No Alarms (9 page)

‘Right, anyway, as I was saying,’ Trish continued, not making anything of it. ‘Most of this rocks. I know that sounds suspect to you, because schools are full of people telling you things are good when we all know they aren’t, and I’m not saying there weren’t mistakes in what you wrote, too many mistakes. But the thing’s this. What you wrote seemed real to me. Quite seriously, if people could read this, without the bullshit, without all the worrying what other people might think, well I think it could make quite an impact. So this is what I’m going to do, or what I’d like to do I guess, if you agree. I want you to treat that as a practice run, because I think some of you were holding back. I think some of you were trying too hard to be polite. Don’t worry about the words you use, don’t worry about who might be
going to see it. You’ve got another week, to come up with something harder. Three things worked well okay, and I won’t shame you by using examples. But two people did pages of tagging and one of them was outstanding. And it got me thinking too. What message would you like to leave if you got the chance? What would you say? Use colour if you like. And diaries. There were some excellent diary entries. Go big on the diaries. Keep it short though. Five good sentences beat twenty crap ones yeah? It doesn’t have to be about yourself, but the diary format’s working. What was the other? Oh yes, the list.’

Sharon’s heart twisted round itself. The list, her list. She was glad she hadn’t told anyone else. She looked down at her desk, half wanting to listen, half wanting to get out of there.

‘There’s a list here that goes off, so think lists. Things you like, things that scare you, things you want to change.’

Sharon tried to fight how good it felt, almost as good as Justin handing her that money, even though she knew it shouldn’t. Even though it was just some clever teacher, making her feel that way deliberately.

‘One other thing. No poems please. It’s not that I’ve got anything against them, it’s just that, well actually I have. Sorry.’

‘So what’s this for? Is this assessment?’

‘It’s an exam topic, fool.’

‘Shut up.’

‘No, it’s a good question,’ Trish said. ‘And I’ve got a damned fine answer. You know how the Art department did a sheet of all its best work and sent it home inside the newsletter?’

‘No way Miss. I don’t want my work going home.’

‘You didn’t do any.’

‘If I did though.’

‘No,’ Trish interrupted. ‘He’s right, it was awful. But it did start me thinking. If the Art department want to put things on paper, maybe the English department should get into some painting. I was thinking maybe a wall.’

Sharon was listening, same as they all were. Because of the way Trish’s eyes had lit right up, because of the way she kept taking them by surprise, saying one thing and turning it upside down so, if you half closed your eyes and blocked out the desks and the whiteboard, you could almost believe she wasn’t a teacher at all.

‘Imagine it. You know the wall that runs behind the tennis courts right? It’s ugly and grey and the way I see it, it’s just crying out for a bit of colour. So here’s what we do. You go hard-out, produce something worth reading, I choose the ones that’ll work best, maybe work with them a bit, then we get out there with the spray cans, liven this place up a little. Get your writing where it ought to be, somewhere where it can be seen. You won’t have to put your name on it, no one will know whose is whose. What do you say?’

‘Yeah but we won’t be able to swear or anything will we?’ Ollie asked.

‘Mine was full of swearing.’

‘I know. You’ve got to work out how to spell fuck,’ Trish said, and everybody laughed. ‘But no, you can write it anyway you like. That’s sort of the whole point.’

‘They’ll never let you Miss,’ Madeleine said.

‘No, you’re right,’ Trish said. ‘If I ask them they’ll say no.’ And then she smiled, in case they hadn’t got it.

‘Okay, that’s it then. You’ve got a week. Now, back to this very fascinating book.’

They spent the rest of the time reading, in between talking, drawing on their folders and catching up on other homework, all the things Trish didn’t seem to care about. Sharon spent the whole time with her head in the book, not being able to get past the first sentence, wondering whether she’d let her writing go on the wall, if she was asked. Trish had said she liked the list, and part of that was good. Same as part of it sucked, because part of it was the way Mark had typed it up so neatly, and corrected all the mistakes, even changed some of the words.

So part of it was a person like Trish, who was so much better than any other teacher she’d ever had, saying how Mark’s work was so wonderful, just like they all did.

‘Ah Sharon,’ Trish looked up from her desk as the class was leaving.

Sharon took her time walking back over, letting the rest of the room empty first, before Trish said something that might shame her.

‘Great list. Honest. I’m tempted to use it as it is. Have you thought what else you might want to write?’

Sharon shrugged.

‘Okay.’ Trish looked at her for a moment, like she was trying to work out how far she could push it. ‘I’d like to see you try a diary entry. Something about how you see your future, just if nothing else comes to you. It could balance things out maybe.’

