingered hand to Oz.

“Oscar, it's nice to meet you.”

Oz took her hand, and it felt cool and a little clammy.

“I can see the resemblance quite plainly,” Dr. Mackie said. Her accent was Scottish, but soft and refined. Her clothes all looked a touch too small and her greasy hair was tied back in an untidy ponytail. “And how are things with you, Oscar?”

“Fine,” Oz said.

“Good, now we all know each other,” fussed Mrs. Chambers, and Oz couldn't help thinking that she still looked a bit flustered. “Why don't you two sit down and I'll fetch some tea.”

She left the room and Oz watched Dr. Mackie lever herself heavily back into the chair. “So,” she said when she was finally settled, “Gwen tells me you've moved schools this year. How's it going?”

“All right,” Oz said.

“Can be difficult, moving up. New challenges. All those new people. It's often quite a stressful time.” Dr. Mackie regarded him through her orange glasses with a calm smile. “But Gwen tells me that you have some good friends.”

Oz nodded. He did, indeed.

Dr. Mackie leaned forward and several already-stretched seams strained in protest. “Oscar, I ought to explain to you that I am more than just an old friend of your father's. I work in the psychology department. Gwen asked me to come here this evening because she thought you and I ought, perhaps, to have a little chat.”

“Psychology?” Oz said.

“You know what that is?”

Oz nodded. “Stuff to do with how your head works.”

Dr. Mackie smiled again, and once more Oz was struck by how unreal it was. Maybe it was because he couldn't see her eyes behind the orange tints, but the smile looked as if it could be turned on and off by a switch, while the rest of her face didn't seem to shift at all.

She reached into the bag at her feet and took out a writing pad and a pen. “Gwen told me all about your maths test.”

“What about my maths test?” Oz asked, suddenly quite unnerved.

“Well, I know that you were called to see your year master today and that it's clear that you are very capable of doing maths, am I right?”

Oz nodded. For some reason, the saliva in his mouth wouldn't go down his throat.

Dr. Mackie wrote something down and then looked up. “The more interesting question, from my point of view, is why you felt you couldn't do the test the first time around.”

“I didn't feel as if I couldn't do it,” Oz said heatedly, “I just couldn't. It was like trying to translate Latin.”

There was another plastic smile. “You've been through a lot these last few years, Oscar. Losing a parent at such a young age is very traumatic, very upsetting. How old were you when Michael died?”

“Eight and a bit,” Oz said, and felt suddenly very irked that this woman was talking to him about his father at all.

“We often do not appreciate fully the effect something like that has on us. It causes very deep scars and we're always left wondering why such a terrible thing could happen. Sometimes, we even think it's our fault.”

Oz kept quiet. This was worse than one of Miss Arkwright's “little chats.” He even began wondering if they knew one another.

“Have you ever felt like that, Oscar?” Dr. Mackie continued to probe.

“No,” said Oz, wondering where all of this was possibly leading.

“Sometimes misplaced guilt can cause the mind to play all sorts of wicked tricks.”

Oz frowned. “Are you saying that I couldn't do maths because my dad died?”

Dr. Mackie continued to press home her point in a calm, slightly irritating voice. “Perhaps Mr. Boggs, your maths teacher, reminds you of your father. Perhaps you wanted to punish him for leaving like he did.”

This was such a totally mad idea that Oz burst out laughing. “Badger Breath is nothing like my dad.”

“I know it may seem like that to you, but under the difficult circumstances of Michael's death—”

“Look, I can explain the maths thing,” Oz said quickly. “It's the way Badger—Mr. Boggs—teaches it. It's just taken me a bit longer to understand it, that's all…”

But Dr. Mackie wasn't really listening. She was writing on her pad, talking as she wrote. “Close family members are often very resentful in circumstances like those surrounding your father's death.” She looked up and leaned even further forward, her voice dropping low. “I knew Michael very well, and how the insurance company could even begin to suggest that he was suicidal is frankly laughable, but—”

An ice-cold needle pierced Oz's stomach and he jerked upright.

“What did you just say?” he breathed.

The look on Oz's face seemed to have paralysed Mackie. All she could do was return his horrified stare, all pretence at a smile long gone.

“You didn't know, did you?” she said finally, and didn't wait for an answer before adding quickly, “Oscar, listen to me, there is no proof. It was just a question asked at the inquest which the insurance company latched on to—”

“My dad's car crashed,” Oz said through gritted teeth. “He died in an accident.”

“There's no doubting that, Oscar. And there was no note, but the alcohol…”

Oz's mind was doing cartwheels. The icy needle in his gut kept up an incessant stabbing. This explained everything. It explained why Arkwright was so protective, and it explained Pheeps' sick little games. Oz stood up as a wave of sickness spread over him.

“Oz, sit down, please,” begged Dr. Mackie.

But Oz couldn't. The floor was like marshmallow under his feet as he staggered to the hall and yanked the kitchen door open. His mother was arranging biscuits on a plate.

“Oz,” she said, startled by something she saw in his face.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Oz said thickly. “All this time you've known, and you didn't tell me.”

“Tell you what?” said Mrs. Chambers, but in her eyes Oz could see that she knew very well what he was talking about.

“This stuff about Dad crashing his car on purpose.”

“Oz,” said his mother, suddenly ashen-faced, “it was the insurance company. They wanted to investigate. They'd do anything to wriggle out of paying—”

Dr. Mackie appeared in the doorway behind Oz. “Gwen, I assumed…”

Oz ignored her, anger driving him on. “But is that what people are saying? That he did it on purpose? Is it?”

“There was a smashed bottle, and whiskey all over the seat next to him,” Mrs. Chambers spoke in a kind of trance now, uttering the words, oddly emotionless. “There was some in his stomach, but none in his blood. He wasn't drunk. He must have taken some just before the crash. I couldn't explain it then, and I still can't now, because he hated the stuff. But the insurance company wrote to all his colleagues, asking them if they'd noticed him acting strangely in the weeks before…” She shook her head and whispered desperately, “No one except the insurance company believes he did it on purpose, Oz.”