Free Paper Aeroplanes by Dawn O'Porter Page A

become unreliable too.
    I’ve been having a reoccurring dream. In it I’m sitting at the kitchen table watching Pop eat a raw steak with his hands. Nana is standing in the hallway hiding behind the kitchen door. Something calls me out to the garden. I don’t know what it is – a noise, a light – it’s never very clear. When I get into the garden there’s a navy-blue pram and the sun is beaming directly into it. I walk over but I’m too little to see in so I have to pull myself up and get on tiptoes to peep over the side. Lying in the pram is a baby, but the baby has my mum’s face. She smiles at me but can’t reach out to me because she has little baby arms. I can’t pick her up because I’m so small myself. So I just watch her face smiling at me, in the pram, with her baby’s body wriggling around. I rarely wake up from this dream without feeling strange. I guess that’s understandable.
    I run her blusher brush over my face, and then, with a small spring in my step at the thought of not spending the day with water in my shoes because it isn’t raining, I leave for school.
    Late as usual, I arrive minutes before Miss Anthony comes in for registration. There’s an unusual silence coming from Room Six. When I walk in no one is at their desks. They are all huddled around like children listening to a story. In the middle is Sally Du Putron, standing on her desk.
    ‘They
say
it was a heart attack. I saw him last week. He was so fat and he looked drunk. I called Flo last night and her brother answered the phone.
He
told me everything.’
    ‘What exactly did he tell you?’ asked Margaret.
    ‘He told me their dad had died of a heart attack, dip shit!’ Sally says, sounding proud of her knowledge.
    ‘Did you speak to Flo?’ asks Charlotte.
    ‘Of course I spoke to Flo, I’m her best friend! She couldn’t stop crying so it was hard to make out what she was saying. That got a bit annoying so I didn’t stay on the phone long, but what I did get out of her is that he was found dead in his front garden and he was wearing his slippers. How weird is that?’
    I stand at the door listening to Sally. Poor Flo. Poor, poor Flo. Her poor dad. It’s so sad. What happened after Miss Grut took her out of the room? Where had she first heard that her dad had died? Who was with her? I know very little about Flo Parrot, but I know that she loves her dad. I only knew Mum for seven years and I still think about her every day. Flo has known her dad for fifteen years – how could you ever forget someone you have known for fifteen years? Maybe I’m lucky.
    ‘What the hell are
you
crying for?’ Sally says, looking over to where I am standing.
    All eyes are on me. I didn’t realise I was crying.
    ‘Ahhh, poor Renée, not getting all the attention this morning so she stands in the doorway and cries. BOO HOO.’
    ‘Shut up, Sally. What happened to Flo’s dad is really sad,’ I say, wiping my cheeks.
    ‘Of course it is SAD, you idiot. Flo was crying like a baby on the phone last night. She was doing that weird thing where she couldn’t get her words out properly, all sniffing and hiccupping and stuff. I should know if it is sad or not. I’m her best friend, not YOU.’ She glares at me then turns back to her crowd. ‘So yeah, he was wearing his slippers. Outside. Don’t you think that just sounds like he had totally given up on himself? I wouldn’t be at all surprised if we find out he . . .’ she puts her hands either side of her mouth and whispers, ‘
killed himself
.’
    ‘For fuck’s sake, Sally. Have some respect, will you?’ I shout as I move towards her.
    Her head turns slowly to look at me. The crowd disperses awkwardly. There is a general hum, suggesting that I have overstepped the mark. I swallow hard.
    ‘Some respect. Me? With
respect,
Renée, are YOU a likely candidate for head girl? Have YOU had a tidiness sash for three years straight? Have YOU ever had an A* or never even had a single order mark? Have