Only We Know (5 page)

Tilda was wrong. I’ve been at St Thomas’s nearly a month now, and as far as I can tell it’s all going fine. I’ve drip-fed enough boring ‘facts’ about myself to keep the online stalkers off my back; according to Miss Hoolyhan, I’m exceeding my targets in everything except German; and the rest of my tutor group seem perfectly happy for me to listen in on their conversations and even offer the occasional opinion about gay marriage or push-up bras.

As for Harry, I’ve more or less managed to avoid him. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was trying to avoid me too; except that when we do meet, in English or down in the learning resources centre, he’s actually pretty friendly. So I guess it’s all worked out for the best.

Things are better at home too. Tilda seems to have calmed down at last, Dad’s doing impressions of 1980s comedians I’ve never even heard of again, and Mum doesn’t look like a bomb’s about to go off. I ought to be really happy. So what’s the matter with me?

Maybe ‘fitting in’ isn’t enough any more; maybe I want to be part of something. But it’s virtually impossible with Katherine trailing me round the school like an over-opinionated spaniel. That’s not fair. I’ve read her blog and it’s actually pretty funny and I love the way she doesn’t seem to give a shit. I just wish she was a bit less conscientious about the whole mentoring thing. And I’m sitting on the steps outside the art block, half listening to Katherine’s theory about girls who spend entire decades obsessing over ‘abstruse details of their wedding receptions’ being more likely to gas themselves, when Magda and Izzy float tantalisingly into view. I’ve finally worked out how to tell them apart. They’re like those TV presenters – Magda always stands on the right.

‘Hi, Lauren,’ Magda says, somehow managing to simultaneously smile at me and give Katherine the cold shoulder. ‘Have you got a minute?’

‘Yeah, sure, what is it?’

Izzy sucks on an imaginary lemon. ‘In private, yeah? There’s something we want to talk to you about.’

‘Why can’t she talk here?’ says Katherine.

‘It won’t take long,’ says Magda. ‘But it’s really important.’

‘Found a cure for cancer, have we?’ says Katherine.

‘Not exactly, but when we find a cure for the ugly gene, we’ll let you know.’

‘Yeah, funny,’ says Katherine.

‘I’ll just see what they want, shall I?’ I say, trying to sound like I’m not that bothered.

Katherine looks even more disgusted with life than usual. ‘You’re not serious, are you, Lauren? Do you honestly want to talk to the Barbie twins?’

‘Two seconds, okay?’

I follow them across to the rubbish bins at the back of the canteen. Izzy turns excitedly. ‘Can I tell her now?’

Magda nods, her hair bouncing healthily, like a conditioner advert. ‘Yeah, go for it.’

Izzy takes a step towards me. Instinctively, I back away. ‘Don’t look so nervous, Lauren. It’s good news, I promise.’

‘Oh … right, what is it?’

‘You’re into fashion, aren’t you?’

Another flash of panic. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I saw what you said on Facebook about colour blocking,’ says Magda.

‘And that skater dress you’re making in textiles is amazing,’ says Izzy.

I’m dead chuffed by that. ‘Do you think so?’

‘Yeah, definitely. That’s why we want to make sure you’re coming to the meeting.’

‘What meeting?’

‘About the fashion show we’re organising. Didn’t you see the notice?’

‘Er, no … sorry.’

‘It’s for Movember,’ says Magda.

‘What’s Movember?’

‘You must have seen it on telly. It’s where celebrities
grow moustaches to raise awareness of male cancers and depression and stuff.’

‘We were going to do a fashion show last year,’ says Izzy. ‘But there was all that fuss about the drama teacher and the girl “who cannot be named for legal reasons …”’ (She breaks off and looks at Magda – ‘Hannah Taylor!’ they chorus together.) ‘Anyway, I reckon this year they think it’ll be good publicity.’

‘And Catchpole’s dad died of one of them,’ says Magda. ‘Cancer not depression, I think – so he was well up for it. He said we can choose any theme we like as long as Miss Hoolyhan supervises everything and we incorporate the school values.’

‘Sounds great,’ I say. ‘But what do you want
me
to do?’

‘We thought you could help out with some of the planning,’ says Izzy. ‘It’d be great to have someone who knows what they’re talking about.’

‘Really?’

‘Totally,’ says Magda. ‘There’s a meeting after school tomorrow in the art room. You will come, won’t you, Lauren?’

Katherine’s still going mental when we walk into English. ‘A fashion show? A
fashion
show! That’s just about typical of this school, isn’t it? We can’t even do Shakespeare without turning it into a tabloid fantasy. You’re not seriously thinking about going, are you?’

‘Yeah, kind of, why shouldn’t I?’

‘How long have you got?’

‘It sounds … interesting. And it is for charity.’

‘Oh yes,’ says Katherine, swatting imaginary Magdas and Izzys with her copy of
Pygmalion
. ‘The little sisters of mercy are saints in the making.’

‘I thought it might be a good way of getting to know people.’

‘What do you want to do that for?’

