The Flight of Gemma Hardy_ A Novel - Margot Livesey [50]
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “Miss Bryant comes down on me hard when things go wrong.”
For her these unadorned sentences were the height of eloquence, but like Mr. Waugh’s insipid remarks in church—our dearly beloved pupil is at peace—and Miss Bryant’s prayers, they made me furious. “You’re a coward,” I had said. “All you want to do is bully other people.” Since then she had ignored me, except to give orders.
On Friday afternoon the farmer brought his cash-box and we lined up to be paid; as usual I was last. “Not bad for a wee ’un,” he said, handing me two pound notes and two half-crowns.
I clutched the notes in wonder. It was the first time I’d touched money, almost the first time I’d seen it since I left Yew House, and I’d forgotten how a bank-note was different from other kinds of paper, and the feeling of possibility that went with it. Then I remembered my circumstances. “Can you keep it for me?” I said.
The farmer’s face twisted in bewilderment. “Would you not like to buy yourself some sweeties? Or one of those new comics? My daughter is always after the comics.”
With a wary glance over my shoulder—the other girls were collecting their jackets and bags—I said I had no purse.
“Och, I see,” he said, following my gaze. “The next rainy day, when I give you girls a lift to the school, I’ll bring what I owe you. You can be thinking of a safe place to keep your loot.”
As we walked back up the hill, I braced myself for an attack, but the other girls were discussing a programme they’d heard on Matron’s wireless; gradually I forgot my fears. I was daydreaming about what to buy with my money—a skipping rope, a bag of gobstoppers—when Ross and Drummond appeared beside me. We were just inside the school gates. Silently they plunged their hands into my pockets and then ordered me to take off my shoes and socks.
“I ate my pay,” I said as I sat by the side of the drive, pulling off first one empty sock and then the other. “The half-crowns were delicious. The farmer’s keeping my money. He thinks I’m too young to be trusted.”
“Stupid moron,” said Ross, but she seemed to believe me. While Drummond went to join the other girls she sat down on the grass beside me. “It’s a pity you’re not older,” she went on. “I asked Miss Bryant if I could take my O-levels again next year. If I had someone to help me, like you and Goodall, I’m sure I could pass.”
As I pulled on my shoes, I watched her fingers, pink with raspberry juice, pluck the petals of a daisy. Was she asking about love, I wondered, or something else? Gemma will help me. Gemma won’t. For a moment I longed to say I would. Even though I was only eleven, I could still drill her in subjects, teach her grammar and reading, help her get into the police. Then I remembered how she had stopped me, over and over, from going to Miriam. I tied my laces, jumped to my feet, and stalked off.
On the next rainy day the farmer was as good as his word. As I climbed out of the Land Rover, he slipped me an envelope with my money. I had racked my brains as to a hiding place. The Elm Room was out of the question; so was my desk. An obscure volume in the library seemed like a good idea, but what if a teacher made a surprising choice? Finally, remembering the story of the third servant, I stole a polythene bag from the kitchen and, borrowing a trowel, dug a hole near a corner of the pigsty. By the end of the raspberry season, I had buried nearly nine pounds.
In August I moved up to Miss Seftain’s class. I immediately liked two things about her: her excitement about Latin—she would pace the classroom, arms widespread as she described some neat construction—and her enthusiasm for space travel. She read us a poem she’d written in Latin about Laika, the mongrel stray who died travelling to the stars. A year later, when Strelka and Belka survived eighteen orbits and re-entry, we all wrote them letters. And when Yuri Gagarin made his famous orbit she led the entire school outside after supper to toast the night sky. Coincidentally her nickname was Birdy, after her crestlike hair and beaky nose,