Vicky Angel Read online

  “It's Mrs. Cambridge from the school—you know, we met at the funeral,” says Mum. “She's Jade's teacher.”

  I see Dad fit a phantom smart hat on Mrs. Cambridge's head. He sits up even straighter.

  “I'm not actually Jade's form teacher. I just take her for French,” says Mrs. Cambridge, sitting down on the edge of the sofa.

  “Yeah, well, she's not that great at parley-vousing,” says Dad. “Takes after me, don't you, Jade? Bit thick when it comes to brainbox work.”

  “No, no, Jade's very good at French,” says Mrs. Cambridge.

  This is news to me. The highest I've ever come in French tests is fifth or sixth, and the one we had last week was disastrous.

  “I came second from bottom in our last test,” I say dully.

  “Jade!” says Mum. She glances at Mrs. Cambridge. “I did French Advanced Placement. And Spanish. I've often thought of going to evening classes to extend my vocabulary, like.”

  “That's a good idea,” says Mrs. Cambridge. “Jade, I know you've done badly just recently, but heavens, that's only to be expected. It must be so tough on you now, without Vicky.”

  “Vicky didn't help her, you know,” says Mum. “It was Vicky always copying off our Jade. She did all her homework for her. I always used to think she was a right little mug.”

  “I didn't, Mum. We did it together.”

  “Like two peas in a pod, Jade and Vicky. She was a lovely girl, little Vicky,” says Dad, and there are tears in his eyes.

  “Oh, we all know you were sweet on her,” says Mum sharply. She turns to Mrs. Cambridge. “Would you like some coffee? We've got filter as well as instant. Or tea?”

  “Well, thank you. A cup of coffee. Instant will be fine.” Mrs. Cambridge looks at me. “Perhaps you could make us all a cup of coffee, Jade?”

  I can see this really irritates Mum. “Use the filter coffee, Jade. You know how to use the machine, don't you? And best cups. And open a new packet of biscuits, not the ones in the tin.”

  I nod, not really bothering to take any of this in. Mrs. Cambridge doesn't even want a cup of coffee, she just wants a ploy to get me out the room. So they can have this little chat about me.

  I stand in the kitchen, trying not to rattle the cups around too much. There's a rumble of voices but they've shut the living room door so I can't hear properly. I don't really care anyway.

  I stick my finger in the sugar bowl and lick. I remember Vicky's mum at the funeral. I haven't seen her since. Someone said they'd gone away for a bit, a holiday abroad. Italy.

  “Give us a lick!” Vicky stands beside me, trying to take a turn. “Yeah, great, isn't it? I was always dying to go to Italy but they said they didn't fancy it. Too hot. And they don't like pasta. So where do they go the minute I snuff it? Would you believe Italy? It's not fair!”

  “I don't think they'll be enjoying themselves.”

  “I should hope not!” says Vicky indignantly.

  “You want them to be miserable?”

  “Of course!”

  “For always?”

  “Definitely!”

  I swallow. “What about me?”

  “Double definitely!”

  “But that's not fair.”

  “It's not fair I've been killed, is it?”

  “I know, but …”

  “You can't be happy without me.”

  It's an order. I have to obey.

  “Hey?” Vicky peers into my face. “What's with the little mouth trembles, eh? It's not my fault. You can't get along without me, you know that. Right from when we were little it's been Vicky-and-Jade, right? So now it's still going to be Vicky-and-Jade. Vicky Ghost and Nutter Jade. Mrs. Cambridge is seeing your mum and dad because they're all convinced at school that you've gone completely nuts.”

  She's right. When I clatter back into the living room the conversation stops. Mrs. Cambridge looks worried. Mum looks furious, though she's applied her tight social smile as carefully as lipstick. Dad's still looking baffled.

  “Now, Jade, Mrs. Cambridge here says you're in trouble at school,” he says, helping himself to the first cup of coffee without thinking.

  “No, I didn't, Mr. Marshall!” Mrs. Cambridge protests.

  “Ted! Let Mrs. Cambridge get served first!”

  “Whoops! Sorry!” Dad passes Mrs. Cambridge his cup, though he's already taken a slurp from it.

  “No, no, it's fine, I'll have this one,” says Mrs. Cambridge. “Now, I didn't say Jade was in trouble at all, just that she's acting troubled. Which is only natural, of course it is, it would be crazy to expect otherwise,” she gabbles, trying to nod to me reassuringly.

  “She says you won't talk to anyone. You just mope about by yourself,” says Mum. “I knew it didn't do you any good hanging round with Vicky all the time. Didn't I always say you needed to make other friends?”

  “I don't want other friends.”

  “Yes, well, you won't make any, not if you act like that,” says Mum.

  “There are lots of people who want to be Jade's friend,” says Mrs. Cambridge.

  “Only the sad losers like Fatboy Sam and Marshmallow Madeleine,” Vicky shouts from the kitchen.

  I start at the sound of her voice. Mrs. Cambridge and Mum and Dad stare at me.

  “What's up with you?” Mum says. “Why have you gone all twitchy? Acting like …” She sighs, unable to finish. She looks at Mrs. Cambridge. “So she's like this at school too?”

  Mrs. Cambridge struggles. “Well, sometimes, Jade, you do seem very … distracted.”

  You can say that again. How can I help it with Vicky fooling about all the time? She's at it again now, striding into the living room, circling Mum, snuggling up to Dad, then perching right on Mrs. Cambridge's lap, playing with her hair, trying to plait it. I feel the giggles tight in my throat. I let out one little snort.

  “I'm sorry, Jade. The last thing I want to do is upset you further,” says Mrs. Cambridge.

  But Mum is looking at me suspiciously. Vicky mimics her expression. I snort again.

  “Cut that out, Jade!” Mum says sharply.

  “Yes, pull yourself together, kiddo,” says Dad. “You're acting daft. You don't want Mrs. Cambridge to think you've lost your marbles, do you?”

  “Of course I don't think that, Mr. Marshall. But I do think—I and my colleagues—that it might help Jade through this very difficult time if she has some proper counseling.”

  “She doesn't need none of that trick-cyclist stuff,” Dad says firmly.

  “Not a psychiatrist. A trained bereavement counselor.”

  “I don't see the point in all that counseling stuff,” says Mum. “It's not going to change anything, is it? And it's not going to help Jade if she just wallows in it and feels sorry for herself.”

  “But counseling can be very effective. You can have someone come to your home if that would be easier.”

  “Who's going to pay for that?” says Mum. “I'll bet it's not free.”

  “Well …” Mrs. Cambridge wavers, obviously not sure. She turns to me. “What do you think, Jade? Would you find it helpful?”

  “No! Say no. Say no, idiot,” says Vicky. She takes my head and tries to make me shake it, though her ghost hands don't have any strength.

  “No,” I say obediently.

  “You don't think it would help to talk about it? To say whatever you want? To explain what it's really like for you? You seem so haunted, Jade,” says Mrs. Cambridge, taking hold of my hand.

  I burst into tears.

  “There! Now look. Even the thought is upsetting her,” says Mum.

  I cling to Mrs. Cambridge's hand, wishing she could rescue me.

  “Jade! Go and get a tissue,” says Mum.

  I let go and do as I'm told.

  “We really appreciate your concern, Mrs. Cambridge, but Jade doesn't need any counseling or therapy. She's always been a bit dreamy, but she's OK if she doesn't give in to it. And she doesn't want to be counseled, she said so herself.”