Melt Page 3

  ‘It would only be for one night. You could stay over at Tom’s. Your mum will just assume the snowmobile is there with you.’

  Tom lives right on the edge of town. No one can be bothered to walk there. Except me.

  ‘You’ve got this all planned, haven’t you?’ I smile. ‘Anything else?’ he asks jokingly.

  ‘Can I borrow your stove?’

  ‘How about I just give you everything I own?’

  ‘Just the stove and your snowmobile would be great.’

  ‘OK,’ Sami nods. ‘No worries. I’ll make sure they both have fuel.’

  ‘You know I can’t give you any—’

  ‘Forget it.’ Sami raises his hand to cut me off, but he looks like he’s about to stop some traffic. ‘I don’t want money. I’ll just tell Mum that I’ve burnt loads of fuel racing Jack on the flats. She’ll be grumpy, but she’ll get over it.’

  ‘Thanks, Sami.’

  Someone hammers on the front door. Sami leaps up. ‘Why can’t Jack just knock like a normal person?’

  ‘Just between me and you, right?’ I call after him.

  ‘Yeah,’ he calls back.

  I pick up one of the games controls. I like hanging out with Sami, but I hate gaming. I’ve never actually said those words to Sami, but he knows it. Today feels different though. I’m looking forward to being the perpetual noob with the lowest KDR. Maybe because it no longer feels like I might be doing this for my whole life. The rest of the world feels one step closer.

  I hear the unzipping and unbuttoning of snow-gear. Then a large figure appears in the doorway, hair sticking up in all directions.

  ‘Yutu! Is the library shut?’ Jack laughs at his own joke.

  ‘Hey. I went this morning.’

  ‘I hope you’re ready to be blown up many times,’ he says, coming to join me on the sofa.

  ‘I’ve been practising.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘I just read the booklet that came with this game,’ I say, holding up the instructions.

  Jack rolls his eyes. ‘You’ve got to practise for at least six hours a day if you want to become a professional gamer. That time does not include reading the booklet. Then you can start earning money without ever having to leave your house.’

  Sami walks in, holding cups and a bottle of something orange and fizzy. ‘Everyone wants to go pro. There’s so much competition. You have to be really good to make any money.’

  ‘I am really good,’ says Jack, sounding annoyed.

  ‘Maybe we need a tournament,’ I say. ‘Let’s see who can wipe me out the fastest in three different games.’

  ‘Yes!’ says Sami.

  ‘OK. That won’t take long,’ Jack nods, but he looks pleased.

  ‘Hi, Grandma,’ I say to her back, as she pokes at something on the stove. The rich smell of seal soup fills the house. I realize I didn’t have any lunch.

  ‘Where did you go?’ she asks.

  ‘I’ve been at Sami’s house.’

  She makes a short sound, a little like ‘ah’. She’s pleased.

  Sometimes I wonder if she realizes that all we ever do at Sami’s house is play computer games. Maybe she doesn’t care, as long as I’m not studying on my own. Perhaps I won’t mention that I spent the morning in the library.

  ‘Can I help?’ I ask.

  ‘No, it’s ready,’ she says, turning around to pass me a large steaming bowl. I sit in one of the armchairs. Grandma perches on the edge of hers. She prefers to sit on the floor to eat, but recently she finds it hard to get up again. Floor suits her better.

  I start eating, but Grandma is preoccupied. Her eyes glazed. She seems to have forgotten the bowl resting on her lap.

  Then she says, ‘Did I tell you the story about when you were little?’

  I begin to nod, then stop when I realize what she’s said. Grandma tells me stories all the time, about the Sea Goddess, the gull-maiden, about the sightless boy and the whale and many others. These stories are part of me. The same stories every child hears before they even understand the words. Each re-telling a little different. Grandma never tells me stories about me, though. About when I was little. About things which really happened. I wait impatiently for her to start. But no one rushes Grandma.

  Steam rises up from the soup and snakes around her face. Another minute passes, then slowly, quietly, she begins.