Still Sharon didn’t say anything, because it was the only way she could be sure she wouldn’t sound stupid.

‘Okay then Sharon. Thanks. I look forward to reading it. Oh, by the way, I’m staying across the back, in the school flat. You should call in some time. I don’t know many people round here yet. See ya.’

Said like it was the most natural thing in the world, but it wasn’t. A teacher, telling a student she should call in, like they were strangers who’d met in a pub, it wasn’t natural at all. Sharon almost broke into a run in her hurry to get out of there.

There was another lecture from Kaz when Sharon got home but it wasn’t that hard-out. Typical Kaz really. No staying power, that was her problem. Sharon could tell from the words Kaz was using she’d been practising it in her head, maybe even discussed it earlier with Tom, when she was feeling more pissed off. But pissed off left their house as quickly as it came. By the time Sharon got to hear the speech all the feeling was gone. It was just something Kaz felt she had to do, so she’d have something to remind Sharon of, next time Sharon pulled the ‘bad mother’ line. Sharon kept her head down and let the words part harmlessly around her, like she was some flash car in a wind tunnel.

THERE WAS A TIME then where nothing much happened. It wasn’t exactly like going back to normal, more it was about people pretending. The contract didn’t get signed and no one mentioned it. Sharon was even invited back into Maths, which hadn’t got any less complicated while she was away. She saw Justin round and every time he went to open his mouth she felt her world breathe in, hoping he might tell her there was another job on the way. Only he didn’t. Probably he’d heard what had happened with Madeleine or someone had seen the list. That would be it then. They’d never bother with some stupid little girl who couldn’t even get spending money right. They’d find someone else, someone whose life didn’t trip over its own feet every time it tried to take a step forward.

And English just got weirder. Some days Trish was hard-out, and sometimes they hardly did anything at all, just mucked around, played games or told jokes. One day she took them all out up into the scrub on the hill above the rugby field and made them sit there with their eyes closed, not saying anything, for fifteen minutes. And then when it’d finished and they asked her why she’d done it she’d replied, ‘just to see if you would. It’s a screwed up world don’t you think?’ and that was it. She was so loose, but sort of intense too. You couldn’t find anyone in the class who hated her, but you couldn’t find anyone who was
sure about her either. So they all watched her, like you watch a car that’s just crashed, waiting for someone to move, or for it to burst into flames. Even people like Jason were talking about the painting assignment, like some rule had changed, like it was suddenly okay to talk about things that happened in class. Sharon wasn’t so sure. Rules never changed. The times you didn’t get that were the times you ended up getting hurt.

Knowing that made Sharon restless, and pissed off too, that she should have so little control. It wasn’t a good time for Kaz to introduce Derek to their home.

It was just before six and Sharon was going down for fish’n’chips, because she couldn’t be bothered cooking. She was surprised to see Kaz in the kitchen. Sharon didn’t even know she was home.

‘Where are you going?’

‘What’s it to ya?’

‘Can you wait five minutes and watch Zinny? I just have to go and get something from the shops.’

She was sitting at the table, a glass of water half emptied in front of her. Odd. Kaz wasn’t much of a water person.

‘I’m going down there. I can get it.’

‘Bottle of wine. They won’t serve you.’

‘Since when did you drink wine?’ Sharon asked, not really caring, just making a point.

‘Since she met me.’

He appeared at the door and stood behind Kaz, hands on her shoulders like she was something new he’d bought downtown, something to photograph and show to his workmates. There
were no shoes on his feet and he hadn’t even bothered to tuck himself back in. Sharon couldn’t shift her eyes from his moustache, the thick type that men grew when their hair started falling out and their stomachs expanded. The sort of man who hadn’t worked out how to age properly, the sort Kaz had been bringing home lately.

‘And you’re here to fix the toilet are you?’ Sharon said.

‘Sharon, this is Derek,’ Kaz replied, in her don’t-start-with-me voice. Don’t start with me because I’m not even pretending, so there’s nothing to uncover.

‘How are you love?’

‘I’m not your love,’ Sharon replied.

‘Pity,’ he smiled, like he thought he was so smooth.

‘You couldn’t afford me,’ Sharon snarled. ‘I’m much more expensive than my mother.’

‘Feisty too eh? Just like Kaz.’

‘I’m nothing like her,’ Sharon assured him, but it sounded empty. Kaz stood and grabbed her jacket off the back of the chair, totally unfazed, like nothing unusual was happening. It wasn’t.

‘Money.’ She held out her hand and Derek passed her a twenty.

