Her Living Image Read Free

but in lines, pelting down, drilling into the ground. Where they drove down on to concrete or tarmac they bounced up again, to a height of six inches. Through every window in the
school, children were looking out at the rain, transfixed. Carolyn, making Art History notes in the library, found her gaze irresistibly drawn to the window. Her friend Mandy was sitting beside
her. Mandy was plump, energetic and unafraid. She knew a lot about things that Carolyn didn’t, like religion and sex. She had been Born Again last year and it had weakened their friendship.
Mandy had gone all the way, and told Carolyn about johnnys. (“They sell them in Boots. You go and have a look – on the medicine counter, near the aspirins – anyone can buy
them!”) Where Mandy led, Carolyn sometimes followed, although she was becoming increasingly stubborn and at times dug her heels in and refused to listen to reason at all. She had done this,
to Mandy’s regret, over Jesus. They did not see much of each other outside school, since Mandy’s time was much absorbed by Jesus and her boyfriend George, and Carolyn’s mother
thought Mandy, with her tight jeans and loud voice, rather common.
    “Coming out?” asked Mandy.
    “In this?”
    “Yes – it’s amazing in a storm, it’s like being under a really strong shower, it won’t be cold –”
    “But we’ll get wet.”
    Mandy pulled a face.
    Carolyn hesitated. “Well – what are you doing – are you going home after?”
    “‘Spect so. Yeah. Come on.”
    “Um – I’ll ruin my sandals.”
    “Don’t be so pathetic. You can dry them can’t you?”
    “But my Mum –”
    “Oh for God’s sake –”
    Subdued, Carolyn neatly began to pack away her books. “Have you got a coat?”
    “No, you berk, that’s the point.”
    Carolyn nodded. Carefully she folded her mauve cardigan and tucked it away in her bag. ‘OK.”
    Mandy led the way through the empty library, the quiet mid-lesson corridors, to B block door. They went through the first set of swing doors and stood staring through the second, listening to
the roar of the rain.
    “You going to run?” asked Carolyn.
    Mandy shrugged and laughed. “Come on.” She pushed the door and ran out into the rain. Carolyn watched her curly hair suddenly flatten to her head. Then she went out. It took your
breath away – not because it was cold, but because it fell so hard, stinging your bare skin, falling like blows on your head. Gasping and laughing, she and Mandy ran down the drive, half
blinded by the streams of water running down their faces. When Mandy cut off along the path home, Carolyn settled into a more carefully paced run, head down, mouth half open to breathe through. The
rain was running down her neck, inside her blouse, making her shudder. She looked up quickly, blinking, when she had to cross the road. At Leap Lane, which was one-way, she glanced only to the
left. As she jumped the flooded swirling gutter a noise made her swivel her head to the right where she took in instantaneously a red coming-closer wheel-splashing van and in mid-air time faltered, hesitated long enough for her to see herself and the red van hurtling forwards in a mad race to occupy the same spot of road, and herself still in mid-air suddenly
reversing her pumping legs like a cartoon character who’s run off a cliff and backpedals desperately – and all the revolving world of mother father Alan school Mandy all stopped still
like a frozen film, broken down oh no and she landed, stumbled – here no – not – me.
    The lad driving the red Post Office van was in a state. It was the first time he’d done the collections on his own, and this bloody weather had fouled everything up.
Visibility was awful, he’d driven right past two boxes and had to go back for them, although he knew where they were. He was soaked to the skin and shivering, from fiddling with keys and
heaving sacks of letters out. He’d even dropped one and been scrabbling in the