A Bit of Banter
“Lucy! Lucy! Let me copy!”
Claires whisper ripples through the classroom, loud enough for Mrs Watkins to pause from filling in her register.
“Roberts! Calm down, please! Do your own work!”
“But Mrs Watkins, this is hard!” Claire protests in her usual outspoken way.
“No one said it would be easy. Besides, Lucy has a different set of questions. So theres no use in asking her.”
“How come? She sits right at the front!”
“Exactly!” Mrs Watkins says with a wry smile, mocking Claires tone. “I gave her her own assignment.”
“Thats not fair!” Claire sulks into her exercise book but soon searches around for another lifeline.
No one notices Lucy shrinking behind her desk, afraid to turn or lift her eyes from the page.
Every teacher knows Lucy is the class’s go-to for help. Shes got a brilliant mindand everyone takes advantage, whether she wants it or not. Try saying no, though, and youll be out of favour in an instant.
But Lucy isnt mean-spirited. She does let others copy sometimes, but after her mothers advice, she tries to do it so the teachers wont notice.
“Lucy, I know youre a kind girl,” her mum says. “But dont forget yourself. Youll need top marks to get where you want, and you mustnt risk your grades over classmates who cant even remember basic rules.”
Her mums words are sound, but Lucy sighs. If only her mother knew what it really meant to be the bright spark in a class where no one else even seems to care.
Her mum transferred her to this school after leaving Lucys dad. There were many reasons, not least to give her brother a fresh start. After all, Lucys little brother was born into Dads new family before her parents were officially separated.
No one explained any of this to Lucy, of course. The adults worked through their troubles while six-year-old Lucy sat in her room, steadily shading entire pages black in her sketchbook, making sure not a speck of white remained.
Gran was the first to notice her artwork.
“Whatever are you doing? Just look what youve done to the child!”
Lucys gran was her dads mum, but she stood staunchly beside Lucys mother through it all.
“Just like his dad,” Gran muttered. “Always wandering, just like my late husband. That was his nature Rotten, really. The difference was mine always came back, and he never brought children with him.”
“And you forgave him?”
“What else could I do, love? I did love him.” She sighed. “And I knew he loved me, or he wouldn’t keep coming home, would he? But forgiving him? Not fully. Life was more suffering than living. Now I wonder why. But its done. And perhaps its odd, but you should thank your stars your husband left for a child. Otherwise, I see you, love, youd probably have forgiven him too. Wouldnt you?”
“I dont know it hurts so much”
“I do understand. And I know Lucys stuck in the middle, between a rock and a hard place. Spare her if you can. My son wont listen, but youre clever. Im so sorry you’re splitting up, but think about whats best for Lucy. Shes just a childshe’s not to blame.”
“Youre right. Were the only ones to blame”
So Lucys mother did something no one expected: she sat Lucy down and explained it all, as plainly as one can to a six-year-old.
“Lucy, Mummy and Daddy arent going to live together anymore, in the same house.”
“Why?”
“Were getting divorced. You and I will be together, and youll see Daddy on weekends or when he has free time. Dont cry, darling! Look at me! Hell always be your dad! All thats changed is he and I, not you. I promise.”
“And you?” Lucy sniffled, tears streaming down her cheeksadults always do as they please!
“Im not going anywhere!”
“Promise you wont leave”
It was only then Lucys mum realised the meaning behind those sheets of black shed drawnher biggest fear wasnt losing Dad, but losing Mum as well.
It took time and patience to help Lucy understand, but gradually she realised her parents split wasnt her fault and that she was still loved. She saw her dad, though not as often as shed like. Dad never spoiled her less, and her parents worked out their differences enough that Lucys needs were met. She even went on seaside holidays with Dads new family, played with her little brother, and got on all right with Dads new wife. Rachel was nice enough, liked children, and Lucy didnt get in her way. There was nothing to argue about.
Nevertheless, the experience left its mark. Sometimes Lucy wondered if her father left because she wasnt enough, especially since he now seemed so settled with Rachel and his new son. Was it something shed done? Was she not what he wanted?
