You Won't Believe This Read online

  ‘Is it Mrs Martin? That was totally weird, wasn’t it? But you shouldn’t be upset about it. No one thinks it was you, do they?’

  ‘It isn’t that,’ Veronique said.

  I slapped my forehead. I’d got carried away with the Subbuteo – it was Nanai of course.

  ‘But it’s just a precaution,’ I said. ‘Your dad did say that, didn’t he?’

  Veronique looked down at her lap. ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He’s an adult.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘You can’t believe them when they talk about things like this.’

  ‘Can’t you?’

  ‘No,’ Veronique said, and I realised that she was right. There are pointless things that adults insist you DO know about (apostrophes, hello?) and then some really important stuff they keep from you, like news stories that make them dive forward and turn off the radio. Nanai was as bad. She refused to tell Veronique much about being on the boat from Vietnam. All Veronique knew was that Nanai’s family had been part of the Chinese Hoa people in Vietnam. When they had to leave Vietnam by boat, some of them ended up here. There had to be more to know than that, though. And now – was her dad doing the same thing? Was Nanai really ill?

  I swallowed. I had an empty feeling in my stomach until I heard Mum climbing up the stairs. I got Kit-Kat back in his box in time but Mum still crouched down to him.

  ‘Let’s have a look, then,’ she said.

  ‘Sorry. It’s his bedtime.’

  Mum frowned. ‘I thought gerbils slept in the daytime.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Veronique, ‘he’s not a gerbil. He’s a—’

  ‘HAMSTER!’ I shouted. ‘But he’s tired now, so …’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ Mum insisted. ‘Just a little peek.’ And I couldn’t stop her. She lifted the lid and I got my hands near my ears ready for the scream, shuffling aside so I didn’t get trampled on when Mum ran to the door. Fortunately, though, Kit-Kat was tucked up in his straw with just his little face poking out.

  ‘Sweet!’ Mum said as Kit-Kat gave her a nose twitch. And we went downstairs for supper.

  Mum had made bacony pasta. I love it, and Veronique said she did too, though she didn’t eat much. If I left mine, Mum would have made me finish it, but she just smiled at Veronique and squeezed her elbow. Back upstairs we took it in turns getting ready for bed and when Veronique came out of the bathroom I blinked. I’d never seen her in pyjamas. These were Chinese ones that folded over in the middle. She looked really different and it made me think of the photos of Nanai, how she’d been rescued, how she’d come from another place, somewhere Veronique was linked to, though she’s so part of our school and Blackheath. It made me wonder if anyone in my past had run away from somewhere, though I didn’t get long to think about it. Veronique was pale. She was quiet as we blew her bed up, and through part of Narnia, which Mum read us. I don’t think it was because of the White Witch either because she was still like that as she climbed into her sleeping bag.

  Mum kissed me goodnight and gave Veronique a hug. She put the light out and when we were on our own I stared down at Veronique through the faint blue glow from my ghostie light.

  ‘Is it still Nanai? Is that why you’re upset?’

  Veronique didn’t answer.

  I remembered what Mr Prentice said, the art therapy man I went to after Mum got ill before Christmas. You have to let it out. The thing you’re scared of. So I said, ‘Did something happen? Before the ambulance came, I mean?’

  There was silence again but somehow I knew the answer was yes.

  ‘Did Nanai fall over?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or be sick?’

  ‘No,’ Veronique said, again.

  ‘Then what? What?’

  ‘I went down to see her. Earlier.’

  ‘To play football?’

  ‘Just see her.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She was sitting there, in her chair. She didn’t even …’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She didn’t even want to nibble my finger. She just looked weird. So I asked her what the matter was.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She told me not to worry.’

  ‘Well, then. Phew.’

  ‘She was really definite about that. It was all very normal, she said. And natural.’

  ‘What was?’