  ‘You were always taller than your friends. People said you would be strong. You used to pick up your father’s harpoon when you were only just able to walk.’ The hand holding my spoon has paused, halfway to my bowl. I lower it slowly, hanging on every word. ‘You always wanted to do everything your parents did. You weren’t scared of anything, except the dogs which pulled the sledges. Which was surprising, because there were always dogs around, but you were wary of them. One day in summer, your father was going to fish. I remember it was a warm day. There were black swarms of flies around. We walked together to the shore. On the way back home, we saw a boy teasing a qimmiq pup. He was pretending to offer it food, then hitting it with a stick when it came towards him. You waited for a minute, then walked towards the boy and the dog. You picked up a stick and we thought you were going to hit the dog too. But you raised the stick to the boy and waved it in his face. He ran away. Then you sat next to the dog and stroked it. Your mother said that was truly brave. The dog wasn’t big, nor was the boy. It was truly brave because she knew that you were scared, but that didn’t stop you. When your father came home, she told him what had happened. He said that it was good you were brave, because standing up for things when you feel they are right is not always easy. He said life might be hard for you sometimes.’

  Grandma looks over at me. I blink away the steam. The aching feeling has crept up on me. I long to see my parents so intensely, to speak to them about that day, I wonder if they might just rise out of the steam in front of me. Maybe that’s why Grandma doesn’t talk to me about these things. I’m glad she has though. I wonder why she chose now. Glowing somewhere inside the sadness, is something precious. They were proud of me.

  Grandma eats in silence. She is leaving me with my thoughts.

  ‘Did your parents always live in this bay?’ I ask.

  Grandma raises her eyebrows. ‘No. Me neither.’

  ‘What? I thought you’d lived in this house all your life?’

  ‘The house was here. We didn’t always live in it,’ Grandma says. ‘We moved around depending on the season. Near the lakes in summer, near the sea ice in winter. We’d live in a snow house, or a tent made from animal skins. Other times we would be here.’

  I knew that my ancestors used to live like that. I’d just never realized Grandma had. That way of life wasn’t so long ago after all. I pick up Grandma’s bowl and take it over to the sink to wash.

  I think about the cabin. About how Mum and Dad used to stay there on hunting trips. Those trips seemed like an enormous adventure to me, but Grandma would go away for months at a time, moving for the best hunting, the best weather. It makes me more desperate than ever to prove that I can do it too.

  ‘Grandma, Sami is staying over at Tom’s tomorrow night. Do you mind if I stay over too?’

  ‘You go and have fun,’ she says without pause for thought. ‘I need to make a pair of kamak.’

  Before I wash my bowl, I remove the pieces of seal meat which I put to one side. Later I will add them to the small store I’ve been collecting in a plastic box outside the back of the house. No one needs a freezer here for at least half the year.

  Nearly everything is ready. I just need tomorrow to hurry up and arrive before Grandma asks any questions.

  Bea 3

  On Monday I decide to walk to school. I’ve had a week to learn the route and it’s not far. It also reduces the risk of Mum-embarrassment.

  The bell rings seconds after I walk through the school gate. I flow through reception with the tide of students and glance at the three grey seats by the wall. Last Monday already seems a lifetime ago. When I enter t
he form room, no one pays me any attention. I look around at the other kids, smiling and sharing stories about the weekend.

  I hear laughter behind me. It sounds like Stella and Becky. I try to locate an empty desk before they notice I have nowhere to sit.

  ‘Did you have a buzz-y weekend, Bea?’ Becky asks as she passes in a waft of sweet perfume. She catches Stella’s eye and giggles.

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ I say, spying an empty seat by the window.

  ‘Did you know,’ Becky adds, ‘that after a bee stings you it just drops down dead?’

  ‘That’s why they don’t waste their stings on annoying stuff,’ I say.

  People are starting to look at me. This must be what happens when you lose ‘buddy’ status. Becky isn’t smiling any more. ‘Did you just call me annoying?’

  ‘No, I was talking about bees.’ A few people laugh. Becky gives me a death stare and thuds her bag down on the floor next to her desk.

