(Posting this in lieu of the next page of “Woe to the Giant,” which should go up tomorrow.)

May 2005 

Sometimes Natalie hung around for an hour or so after giving Mischa her homework.  It made more sense to get started on it straight away than to wear herself out walking home and then only be in the mood for watching TV.  Besides, Mischa’s room was quite a nice, restful place, with its rose patterns and perfume smell.  It could calm you down after a hard day at school.

“What are you doing for the “How To” coursework?” asked Mischa, who was sat cross-legged on the floor with a laptop resting on her knees.  She was thinner now, but her hair was the same as ever.  Unless her parents had just managed to find her a really convincing wig.

“Um…  ‘How to Be In An Indie Band.’”  Natalie flicked through the course booklet, trying to find the page that went with the notes she’d made earlier.  “You know, lyrics, musical style, how to avoid obnoxious fans….”

“Aw, I wish I could think of something interesting like that.  All I can think of is boring stuff like ‘How to Change A Lightbulb.’”

Natalie folded back the corner of the page she wanted.  “Well, they won’t mark you down for being boring.  If anything, they’re more likely to mark you down for trying to be interesting in the wrong way.”  That was what Johnny had found out when he’d tried to write an essay about Anton LaVey in RE.

“Yeah, but I wish I could think of something that stands out, you know?”  Mischa rested her cheek on her hand.  “Something that goes the extra mile.”

“Well…  You could always write something like, ‘How to Get All Your A-Level Coursework In On Time While Also Going Through Chemotherapy.’”

Mischa’s face twisted, as if she’d just tasted something sour.  “As if.  They’d just think I was going for the sympathy vote.”

“Hey, you want to get into Durham, don’t you?”  Natalie smiled.  “I say use every weapon you’ve got.”

Mischa snort-laughed, and looked back down at her notes.

Natalie glanced at the gossip magazines on her bedside table.  There always seemed to be a new one around.  They creeped Natalie out a bit- it was something to do with the sticky-sweaty finish there always was on the front cover, and something to do with the way they spoke about famous people as if they were a bunch of melodramatic thirteen-year-olds, constantly thinking up ways to spite their exes or steal their rivals’ thunder.  She’d mentioned that to Mischa once, and she’d just said that you had to imagine the whole thing was a soap opera.  “Or you could use these as inspiration.  ‘How to Go Through A Divorce If You’re Famous.’”

Mischa laughed.  “‘How Not to Marry Tom Cruise’…”

*

That Friday, everyone ended up in Amelia’s living room after school.  They lolled all over the sofa and carpet like beached jellyfish, flicking through the music channels as they recovered from a hard week at school.  The only ones with the energy to talk at the moment were Abbie and Daisy, who were sitting closest to the TV.  Abbie’s History class had gone on a trip to the V&A the previous week, and she was still full of stories about it.  “It’s amazing.  All those Ancient Greek statues with their perfectly-carved muscles, and then you look between their legs…”  She bit her lip in a cartoonish way.

Daisy grinned.  “Not so much in the boner department?”

“Not much of a package, no.  Maybe the sculptors got too embarrassed and rushed it.”

“Uh-huh,” said Johnny, sourly, “And that’s all you got from the Victoria and Albert Museum?”

Daisy didn’t seem to have heard that.  “Not many hotties in Ancient Greece, then?”

“Well, no…” said Abbie, “But then again, if there were, it would be necrophilia, wouldn’t it?”

Amelia gave a low chuckle.  “This conversation started on the wrong foot, and the gutter seems deeper than expected.”  She lay back on the sofa as if she was preparing to go to sleep.

Johnny hadn’t taken his eyes off Abbie and D0aisy.  “Seriously, how old are you two?  You need to get out more.”

Cowed, Abbie and Daisy stopped talking.  The group of them flicked through a few more music channels before settling on an Alien Ant Farm video that Natalie hadn’t seen before.  The video showed the band performing on a rooftop outside something called “The BET Awards,” while people like Nelly and Eve looked up, amused.

Johnny pointed at the screen.  “Most talent in the whole event,” he declared.