Her mother and gran both kept telling her that wasnt so and that everyone loved her. But a niggling doubt still gnawed at her insides, flaring up whenever she needed reassurance that everything would turn out right.
At first, it wasnt all that noticeablemaybe just a shaky knee when, in Year One, she was called up at assembly to recite a poem.
Shed spent a whole week learning it with Mum, practising with feeling in front of her mirror. At nursery, shed always been cast in the lead for the Christmas play, because everyone was sure shed perform her part flawlessly.
But not this time. Lucy picked up the microphone, spotted her mum among the crowdand suddenly forgot every word. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she couldnt say a thing.
The deputy head squatted down, wiped her tears, and whispered, “Shall we try again later?”
Lucy could only nod.
Thankfully, Mrs Watkins remembered, and after lessons, she found Lucy at the school entrance.
“There you are! Will you tell me your poem? Id love to hear it!”
It seems a minor thingjust a poem left unsaidbut for Lucy, nothing was more important. Straightening up, she let go of Mums hand and recited the whole piece, clear as a bell. The teachers standing nearby actually applauded.
“Brilliant! I knew you could do it!”
“But I failed before” Lucys eyes were filling again.
“Not at all! Just lookall of us here, clapping for you! It doesnt matter whether you did it now or at the assembly. Youve done it, and Im proud of you. Thats my verdict as Deputy Head, mind! Understood?”
“I think so”
Lucy would cherish that memory. Whenever Mrs Watkins became her form tutor in the later years, shed be gladknowing she could trust her to understand and support her.
Mrs Watkins truly did keep an eye out for Lucy.
“Shes a sensitive soul, very bright, but quite fragile,” shed tell Lucys mother. “Have you thought about moving her to a maths-specialist school? Her ability really stands out, and shed thrive in a group where everyone is as keen. Ours is a decent school, buthow can I put thisjust average. Most children arent that ambitious. Maybe theyll grow into it, but for now, Lucy doesnt want to stand out. Its as if shes wrapped in three duvets and tucked in even tighter on top. You see what I mean?”
Lucys mother did, but for now, the maths school out in another part of town was out of reach. Lucys stepmum was expecting another baby, Lucys gran was unwell, and Mum was working two jobs to afford a larger flather single-room place was too cramped for much longer.
“Hold on a little, Lucy. Let me get things sorted, and well see about your schooling, all right?” Mum would sigh, cuddling her daughter on the sofa in front of the telly.
“Dont worry, Mum! Ill manage”
“Hows school?”
“Its all right!” Lucy would answer breezily, hiding her true feelings.
“Its all right and thats final?” Mum would tickle her, fishing for answers. “Come on, details! Tell me everything!”
Lucy would burst with giggles, roll away from her mums grasp, then spill the truth.
No one bullied Lucy outright in class, but behind her back shed hear whispers:
“There goes Lucy, showing off again. Did you hear her in history? Well never get top marks after her answersits not fair! Couldnt she just tone it down for once?”
No one said it to her face, until one day.
“Lucy! Ive only got ten minutes left! I wont finish if you dont help,” Claire hissed, exasperated.
Mrs Watkins was distracted by a new email and missed Claires plea.
James, Lucys desk partner, nudged his exercise book closer, so Lucy could see Claires questions.
“Thanks,” Lucy murmured, jabbing a finger at the wrong answer.
Words werent needed. Shed sat next to James since Year 3they understood each other without a fuss. A couple of jot notes, a quick nod from Lucy, and James started correcting his answer.
Lucys draft page slid over to Claire, and peace reigned till the lesson ended.
But after the bell, chaos erupted.
“Youre unbelievable! She sits there like a statue! Its the end of term and Im desperate, but you? Some mate you are!” Claire shouted, banging her fist on Lucys desk.
“Youre being unfair!” Lucy kept her voice steady, though frustration bubbled inside.
Why on earth did she owe anyone anything?
Her gran always substituted every harsh word with, “Why on earth?” and scolded Lucy never to use anything stronger.
“Youre a young lady, not a docker! Behave properly!”