  ‘Oh, just leave her,’ says Stella. ‘She’s not worth it.’

  My stomach does a little flip. Something tells me Becky isn’t a ‘let’s put this behind us’ sort of person.

  At lunchtime I sit by myself. In movies this would be when the shy kid comes over and sits with me and then we become best friends and nothing else matters after that.

  No one comes over. As I eat, I feel a knot in my stomach, waiting for Stella, Becky and Jessica to arrive. The knot annoys me. I eat quickly, telling myself that it’s because I’m really hungry. By the time I’ve finished and put my tray away, they still haven’t joined the lunch queue. I feel the knot loosen a little. I don’t have any lessons with them this afternoon.

  As the bell rings at the end of the day, I wish Mum was picking me up after all. I feel as if I’ve had enough of my own company for one day.

  When I get home, Dad opens the door.

  ‘I thought you were supposed to be at work?’

  ‘Hello, Dad, how lovely to see you,’ he says, giving me a hug.

  ‘I mean, why are you back so early?’

  ‘Marginally better,’ he smiles. ‘I have to go away for a few days.’

  I groan. ‘How many is a few?’

  ‘Only two or three. They need my initial survey faster than I thought. I’m going to run as many tests as I can in the field, rather than driving back and forth. I thought I’d go tonight, and then I’ll be back before the weekend.’

  Hester pads over, tail in the air. ‘So we might be able to go flying at the weekend?’

  ‘If the weather’s good. Or we could try one of the hikes up in the hills.’

  Not a total disaster. I stroke Hester as she rubs against my legs. ‘Do we have any maps?’

  ‘Good point. I’ll check which ones we need.’

  One of Dad’s ideas for AW1—‘After Work, Year 1’—is to set up an outdoor adventure company. When he was training to become a geologist, he had to look at lots of cliffs. So he decided he might as well learn how to climb them too. Being a geologist helps, because he knows which types of rock are dangerous to climb, and where to find safe ones. I’ve climbed a little bit, but Mum says it’s not safe to learn the basics on an actual mountain, and we never stay anywhere long enough for me to join a proper club. In AW1, though, I will.

  After dinner I open my laptop and search for hiking routes nearby. It turns out we are surrounded by forests and peaks. I glance at the homework piled at the end of my bed next to Hester. She looks at me hopefully.

  ‘Ear tickling only after you’ve done my history homework,’ I say. ‘One of us needs to do it.’ She rests her chin on her paws and closes her eyes. Maybe she’s already studied World War 1.

  I don’t know how late I stay up researching, but the next morning I find it really hard to get out of bed. I walk-run to school and arrive just as the bell rings for first period.

  I decide to start using my poky locker. Then at least I won’t have a heavy rucksack to carry too. The only problem is that I still haven’t learnt my lesson timetable. So, on Wednesday after break, I’m half-way to geography when I realize it’s actually double chemistry and I don’t have my enormous textbook.

  I rush back through emptying corridors and fumble my locker open. As I reach for my book, I touch something sticky. I peer inside. The locker is smeared with a shiny substance which has a familiar smell. I lean in closer. Everything in my locker is covered in honey. I look down at the chemistry book in my lap. Both of which are now also covered in honey. I head to the toilets to clean myself up. I’m late for chemistry, but I don’t tell the teacher why.

  At lunchtime, Stella and her constellation sit nearby. When I walk past, they make a low buzzing noise, which ends in giggling.

  A spark of anger glows in my chest. I remind myself what happens when bees sting. I try to push my frustration away, but there’s nowhere for it to go. No one to share it with except Hester. Next period I have history with the full constellation. I head to the library to calm down. The constellation never comes here.

  Miss James beckons me into the classroom. The only free table is behind Becky and tall-blonde-girl, who also goes by the name of Lauren. My history book is still covered in honey, so I walk up to the front to borrow the teacher’s copy. Miss James is finishing a module of work which the rest of the class started weeks ago. I half listen, half plan what I will pack in my lunch for hiking and what extra kit I might need. I barely notice when she leaves the room to go and fetch something.

