Fight Or Flight

Chapter 13 - Mathematics

Chapter 13 - Mathematics

Mum pulled back the bedroom curtains and demanded I get out of bed. She was in one of her breezy, happy moods and seemed to dance across the bedroom floor to the window.

I was already awake, had been for some time, but my intention of getting out of bed receded with every passing minute.

She called again from outside on the landing. I knew she wouldn't stop until I was up.

The fog had lifted from the night before and the sun blazed through a cloudless sky. As I looked down from my bedroom window, out across the garden towards the allotments which backed onto our house, the morning held out the promise of one of those cold, crisp days, almost as if to remind us that winter doesn't last forever.

But I still wasn't ready to begin the day. Just as much later, I wasn't ready to end the day.

The day after Valentine's Day.

Yet love felt like such a scarce commodity.

Across the house, it was the usual, mad morning rush: everyone trying to find all the stuff they needed to get through the day.

I ate a rushed breakfast, got dressed in about three different rooms, all the while my sister, as usual, took an age in the bathroom. I was banging on the door for her to get a move on. Mum was also shouting to her, complaining that not only was she going to be late, but that she was making everybody else late.

8.24 am.

As we all left the house together, Mum asked if I needed a lift to the bus stop, but I said I'd walk. Besides, my little sister's school and mum's office was in the opposite direction. With the morning traffic, one or both of them would be late if they took me. Besides, I felt I could do with the walk.

I looked at my watch: 8.28 am. I was running late, as usual; carrying my guitar and school bag, dragging my tired legs as quickly as they would move to the bus stop. As I reached the top of the main road, I saw the last kid from our school hop onto the school bus and watched as it took off on its fifteen-minute journey to The Brook.

It didn't matter now. I would be late. Once I'd missed the bus, I knew I would be late for registration. And I would miss the assembly, too; miss playing with the band for the Year 7 kids.

I turned and ran back home. I opened the door and put my guitar back in the house. I wouldn't be needing it.

For a second, as I began to close the front door, I stopped and thought: should I swerve it? Should I stay at home. Sit off for the whole day. On my own. Nobody would know. Mum and Dad were at work all day, my little sister in school, my older brother away at university. I could go back to bed. I could switch on the TV and watch all of those terrible tacky daytime programmes. Probably drift off to sleep. I needed it.

I could pretend to be Mum and phone the school telling them I was sick.

But I didn't. I was too scared. Too much of a good girl. Too much of a scaredy cat.

And so I walked to school that day. I didn't see the need to quicken my walk at any point on my journey. What's the point? I thought. Late is late is late. You can be later, but it's still late. Right?

The other band members wouldn't see it like that, and would no doubt have a go at me. The music teacher would also be annoyed. Another bunch of people I would have to try and swerve for the rest of the day.

The schoolyard was empty when I arrived at The Brook. As I entered the main building to get my 'late' mark, there was a line of kids already queuing to do the same at reception.