‘Aren’t you going to give him a receipt?’ Sharon asked.

‘Five minutes.’ Then she looked at Derek. ‘You can come too if you like, see the neighbourhood.’

‘That’s alright. I think I’ll stay and chat with Sharon here.’

He had the sort of smile you couldn’t trust, crawling out from under his moustache but not too far. When Kaz had gone he sat down at the table.

‘So Sharon, tell me about yourself.’

‘Sorry, got to go in here, watch Zinny.’

She walked through to the lounge, where Zinny was sitting at the television, drawing pictures on the screen with his dribble.

‘You know you really shouldn’t be like that with your mother. She deserves better.’

Derek had followed her and was standing in the doorway.

‘That’s pretty much my point.’

‘She worries about you.’

‘Yeah? Well I worry about her too. I worry about the diseases she might catch.’

‘Quite the little smart arse aren’t you?’

‘Smart enough.’

‘Not smart enough to pass level one though.’ And Sharon burnt with a sudden rage. Not because of what he’d said, but because Kaz would tell him something like that. Something a person like him would get all wrong, because people like him didn’t understand shit. She would have stormed off then, but she couldn’t leave Zinny alone with him. So she turned her back and didn’t speak again, not even when she felt him stepping further into the room.

‘Here, Zinny, move away will you?’ Sharon said. Not that she was interested, but having something to watch made it easier to ignore Derek, who was standing at her shoulder now.

‘What are you doing with it on this channel anyway?’

It was the news. Some thing about protesters and changes in benefits. They were interviewing one of those losers with long hair and a big jacket and then the camera picked up someone in the background, sitting on the grass behind him, taking a slow swig from a paper bag.

‘Be you one day Sharon, way you’re going.’

‘Whatever.’

As soon as Kaz got back Sharon was out of there. She needed to do something; make it feel like things were happening. She needed to feel in control.

Mark’s place was a world away. The door Sharon knocked on was taller than the doors she knew, and wider. A heavy, keep-you-out-if-we-want door. Nothing happened and she knocked again, harder this time, trying not to lose the feeling she’d worked up to on the way over, the feeling of staying in charge, in amongst all the strangeness of pot plants in clay vases and red brick paving.

‘Yes, coming.’

The voice was uncertain behind the thick door, like a television with the sound down low. Mark’s mother was as overdressed as the house, as if Mark’s father had bought the two of them together, part of some package deal. Her hair bristled with styling, and frightened eyes peered out from a carefully made-up face. Not frightened by the girl at the door, Sharon could see that much. Just normal, all-the-time frightened, the sort some people carried.

‘Can I help you dear?’

‘Yeah, I’m here to see Mark.’ Confusion blurred the mother’s eyes, just for a moment. She looked Sharon up and down, trying to make the picture fit.

‘He’s up doing his homework.’

‘No worries. He’s expecting me.’ And Sharon was through the door, before she could say anything else.

‘Um, it’s up there.’ Mark’s mother hovered behind Sharon,
pointing nervously at a carpeted stairway. ‘Mark dear, you’ve a visitor.’

Mark’s door half opened just as Sharon reached it. She pushed him back through, and closed it behind her, so his mother would understand.

‘What do you want?’ Mark looked more uncomfortable than usual, even though this was his room, so it should have made him safe. Sharon looked around. No posters on the walls, no clothes on the floor. A dog would have made a better job of marking its territory. A computer on top of a tidy desk flipped onto its screen saver, some old Star Wars shit with flashing light sabres.

‘You been checking out porn again?’

‘What? No, of course not. What do you want I asked?’

He was trying to sound in control, but at the same time he was backing away from her, only stopping when his legs felt the side of his single bed.

‘Nice view.’ Sharon looked out the window. It was good, the way she could do this to him, make him feel any way she wanted.

‘I’m busy. I’ve got study to do. There’s exams next week you know.’

‘You’d better be quick then hadn’t you?’ Sharon replied.

‘What with?’

‘My writing.’

‘Mark dear?’ There was a quiet knock and his mother’s head appeared around the door. ‘Is everything alright? Would your friend like a drink?’

‘I told you not to come up here,’ Mark said, his face screwing up with an anger he never took to school. Never let out of
the house, probably.

‘I’m sorry dear, I just…’

‘Go away,’ he snapped. And she did.

‘Go Mark,’ Sharon mocked, moving past him and sitting down on his bed.

‘Here, get pen and paper ready. This is what I want to say.’

He half opened his mouth, but whatever it was he was thinking it got stuck somewhere along the way. He moved back to the chair in front of his desk.