“Too right!” said Amelia, coming back to life, “A hundred percent real, too.  Look at all the posers below!”  The screen now showed Snoop Dogg and Li’l Kim, plus a couple of other people Natalie didn’t recognise.  “They’re all looking up and thinking, ‘Oh, so this is what real music sounds like!’”

Daisy let out a loud, honking laugh.  “Yeah- ‘Oh, it’s not talking about hoes and bitches, and encouraging kids to join gangs?  Is that even allowed?’”

Johnny snickered.  Apparently Daisy was forgiven.

“When I hear shit like that, I think, ‘Thank God there are golddiggers in this world, who can fleece guys like that in their sleep!’”

“Amen!” said Amelia.

Daisy had got into a rhythm.  “They’re so shit, shitter than shit, so shit, heaps shit, so much shit that I wish they would get cancer and die just so they’ll stay the hell away from my TV screen and radio!”

Johnny gave her a funny look.  “Er…”

“Whoops, bad karma!”  Daisy giggled.  “But they’re so shit!  What is wrong with people these days?  They’re the shit ones!”

Amelia settled back on the sofa, hunching her shoulders up so that her head could settle comfortably.  “Oh yeah, Natalie, speaking of cancer…”

The others all burst into scandalised laughter.

“What?” snapped Natalie.

“I don’t know why you’re bothering, really,” Amelia said airily, “When has Mischa Lewis ever cared about her grades?”

Natalie thought about how pleased Mischa had been when she’d suggested bringing her her homework.  OK, it had been because she was bored, but still.  “You don’t know the first thing about it, Amelia.”

Johnny snorted.  “Oh, charming…”

“Hey, whoa.”  Amelia held up a hand.  “I think it’s very kind of you, what you’re doing.  I just don’t want to see you taken advantage of.”

She smiled, and Natalie couldn’t help but smile back.  “Well, I’m not.”

“Good!”  Amelia went back to watching TV.

*

Abbie offered to drive Natalie home.  She’d only been able to drive for a couple of months, so the car still had that smell, all new and you-are-not-worthy.  Abbie sat in the driving seat, wearing her waistcoat and sensible trousers, and almost looked like a responsible adult.  It was a worrying sight.  It reminded Natalie that they only really had a month of school left.  In six months’ time, they’d have all scattered to the winds.

Natalie had spent the last five minutes trying to think of ways to start this conversation.  Eventually, she decided just to be direct.  “Johnny was being a real dick to you earlier.”

Abbie adjusted the mirror.  “Yeah…  Well, you know what he’s like.”

Natalie did know what he was like.  That didn’t mean she had to excuse it.  “Seriously, what harm does it do to him if you make dirty jokes now and then?”

Abbie glanced at her.  “I don’t know…  He had a point.  We were being a bit immature.”

“So?  Everyone acts a bit immature now and then.  Who’s he to elect himself the sole authority on who can joke about what?”

Abbie grinned.  “If you ask me, he just doesn’t want us discussing any penis that’s not his.”

Natalie chuckled.  “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”

“Nah, you’re OK,” said Abbie.  But just because she said it didn’t mean that Natalie had to agree.

(To Be Continued)

April 2003

Natalie only had the idea because, on Wednesdays, she had CDT right after English, and one particular scene from Macbeth was fresh in her mind as she filled in the section of her coursework that had to do with robotics and motors.  Macbeth thought he was safe because the witches had promised he’d be king until someone moved Great Birnam Wood across the country, but then Malcolm’s army went and did exactly that.  Natalie looked at the motor part she was sketching, and thought, Fear not, till Birnam Wood do come to Dunsinane.

Then she thought, Holy shit.

Abbie Chamberlain was the first person she told about her plan.  Just before registration on Thursday morning, Natalie took what she’d made out of her bag, and got it to walk across the table.  Abbie watched its jerky movements, totally mesmerised.  A remote-control figure made entirely out of twigs.  “That’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.”

Natalie nodded.  “The remote and the mechanical bits all come from an old toy me and my sisters had.  This robotic tiger thing.”  Natalie had felt a bit guilty about that, in case sometime this week Stephanie decided- as she sometimes did- that she wanted to play with an old toy, and found it dissected.  She’d compromised by taking out as few of its parts as possible, and hoping that Stephanie would put its lack of movement down to the fact that it was five years old and the gears had probably rusted.  “I was thinking we could use this down at Crowe’s Wood.  A bigger version, I mean.”

