Secrets and Dreams. Jean Ure

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СКАЧАТЬ there. It was ages before I discovered that Mr Bracey was the man who did things around the school. He was like Dad! Dad was The Handyman, Mr Bracey was the school handyman.

      Mum was eager to come and help me unpack, but I told her I could do it myself.

      “Are you sure?” said Mum, sounding a bit worried. It was like suddenly she didn’t want to go off and leave me there.

      I said, “Honestly, Mum! I can manage.”

      I so didn’t want Nat trailing upstairs with us, making her stupid Beefburga jokes and ruining everything before I’d even started!

      “We’ll take good care of her,” said Miss Latimer. “Don’t worry.”

      I waved goodbye quite cheerfully to Mum and Dad and followed Miss Latimer into Homestead House. Homestead was where us seniors lived. The juniors were in the Elms. All the dormitories were named after flowers. Year Eights were Buttercup and Daisy, which was another reason I hadn’t wanted Nat coming upstairs with us. She’d already gone off into peals of insane cackles about it. She kept spluttering, “Buttercups! Daisies!” When Mum asked her what she found so funny she just cackled even harder.

      “Personally I think it’s nice they have pretty names,” said Mum.

      So did I! I didn’t care what Nat thought.

      I was in Daisy, which meant I had a cute little lazy-daisy badge to pin on my sweater. There were six of us in there, three up one end of the dorm and three at the other, with a folding door in between. The Buttercups were further down the hall. There were also, Miss Latimer told me, six day girls, but of course they weren’t in school on a Sunday. She said the other Daisies had gone off on a school trip, except for someone called Fawn, who had gone home for the weekend.

      I was a bit alarmed at the thought of the unknown Fawn. What kind of a name was Fawn? It sounded like a posh person’s name! Maybe my annoying little sister was right, and all the other girls would be smart and snobby and look down on me. I found that the collywobbles had suddenly come back.

      “In case you’re worrying about being the only new girl,” said Miss Latimer, leading the way along the passage, “you’re not alone. Rachel’s also new. She arrived just a few minutes ago.”

      Miss Latimer tapped at the door, and paused a second before opening it. I was well impressed! I am more used to people just barging in. Well, when I say “people”, of course, I mean Nat. She’d never learnt to ask if she could come into my bit of bedroom.

      “Here you are,” said Miss Latimer.

      A girl was standing at the window, leaning out at a perilous angle. She sprang round, her face lighting up. She seemed really pleased to see me.

      “Rachel, this is Zoe Bird that I was telling you about. Zoe, this is Rachel Lindgren. The others are off on a school trip. They should be back in about half an hour, so they’ll bring you down to tea. In the meantime, you know where to find me if you want me?”

      Rachel beamed and said, “Yes!”

      “Good. In that case, I’ll leave you to get on with things.”

      I waited till Miss Latimer had gone, then said, “I don’t know where to find her.”

      “In her room,” said Rachel. “At the end of the corridor.” She bounced on to her bed and sat there, swinging her legs. “I’ve had the chicken pox,” she said.

      “Really?” I said. “Snap!”

      Rachel giggled. She said, “Snap?”

      “I’ve had it too! My sister gave it to me.”

      Rachel giggled again. “On purpose?”

      Darkly I said, “I wouldn’t be surprised. But I didn’t scratch! Did you?”

      “No, cos my auntie told me it would leave marks. Why did you say ‘snap’?”

      “Well – you know! Like the card game? When you say ‘snap’ if you both put down the same card?”

      I thought everyone must have played Snap at one time or another. But Rachel obviously hadn’t. She was looking at me, with her brow furrowed.

      “Are you Swedish?” I said.

      If she was Swedish, then maybe that would account for it. Maybe in Sweden they didn’t play Snap. The reason I thought she might be was partly cos she looked a bit Swedish, like very pale with hair that was almost white, and partly cos of her name: Lindgren. I was quite proud of knowing that Lindgren was a Swedish name. I reckon not everyone would have done. I only knew cos a lady that used to live in our road had been called that and she came from Sweden. But the minute I asked the question I was covered in embarrassment and thought maybe I shouldn’t have. Sometimes it is considered rude to ask people where they come from. I once asked a girl at my old school where she came from, thinking she would say, like, the West Indies or somewhere, and she said she came from Essex. She was quite cross about it, though I was only trying to be friendly.

      Fortunately Rachel didn’t seem to mind. She said that she wasn’t Swedish but her granddad had been.

      “He was called Lindgren. That’s why I am.” And then she gave this shriek of laughter and cried, “Yoordgubba!” Well, that was what it sounded like. I only discovered later that it was spelt “Jordgubbe”. Rachel said it was Swedish for strawberry.

      “And toalettpapper is toilet paper!”

      I didn’t quite know what to say to that. “So do you speak Swedish?” I said.

      She giggled again. She seemed to do a lot of giggling.

      “Hey,” she said. “That’s ‘hello’. Hey!” She held out her hand. She obviously wanted me to take it even though I’d already started to unpack and had my arms full of clothes. “Say it!”

      Obediently I said, “Hey.”

      “There,” said Rachel. “Now you know as much as I do! Except for tack. That means ‘thank you’.”

      She picked up a pair of my socks that had rolled on to the floor.

      Solemnly I said, “Tack.” Little had I thought I would be in the dorm having a Swedish lesson the minute I arrived. Maybe chicken pox would prove to be a blessing in disguise? I’d made a friend already!

      “Shall we stick together?” said Rachel. She sat, cross-legged, on her bed.

      “Yes, let’s,” I said. “I’ve never been to boarding school before, have you?”

      Rachel said, “No, but I know what to expect … I’ve read the books!”

      “What, the leaflets?” I said. “The stuff they send you?”

      “No!” She gave a great swoop of laughter. “The boarding-school books.”

      “Oh! You mean, like …”

      “The Naughtiest СКАЧАТЬ