  As soon as she has gone, Becky turns to Lauren and whispers, ‘It’s so rude to turn up to your lesson without your books.’

  Lauren nods. ‘Why do you think Bea had to change schools? Do you think she had to leave because no one liked her there, either?’

  ‘There’s not much to like,’ agrees Becky. ‘Maybe she did something really bad and they expelled her. That’s normally why kids start halfway through the term.’

  ‘Or maybe her parents did something really bad. Maybe they’re on the run. Maybe her dad’s some kind of criminal.’

  Without thinking I reach out and grab a handful of Lauren’s hair and pull. Her head jerks backwards and she cries out, but I don’t let go. I pull harder. Lauren starts making a strange wailing noise.

  Becky stands up. ‘She’s totally lost it,’ she says, pointing at me but doing nothing to help Lauren. Just then, Miss James walks back into the classroom.

  I feel my anger evaporate. Lauren is still wailing even though I’ve let go of her hair. The murmuring in the class gets louder.

  ‘Quieten down,’ says Miss James. ‘Can someone please tell me what just happened?’

  Becky puts her hand up. I know this isn’t going to end well.

  During final period, instead of maths I am leaning against the wall in a gloomy corridor. It smells faintly of disinfectant. There is the kind of eerie silence which only happens when people nearby are busy, behind closed doors. To my left is the Principal’s office—I think. Everyone assumed I knew where I was going, but it didn’t feature on Stella’s familiarization tour.

  After a few minutes, a distant voice calls, ‘Come in.’ The door must be very thick.

  I step inside a bright office. A lady with neat hair and a green top stands up behind her desk.

  ‘Beatrice, please come and sit down. Do you know why you’re here?’

  ‘I think so.’ She looks at me expectantly. ‘Is it because I pulled Lauren’s hair in history?’

  She raises her eyebrows. ‘Until she cried. Partly. Mainly, Beatrice, it’s because I don’t think we’ve seen the best of you yet. I’ve been looking through your reports.’ Here we go. I basically gave up trying at my last school. What was the point? We’d only move on again. ‘It seems that you have a gift for languages. It seems that you have a gift for most subjects, but that at your previous school, your results fell off a cliff in the final term.’ I wonder if she knows my dad is a geologist, or her joke was accidental. ‘We don’t tolerate poor behaviour at this school. But what I find equally unacceptable is not tryi
ng your best.’ She searches my face for clues to how I’m taking this. I think I probably look upset. ‘It’s very important that we get off on the right foot here, and that we don’t let bad habits take hold.’ By ‘we’ of course she means ‘me’. ‘I haven’t called your parents this time. But I want your assurance that I’ve made myself clear?’ She smiles warmly at me. I find it impossible not to smile back. No one else has smiled at me yet today.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Lewis.’

  ‘Good. I don’t want to see you in here again. Unless it’s to share good news. Please close the door on your way out.’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Lewis.’

  I step back out into the corridor. I wonder if this marks the end or the beginning of my visits to Mrs Lewis’s office.

  *

  When Dad comes home later, he doesn’t give me a hug straight away, like he usually does. He takes his coat and shoes off before even realizing I’m there.

  ‘Good trip?’ I ask. I know he’s only been gone three days, but it’s felt like an eternity to me.

  He rests his bag on the floor.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t discuss it,’ he says, in his serious Work Voice. I must look hurt because he adds, ‘Sorry, darling, you know I can’t talk about anything which might be sensitive for the company. Their share price could change overnight depending on what my reports say.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Top secret,’ I say, trying to make light of it, but still feeling confused.

  ‘How was today? Is school starting to feel a bit less new?’ he asks.

  ‘It was fine,’ I lie. Fine is a good word for saying not very much.

  ‘Good,’ says Dad, ‘I’m glad you’re settling in.’

  I’m not sure he’s really listening. I’d hoped Dad would sense that something was wrong. That he’d try to make me feel better. I go to find Hester. She never cares about anything except Hester, but at least I know where I am with her. I never feel disappointed.