silent and bereft.
And other children started to arrive, and so the day began.
Among the others, there was Wilfred, who looked so angry, whose brow was furrowed, who clenched his fists, who looked nobody but Malcolm in the eye. His nails had almost been bitten to nothing and two of his front teeth were gone. He smelt of dog.
There was Alicia, who took a liking to Mina and sat by her all day. Alicia was like a little creature. Her hands trembled, ever so slightly. Her fringe hung down over her eyes. She kept leaning forward so that her hair hung all around her head like a curtain. She spoke in little whispery breaths. “I like you, Mina. Can I sit with you at lunch, Mina?” She stayed silent mostly, but sometimes Mina would hear her humming a low slow tune.
And there was Steepy, a skinny boy dressed all in green whose hands were covered in cuts and grazes. “Bloody roses, Malcolm,” he said. “Covered in bloody thorns, Malcolm. And bloody brambles. Like bloody knives, Malcolm.” He grinned at Mina. “It’sme bloody garden, Nina.”
“Mina,” said Malcolm. He winked. “It’s Steepy’s aim to have the most abundant allotment in the land. It’s also his aim to get a swearword into every sentence.”
“Bloody right, Malcolm,” said Steepy. “Couldn’t write a sentence to save me bloody life, but when it comes to swearing versatility … And when it comes to works of bloody art …”
He lifted his shirt. There was a whole garden tattooed on his chest: hedge, trees, dozens of flowers, butterflies, birds.
“That’s just the bloody start. I’ll get a bloody forest on me legs, mountains on me back, bloody sky on me bloody head.”
Despite herself, and her determinationto stay cool and distant, Mina leaned forward wide-eyed.
“But you’re just a boy!” she heard herself saying.
“Aye, and I had it done when I wasn’t even twelve. Me uncle Eric done it. He’s a proper tattoo artist. They wanted to lock him up but they didn’tcos he’s all I’ve got. But he can’t do no more tattoos on me till I’m sixteen. Then I’ll get the rest.” He lowered his shirt again. “We’re messing up the bloody world, Mina. We’re gonna burn it, blow it up, destroy it. We’re killing everything. Every lovely living thing’ll be extinct. But it’ll all be on me, Mina. I’ll be a bloody monument to everything that’s gone.”
“He’s not as pessimistic as he makes out,” said Malcolm. “Otherwise why bother with all the gardening?”
“For love,” said Steepy.
“Bloody love, you mean,” said Malcolm.
“Aye. For bloody love.” He looked at Mina.
“What’s your story, then?”
Mina shrugged.
“What’s yours?” she said.
“You’ve had it. What’s the point of school when there’s bloody gardening to be done?”
“What you doing here, then?”
“Hanging out with me mates. Like Malcolm. And Wilfie there.”
Wilfred glared. He bared his teeth. Steepy raised his hand.
“Down, boy,” he said. “You are me bloody mate, Wilf, whether you want to be or not.”
Wilf went on glaring, looking nothing like a mate of anyone’s at all.
Steepy winked at her.
“He’s OK,” he whispered. “As long as he keeps taking the pills.”
“The pills?”
“Aye. They wanted to put me on them as well. No bloody way! I said. Bloody pills!”
Despite herself, she wanted to be his mate, too. She did want to tell him her story, and to hear more about his, to talk about his garden and his tattoo, and to ask him how a bird that was born for joy could sit in a cage and sing, and to tell him about charms of goldfinches. She wanted to tell him about playing with words on a page, and about the words she used to write on her own skin. And she wanted to tell him that they’d wanted to put her on pills, as well. But she didn’t. She went back to being distant. She turned away from him to Alicia, who smiled and touched her arm and softly hummed.
“So,” said Malcolm. “That’s getting to knowyou time over. Time for Maths.
And other children started to arrive, and so the day began.
Among the others, there was Wilfred, who looked so angry, whose brow was furrowed, who clenched his fists, who looked nobody but Malcolm in the eye. His nails had almost been bitten to nothing and two of his front teeth were gone. He smelt of dog.
There was Alicia, who took a liking to Mina and sat by her all day. Alicia was like a little creature. Her hands trembled, ever so slightly. Her fringe hung down over her eyes. She kept leaning forward so that her hair hung all around her head like a curtain. She spoke in little whispery breaths. “I like you, Mina. Can I sit with you at lunch, Mina?” She stayed silent mostly, but sometimes Mina would hear her humming a low slow tune.
And there was Steepy, a skinny boy dressed all in green whose hands were covered in cuts and grazes. “Bloody roses, Malcolm,” he said. “Covered in bloody thorns, Malcolm. And bloody brambles. Like bloody knives, Malcolm.” He grinned at Mina. “It’sme bloody garden, Nina.”
“Mina,” said Malcolm. He winked. “It’s Steepy’s aim to have the most abundant allotment in the land. It’s also his aim to get a swearword into every sentence.”
“Bloody right, Malcolm,” said Steepy. “Couldn’t write a sentence to save me bloody life, but when it comes to swearing versatility … And when it comes to works of bloody art …”
He lifted his shirt. There was a whole garden tattooed on his chest: hedge, trees, dozens of flowers, butterflies, birds.
“That’s just the bloody start. I’ll get a bloody forest on me legs, mountains on me back, bloody sky on me bloody head.”
Despite herself, and her determinationto stay cool and distant, Mina leaned forward wide-eyed.
“But you’re just a boy!” she heard herself saying.
“Aye, and I had it done when I wasn’t even twelve. Me uncle Eric done it. He’s a proper tattoo artist. They wanted to lock him up but they didn’tcos he’s all I’ve got. But he can’t do no more tattoos on me till I’m sixteen. Then I’ll get the rest.” He lowered his shirt again. “We’re messing up the bloody world, Mina. We’re gonna burn it, blow it up, destroy it. We’re killing everything. Every lovely living thing’ll be extinct. But it’ll all be on me, Mina. I’ll be a bloody monument to everything that’s gone.”
“He’s not as pessimistic as he makes out,” said Malcolm. “Otherwise why bother with all the gardening?”
“For love,” said Steepy.
“Bloody love, you mean,” said Malcolm.
“Aye. For bloody love.” He looked at Mina.
“What’s your story, then?”
Mina shrugged.
“What’s yours?” she said.
“You’ve had it. What’s the point of school when there’s bloody gardening to be done?”
“What you doing here, then?”
“Hanging out with me mates. Like Malcolm. And Wilfie there.”
Wilfred glared. He bared his teeth. Steepy raised his hand.
“Down, boy,” he said. “You are me bloody mate, Wilf, whether you want to be or not.”
Wilf went on glaring, looking nothing like a mate of anyone’s at all.
Steepy winked at her.
“He’s OK,” he whispered. “As long as he keeps taking the pills.”
“The pills?”
“Aye. They wanted to put me on them as well. No bloody way! I said. Bloody pills!”
Despite herself, she wanted to be his mate, too. She did want to tell him her story, and to hear more about his, to talk about his garden and his tattoo, and to ask him how a bird that was born for joy could sit in a cage and sing, and to tell him about charms of goldfinches. She wanted to tell him about playing with words on a page, and about the words she used to write on her own skin. And she wanted to tell him that they’d wanted to put her on pills, as well. But she didn’t. She went back to being distant. She turned away from him to Alicia, who smiled and touched her arm and softly hummed.
“So,” said Malcolm. “That’s getting to knowyou time over. Time for Maths.
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