‘It’ll be quicker if I type it.’

‘Whatever. You’re sort of like my secretary aren’t you?’

‘Hurry please,’ Mark said, his face all tight like mentally he was holding his breath, waiting for this to end.

‘Alright, it’s like this…’

And just like the last time the words rushed from her mouth, pushing and shoving in their hurry to get out. Big dreaming words, boastful words, the sort you keep inside your head most days. ‘Fuck you to the world’ words, that she could imagine on a wall in fifteen different sprayed-on colours, and they felt so good she had to see them straight away.

‘Can you print it?’

‘Yeah, I ah, I just need to run a spell check.’

Sharon stood up and looked over his shoulder while the spell check worked its way down the page, pausing at every obscenity, like a late night shopper picking their way through a drunken mall.

‘Here, yes, that’s it right. Give it here. Give it here.’

The printer whirred to life and her words slid out onto his desk. Sharon snatched at them, the ink still glistening.

‘Shall I save it?’ Mark asked, swivelling his chair around, close
enough for Sharon to make her point.

‘No you fucken won’t. And here’s the other thing. Tell anyone, anyone at all, even breathe out while you’re thinking about this,’ she reached down to his crotch and took hold of a soft and useless handful. ‘And you will lose these. Understand?’

The horror on his face turned to pain but it didn’t stop him speaking, as soon as she let go.

‘This is for the wall isn’t it?’ he said.

‘What wall?’

He wasn’t meant to know. They weren’t meant to have told anyone.

‘Ms Black’s project. She’s not allowed to do it you know. They’ve already told her.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘It’s not. My Dad’s on the board. He’s the chairman. Mrs Flynn has already told her she can’t do it.’

‘Yeah, well that’s not going to stop her. She’s not like that okay?’

Sharon knew how wrong it sounded, her defending a teacher to Mark. But she could just imagine them, people like Mrs Flynn and Mark’s Dad, not getting any of it, and it made her so angry.

‘Hey Sharon,’ Mark said as she opened the door.

‘What?’

‘It’s not me. I think she should be allowed.’

‘Like anyone would care what you think.’

And she left, before she had to make him cry again.

The quickest way back from Mark’s place was past the back of the school, not that Sharon was in any hurry. Derek would still be there with Kaz and they’d both be getting pathetic. Twenty dollars was enough for two bottles, if you bought cheap enough, and Kaz always did. They’d be talking too loudly, like Zinny wasn’t there, trying to sleep in the next room. All over each other like they were young again, like they cared. Like they were things they’d never be. And Sharon couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t shout at them, and Derek would shout back, to show what a man he was, until Zinny came out crying and they all said sorry for his sake. So she walked slowly, three times stopping under streetlights to reread what Mark had typed, in case somehow those words might make a difference.

And then she was there, without having planned it, right outside the school flat where Trish had said she was staying. Sharon didn’t click at first, she only stopped because there were sounds coming from somewhere, and she thought it might have been a party. Then she realised, and next thing she was knocking on the door, just because she was there, with the writing in her hand. And because it meant not going home.

‘Sharon? Hey, good to see you. How’s it going?’ Trish had to shout above the music. Some dance thing, the same sort of stuff Justin listened to. ‘Here, come in.’

The house was a mess, the sort of mess that made it hard to feel like a visitor. They walked in through the kitchen, where all the cupboards were open and empty, and the floor was covered in packing boxes. Bits of screwed up newspaper had escaped from most of them and Trish waded through it, kicking a path with her feet. The lounge was the same, except a space in the boxes had been cleared along one wall, room enough for the
stereo and two large cushions. Trish sat on one and pointed at the other.

‘Sit down. Sorry about the mess. I decided it wasn’t worth unpacking, just for four weeks, but slowly all the boxes have come out because it’s like there’s one thing I need in each one. I’m a bit of a mess like that to be honest.’

She smiled and shrugged, like she was explaining it to some old friend and Sharon only felt more awkward. She wished she’d kept walking. Derek was a pain in the arse, but at least he was easy to understand.

‘So what can I do for you?’

‘Ah…’ Sharon couldn’t think of much of an answer. She looked down to her hands where she was still holding her piece of writing. ‘Oh, yeah, I wrote this.’

She handed it over, even though most of her was screaming not to. It was better than saying nothing.

‘I didn’t want to hand it in in class. I thought, I don’t know. I just didn’t.’

And she shrugged again, just in case Trish still hadn’t worked out how stupid she was. Not that Trish seemed to notice, or care. The way she was in class wasn’t an act then, it was just how she was.