doesn’t have time to wait for me to deliberate. She rummages in her handbag and throws a tenner at me. ‘Get pizza for lunch,’ she says.
‘I’m sick of pizza,’ Rain says.
Mum lowers her voice. ‘And I’m sick of . . .’ She pauses. Rain stares at her. ‘I’m sick of . . . I’m sick of always being late,’ she says. She grabs her coat from the hallstand, bangs down the stairs and slams the front door behind her.
‘Good riddance!’ Rain shouts.
I fall on to the couch. I don’t want to go to school, but keeping Rain in line isn’t my idea of a day off.
‘You don’t have to look so miserable,’ Rain tells me.
‘Leave me alone. I’m going to do my homework,’ I say. ‘And if you plan to stay home for a while, maybe you should read some books.’
‘I haven’t got any books,’ she says.
‘You haven’t got any books?’
She shakes her head. I’m stunned.
So we go to the library.
25
In the children’s section of the library, a squadron of toddlers are banging spoons, blowing whistles and screaming along to nursery rhymes. I want to leave, but Rain says Jenny might like the rhymes. She sits in the circle with the doll on her lap. Some of the mothers throw her suspicious looks. The singing librarian gives Rain a wide, welcoming wave. After a couple of songs, Rain joins in with the singing. I leave her to it and flop down in front of a computer in the research section.
A librarian with spiky white hair points at a sign above my computer: 30 min limit for PCs .
‘If you’re doing some homework, you don’t have to worry about that. We just don’t want people sitting here and spending five hours chatting online. Do you know how to work the computer?’ She looks about Nana’s age and even has a bit of Nana’s soft lilt.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I say. I open a new document, expecting her to go back to her work. She stands with one hand on my desk, looking at the screen.
‘Is it an INSET day?’ she asks.
‘Huh?’
‘You’re not at school. Is it a staff INSET?’
‘Uh, yeah,’ I say. ‘The teachers have a meeting.’
‘And they’ll be on strike next month. What do they expect parents to do with their kids all day?’
I lightly tap the keyboard without writing anything.
‘Well, if you need help, I’m over there,’ she says, and walks away.
I type slowly and check over my shoulder occasionally to make sure no one is reading what I’m writing.
‘War’ by Apple Apostolopoulou
It doesn’t look like war
Unless you examine it closely – with your glasses on,
Drawing your finger over the cracks in the friendship.
We were a pair,
A team of two
Until Donna took her
Away –
Swooped down and grabbed Pilar
Like an eagle diving for fish at the edge of the ocean.
I never thought that could happen.
I thought for ever friends meant just that:
For ever and for ever and for ever.
Now I know it means
Until.
Until someone better comes along,
Until the conductor swipes her baton,
Chooses you, not me, and
Ends our symphony.
I get to one hundred words then turn to check on Rain. She is fully engrossed in a wild rendition of ‘Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes’. Jenny has lost a shoe.
I read through what I’ve written but as usual, it’s too close to the truth. I can’t hand it in.
I open a fresh document and start again:
‘War’ by Apple Apostolopoulou
I don’t understand people who make football into war. My dad loves Arsenal. He’s their biggest fan, but I don’t think he really likes watching them play all that much because when he does, he gets really angry. He shouts and swears and knocks the stuffing from cushions. And he acts as though the players on the other team are evil. He tells me he hates the managers of the other teams too. In England there are a lot of football hooligans who go to games just to have fights. But football is a sport, so it should be fun.
‘How do I print?’ I call over to the librarian.
She
‘I’m sick of pizza,’ Rain says.
Mum lowers her voice. ‘And I’m sick of . . .’ She pauses. Rain stares at her. ‘I’m sick of . . . I’m sick of always being late,’ she says. She grabs her coat from the hallstand, bangs down the stairs and slams the front door behind her.
‘Good riddance!’ Rain shouts.
I fall on to the couch. I don’t want to go to school, but keeping Rain in line isn’t my idea of a day off.
‘You don’t have to look so miserable,’ Rain tells me.
‘Leave me alone. I’m going to do my homework,’ I say. ‘And if you plan to stay home for a while, maybe you should read some books.’
‘I haven’t got any books,’ she says.
‘You haven’t got any books?’
She shakes her head. I’m stunned.
So we go to the library.
25
In the children’s section of the library, a squadron of toddlers are banging spoons, blowing whistles and screaming along to nursery rhymes. I want to leave, but Rain says Jenny might like the rhymes. She sits in the circle with the doll on her lap. Some of the mothers throw her suspicious looks. The singing librarian gives Rain a wide, welcoming wave. After a couple of songs, Rain joins in with the singing. I leave her to it and flop down in front of a computer in the research section.
A librarian with spiky white hair points at a sign above my computer: 30 min limit for PCs .
‘If you’re doing some homework, you don’t have to worry about that. We just don’t want people sitting here and spending five hours chatting online. Do you know how to work the computer?’ She looks about Nana’s age and even has a bit of Nana’s soft lilt.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I say. I open a new document, expecting her to go back to her work. She stands with one hand on my desk, looking at the screen.
‘Is it an INSET day?’ she asks.
‘Huh?’
‘You’re not at school. Is it a staff INSET?’
‘Uh, yeah,’ I say. ‘The teachers have a meeting.’
‘And they’ll be on strike next month. What do they expect parents to do with their kids all day?’
I lightly tap the keyboard without writing anything.
‘Well, if you need help, I’m over there,’ she says, and walks away.
I type slowly and check over my shoulder occasionally to make sure no one is reading what I’m writing.
‘War’ by Apple Apostolopoulou
It doesn’t look like war
Unless you examine it closely – with your glasses on,
Drawing your finger over the cracks in the friendship.
We were a pair,
A team of two
Until Donna took her
Away –
Swooped down and grabbed Pilar
Like an eagle diving for fish at the edge of the ocean.
I never thought that could happen.
I thought for ever friends meant just that:
For ever and for ever and for ever.
Now I know it means
Until.
Until someone better comes along,
Until the conductor swipes her baton,
Chooses you, not me, and
Ends our symphony.
I get to one hundred words then turn to check on Rain. She is fully engrossed in a wild rendition of ‘Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes’. Jenny has lost a shoe.
I read through what I’ve written but as usual, it’s too close to the truth. I can’t hand it in.
I open a fresh document and start again:
‘War’ by Apple Apostolopoulou
I don’t understand people who make football into war. My dad loves Arsenal. He’s their biggest fan, but I don’t think he really likes watching them play all that much because when he does, he gets really angry. He shouts and swears and knocks the stuffing from cushions. And he acts as though the players on the other team are evil. He tells me he hates the managers of the other teams too. In England there are a lot of football hooligans who go to games just to have fights. But football is a sport, so it should be fun.
‘How do I print?’ I call over to the librarian.
She
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