discomfort.
‘That’ll teach him,’ I heard someone say. ‘Him and his equals. Maybe they’ll think twice in future before pestering us.’
‘Pestering us?
Bullying
is what they do!’
‘That’s right,
bullying
,’ a third person agreed. ‘They’re bullies, there should be a law.’
The charity guy began to try to peel the girl’s arms off himself, but she clung like a monkey, and even I was starting to feel sorry for him by the time she eventually decided to free him. He hurried away up Grafton Street, plucking at his red Wheelchairs for Donkeys tabard, desperately trying to take it off.
‘Where are you going?’ she yelled after him. ‘I thought you were my friend!’
An impromptu bout of applause rippled through the observers and she laughed, a little proud, a little embarrassed. ‘Ah, no, stop.’
I waited until her admirers had dispersed, then I went up to her, the way you would in nursery school, and said, ‘I’m Helen.’ It was a blatant attempt at friendship.
She looked at me for a minute, coolly taking me all in, and obviously deciding she liked what she saw because she broke into a very pretty smile and said, ‘I’m Bronagh.’
I wasn’t sure what to do next. I wanted her as my friend but didn’t know how to go about it. I seemed to find it hard to make friends, proper friends, that is. For a lot of my life I’d had to make do with my family, inadequate though I foundthem, simply because they couldn’t run away from me. For a long time my sister Anna had been my best friend, even though all I did was make fun of her, but then she legged it to New York and left a big hole in my life.
‘Are you doing anything right now?’ I asked Bronagh. ‘Would you like to go for a Diet Coke?’
She frowned, a little disquieted. ‘Are you a lezzer?’
‘No.’
‘Grand, so.’ Another great big smile from her. ‘A Diet Coke it is.’
11
I climbed the stairs and went into Mum and Dad’s ‘office’ (Claire’s old bedroom) and switched on the computer and the scanner. All my stuff – my work equipment and surveillance tools – was scattered randomly around the house, some in my bedroom, some in the dining room and some in here. Maybe when I’d organized it a bit better I’d feel more – hard to say the word, hard to even think it, it was so badly annoying, Shovel List annoying – I’d feel more
grounded
.
At least this house had broadband and wifi. A couple of years ago I’d bullied Mum and Dad into getting them and I was never so glad. I did a quick search for ‘Gloria’ and got a million Google hits, none of them useful. Did you know that Van Morrison sang a song called ‘Gloria’? Must have been before I was born.
I checked my emails. There was nothing back yet from the two I’d sent earlier, but it
was
the middle of the night. Something would come in the morning. No text either from John Joseph giving me Birdie Salaman’s number. That would come in the morning too.
Next I Photoshopped the picture of Wayne and Birdie, disappearing Birdie and making Wayne bald. It would be handy to have photos of what he actually looked like right now with the shaved head. Sadly it didn’t come out so great (his head had gone a slightly funny shape), but it would have to do. I’d print a few copies in the morning, when I’d connected my printer.
I had better luck with Birdie Salaman – there she was on Facebook. Being cagey, giving out no info, but there was a photo; it was definitely her. I dithered about sending a friendrequest. Should I wait until John Joseph had given me her number? He might even be able to smooth the way for me. But I was so bad at patience that I sent the friend request anyway, I simply couldn’t stop myself.
While I was at it, I Facebooked Wayne. Even cagier than Birdie, he was, with not even a photo. I sent him a friend request too. Because you never know.
Then I rang his mobile; it was unlikely that he’d answer at this time in the morning, but once
‘That’ll teach him,’ I heard someone say. ‘Him and his equals. Maybe they’ll think twice in future before pestering us.’
‘Pestering us?
Bullying
is what they do!’
‘That’s right,
bullying
,’ a third person agreed. ‘They’re bullies, there should be a law.’
The charity guy began to try to peel the girl’s arms off himself, but she clung like a monkey, and even I was starting to feel sorry for him by the time she eventually decided to free him. He hurried away up Grafton Street, plucking at his red Wheelchairs for Donkeys tabard, desperately trying to take it off.
‘Where are you going?’ she yelled after him. ‘I thought you were my friend!’
An impromptu bout of applause rippled through the observers and she laughed, a little proud, a little embarrassed. ‘Ah, no, stop.’
I waited until her admirers had dispersed, then I went up to her, the way you would in nursery school, and said, ‘I’m Helen.’ It was a blatant attempt at friendship.
She looked at me for a minute, coolly taking me all in, and obviously deciding she liked what she saw because she broke into a very pretty smile and said, ‘I’m Bronagh.’
I wasn’t sure what to do next. I wanted her as my friend but didn’t know how to go about it. I seemed to find it hard to make friends, proper friends, that is. For a lot of my life I’d had to make do with my family, inadequate though I foundthem, simply because they couldn’t run away from me. For a long time my sister Anna had been my best friend, even though all I did was make fun of her, but then she legged it to New York and left a big hole in my life.
‘Are you doing anything right now?’ I asked Bronagh. ‘Would you like to go for a Diet Coke?’
She frowned, a little disquieted. ‘Are you a lezzer?’
‘No.’
‘Grand, so.’ Another great big smile from her. ‘A Diet Coke it is.’
11
I climbed the stairs and went into Mum and Dad’s ‘office’ (Claire’s old bedroom) and switched on the computer and the scanner. All my stuff – my work equipment and surveillance tools – was scattered randomly around the house, some in my bedroom, some in the dining room and some in here. Maybe when I’d organized it a bit better I’d feel more – hard to say the word, hard to even think it, it was so badly annoying, Shovel List annoying – I’d feel more
grounded
.
At least this house had broadband and wifi. A couple of years ago I’d bullied Mum and Dad into getting them and I was never so glad. I did a quick search for ‘Gloria’ and got a million Google hits, none of them useful. Did you know that Van Morrison sang a song called ‘Gloria’? Must have been before I was born.
I checked my emails. There was nothing back yet from the two I’d sent earlier, but it
was
the middle of the night. Something would come in the morning. No text either from John Joseph giving me Birdie Salaman’s number. That would come in the morning too.
Next I Photoshopped the picture of Wayne and Birdie, disappearing Birdie and making Wayne bald. It would be handy to have photos of what he actually looked like right now with the shaved head. Sadly it didn’t come out so great (his head had gone a slightly funny shape), but it would have to do. I’d print a few copies in the morning, when I’d connected my printer.
I had better luck with Birdie Salaman – there she was on Facebook. Being cagey, giving out no info, but there was a photo; it was definitely her. I dithered about sending a friendrequest. Should I wait until John Joseph had given me her number? He might even be able to smooth the way for me. But I was so bad at patience that I sent the friend request anyway, I simply couldn’t stop myself.
While I was at it, I Facebooked Wayne. Even cagier than Birdie, he was, with not even a photo. I sent him a friend request too. Because you never know.
Then I rang his mobile; it was unlikely that he’d answer at this time in the morning, but once
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