“But Gran, you swear sometimesIve heard you!”
“Im an old lady, Ive earned my slip-ups. Youve not! Its not ladylike at your age, Lucy. Trust me. Boys might get away with it, girls shouldnt want to wash their mouths out with soap!”
“But boys do it!”
“Well, its different, isnt it? Discrimination or not, you wouldnt want your young man to see you as one of the lads, would you?”
“Why not?”
“Because proper young men want a bit of mystery. Youd just be his mate otherwisenot the one he falls for.”
“Is that what happened to Mum and Dad?”
“In a manner of speaking but thats for them to explain. Just remember, there should always be a little mystery about youa touch of intrigue. Bad words and breezy attitudes arent it!”
Lucy spluttered with laughter. “Remembering youre a lady, Gran?”
“Even now! You must keep it in mind from time to time”
Now, Lucy wanted to let fly with the words Claire and her friends used, but something inside held her back.
“Give it a rest, Claire,” James muttered, stuffing his physics revision into his rucksack. “Its not Lucys fault! Why should she always bail you out?”
“Because thats what friends are for!” snapped Claire, banging on Lucys desk once more. “Always getting all the help herself! Even James copies her!”
“Thats not true!” Lucy exploded. “James usually works by himself! I only help if theres a mistake. Honestly! Ive helped you, havent I? Whats your problem?”
She shoved her bag onto her shoulder, nudged past Claire, and dashed out, desperate not to cry in front of everyone, whod been following the whole argument with keen interest.
Claire didnt follow, but under her breath muttered quietly enough, “I see how it is, Roberts. Just wait and seeyou could do with a bit more humility”
They didn’t speak for the rest of the day, the next, or for weeks.
Suddenly, Claire stopped talking to Lucy, and the class waited, wondering what surprise she had in store for her ex-friend.
Claire was never short on ideas. She could make anyones life a celebration, and not in a good way.
Lucy worried about what was comingbut Claire surprised her.
“Lucy, will you stop sulking? Two weeks of the silent treatment! Lets call it quits,” Claire grinned with such sincerity that Lucy hesitated.
“Im not sulking.”
“Sure youre not! Anyway, lets forget it. What are you doing for New Year? Staying home or going away?”
Claires voice was free of bitterness, and Lucy relaxed. Perhaps Claire had simply been moody. It happens.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
When Lucy found the mysterious note in her bag, she didnt think of Claire straight away.
“Lucy, I really like you! James”
The writing did look just like Jamess. She didnt suspect anything yet.
How could she know that Claire, after a week helping Miss Evans, the English teacher, carry essays to the staff room, noticed a classmates handwriting who, coincidentally, wrote like James? That, with the help of girls two forms along, she bullied and begged until she got the note.
“There you go, Lucy. If I cried, why shouldnt you?” Claire grinned, slipped the note into Lucys backpack, and zipped it shut.
No one was in the changing room by the gym. Lucy was practising her volleyball serve while Claires gang distracted her.
“Come on, Lucy! Give it some welly! Harder!”
No one batted an eyelid as Lucy fished out the note.
“Whats up? Blimey, Lucy! You kept that quiet! Girls, have a lookJames has a thing for Lucy!” Claire snatched the note and whirled around the changing room, brandishing it. “Lets plan a strategy!”
“Claire, give it back!”
“Oh, never mind. Actually, youre rightno strategy needed! James! James!”
Claire dashed through the door, straight into the boys area.
Lucy went pale.
Only her diary, and her mum, knew that she liked James.
“Is that bad, Mum?”
“Why would it be?”
“Its too soon.”
“Can love ever come too early, Lucy?”
“Is it love, though?”
“I think not quite. Its called infatuation. The first step towards loveits exciting, Lucy. Like standing on a doorstep with the door slightly open. Behind it is a whole world. Happiness, joy, pain, sometimes even hatred.”
“Why?”
“Because love is so strong, Lucy. It can bring every emotion you can imagine. It isnt easy. But we search for it, all our lives. Perhaps because were afraid of being alone. Were always seeking someone to hold our hand. To understand us. Its tough to find them. Even tougher to really trust them when we have. But standing on the threshold is wonderful too. The expectation is part of the beauty. And do you know what?”
