Scarlett - Cathy Cassidy [1]
Mrs Mulhern just loves rules, and I don’t. That’s the problem really.
I waft my fingernails about, trying to dry them, while Miss Phipps, the school secretary, runs around looking nervous and hassled. She digs out files and answers calls and gives me nasty looks with her lips all crinkled up like she’s sucking a lemon.
‘Scarlett,’ she says sniffily,’I still can’t locate your mother. Her office say she’s in a meeting and can’t be disturbed. I’ve told them it’s urgent, but they don’t seem to care…’
‘Too bad,’ I sympathize, putting my feet up on the coffee table to see if she’ll say anything. She doesn’t. I think it’s my red wedge sandals that scare her, or possibly the black skull-print ankle socks. She frowns and huffs and hides behind her PC screen.
I’ve been in trouble a million times before, and if there’s one thing I’ve learnt it’s that hanging your head in shame won’t change a thing. They’ll bawl you out anyway.
With a name like Scarlett, you cannot sneak through life blending into the background – people notice you, like it or not. Of course, they notice me even more these days, since I had my hair dyed the colour of tomato soup, but hey, why not? You can’t fight destiny.
Mum once told me that red is nature’s warning colour, signifying danger, trouble. It warns the other animals to back off, stay away. I like to think that my name and my hair colour are a little clue for the rest of the world to do just the same – back off and leave me alone. If they choose not to take notice of the warning, well, that’s not my fault, is it?
It’s past three by the time Mum appears. She stalks into the office in her swish grey suit and her spike-heeled shoes, her hair swept up in a bun with strands of expensive honey-blonde streaks falling delicately round her face. She kicks my feet off the coffee table with one pointy toe, drops her briefcase on to a chair and leans towards Miss Phipps.
‘So,’ she says in a tired voice. ‘What’s she done this time?’
Things move quickly after that. We’re taken through to Mrs Mulhern’s office and seated in front of her big, leather-topped desk. Miss Phipps brings in a tray of freshly brewed coffee and pours one for everyone except me before bustling back to the outer office. I don’t even get a biscuit. I’m probably destined for solitary confinement and a diet of bread and water, if Mrs Mulhern has her way.
‘I’m very sorry to have brought you here this afternoon – er, Ms Murray,’ Mrs Mulhern begins. ‘I’m afraid we’ve had another incident. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that Scarlett isn’t settling in too well at Greenhall Academy. There have been countless problems, from somewhat minor breaches of the school-uniform code…’
She pauses to glower at my feet and hair.
‘… To rather more serious issues, which, as you know have already resulted in two periods of exclusion from the school.’
‘Yes, yes,’ Mum responds. Just tell me what she’s done.’
‘The incident began with a demonstration in the school lunch hall,’ Mrs Mulhern says. ‘I believe Scarlett has recently become vegetarian?’
Mum rolls her eyes, exasperated.
‘She was leafleting students as they came into the hall,’ Mrs Mulhern continues. ‘With these.’
She pushes a crumpled flyer across the desk at Mum, who picks it up between finger and thumb as though it might be contaminated. I’m proud of those leaflets – they really caused a stir. Personally, I think it was the crimson blood-splash motif that grabbed people’s attention.
‘The leaflet is just the tip of the iceberg,’ Mrs Mulhern goes on. ‘Some pupils were distressed, refusing to eat the meat-based meals, and the cook became a little upset…’
A little? That’s a laugh. She was purple with rage, and when I tried to explain the links between a meat-based diet and high blood pressure, she said a few things that shocked even me. Are dinner ladies supposed to swear?
‘Things got a little nasty,’ Mrs Mulhern ploughs on. ‘Chicken nuggets were thrown, and bottles