set off along the edge of the field, I started to drift over towards him. I knew this would puzzle the others, but I kept going – even when I heard Ruth’s urgent whisper to me to come back.
I suppose Tommy wasn’t used to being disturbed during his rages, because his first response when I came up to him was to stare at me for a second, then carry on as before. It was like he was doing Shakespeare and I’d come up onto the stage in the middle of his performance. Even when I said: ‘Tommy, your nice shirt. You’ll get it all messed up,’ there was no sign of him having heard me.
So I reached forward and put a hand on his arm. Afterwards, the others thought he’d meant to do it, but I was pretty sure it was unintentional. His arms were still flailing about, and he wasn’t to know I was about to put out my hand. Anyway, as he threw up his arm, he knocked my hand aside and hit the side of my face. It didn’t hurt at all, but I let out a gasp, and so did most of the girls behind me.
That’s when at last Tommy seemed to become aware of me, of the others, of himself, of the fact that he was there in that field, behaving the way he had been, and stared at me a bit stupidly.
‘Tommy,’ I said, quite sternly. ‘There’s mud all over your shirt.’
‘So what?’ he mumbled. But even as he said this, he looked down and noticed the brown specks, and only just stopped himself crying out in alarm. Then I saw the surprise register on his face that I should know about his feelings for the polo shirt.
‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ I said, before the silence got humiliating for him. ‘It’ll come off. If you can’t get it off yourself, just take it to Miss Jody.’
He went on examining his shirt, then said grumpily: ‘It’s nothing to do with you anyway.’
He seemed to regret immediately this last remark and looked at me sheepishly, as though expecting me to say something comforting back to him. But I’d had enough of him by now, particularly with the girls watching – and for all I knew, any number of others from the windows of the main house. So I turned away with a shrug and rejoined my friends.
Ruth put an arm around my shoulders as we walked away. ‘At least you got him to pipe down,’ she said. ‘Are you okay? Mad animal.’
CHAPTER TWO
This was all a long time ago so I might have some of it wrong; but my memory of it is that my approaching Tommy that afternoon was part of a phase I was going through around that time – something to do with compulsively setting myself challenges – and I’d more or less forgotten all about it when Tommy stopped me a few days later.
I don’t know how it was where you were, but at Hailsham we had to have some form of medical almost every week – usually up in Room 18 at the very top of the house – with stern Nurse Trisha, or Crow Face, as we called her. That sunny morning a crowd of us was going up the central staircase to be examined by her, while another lot she’d just finished with was on its way down. So the stairwell was filled with echoing noise, and I was climbing the steps head down, just following the heels of the person in front, when a voice near me went: ‘Kath!’
Tommy, who was in the stream coming down, had stopped dead on the stairs with a big open smile that immediately irritated me. A few years earlier maybe, if we ran into someone we were pleased to see, we’d put on that sort of look. But we were thirteen by then, and this was a boy running into a girl in a really public situation. I felt like saying: ‘Tommy, why don’t you grow up?’ But I stopped myself, and said instead: ‘Tommy, you’re holding everyone up. And so am I.’
He glanced upwards and sure enough the flight above was already grinding to a halt. For a second he looked panicked, then he squeezed himself right into the wall next to me, so it was just about possible for people to push past. Then he said:
‘Kath, I’ve been looking all over for you. I meant to
I suppose Tommy wasn’t used to being disturbed during his rages, because his first response when I came up to him was to stare at me for a second, then carry on as before. It was like he was doing Shakespeare and I’d come up onto the stage in the middle of his performance. Even when I said: ‘Tommy, your nice shirt. You’ll get it all messed up,’ there was no sign of him having heard me.
So I reached forward and put a hand on his arm. Afterwards, the others thought he’d meant to do it, but I was pretty sure it was unintentional. His arms were still flailing about, and he wasn’t to know I was about to put out my hand. Anyway, as he threw up his arm, he knocked my hand aside and hit the side of my face. It didn’t hurt at all, but I let out a gasp, and so did most of the girls behind me.
That’s when at last Tommy seemed to become aware of me, of the others, of himself, of the fact that he was there in that field, behaving the way he had been, and stared at me a bit stupidly.
‘Tommy,’ I said, quite sternly. ‘There’s mud all over your shirt.’
‘So what?’ he mumbled. But even as he said this, he looked down and noticed the brown specks, and only just stopped himself crying out in alarm. Then I saw the surprise register on his face that I should know about his feelings for the polo shirt.
‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ I said, before the silence got humiliating for him. ‘It’ll come off. If you can’t get it off yourself, just take it to Miss Jody.’
He went on examining his shirt, then said grumpily: ‘It’s nothing to do with you anyway.’
He seemed to regret immediately this last remark and looked at me sheepishly, as though expecting me to say something comforting back to him. But I’d had enough of him by now, particularly with the girls watching – and for all I knew, any number of others from the windows of the main house. So I turned away with a shrug and rejoined my friends.
Ruth put an arm around my shoulders as we walked away. ‘At least you got him to pipe down,’ she said. ‘Are you okay? Mad animal.’
CHAPTER TWO
This was all a long time ago so I might have some of it wrong; but my memory of it is that my approaching Tommy that afternoon was part of a phase I was going through around that time – something to do with compulsively setting myself challenges – and I’d more or less forgotten all about it when Tommy stopped me a few days later.
I don’t know how it was where you were, but at Hailsham we had to have some form of medical almost every week – usually up in Room 18 at the very top of the house – with stern Nurse Trisha, or Crow Face, as we called her. That sunny morning a crowd of us was going up the central staircase to be examined by her, while another lot she’d just finished with was on its way down. So the stairwell was filled with echoing noise, and I was climbing the steps head down, just following the heels of the person in front, when a voice near me went: ‘Kath!’
Tommy, who was in the stream coming down, had stopped dead on the stairs with a big open smile that immediately irritated me. A few years earlier maybe, if we ran into someone we were pleased to see, we’d put on that sort of look. But we were thirteen by then, and this was a boy running into a girl in a really public situation. I felt like saying: ‘Tommy, why don’t you grow up?’ But I stopped myself, and said instead: ‘Tommy, you’re holding everyone up. And so am I.’
He glanced upwards and sure enough the flight above was already grinding to a halt. For a second he looked panicked, then he squeezed himself right into the wall next to me, so it was just about possible for people to push past. Then he said:
‘Kath, I’ve been looking all over for you. I meant to
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