looked up at me.
“Go on, then,” she said. “Do your homework, like a good schoolboy.”
Her mum smiled again.
“I’ll get on inside,” she said. “You tell her to shut up if she starts getting at you again. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
After she’d gone we said nothing for ages. I pretended to read
Julius and the Wilderness
, but it was like the words were dead and meaningless.
“What you writing?” I said at last.
“My diary. About me and you and Skellig,” she said.
She didn’t look up.
“What if somebody reads it?” I said.
“Why would they read it? They know it’s mine and it’s private.”
She scribbled again.
I thought about our diaries at school. We filled them in every week. Every so often, Miss Clarts checked that they were neat and the punctuation was right and the spellings were right. She gave us marks for them, just like we got marks for attendance and punctuality and attitude and everything else we did. I said nothing about this to Mina. I went on pretending to read the book. I felt tears in my eyes. That made me think about the baby and doing that just made the tears worse.
“I’m sorry,” said Mina. “I really am. One of the things we hate about schools is the sarcasm that’s in them. And I’m being sarcastic.”
She squeezed my hand.
“It’s so exciting,” she whispered. “You, me, Skellig. We’ll have to go to him. He’ll be waiting for us. What shall we take for him?”
“WHAT IS THIS PLACE?” I ASKED her as she opened the gate and we stepped into the long back garden.
We ducked down and hurried to the DANGER door.
“It was my grandfather’s,” she said. “He died last year. He left it to me in his will. It’ll be mine when I’m eighteen.” She turned the key in the lock. “We’re having it repaired soon. Then we’ll rent it out.”
We stepped inside, carrying our parcels. Whisper slipped in at our heels.
“Don’t worry, though,” she whispered. “There’s weeks before the builders come.”
I switched my flashlight on. We went into the room where we’d left him. He wasn’t there. The room was silent and empty, like he’d never been there at all. Then we saw Mina’s cardigan behind the door, and dead bluebottles on the floorboards, andheard Whisper mewing from the stairs. We went into the hallway, saw the shape of Skellig lying halfway up the first flight.
“Exhausted,” he squeaked as we crouched beside him. “Sick to death. Aspirin.”
I fiddled in his pocket, took two of the tablets out, popped them in his mouth.
“You moved,” I said. “All on your own, you moved.”
He winced with pain.
“You want to go higher,” said Mina.
“Yes. Somewhere higher,” he whispered.
We left our parcels there, lifted him together, and carried him to the first landing.
He groaned and twisted in agony.
“Put me down,” he squeaked.
We took him into a bedroom with high white ceilings and pale wallpapered walls. We rested him against the wall. Thin beams of light pierced the cracks in the boards on the windows and shined onto his pale dry face.
I hurried back down for the parcels. We unrolled the blankets we had brought. We laid them out with a pillow on the floor. We put down a little plastic dish for his aspirins and cod-liver oil. I put an opened bottle of beer beside it. There was a cheese sandwich and half a bar of chocolate.
“All for you,” Mina whispered.
“Let us help you,” I said.
He shook his head. He turned over, onto all fours,started to crawl the short distance toward the blankets. We saw his tears dropping through the beams of light, splashing onto the floor. He knelt by the blankets, panting. Mina went to him, knelt facing him.
“I’ll make you more comfortable,” she whispered.
She unfastened the buttons on his jacket. She began to pull his jacket down over his shoulders.
“No,” he squeaked.
“Trust me,” she whispered.
He didn’t move. She slid the sleeves down over his arms, took the jacket
“Go on, then,” she said. “Do your homework, like a good schoolboy.”
Her mum smiled again.
“I’ll get on inside,” she said. “You tell her to shut up if she starts getting at you again. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said.
After she’d gone we said nothing for ages. I pretended to read
Julius and the Wilderness
, but it was like the words were dead and meaningless.
“What you writing?” I said at last.
“My diary. About me and you and Skellig,” she said.
She didn’t look up.
“What if somebody reads it?” I said.
“Why would they read it? They know it’s mine and it’s private.”
She scribbled again.
I thought about our diaries at school. We filled them in every week. Every so often, Miss Clarts checked that they were neat and the punctuation was right and the spellings were right. She gave us marks for them, just like we got marks for attendance and punctuality and attitude and everything else we did. I said nothing about this to Mina. I went on pretending to read the book. I felt tears in my eyes. That made me think about the baby and doing that just made the tears worse.
“I’m sorry,” said Mina. “I really am. One of the things we hate about schools is the sarcasm that’s in them. And I’m being sarcastic.”
She squeezed my hand.
“It’s so exciting,” she whispered. “You, me, Skellig. We’ll have to go to him. He’ll be waiting for us. What shall we take for him?”
“WHAT IS THIS PLACE?” I ASKED her as she opened the gate and we stepped into the long back garden.
We ducked down and hurried to the DANGER door.
“It was my grandfather’s,” she said. “He died last year. He left it to me in his will. It’ll be mine when I’m eighteen.” She turned the key in the lock. “We’re having it repaired soon. Then we’ll rent it out.”
We stepped inside, carrying our parcels. Whisper slipped in at our heels.
“Don’t worry, though,” she whispered. “There’s weeks before the builders come.”
I switched my flashlight on. We went into the room where we’d left him. He wasn’t there. The room was silent and empty, like he’d never been there at all. Then we saw Mina’s cardigan behind the door, and dead bluebottles on the floorboards, andheard Whisper mewing from the stairs. We went into the hallway, saw the shape of Skellig lying halfway up the first flight.
“Exhausted,” he squeaked as we crouched beside him. “Sick to death. Aspirin.”
I fiddled in his pocket, took two of the tablets out, popped them in his mouth.
“You moved,” I said. “All on your own, you moved.”
He winced with pain.
“You want to go higher,” said Mina.
“Yes. Somewhere higher,” he whispered.
We left our parcels there, lifted him together, and carried him to the first landing.
He groaned and twisted in agony.
“Put me down,” he squeaked.
We took him into a bedroom with high white ceilings and pale wallpapered walls. We rested him against the wall. Thin beams of light pierced the cracks in the boards on the windows and shined onto his pale dry face.
I hurried back down for the parcels. We unrolled the blankets we had brought. We laid them out with a pillow on the floor. We put down a little plastic dish for his aspirins and cod-liver oil. I put an opened bottle of beer beside it. There was a cheese sandwich and half a bar of chocolate.
“All for you,” Mina whispered.
“Let us help you,” I said.
He shook his head. He turned over, onto all fours,started to crawl the short distance toward the blankets. We saw his tears dropping through the beams of light, splashing onto the floor. He knelt by the blankets, panting. Mina went to him, knelt facing him.
“I’ll make you more comfortable,” she whispered.
She unfastened the buttons on his jacket. She began to pull his jacket down over his shoulders.
“No,” he squeaked.
“Trust me,” she whispered.
He didn’t move. She slid the sleeves down over his arms, took the jacket
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