  Veronique was about to answer but she hesitated, fiddling with the sleeve of her pyjamas. I looked down at her but she wouldn’t look at me, just lay there in the faint blue light. There was silence until Mum started banging pots around in the kitchen, after which the silence came back again. It grew bigger, sort of heavy, and dark-seeming, so that for a second it was like everything in the whole world had stopped.

  ‘What was?’ I insisted, and Veronique stopped fiddling with her sleeve.

  ‘She said she was going to die, Cymbeline.’

  I had bad dreams. They seemed to last all night, though when I woke up they ran off like kids playing Grandmother’s Footsteps. Their place was taken by Veronique and I blinked at her. She was kneeling by my bed. With her face washed. And she was dressed. She even had her hair tied up.

  ‘Where’s your piano?’ she asked.

  I groaned and pulled the duvet over my head. ‘You can’t miss it. It’s next to the Ferrari.’

  ‘Where’s that, then?’

  ‘It was a joke,’ I said, which made Veronique sigh because jokes are the ONE thing she’s not good at. They’re like apostrophes are to me. Marcus Breen is always getting her. We were in the lunch queue on Friday and he poked her in the ribs.

  ‘Look under there,’ he told her. Veronique frowned.

  ‘Under where?’

  ‘There!’

  ‘Under where?’ Veronique asked again, and Marcus sniggered.

  ‘You said “underwear”!’ he said.

  ‘I know, and you won’t tell me. Under WHERE?’

  Marcus really burst it and Veronique asked why he was laughing.

  ‘No reason. What does a dog do when it’s hot?’

  ‘Pants.’

  Marcus nearly went blue. I thought he was going to choke to death. When he’d recovered, he said that a teacher has five boys in her class, all named Will.

  ‘To tell them apart she calls the first one Will A, the second one Will B, and so on. So what’s the fifth one called?’

  Veronique was about to answer, but luckily we got to the front of the queue and Mrs Stebbings dolloped out the curry.

  Anyway, when I explained that we didn’t have a piano, Veronique stared like I’d said we didn’t have a sofa.

  ‘But my exam’s a week on Saturday! I didn’t get to practise last night because of Nanai. And I always practise on Thursday mornings because it’s fencing after school so I can’t play tonight. Or I can, but I’ll stay up late so I won’t be able to get up early the next morning. And that means—’

  ‘Calm down,’ I said, shoving the duvet aside and reaching for the art box.

  After what Veronique had told me last night, I wanted to do all I could for her. I was upset about Nanai myself but she wasn’t my grandmother, was she? It was bound to be worse for Veronique and I couldn’t imagine what she must be feeling. So, downstairs, I got some sheets of paper and Sellotaped them to the kitchen table. Veronique told me where the keys all went and I drew a piano. Veronique said there should be pedal things underneath, so I got my wellies. She told me she was going to play a piece called the ‘Four Seasons’, which I was excited about – but it turned out it had nothing to do with pizza. It was still good, though – better than her piece in assembly, actually, because it was quiet and I could listen to it and Harry Potter on Mum’s phone at the same time. I recommend this kind of piano and would like to suggest to all classical musicians that they think a bit more about the people who may have to be sitting close to them when they’re playing.

  I hoped that getting to practise would cheer Veronique up. But it didn’t, much, so I had another idea – I gave her the phone to call her dad.

  ‘So?’ I asked, after she’d hung up.

  ‘The doctors can’t find anything wrong with her.’

  ‘Brilliant!’

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘What do you mean? Nanai’s not a doctor, is she? They’re bound to know better than her, aren’t they?’

  ‘I suppose,’ said Veronique again, and then Mum appeared, her eyes going wide as Frisbees to see me standing there.

  The reason for Mum’s reaction was that I am normally just a tiny bit reluctant to get out of bed in the morning. Schooldays especially. Mum says it was the same when I was being born, only getting me out of bed is even more painful than getting me out of her.

  ‘Gas and air!’ she shouts, yanking at my duvet. ‘Get me the gas and air!’

