Rare Sight

Chapter Nine

It was weird to be back in school. Joe had a heavy-headed feeling, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks. In fact, he’d slept deeply the night before but he’d been troubled by a recurring dream, in which Gideon was carrying him to a cold, dark place and leaving him there.

“Wait!” shouted Joe. “Come back! Don’t leave me here!”

And each time, Gideon had turned to him with blank eyes and his mouth opening wider than jawbones could physically allow and said, in Georgia’s voice,

“You’ve done a terrible thing, young nephew, a terrible thing.”

Then Gideon would vanish like a ghost, leaving Joe spinning in the relentless grip of some invisible phantom.

He glanced at Yousef, next to him. He didn’t look as if he was feeling much better – he had dark circles under his eyes and he kept yawning.

At the end of the history lesson – just a single, for once – Mr Forester called them over to his desk at the front. He waited until the last of the lingerers had left the room, then he looked at Yousef and Joe enquiringly.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” asked Yousef.

“Come on,” said Mr Forester. “You two are normally among the more alert members of the class. I can rely on you to keep your heads in a more or less upright position. But today…” he nodded at Joe, “you could barely keep your head off the desk, and you,” he nodded at Yousef, “didn’t stop yawning. Now, I don’t kid myself that I’m going to be marked down forever as the most scintillating of history teachers, but…”

“…You’re great at rugby, though, Mr F.,” interrupted Yousef enthusiastically, and Joe nudged him.

“Well… thank you for that vote of approval, Yousef,” said Mr Forester. “I’m sorry you feel I don’t make the grade as a history teacher, but at least you enjoy my rugby lessons.”

Yousef went red. “I mean… I meant…”

“Come on, then, boys,” said Mr Forester. “What’s troubling you both? Why the long faces and comatose state?”

“You wouldn’t believe us, Sir,” mumbled Yousef, and Joe nudged him again. Mr Forester looked from one to the other.

“Oh, I’ve heard some stories in my time. Try me – you never know, I might surprise you.”

There was a long pause, during which Joe imagined his teacher’s face if he attempted to tell him the truth. In the end, he murmured, “My aunt died. And Yousef’s been helping me deal with it.” It wasn’t really a lie, but he still couldn’t meet his eye.

“Oh, Joe, I am sorry. You should have told me. Do the office staff know?” He started rummaging through the papers on his desk. “You know there’s a bereavement counselling service available? I believe Miss Hameed, the English teacher, arranges it. I can speak to her for you.”

“Oh… thanks, Mr Forester, but I’m sure I’ll be all right.” He wished the teacher would stop being so sympathetic, so he didn’t have to feel so guilty. “Well… Yousef and me’d better be off, then, or we’ll be late for maths.”

“Oh, yes, better not keep Mrs Boardwell waiting.” He stood up and walked them to the door, where he put a hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Well, you know where I am. If you need to talk, you can come and see me any time.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He and Yousef pelted out of the classroom. The corridors were empty, a sure sign they were horribly late. When they reached the classroom, Yousef flung open the door, panting loudly and they rushed in.