after seeing the memorial, how did I put Lorders in it when I didn’t know what they are? Maybe it wasn’t just a dream. Perhaps Lorders were the target of the bombs that killed those students. But if it wasn’t a dream…why was I there? Six years ago I was just ten years old. It doesn’t make sense.
The Lorders move off to the side, taking no obvious part: just listening, watching.
Rickson addresses the Assembly, and I carefully force my eyes away from the three of them, to him; doing my best to listen with part of my brain while the rest still whirls in shock. He goes on about academic and sporting achievements of students. He mentions the school cross-country team open training continues Sunday; he hopes many of us will go along, and names students from our school who placed in the county finals last year. Team try-outs will be next month. Then he says with great sadness that some students are still not fulfilling their potential, and suggests we all try harder.
Everyone stands, and Julie nudges me to do the same. We start filing out, past the Lorders. I almost can’t breathe, but somehow put one foot in front of the other, carefully keeping my eyes straight ahead. All the while expecting a cold hand to reach out and clamp my shoulder.
They stop a few students at the exit, and take them to one side. The students go pale and everyone avoids their eyes. Maybe, they weren’t fulfilling their potential.
Maybe Tori wasn’t, either.
CHAPTER TWENTY
----
He spreads white stuff – cement? – with a metal thing like a pie spatula across the top row, then, one at a time, plonks bricks on top. Wipes cement that oozes out between the bricks, smoothes it around between them. Then starts on another row.
I stare. He glances up a few times, keeps working, placing the bricks one after another.
I know I’m staring, and that you shouldn’t stare at people: they generally don’t like it. But I can’t help myself.
Brick after brick. It is five rows off the ground now.
If I stand here much longer, there will be trouble. Mum is probably timing how long it should take me to mail the letter still clutched in my hand at the post box on the corner of the next street. The first time I’ve been allowed to go anywhere on my own. It will also be the last time if I don’t get on with it, most likely.
He looks up again, sits back on his haunches. About thirty years old, in blue overalls covered in streaks of paint, cement, grime. Greasy hair. He spits on the ground.
‘Well?’ he says.
I jump.
‘You want something, darling?’ He grins as his eyes focus on my wrist, my Levo, then slide back up to my face.
‘Sorry,’ I say, and dash across the street and around the corner, hearing him laugh behind me.
I post the letter and cross back again. There is a white van parked where he works, with Best Builders painted across it. He is still placing bricks one after another, building a garden wall.
He whistles when he sees me and I keep walking, cheeks burning, home.
‘What took you so long?’ Mum says, perched on the front step. Watching, she’d waved as soon as I turned the corner to our street.
‘Nothing; just walking.’
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, fine.’ I head for the stairs.
‘Where are you going?’
I turn. ‘To do some homework,’ I lie.
‘Well, all right. Diligent little student, aren’t you? Dinner will be in an hour.’
In my room I shut the door and grab my sketch pad, hands shaking. My Levo starts to drop: 4.4…. 4.2…
And I start drawing a wall. Brick after brick from the ground up. My pencil moves fast and then faster; my Levo stops falling, then creeps back up to 5. I must finish the wall, and I must draw it with my right hand for it to be correct. After everything today: Tori returned , Lorders in Assembly, Lorders in my dream. Somehow I know that as long as I build the wall, everything will be fine.
Green trees blue sky white clouds green trees blue sky white clouds…
‘Not the most
The Lorders move off to the side, taking no obvious part: just listening, watching.
Rickson addresses the Assembly, and I carefully force my eyes away from the three of them, to him; doing my best to listen with part of my brain while the rest still whirls in shock. He goes on about academic and sporting achievements of students. He mentions the school cross-country team open training continues Sunday; he hopes many of us will go along, and names students from our school who placed in the county finals last year. Team try-outs will be next month. Then he says with great sadness that some students are still not fulfilling their potential, and suggests we all try harder.
Everyone stands, and Julie nudges me to do the same. We start filing out, past the Lorders. I almost can’t breathe, but somehow put one foot in front of the other, carefully keeping my eyes straight ahead. All the while expecting a cold hand to reach out and clamp my shoulder.
They stop a few students at the exit, and take them to one side. The students go pale and everyone avoids their eyes. Maybe, they weren’t fulfilling their potential.
Maybe Tori wasn’t, either.
CHAPTER TWENTY
----
He spreads white stuff – cement? – with a metal thing like a pie spatula across the top row, then, one at a time, plonks bricks on top. Wipes cement that oozes out between the bricks, smoothes it around between them. Then starts on another row.
I stare. He glances up a few times, keeps working, placing the bricks one after another.
I know I’m staring, and that you shouldn’t stare at people: they generally don’t like it. But I can’t help myself.
Brick after brick. It is five rows off the ground now.
If I stand here much longer, there will be trouble. Mum is probably timing how long it should take me to mail the letter still clutched in my hand at the post box on the corner of the next street. The first time I’ve been allowed to go anywhere on my own. It will also be the last time if I don’t get on with it, most likely.
He looks up again, sits back on his haunches. About thirty years old, in blue overalls covered in streaks of paint, cement, grime. Greasy hair. He spits on the ground.
‘Well?’ he says.
I jump.
‘You want something, darling?’ He grins as his eyes focus on my wrist, my Levo, then slide back up to my face.
‘Sorry,’ I say, and dash across the street and around the corner, hearing him laugh behind me.
I post the letter and cross back again. There is a white van parked where he works, with Best Builders painted across it. He is still placing bricks one after another, building a garden wall.
He whistles when he sees me and I keep walking, cheeks burning, home.
‘What took you so long?’ Mum says, perched on the front step. Watching, she’d waved as soon as I turned the corner to our street.
‘Nothing; just walking.’
‘Is everything all right?’
‘Yes, fine.’ I head for the stairs.
‘Where are you going?’
I turn. ‘To do some homework,’ I lie.
‘Well, all right. Diligent little student, aren’t you? Dinner will be in an hour.’
In my room I shut the door and grab my sketch pad, hands shaking. My Levo starts to drop: 4.4…. 4.2…
And I start drawing a wall. Brick after brick from the ground up. My pencil moves fast and then faster; my Levo stops falling, then creeps back up to 5. I must finish the wall, and I must draw it with my right hand for it to be correct. After everything today: Tori returned , Lorders in Assembly, Lorders in my dream. Somehow I know that as long as I build the wall, everything will be fine.
Green trees blue sky white clouds green trees blue sky white clouds…
‘Not the most
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