Ever tried explaining the rules of badminton to a horse? ‘Well, you see …’ But I’ve got a better idea. I know she acts all tough, but underneath, I have a feeling she might be kind of lonely. ‘Actually I was going to ask you to come along with me, Katherine.’

‘You are joking, of course.’

‘No, it would be … nice to have you there.’

Katherine turns a slightly darker shade of pale. ‘Really? Well, I am supposed to be looking out for you.’

‘What,
still
?’

‘Hoolyhan said I should keep an eye on you until the end of term. And come to think of it, what
is
so special about you, anyway?’

‘Nothing … just —’

‘I mean, no offence, Lauren, but you’re actually kind of ordinary. Are you sure you’re not ill or something?’

‘Do I look ill?’

‘Not really, no. So why does Hoolyhan think you need a minder?’

‘Well, I suppose —’

Harry has been carefully laying out his ballpoint pens. ‘Did someone mention the fashion show?’

That’s surely not a hint of red on Katherine’s cheeks? ‘Yes. For some unknown reason, Lauren here wants to be part of the ridiculous fiasco.’

‘Then we’ll probably be seeing a lot more of each other,’ says Harry, gathering up his ballpoints and starting all over again.

‘What do you mean?’ I say.

‘Magda and Izzy have asked me to be the compere.’

Katherine approaches the art block like a vegetarian on a school outing to the abattoir.

I try to disguise my nerves by asking her stupid questions. ‘Why do you think Miss Hoolyhan always wears black?'

‘She's in mourning for her life,' says Katherine. ‘Well, wouldn't you be?'

‘And what's with the history teacher who thinks it's still 1994?'

‘Right, this is it,' says Katherine. ‘Abandon hope all ye who enter here.'

The art room is full of half-finished GCSE art projects: a papier-mâché severed head with brightly coloured vomit dripping from its mouth, assorted charcoal drawings of dead rock stars, Cristiano Ronaldo in a ballet dress, and a whole host of nightmares in progress.

That hasn't stopped half the female population of St Thomas's turning up. It's standing room only, and the excitement is so tangible you could probably cut it with
some dressmaking shears. Best of all, Tilda's here too – right at the back next to the store cupboard. Maybe we could work on some ideas together; it would be just like old times. I call out my sister's name, but she doesn't hear me. And the next thing I know she's disappeared into a babbling flash mob of Year Ten girls.

The boys are a bit thin on the ground though. Miss Hoolyhan is chatting to a little bearded guy in a Kraftwerk T-shirt, a couple of brave Year Sevens are huddled together under Kurt Cobain, and there's Harry, making sure the paintbrushes are the ‘right' way up. He nods and smiles at me. I nod and smile back, surprised at the warm scary feeling in my stomach.

Magda and Izzy are standing in formation at the front. They don't look best pleased when they see who my ‘plus one' is.

‘What did you have to bring her for?' says Izzy.

‘Hello, Isobel,' says Katherine, in her best poshed-up Liza Doolittle. ‘How … do … you … do?'

‘You know what this meeting's about, don't you?' says Magda. ‘It's about a fashion show not a … a … a Geography assessment.'

Miss Hoolyhan's smile is ninety per cent sweetness, ten per cent bite. ‘I thought the whole point was that anyone in the school could get involved. After all, tolerance is one of our core values.'

Izzy eyes Katherine suspiciously. ‘Are you absolutely sure you want to be here?'

‘Oh absolutely,' says Katherine, provocatively fluttering her mascara-free eyelashes. ‘All I ever wanted was to be a supermodel.
It's my dream.'

‘Can we get on please, Magda?' says Miss Hoolyhan. ‘I've got a mountain of marking waiting for me.'

‘Okay, right, yeah, let's …' Magda takes a sip of Evian and flashes her teeth. ‘So, first off we want to thank you all for coming. As you all know, Izzy and I have been planning a charity fashion show. We're very excited about it, and we hope you will be too.'

Izzy takes over. ‘We think it's a great way of bringing the whole school together – as well as raising money for a fantastic cause. We've even designed our own logo.' She holds up a laminated poster with a Photoshopped picture of various different types of clothing holding hands.

And just in case we can't read, they chant the slogan together:
‘St Thomas's Community College. A school united by clothes.'

The bearded guy next to Miss Hoolyhan lets out an audible snigger.

‘Our theme will be the four seasons,' says Magda. ‘I'll be producing – and modelling, of course – and Izzy's going to be our resident stylist. But we'll need lots of help – that's where you guys come in.'

The girl with the violin case has her hand up. ‘What sort of look will you be going for?'

‘Good question, Clare,' says Magda. ‘I'm interested in the old classics with a touch of subversive glamour. A
well-cut trench coat is as relevant now as it's ever been, and soft florals can look amazing with chunky boots.'

Katherine rolls her eyes at me.

‘We've already approached the local stores and boutiques,' says Izzy. ‘And they're very happy for us to model some of their designs. We'll have to accessorise, of course. But prom dresses are always a money spinner.'

