But lying in bed, I felt a bit like I remembered feeling as a little kid, when I’d been told a spooky story. If something had frightened me, I could never settle afterwards. It was like the telling of it made it real and might make the same thing happen to me. I didn’t dare close my eyes. It felt as if there were shadows moving around my room. I kept sitting up and glancing at the wardrobe where Zoe’s bag was hidden, as if something was going to jump out of it. I imagined I could hear strange sounds, although my head told me they were only the usual ones, like the heating pipes winding down and Mum’s footsteps creaking as she put things away and got ready for bed. A sudden gust of wind sent raindrops smattering across the window pane, like a handful of little stones, and I leapt out of bed and pulled back the curtain. For a second, I thought I saw a shadow at my shoulder and I whipped around with a little gasp. There was no one else in the room, of course. I turned back to the glass and peered at it. All I could see was my own moon-faced reflection in the bedroom window.
12
Parents’ Night
A fretful sleep full of unremembered dreams meant I was tired and fuggy-headed again the next morning. Kerry lolloped alongside us as usual and her perkiness was so grating that I felt I was seeing her through Zoe’s eyes.
‘Is your mum coming to Parents’ Night?’ Kerry asked.
I groaned. ‘Tell me that’s not tonight.’
‘Yes, of course it is. We had a letter ages ago.’
I glanced at Zoe, who made a murderous, eye-popping face at the back of Kerry’s head. ‘Rats. I forgot to mention it,’ I said. ‘My mum’ll go mad if she misses it, though.’
‘She’ll get a text from the school today to remind her,’ Kerry said. ‘New system. They told us about it in assembly, remember?’
I shrugged. I couldn’t remember. ‘So Mum will definitely find out? Great. She’ll kill me for not reminding her before.’ I looked past Kerry at Zoe. ‘What about your mum?’
Zoe looked at me as if I was crazy. ‘She never comes to these things. I’m glad to say.’
‘Lucky you.’ Kerry gave a snorty laugh. ‘They always tell my parents how I forget things and how useless I am at all the arty subjects and at games. Then I get a lecture about trying harder. I hate it.’
I hadn’t been at the school long enough to know what its Parents’ Evenings were like, but I could imagine. At my last school, Mum always insisted on going along to them and she went a bit sappy in front of the teachers, as if they were important or scary or something.
‘Why doesn’t your mum come then?’ I asked Zoe.
‘Don’t ask me why my mum does anything. Or doesn’t do anything.’ I could tell it was one of those questions that Zoe was not prepared to answer. Kerry pressed her a bit longer, but Zoe was amazing at batting the questions away. She should be a politician, I thought, she’s so good at that.
Sure enough, Mum ran in the door at five-thirty and the first thing she said was, ‘You could’ve told me about Parents’ Night. I can’t make something to eat till we get back.’
‘You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,’ I suggested. ‘Zoe’s mum never bothers, she says.’
‘You wish,’ Mum said, standing in front of the mirror at the bottom of the stairs and patting powder onto her forehead. ‘Anyway, Dad’ll be on his way by now.’
‘Dad?’ I stared at her reflection. ‘Dad’s coming?’ Dad used to leave all this to Mum when they were together.
Mum pulled a lipstick out of her bag. She glanced at it, dropped it back in her bag and rummaged around for a different one. ‘I sent him a message just to let him know and he said he’d like to come along. I couldn’t see why not.’
‘Right.’ I was still thinking about this when Dad rang the doorbell. I opened the door and he held up his hands, saying: ‘I’m on my own, OK?’
I folded my arms. ‘Glad to hear it. But how bad do things have to be if you’d rather be at Parents’ Night than out with your girlfriend?’
‘Watch it.’ Dad gave Mum a smile. ‘You look very nice.’
Mum gave him a bit of a smirk back and we got in the car. I was watching them closely. Something had made them call a truce from all the fighting and sniping. Was it because of me? Or was it anything to do with Zoe and her spirits?
We pulled up in the school car park and as we got out of the car, I could hear shouting. A small crowd of kids and parents were huddled close to the main door, watching whatever was causing the row. As we edged closer, I saw Zoe, standing still, her eyes closed as her mum screamed at her. Zoe’s mum’s words were slurred and almost too loud to make out, but she was yelling something about school, about not being told what was going on, about getting the blame for all Zoe’s problems.