“What?”
“Falling in love is one of lifes best things. Apart from the day I had you, of course.”
“So, you think its good?”
“With care, Lucy, yes. Now, tell me about this boy. Do I know him?”
“Yes”
Lucy treasured her secret, precious and fragile. Scared to let it slip, but deliriously happy.
Until now.
Claire, of course, noticed everything. The way Lucy quickly folded the note, her darting glance at the boys changing room, wondering when James could have possibly slipped her a secret notehed been playing volleyball too, on her team.
The boys spilled into the corridor, laughing at Claires antics as Lucy stood, white as a sheet, hunched in a corner.
“Whats going on here?”
Mrs Watkins appeared out of nowhere, and the laughter faded. Everyone knew she had a knack for showing up at precisely the wrong momentand she wasnt afraid to hand out mass detentions “for social education.”
“Mrs Watkins, weve got news!” Claire held up the note, kissed it, and waved it. “Lucy and James sitting in a tree!”
“Claire, what nonsense are you spouting?” Mrs Watkins scowled. “And what have you got there?”
“A note! James wrote to Lucy, saying he likes her!”
The giggling barely began before Mrs Watkins put her foot down.
“Enough! Silence! Lucy?”
As Mrs Watkinss eyes met hers, Lucy remembered that day in Year One, when shed been too nervous to recite her poem and Mrs Watkins had coaxed her through.
“You have nothing to be afraid of. You can do this!”
So Lucy pushed herself away from the wall, took two steps forward, and stood straight in front of her teacher, who looked at her warmlyjust like Mum.
“Claire took my note. I didnt want anyone else to see it.”
“I understand. James?” Mrs Watkins turned to the boys, and then something no one expected happened.
“Yes, I wrote it,” James announced. He pushed past his cheering mates, took the note from Claire, and held it out to Lucy.
“Its not nice to read other peoples letters, Claire!”
“Youre lying!” Claire screeched, realising her little scheme had failed.
No laughter, no teasing, no ostracising. Lucy would keep walking the school halls with her head held high.
Claire could never understand: Lucys upright pride came from fearfear of being judged, misunderstood, or never forgiven if she put a foot wrong.
But at that very moment, something changed in Lucya subtle but vital shift. Her chin lifted, her whole body taut not with fear but with something else.
No! That tingling between her shoulderssurely not wings? Ridiculous. People cant fly!
Though why, then, did she feel so light, that she could float above the old wooden corridor and leave all her worries behind?
“Claire?” Mrs Watkins frowned.
“What? I was only joking! But hes lying he is” Claire was near tears.
“Give it back!” James took the note, folded it, and slipped it into Lucys hand. “For you. Dont show my notes to anyone else, all right? Mrs Watkins, is our essay still due? Miss Evans said its for today and Im not ready!”
“Well, at least youre being honest! Yes, but I might give you a new topicsomething timely. Now off you go! Youre all late for your next lesson, not even changed yet. Quick march!”
Year 7B dashed away, ignoring Claires red face, Lucy and James beaming shyly at each other, and the tiny white note in Lucys hand.
Lucy would paste that scrap into her diary and guard it until her wedding daywhen shed finally hand the worn notebook to James.
“Here you go, husband!”
“Whats this, wife?”
“Our beginning”
“And you trust me enough to let me read what’s inside?”
“You know it all already.”
“No, not everything.”
“Whats left for me to tell you?” Lucy hugs James, the roar of guests and shouts of “Kiss!” echoing in the background.
“Remember you explained infatuation to me? The thresholdthe doorway?”
“Mmm-hmm!”
“Did you ever step through it?”
Lucys eyes will shine as she whispers, so only James can hear above the music:
“I did! And I shut the door behind me. I dont just fancy you anymore, James.”
“What do you mean?”
“I love you, thats what I mean! Understood?”
“Now I do! Should I kiss the bride, Lucy?”
“Try and stop me!”