Abbie grinned.  “What, like Treebeard?”

“Yeah!  If we do it right, we could have an army of hawthorn trees moving towards the builders.  It’ll really freak them out.”

“Especially if it’s dark,” agreed Abbie, patting the twig man on the head with her finger.

*

It was three more days before they got everyone together at David and Amelia’s, discussing the plan.  Natalie had barely been able to think of anything else- it had been like a fever burning through her.  Whenever she’d had a spare moment, images of walking trees and terrified builders filled her head.  If they were lucky…  If they did it right…

“Are you sure you can get it to work with the bigger branches?” asked Johnny.

Natalie nodded.  “I think it’s mostly a matter of knowing where to put the motors.  As long as the joints move OK, the rest should take care of itself.”  Beside her, Abbie was calmly drawing something in her notebook, but Natalie felt like her heart was about to burst.  She’d wanted to impress Abbie, and she had.  She wanted to impress Johnny and Amelia, and it looked as if she had a good chance of doing so.  But David….  Who knew what it took to impress him?  Who knew what was going on in his head?

He sat in the big armchair in the corner of the room, deep in thought.  As if it wasn’t just a matter of listening to what Natalie had said and saying whether or not it was a good idea, as if he’d have to take the vibrations of the universe into account before he made his decision.  Then- wonder of wonders- he smiled.  “Give me a lever and a place to stand, and I will move the earth,” he quoted, “But where are you going to get enough motors to do it?”

Amelia waved a hand airily.  “We can scrounge up enough between us.  We’ve all got some old toys in the attic.”

Abbie finally finished what she’d been drawing, and turned her notebook over to show the others.  It was a gang of trees line-dancing, holding up a sign that said, SAVE CROWE’S WOOD!

“I’ve been thinking,” she explained, “We’re going to want to do this at night, right?  So that people won’t see what we’re doing in advance?”

“Yeah?” said Natalie.

“Well, the builders will all have gone home by then, won’t they?”

“Oh.”  That thought was like running up against a brick wall.  Natalie could only mumble, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Abbie continued.  “So I thought, instead of trying to freak out the builders, we could pick a place next to the main road and have the trees dance and hold up signs where people driving by can see them.”

“Well…”  Natalie was torn.  She’d really wanted to freak out the builders.

“It’d get more attention,” said Johnny, “If it’s just the builders, they might just get embarrassed and decide to keep it quiet.  Not much chance of that with the great British public.”

“And we’d be less likely to get caught,” added Amelia.

Fair enough.  Natalie let her dream of terrified builders go.  “So… is everybody in?”

The others nodded.  Even David gave them a sage smile and a thumbs-up gesture, which gave Natalie butterflies in her stomach.

“Right,” she said, “So when are we doing this?”

(To Be Continued)

March 2005

Mischa Lewis had skin cancer.  The Year Thirteen form tutors had broken it to them this morning.

To Natalie, it felt as of she’d been slapped.  She tried to remember the last time she’d seen or spoken to Mischa.  Last Tuesday, probably, when they’d all been talking about dystopian fiction in English.  She’d seemed fine.  She’d probably seem fine if you saw her right now.  You’d never know that, underneath, there was something poisonous eating away at her, something that didn’t want to stop until it had completely finished her off.

She didn’t know Mischa that well, but she’d always been there.  Around.  Today it was as if there was a cold, empty spot in the whole fabric of the school.

In the common room at break, though, it turned out that Johnny had a different opinion.  “It’s so disgusting,” he sniffed, “She gets sick, and suddenly we’re all supposed to act like we’re her best friends.”

Abbie made a little agreeing noise, and carried on eating her sandwich.

“I mean, God, it’ll be treated easily!” said Amelia, “She just needs to go to the hospital and get the mole removed!  She could even get a boob job while she’s at it!”  She looked around at the others, waiting for a laugh.

She got one from Daisy.  “I’m sorry she’s ill and everything, but most of the things she says just make me want to smack her.”  She smacked the table to demonstrate.  “When she said, Oh, we’re seventeen, we can act as stupid as we like now and leave being intelligent for when we’re older…”

“God…”  Amelia rolled her eyes.