‘You should get that girl in Year Eight to model maternity outfits.'

‘Yes, thank you, Candice-Marie,' says Miss Hoolyhan. ‘That's not really appropriate, is it?'

‘No, miss.'

‘How many models do you need?' says the violin girl.

‘We'll have to find a few more boys, of course,' says Magda. ‘But round about twenty girls for sixty outfits.'

An audible groan rumbles around the art room.

‘There'll be plenty of other jobs too,' says Izzy. ‘We need loads of dressers and someone to sort out the tickets and design a website. Harry Heasman's going to be our compere and George has very kindly come back from sixth-form college to help out with the light show.'

‘All right, Grunt?' calls a voice from the back.

The little bearded bloke waves and mumbles ‘hi'.

‘Okay,' says Magda. ‘Any more questions?'

‘Have you thought about the music yet?' says Miss Hoolyhan. ‘Because I'm sure the wind band could manage “Summer Nights” from
Grease
.'

‘
No
,' says Magda. ‘It's probably easier if we stick to
recorded music, thanks, miss. And anyway we're going to ask a few members of staff to be models. And we'd like you to be one of them.'

‘Really?' says Miss Hoolyhan. ‘How exciting.'

I hadn't intended to put my hand up, but I just can't help myself. I've been planning imaginary fashions shows since I was thirteen. ‘Why don't we have a big screen at the top of the catwalk and project photos on to it? Paris in the spring, stuff like that. We could synchronise it all with the music.'

‘I see where you're coming from,' says Izzy. ‘But I'm not sure we'll have time.'

‘I'll do it if you like,' I say, already trying to remember the name of that French photographer. ‘I could operate the whole thing from my laptop.'

‘I think it's a great idea,' says Harry. ‘What do you think, Mags?'

Magda plays with her hair. ‘Well, if you think you can do it, Lauren, that would be amazing.'

‘Fine, I'll get on to it as soon as you decide on the music.'

‘Great,' says Magda. ‘But you won't be able to operate it on the night, because you'll be far too busy modelling.'

‘Will I?' (If I wrote my own dreams, they'd probably open with a scene like this.)

‘That's right,' says Izzy. ‘We've got some denim shorts to die for. And there's a yellow beach dress that would look perfect on you.'

But then it hits me. What if someone's taking photographs? What if there's a picture in the local paper or something? And it'll be a nightmare backstage. Suddenly it doesn't seem like such a brilliant idea. ‘I'm really sorry, Magda, but I don't think I'll be able to do the modelling.'

‘But you've got to,' says Magda.

‘We need you,' says Izzy. ‘You've got the height for it, and your legs are amazing.'

‘Look, I'm sorry, I can't,' I say, not quite so panicky that I don't enjoy the compliments. ‘I'll be operating the laptop, won't I?'

‘No way,' says Magda. ‘Your little friend here —' she flares her nostrils at Katherine — ‘can push a few buttons. And I'm sure George could use some help with the lights.'

‘I think Katherine wants to be a model,' I say.

Katherine wipes away an imaginary tear. ‘It's hard to see my dreams trampled on like that, but if it's what Magda wants I'll do my best to work that pesky computer and help George with the lights.'

‘Well, there you go, Lauren,' says Izzy. ‘All sorted.'

‘Look, I don't know. I'll have to think about it.'

‘You'd better make your mind up soon,' says Magda. ‘We're starting rehearsals next week.'

‘Lauren … Lauren … hang on a minute. Can we talk for a second?'

‘What is it?'

Miss Hoolyhan has followed me out to the courtyard. She rests a black-cardiganed elbow on the recycling bin and tries to catch her breath. ‘Are you … are you nervous about it?'

‘About what?'

‘Modelling in the fashion show. I know I am.'

‘What have I got to be nervous about?'

‘Nothing … nothing,' says Miss Hoolyhan, smoothing the front of her black knee-length skirt. ‘It's just that Katherine told me about your panic attack in PE.'

‘Oh … right.'

‘And I know you get a bit claustrophobic. So I just wondered if you were slightly anxious about changing with the others.'

‘No, of course not, I …' But what's the point in trying to hide it? I take a deep breath. ‘Look, I know it sounds silly, but it's the kind of situation I try to avoid.'

‘I thought so,' said Miss Hoolyhan. ‘I tell you what; I'm going to be changing in the equipment store at the back of the sports hall. I'd have to okay it with Mr Catchpole, but I'm sure you could share with me if it makes you feel more comfortable. And if anyone asks, just tell them I need some help with that ball gown.'

‘Thanks, miss. That would certainly make things easier. But I'm still not sure I can do it.'

‘You want to, though, don't you, Lauren?'

‘Well, yes, but —'

‘Have a word with your mum. I could never talk to
my mother,' she adds gloomily, ‘but you seem to have a very healthy relationship with yours.'

If she's really in mourning for her life, I think it's sad. Miss Hoolyhan's probably the nicest teacher I've ever met.