  It’s not my fault, though. It’s bed. At night you complain about having to get into it, but – magically – by the morning it’s become this perfect thing you don’t want to get out of. A quick splash of the face followed by a bowl of Weetabix are NOTHING compared to it.

  ‘Veronique,’ Mum said, ‘can you come over every night?’

  I soon wished the same thing, because it wasn’t Weetabix for breakfast that morning like I normally have: Mum made scrambled eggs. On a Thursday! Then Veronique fed Kit-Kat and, because we hadn’t really thought what we’d do with him that day, Mum called Veronique’s dad and asked him to take Kit-Kat back to their house again.

  He met us at the top of the school steps and told us again about Nanai. They’d done this test and that test, but they couldn’t find anything wrong.

  ‘That’s great,’ Mum said. ‘Such a relief. Though Veronique’s welcome any time. With Kit-Kat of course. What a sweet hamster.’

  ‘
Oh, he’s not a hamster,’ Veronique’s dad said with a frown. ‘He’s a—’

  ‘GERBIL!’ I shouted.

  ‘Really?’ Mum said. ‘I could have sworn you said … Anyway, he’s adorable.’

  ‘And very good at Subbuteo,’ I added.

  Now, after what happened yesterday, I’m sure you were expecting me to have been VERY nervous about going into school. And I was – to start with. But then I saw the van, which I’d completely forgotten about.

  It was big and red and right outside the gates.

  ‘Yes!’ I said, and even Veronique hurried up when she saw it.

  We joined the kids crowding round the van, until Miss Phillips shooed us towards the door where Frieda Delap, in Reception, was standing with this big medal round her neck. She was the one we had to thank. She’d been to the Science Museum before Christmas with her family – and seen a competition. You had to write a science-based story right there and then, which your mum or dad typed into a screen. She entered her story and a month later Mrs Johnson (our last head teacher) read it out in assembly.

  And it was hilarious. A creature called a Pigglyboo saved the world from climate change by replacing coal and gas with energy from people’s lost odd socks. Veronique objected that that wasn’t very scientific but no one else cared: Frieda won! And she got not only loads of science books and posters for our classrooms but some science experiments here in our OWN SCHOOL!

  ‘I still don’t think the sock supply would be reliable,’ grumbled Veronique as we walked into the hall.

  ‘It would in our house,’ said Mrs Martin. ‘We’ve got thousands of them.’

  It stopped me in my tracks to see Mrs Martin, but then I was SO relieved. She smiled at me with her big, gappy-toothed face – JUST LIKE SHE NORMALLY DID.

  Pheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwww.

  Panic over.

  Five minutes later, after calming down the BUZZING hall, Mr Baker told us what was going to happen. Each class was getting its own genuine Science Museum scientist – for the WHOLE day. We’d do experiments in our classroom before we all met up later for a finale. I was psyched, and then even more so when we got back to our class. I’d been expecting a wacky old man with fuzzy hair, but instead we got Jen, who had tattoos up her arms and hair that wasn’t fuzzy but short – and bright pink.

  ‘Okay, everyone,’ she said, ‘sit down.’

  We did that, and Daisy put her hand up. ‘What are we going to do?’ she asked.

  Jen studied us. ‘I’m going to show you something that you’ve clearly never seen before.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Soap,’ Jen said.

  Now, at first, I was a bit disappointed: what could be fun about soap? It certainly isn’t fun in our house. Mum makes me use it, which I can mostly understand, though not when she insists on me washing underneath some places and behind others WHICH NO ONE IS GOING TO SEE.

  But Jen showed us that soap could be fun. First we made soap-powered boats and raced them in trays. Mine came third, after Billy Lee’s and Daisy Blake’s. (How weird is that?) Next we put washing-up liquid and food dye into milk and made these incredible patterns. Then we made bubbles that filled the whole classroom. We chased those, before making some that were so big we got to go inside them, peering out through the weird colours. It was SO great and, let me tell you, it is such a waste of soap that we use it to wash with.

