Free The Father's House by Larche Davies Page B

difficult than usual.
    The lollipop lady smiled. Lucy managed a sort of smile back, and went miserably on down to the lights. She was a pariah to be despised, not worthy of kindness – she who had mocked the Magnifico. Looking neither left nor right she climbed the school steps, her head bowed.
    â€œWelcome to the guidance club,” called a cheerful voice behind her.
    Dorothy caught up with her and smiled.
    â€œWhat do your legs feel like?”
    â€œSore,” said Lucy.
    â€œYou’ll get over it. I did. Stop shrinking in to yourself like that. Stand upright and show you don’t care. Be proud. That’s what I do.” She demonstrated by tossing back her dark curls, straightening her shoulders, and giving a cheeky wink. “What set you off?”
    â€œDavid.”
    Dorothy stopped in her tracks and stared. “What?”
    â€œIt wasn’t his fault. My reminder didn’t work. I didn’t use it in time.”
    In the playground other children looked at Lucy furtively, too embarrassed for her to say anything. She sat on her own behind the bike shed during the break. The pain inside her was worse than the pain on her legs, and she wished Dorothy would come so that she could ask her how long it would take to stop hurting.
    Dorothy didn’t come. Lucy could see her in the distance looking bored and fidgety as she joined in the eternal game of rounders. When Aunt Mavis clapped her hands Lucy crept out from behind the shed, and joined the queue to go in. The other children shuffled away from her, as though they might catch some of her pariah disease. She’d been like them once. Now she knew what it felt like. David surreptitiously passed her a note in class saying, ‘Sorry’. She nodded, but the threat of the cellar hung over her, and by this time she couldn’t smile at all even though she tried.
    George was in his front room looking out into the road. He waved at Lucy but she didn’t wave back. A few moments later he came running up behind her, shoelaces undone and one arm through a sleeve of his anorak.
    â€œWait!” he shouted. “I want to talk to you.”
    Lucy pretended not to hear him. If she were seen talking to a non-follower in the street the three nights in the cellar might be increased to four.
    â€œWhy are you so snooty?” he panted, pulling on the other sleeve.
    Lucy stopped and stared at him. How could a pariah be snooty?
    â€œWhy should I be snooty?”
    â€œBecause you won’t cross with us with the lollipop lady. Because you go to private school.”
    â€œWhat’s private school?”
    â€œIt’s where you go. Anyone can go to our school, but not to yours. So it’s private.”
    â€œOh, I didn’t know that.” She started walking on. George followed her.
    â€œI mustn’t talk to you,” she said, not looking at him.
    â€œSee! That’s what I mean. You’re snooty.” George nodded his ginger curls in vigorous emphasis.
    Lucy stopped again.
    â€œI’m not snooty,” she said crossly, “It’s just that I’m not allowed to talk to strangers in the street.” She carried on walking, and George tagged along beside her.
    â€œWhy are you bothering me?”
    â€œIt’s because you belong to that sect,” he said. “I wanted to see what a person from a sect talks like.”
    â€œWhat’s a sect?”
    â€œMy dad says it’s a bunch of nutters who don’t let girls have jobs and shut them up to have babies and pray for the rest of their lives. And he knows everything.”
    â€œGo away,” said Lucy. “I don’t like you.”
    â€œI’m just curious, that’s all. Curiosity is a sign of intelligence.” He didn’t sound at all offended, but to Lucy’s relief he turned back.
    She hurried as fast as her sore legs would let her, up the hill then left through the little lane, and over the common towards