Page 74 of The Cut
Annie kicks him in the tummy with her injured foot. ‘Very funny.’
After a few minutes of Dave’s emergency first aid, Annie’s wound is bandaged. She hops on one foot with her arm over Dave’s shoulder as she pulls on her trainers, wincing in pain.
‘Gonna be my knight in shining armour and drive me home then?’ Annie turns back with a smile.
‘I came on the bike … only one helmet … sorry.’ Then Patel suddenly remembers. ‘Shit … my camera.’
Annie puts her head against his shoulder. ‘Oh, I saw Mark pick it up. He’s probably outside filming the fireworks.’287
Annie and Dave head outside, sheltering under the canopy of the school as the summer storm blows stronger. The plumes of the glittering gold fireworks fizzle out in the sky.
‘Bit of a waste in this downpour.’ Patel squints out over the village. The school playing field, backing on to the landfill peppered with gas pipes, appears to glisten with water. A dense thicket of trees shields a row of Tudor cottages forming a small hamlet that runs towards Cheney End and Blackstone Mill.
‘Some bright spark is setting them off from over at the mill,’ Annie says. ‘I wonder who …’ A deafening bang cracks across the night sky, and a cloud of smoke is followed by a series of Roman candles, whizz bombs and a huge golden fountain, all carelessly expended in one giant explosion.
‘DAVIS!’ The two of them burst into laughter. These pyrotechnics have Chris Davis’s fingerprints all over them.
Another flurry of glittering red and green spinning fire jacks explodes from behind the tall chimney stack, illuminating the treetops and night sky in the distance ahead of them.
‘You should go on without me,’ Annie smiles. ‘Don’t want you missing all the fun.’
‘It’s OK, I’d rather wait here with you.’ Patel links his arms through hers, but Annie retracts.
‘I’ll be fine. Go and get your camera back.’
Dave puts his arm around Annie and pecks her cheek. She laughs awkwardly. ‘Get out of here.’
‘If you’re sure?’
‘Go on, my dad won’t be long, I’ll be fine.’
Patel stands and sighs. It’s the end of school. Who knows when he’ll have this chance again? ‘I really like you, Annie.’
Annie frowns slightly. ‘I know you do, Dave, but …’288
‘I know, you don’t have to tell me.’ Dave winces slightly. ‘Is it because I’m …’
‘No, of course not.’ Annie pre-empts the question, placing her hand gently on his.
Dave turns his face away. ‘I understand … you belong to Ben … I get it.’
‘I don’t belong to anyone.’
Dave’s heart sinks at the rejection; his dad was right. He covers his hurt feelings with that dazzling smile. He pulls his Obi-Wan hood over his head and dashes out into the rain towards his chained-up motorbike. He pulls on a helmet and throws a leg over, straddling it like a Hell’s Angel.
‘All right, Mad Max!’ Annie shouts over to him, and he kickstarts the engine and speeds away, heroic robes flowing in the wind.
The rain pattering on the overhang of the school begins to slow as the storm passes over. In the distance, the booming rumble of thunder makes Annie start. She’s dressed in little more than a tablecloth and her underwear, and she suddenly remembers her sports bag inside.
She hobbles back into the school hall and heads across the dance floor towards the changing room. In the centre of the room, she pauses for a second as a pang of sadness catches her breath. This is it; their Pearls Before Swine is over. It feels as if she has spent her entire life in this school hall. In a way she has, from the very first assembly when she was four years old, learning the Lord’s Prayer, trying to sit still, cross-legged, putting her hand up to go to the toilet. The school dinners she hated, unless there was strawberry milkshake on Fridays. Making Christmas-tree decorations out of blown eggs and sequins to take home to her parents. Bringing tins of unwanted mushy peas to the Harvest Festival collection box. Her whole childhood seems to have happened289within the walls of this school. But now it’s time to leave. Like Alice, she suddenly feels too big for the room; the world she knows is shrinking before her eyes, already fading into memory.
The honk of a car horn outside startles her.
‘Dad? That was quick,’ she mutters to herself.
She hops into the changing room, grabs her sports bag and limps back to the front entrance. The rain is coming down heavier now and a pair of headlights flash across the glass doors of reception, dazzling her momentarily. The high beam dims as the car pulls forward and the door swings opens. But it’s not her father. The familiar battered old blue Ford Fiesta sits waiting with the engine turning over, as Ben leans out over the passenger seat. It’s hard to see his face under the silver-grey tape and long nails protruding from his head; the bone-rib waistcoat has been thrown into the back seat.
‘Come on, get in.’ Ben shouts over the rain, the rubber Pinhead mask puckering around his mouth. ‘I’ll whizz you home.’
