Read Online Only We Know by Simon Packham - Free Book Online Page A

glide past him, but he stumbles across the grass verge towards me, modelling a late-twentieth-century Marks & Spencer jacket.
    ‘That was … fascinating, Lauren. I think you could teach us all a thing or two.’
    ‘Thank you, sir.’
    ‘I’m glad I’ve caught you.’
    ‘Are you?’
    ‘Yes,’ he says, baby in one hand, Tesco bag in the other. ‘I thought you might like to know that I’ve made contact with your last school.’
    A hand grenade explodes in my stomach. ‘Why would you do that?’
    ‘They called me actually.’
    ‘What for? Who was it?’
    ‘I can’t recall the name, I’m afraid. But it was someone from the senior management team.’
    ‘And you’re quite sure it was really a teacher?’
    ‘Yes, of course. Look, I’m sure there’s nothing sinister about this, Lauren. They just wanted to know how you were settling in.’
    ‘And what did you tell them?’
    ‘I told them you were doing fine.’ A troubling thought crumples his overripe features. ‘You are doing fine, aren’t you, Lauren?’
    I was until about twenty seconds ago. ‘Yes, yes I think so.’
    A baby is wailing in the boot of his car. He turns towards it like an anxious parent. ‘I’d better … Goodnight, Lauren. Look, I’m sorry if I upset you just now. I thought you’d be pleased to know that someone from your old stomping ground was still thinking about you. There’s really nothing to worry about.’
    But I’m still a bit shaky as I pass through the school gates and head down the hill, which is probably why I overreact when a perfectly manicured finger taps me on the shoulder.
    ‘Oh my God!’
    ‘What’s the matter?’ says Izzy. ‘Calm down, Lauren, it’s only me.’
    ‘Oh … right … it’s you. Sorry, you made me jump.’ Why’s she on her own? That’s a bit scary in itself. ‘Where’s Magda?’
    ‘We’re not joined at the hip, you know.’ It’s the first time I’ve heard Izzy raise her voice. A millisecond later, the familiar smile is back in place. ‘She had to pick up her little brother from football.’
    Izzy really does have the most beautiful highlights. I half wonder about asking where she gets them done. ‘Oh, right.’
    ‘You were great back there by the way. Thanks for helping out. Poor Mags was getting really frazzled.’
    ‘Yeah, I noticed.’
    ‘She just wants it to be perfect. We both do.’
    ‘Yeah, course.’
    ‘Listen, Lauren, what are you doing on Saturday night?’
    The same as usual: watching Casualty and putting up with my dad’s crap jokes. Of course I don’t tell Izzy that. ‘Oh, you know, busy busy busy.’
    ‘Well, there’s a “gathering” at my place if you’re interested.’
    ‘Er, yes, I —’
    ‘And your mum will let you come?’
    ‘Eh?’
    ‘She sounds a bit full on, that’s all.’
    ‘Oh no, she’s not that bad really.’ A half-truth slips out. ‘My … sister had some trouble with bullying, so she tends to be a bit overprotective.’
    ‘She should tell old Catchpole. It’s his favourite subject – and STDs, of course.’
    ‘Yeah, I noticed.’
    ‘So you’ll try and make it then?’
    ‘Yeah, thanks. It’s not your birthday, is it?’
    ‘No, it’s my parents’ wedding anniversary.’
    ‘Oh, right.’
    ‘So they’re in Florence for the weekend. You can stay over if you like.’
    ‘I doubt I’d be able to —’
    ‘But don’t bring that awful girl with the pigtail. Magda can’t stand the sight of her. I have no idea why you let her follow you around all day.’
    ‘Well, she —’
    ‘Just you, all right?’
    I’m pretty sure the feeling’s mutual, so I’m probably doing Katherine a favour here. ‘Okay, fine. But I don’t even know where you live.’
    Izzy waves at the blue Citroën C4 Picasso that’s pulled up on the other side of the road. The door opens and she walks towards it. ‘I’ll Facebook you.’

18
IT’S MY PARTY (AND I’LL PUKE IF I WANT TO)
    Have you ever met someone with trichotillomania? Well, if