“To me, that’s like saying she’ll do porn for now as a means to a serious acting career later!”  Daisy said this with a flourish, breaking into a laugh on the last word.  La-ha-hater!

“Well, she’s supposed to be quite good at hockey…  I mean, if we’re going to comment on her ball control…”

Natalie was still thinking over that conversation after school, when she looked up Mischa Lewis’ address in the phone book.  She was still thinking about it when she went into town for a Get Well card, and she was still thinking about it when she knocked on the door and Mischa’s dad opened it.

Mischa’s dad was tall and thin, and looked down at her through thick glasses.  Natalie almost lost her nerve.  What could she have to say to him or Mischa that wasn’t completely inadequate?  She had no idea what they were going through right now.  How could she do anything other than interfere and make everything worse?

Don’t be an idiot.  She swallowed and said, “Hi, Mr Lewis?  I’m Natalie Clements- I’m in Mischa’s class at school.”

Mischa’s dad nodded.  “Oh yes, Natalie…” he said thoughtfully, “I’m sure Mischa’s mentioned you…”

“She might not have,” said Natalie quickly.  She could see him starting to worry that she’d been round their house three or four times, and he’d just forgotten about her.  “We don’t really hang out much.  But, um, we’re all worried about her, and I’ve got a…”  She looked down at the card in her hand, and imagined Mr Lewis saying, Oh, you’ve got a card for her!  Well, that makes it all better, then, doesn’t it?  “Well, I thought she’d want to know we were rooting for her.”

That sounded pathetic.  In fact, everything she’d said so far had sounded pathetic.  But every time she wished she hadn’t come, she remembered what Amelia had said.  She can even get a boob job while she’s at it.

“Um, I remembered…”  She looked back up at Mr Lewis.  “Sorry, nothing I’m saying sounds like what I actually mean.  Is Mischa around?”

“Of course,” he said, sounding as relieved as she was, “I’ll try and track her down.”

Five minutes later, Natalie was in Mischa’s room, marvelling at how tidy it was.  There was nothing on the floor and barely anything on the surfaces- a tissue box and a couple of gossip magazines on her bedside table, but that was it.  Everything else was neatly packed away into drawers and cupboards.  The walls had a pink-and-white rose pattern around the edges, and there was a faint smell of perfume in the air.  The whole room looked a bit like a display in a furniture shop.

“The doctors say it’s probably not too bad,” said Mischa.  She was sitting opposite Natalie in her desk chair, ankles crossed as if she was posing for a photograph.  “I’m getting it removed next week, and then they’ll see if it’s spread. But they reckon they can usually cure it… Treat it, I mean.”  Her expression wavered, and Natalie thought about the massive gulf between the words “treat” and “cure.”  One was definitely good news; the other could mean just about anything.

“That’s good,” Natalie replied.  She couldn’t help looking at Mischa’s hair.  It was dark and shoulder-length, with the fringe cut straight across like Charlotte Church.  Natalie tried not to wonder how long she’d keep it.

“It’s just the waiting, you know?”  Mischa shrugged, trying to look nonchalant.  “All this time in between one bit and the next, and all I can do is think too much and panic.”

Natalie forced a smile.  “Well, if you want me to bring you your English homework tomorrow…”

“See, you’re joking, but that would actually be really great!”  Mischa let out a nervous laugh.  “It’d give me something to think about that isn’t… you know, terror.”

Natalie tapped her fingers on the bedside table.  “Alright then- I will.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  Your house is on my way home- I’ll drop it in.”  Natalie thought for a moment, feeling a little bit of weight ease off her shoulders.  “What other subjects do you do?”

“Um…  French and RE…”

“I’ll see if I can get someone to pick up homework for them, too.”  She glanced back at Mischa, worried that she’d taken things too far.  “Wait, unless you think that’d be too overwhelming?”

Mischa put up her hands.  “No, no, that’s be great!  I mean, I don’t know how much energy I’ll have once the treatment starts, but right now, I just need something to do.”

Natalie smiled.  “I understand.  Completely.”

(To Be Continued)