  That took us to lunch. After eating I discussed the Wigan game with Mrs Stebbings, our head dinner lady, who is even madder about Charlton than I am. Get this – her sister knows Jacky Chapman’s dad’s brother’s postman’s daughter! Outside I stood with the others, wondering what we were going to do later, watching the scientists setting up the last experiment of the day on the AstroTurf.

  Back in class we started to learn about forces, Jen explaining what made the soap boats move. I asked about helicopters because of Jacky Chapman having his own and she told me all about this thing called ‘lift’. Then we made more boats using other things for power, like birthday candles and rubber bands, and then Jen put some cups and plates from the canteen on a tablecloth. I thought she was going to have her lunch, but as fast as she could she pulled the cloth off, leaving all the cups right there on the table!

  ‘I am so trying that at home,’ said Marcus Breen.

  That took us up to two o’clock. We did a demonstration of our boats to the other kids and then went into their classes to see what they’d been doing. Year 3 had made rockets with balloons. I liked that, but what I was really interested in was Mrs Martin. But again she treated me normally and seemed normal herself. Double phew. After that we went into Year 2, where they’d balanced huge weights on eggs. Year 5 was next. They’d turned their whole classroom into a space station, which was wicked – but you should have SEEN the Year 6 thing.

  They’d been working in the hall. After seeing all the other classes, everyone trooped in there. We sat down and looked at Mr Ashe (their teacher). He was sitting on a chair, which was on this circle of wood with red canisters on either side. No one had any idea what it was until the Year 6 scientist stepped forward and pressed a button.

  And Mr Ashe lifted off.

  A hovercraft! They’d made a real hovercraft! Mr Ashe shot across the hall, spinning round and round, and was about to crash into us when the scientist grabbed him. He spun a few times more and then all the Year 6 kids had a go. Some just lifted off a bit, squealing in excitement and fright before letting themselves down. But Vi and Frieda’s brother Franklin went mad, knocking over two drip buckets and nearly whacking into Mrs Martin, who only escaped by leaping up the wall bars. She wasn’t cross, though. She was really laughing, which made me feel even more relieved.

  I looked around at all the kids, whooping and screaming with Mrs Martin, when Franklin whizzed to the other side of the hall. And I asked myself, did it really happen? Did someone really play that trick on her? Everyone looked so happy that I couldn’t believe it. Or if they had then they hadn’t meant anything bad by it. Or – DOH – they couldn’t have known they were Mrs Martin’s shoes! They just saw random shoes.

  That was it, of course!

  But it wasn’t long before I realised that I was

  If the hovercraft had been the last thing we saw, the day would have been excellent. But once all the Year 6es had had a go we went out to the playground. In front of us was a table. It was covered now with a sheet, though at lunchtime we’d seen what was underneath – a thick plastic chimney with a rocket peeking out. On top was a toy frog called Phil, who was, as Jen now explained, going to fly up to the stars.

  ‘And he’s really nervous, so can we all give a cheer to encourage him?’

  After the yelling had died down, the teachers told us to sit on the AstroTurf. Jen told us all about the chemicals in the bucket that were going to cause the explosion that would launch the rocket, though if you want to know what they were you’d better ask Veronique – the rest of us were arguing about how high Phil the frog would go. Up to the side wall? The back wall? As high as the heath? Maybe we’d lose sight of him and Major Tim Peake would be blinking in amazement to see a stuffed frog go flying past his window. We were still arguing when Jen asked us all for a countdown.

  The scientists put plastic glasses on and stood next to the table, facing us.

  The teachers stepped to the side and the Reception kids at the front squeezed back.

  Jen moved to the side of the playground, where she picked up a little blowtorch and turned it on.

  She knelt down and pointed the flame at some powder piled up on a metal tray.

  The powder lit up, fizzing and crackling until, like a red mouse, it began to scurry along an open metal pipe towards the table.