Gin, Fizz & Tonic

Shaking the snow globe

June 2006 – one hour before the dunking

"I hate children." Bella exhales a long, thin plume of smoke that drifts away from the grey breezeblocks. She passes it to me because cigarettes are too expensive to smoke by yourself. Honestly, the UK government and its interfering do-good public health initiatives.

She removes her blazer. We're smoking outside, thanks to another recent public health policy that states "thou shalt not smoke anywhere inside," which we debated in class the other week.

Mrs Ackerburn, the Modern Studies teacher, fiddled idly with her long string of fake pearls as we discussed the pros and cons of the smoking ban, and reminisced about what life was like in her day when you could light up in the pub, in the cinema, in the restaurant, on a plane, the office... anyplace.

She smiled beatifically at us. Although when I think about it now, it was more boastful than saintly. As if she pitied us.

"Me too, hun," I reply to Bella now, though not with the same fervency. Bella is the oldest of seven children, the youngest of whom celebrated her third birthday this week. Her parents are lapsed Catholics, who didn't do the 'lapsing' thing until later in life by which time her mother had already popped out seven kids since they'd taken the 'no contraception' rule to heart.

"So why." Bella reclaims the cigarette from me and stabs the air with it. "The fuck. Are we raising money for the little bastards?"

We turn towards the main school building, where the noise has been building steadily all morning. Killinhill Academy is located on the outskirts of the town. Outsiders refer to it as a village. It is NOT. The Vikings thought it worth raiding, in between hoping over to Ireland for rape and pillage.

The old, red-stone academy is supplemented by the science and technical departments' portacabins, a racetrack and games fields on the right-hand side, and the large hall where today's festivities are taking place.

"You tell me!" I exclaim. "When the school council meeting took place," I put 'school council' in air quotes. The rector (or head screw as he's better known) bangs on and on about how much he respects pupil voice; the council is his pretence that secondary schools deserve democracy. Decisions made collaboratively, rather than from on high.

A democracy he overrules. Every. Single. Time.

"...I argued that we fundraise for the Samye Ling Llama Rescue Centre. I've been researching llamas again. All these people brought them over the UK ten or so years ago because they thought they could make tons of money off the wool, but that market disappeared and now there are loads of them neglected, starving and too bloody wet, freezing and miserable because they're running around Scotland instead of Peru!"

I stop there, conscious that if I continue, I'll burst into tears again. Honestly, I HATE what's happened to llamas.

Bella takes one final drag on the cigarette, stubs it against the breezeblock and tosses it aside. "But no. We could have spent our day fundraising for a worthy cause and here we are. Stuck with the cheesiest of cheesy causes. Bastarding Children in Need! Kate's off to Australia next week. For good. Did I tell you that?"

"No!" I say, diverted way too quickly. Bella's older cousin Kate has been talking about leaving Killinhill ever since I met her. I assumed she meant buggaring off to Edinburgh or London. Not another country. Continent, even.

"Oh, aye. Says I can go out there whenever I want. Thousands and thousands of miles away from my shitting family. Surfer dudes as far as the eye can see... Alex said he'd love to come too."

Oh. It's the first time she's mentioned Alex accompanying her. I can't go to Australia since my parents have point-blank refused to pay the airfare, and I have nowhere to stay. The thought of the two of them being over there while I'm stuck in Blighty fills me with dismay.