“That’s the spirit!” said Gran. “Now—” she settled down for a cosy chat. “Tell me a bit more about this new school. Sacred Heart. I don’t know it. What is it like?”
“It’s all right,” I said.
“You mean, really all right? Or just all right, not bad?”
I said, “Really all right. Really!”
I’d been at Sacred Heart for over a fortnight now. I hadn’t been too sure at first. I’d wanted to go to Winterbourne because Winterbourne was huge. Nearly 1,500 pupils. Enough to swallow me up and keep me safely anonymous. Sacred Heart was hardly any bigger than primary school, where I hadn’t been anonymous at all. Everybody had known who my dad was. Everybody could remember Charlie and Coop. Everybody knew the twins. And everybody, but everybody, was always expecting me to be just as high-powered and talented as they were. Until they discovered that I wasn’t, and then it was like, “Oh, that’s just Peachy. She’s not a bit like her sister.”
So just at the beginning, when I started at Sacred Heart, I was really anxious, because suppose someone discovered about Dad, or knew someone who knew Charlie or Coop? In the whole of Year 7 there were only thirty people. Once one person found out, everybody would know, and I might just as well have gone to Summerfield and not caused Dad all that grief. Cos he was still a bit cross about it, even now.
On our very first day, Mrs Bradbeer, our class teacher, said she wanted us all to introduce ourselves.
“Most of you have come up from the junior school together, but some of you are new, so I’d like everybody to say a few words about themselves, and about their family, just to break the ice. All right?”
No! I cringed, trying to hide behind the person in front. This was like my worst nightmare come true.
Mrs Bradbeer obviously saw the panic on my face. She said, “Try not to look so worried, Peaches!”
Peaches? Heads snapped round. The whole class stared. I felt like digging a hole and burying myself. Trust Mum! Peaches had been her choice. She couldn’t just pick something ordinary and unremarkable like Amy or Emma. Oh, no! She had to go for something that would make everyone turn and stare.
Mrs Bradbeer smiled reassuringly. “You don’t have to say more than you feel comfortable with. Just a few words will do. Zoe, why don’t you get us started?”
Zoe was one of the ones that had come up from Juniors. Full of self-importance, she pushed back her chair and bounced to her feet. You could tell she was someone that just loved the sound of her own voice. In loud, ringing tones she announced that she was Zoe Kingman and that her big ambition was to be successful and make a lot of money. She said she had a dad that was an architect and a mum that was “in the City”.
“Like she’s really high up in one of the big banks, only I’d better not say which one cos of people getting jealous and thinking she’s probably making too much money, which Mum says is just the politics of envy. I personally think that if you work hard you deserve to make lots of money; I don’t see anything wrong in it. At any rate,” said Zoe, “that is what I am going to do.”
She sat back down with a self-satisfied flump. I noticed that the girl next to me was pulling a face. I felt a bit like pulling one myself but I wasn’t quite brave enough. Several people were nodding, and one girl even started to clap.
Mrs Bradbeer said, “Thank you, Zoe. That’s got the ball rolling. Lola? You next?”
One by one, everybody got up and told us about themselves. They all seemed to have mums and dads that were doctors, or solicitors, or bank managers. I waited for someone to say her dad was a butcher, or her mum was a cleaning lady, but it didn’t happen. I sat glumly, hunched at my desk, wishing I was at Winterbourne instead of having to sit here listening as people went gabbing on about themselves and their hugely important parents. I didn’t think anyone at Winterbourne would really care what other people’s mums and dads did. I certainly wasn’t going to tell them anything about mine!
Mrs Bradbeer was going round the class at random. She seemed to be leaving me till last. Maybe, with any luck, the bell would ring and I wouldn’t have to do it.
“Millie?” said Mrs Bradbeer. “Shall we hear from you?”
The girl next to me sprang up.
“Millie O’Dowd,” she said. “One mum, one dad, three annoying little sisters. My mum’s called Sinead, my dad’s called Kevin, and my sisters are the Diddy People. Well, that’s what I call them. Dunno what else to say, really. Oh, except my mum’s a school dinner lady and my dad’s on the buses, only I’d better not say which one cos of people getting jealous and thinking bus drivers are greedy when they want more money.”
Someone gave a little titter. Mrs Bradbeer put a warning finger to her lips.
“That’s about it really,” said Millie. “I haven’t yet decided what my big ambition is, but hopefully I’ll end up a millionaire.”
This time lots of people tittered. Mrs Bradbeer said, “Thank you very much, Millie. Short and sweet and very pointed.”
Millie grinned at me again as she sat down. It was an impish sort of grin, like, ‘I enjoyed that!’ An uncertain silence had settled over the room. I could almost see people wrestling with the idea that someone should have a mum that was a dinner lady and a dad that was on the buses. I felt suddenly bold, and gave Millie a big grin in return. She mouthed at me: “You in a minute!”
I was still praying that the bell would ring and let me off, but no such luck.
“Peaches?” said Mrs Bradbeer with a kindly smile.
I dragged myself to my feet.
“Peaches McBride,” I said. Well, I mumbled it actually, hoping that maybe people wouldn’t hear. Stupid, really. They were obviously going to find out what my surname was as soon as the register was taken, though maybe if it was just read out along with a whole load of other names, no one would notice. No one would put two and two together and go, “Hey! That’s the name of that radio person’s daughter.” Cos Dad is quite well known, and just last year they’d done a thing about him in one of the newspapers. An article, with photographs. I’d done my best to hide behind Coop, but you could still see that I had blonde hair.
Fortunately it didn’t seem likely that anyone would have read the article, because after all, why should they? Probably none of them ever listened to the radio. It might be like some kind of god in my house, but I bet to most people it is ancient technology. And even if they did listen, they wouldn’t be listening to Dad. He is not at all cool.
Zoe, on the far side of the room, called across to me. “Speak louder!”
“Cheek,” muttered Millie.
Mrs Bradbeer nodded at me encouragingly. “Just a little bit more volume?”
For a moment I had wild thoughts of claiming to be an orphan, but that was a bit too mad even for me, so instead I gabbled really fast.
“I live with my mum and dad plus two brothers and two sisters with me being in the middle. We used to have some stick insects but they died and we never got any more. I have only one big ambition and that is to concentrate on just being me.” And then I said, “Thank you,” and sat down.
“Thank you,” said Mrs Bradbeer.
I could feel my cheeks pulsating. Zoe sniggered, and so did one or two others. I don’t think they’d have done it if she hadn’t. It was like they all followed her.
“That was OK,” whispered Millie.
I smiled weakly. I didn’t think it was OK. I thought it was just stupid. What had I gone and said thank you for? What was that all about?
There was only one person left, a girl called Janine who looked like a garden gnome. She was tiny and stubby with a completely round face like an apple and little