Imaginary Friend
For the third day in a row, a crowd of pupils had gathered around Emily. Word had spread through the whole school that Emily had a sixth sense and could read people like a book. Everyone wanted a piece of her advice. Theyd corner her by the lockers, squeeze onto her table in the canteen, and bring her little offerings chocolate bars, neat exercise books, or other tokens, all of which she curiously declined.
“I like Tommy from Year 6 Blue. Do you think well start a family one day?” my classmate Sophie asked, her eyes dreamy.
“I wouldnt recommend it,” Emily replied, sipping her tea and munching a currant bun. “Tommy seems decent, but Ive seen him picking his nose and eating it. Hell never go hungry, mind, but still. Thats about all hes got going for him. Youll spend your life finding bogeys around the house.”
“Ew, thats disgusting! Well, what about Harry? He gets top marks and is learning guitar,” Sophie pressed, grinning hopefully.
“Harrys always tormenting the neighbours cats. Ties empty baked bean tins to their tails and chases them around the garden. Hell turn cruel, mark my words, and pick up drinking sooner or later.”
“Why do you say that?”
“When was the last time you saw a sober guitarist? Anyway, youve no business worrying about these sorts yet lads arent going anywhere. Best focus on your fractions and stop biting your nails, or youll end up riddled with worms.”
Across the table, James from Year 5 Green pushed Sophie away so hard she slid across the bench.
“Ive got no friends. Everyone calls me fat and never invites me anywhere,” he muttered.
“Sign-ups for judo start Wednesday by the PE office,” Emily said firmly. “You might not lose loads of weight, but people wont mess with you anymore. And dont go shoving your future wife across benches.”
Emily stood up and carried her tray off to the kitchen hatch.
“Emily, love, do you think its better for me to start driving lessons this year or wait until next?” Mrs. Bennett, our geography teacher, asked casually by the sink.
“Well, Mrs. Bennett, you need a car to actually drive youve still only got your dads clapped-out Astra. You see the difference, right?”
“I… I think so…” she stammered.
With a roll of her eyes, Emily dried her hands and continued, “Sell that old wreck, use the money for a solid bicycle and a pair of shorts in two months, someone will be giving you a lift anyway. Actually, youd be better off getting a mortgage rates are decent right now, and its really not the done thing to be living with your parents at thirty-five. Trust me, I know these things.”
Mrs. Bennett just gawked as Emily strolled calmly back to class for textiles.
While the other girls fumbled with the tailors tape and practised threading a needle, Emily fixed a tear in her dads trousers, took in a skirt, and crocheted a pair of socks as a present for the textiles teacher. “You want to keep your feet warm when youre expecting,” she said knowingly. The teacher immediately dashed to the chemist for a pregnancy test, and the next day we were all treated to the most delicious chocolate cake in gratitude.
At home, Emily had been acting different too. She scolded her mum for buying pre-packaged mince and made her own homemade dumplings. Instead of wasting time on YouTube in the evening, she sat reading “The Three Musketeers,” whispering to someone now and then. Dad would peer over his laptop at her, and Emily would tell him off for slouching, saying he should be out beating the rug rather than trawling dodgy sites online.
Rumours were soon swirling around the school. Teachers worried and insisted on a visit to the school counsellor. A special session was called the entire staff committee packed into the meeting room, the headteacher included.
“Emily, sweetheart, are you being bullied at school?” the bearded, bespectacled counsellor began.
“What bothers me,” Emily answered dryly, twirling her plaits, “is how millions were spent on this place and all we got for the gym was a battered vaulting horse and a single skipping rope.”
Everyone turned to the headteacher, who swiftly and mysteriously disappeared out the fire escape.
“Do you have any friends here?”
“Friendships an abstract idea,” Emily replied, bored, “Today youre playing tag at break, tomorrow shes washing up in your house while youre sorting your tax rebate.”
“Wait, what tax rebates? Washing up? Who tells you these things?”
“My friend.”
“Theres the problem! Can you invite her here?”
“Shes right here,” Emily said calmly, shocking all the adults.
“But we cant see her. Whats her name?”
“Edith May.”
“I say! And how old is she?”
“Seventy.”
“What does she tell you?”
“She says you should brush from the gum down, that the dog in our street isnt vicious, just scared and hungry, and you mustnt forget your relatives. Also, your property tax has been wrongly calculated for the last five years. You should go to the Land Registry and get it reassessed at market value, instead of what the council used.”
The counsellor scribbled every word, underlining the property tax note twice.
A message went out to my parents, busy at work.
“Wait a minute” my dad burst out, voice crackling down the line, “That was my mums name! She died ten years ago!”
A stunned hush filled the room, some teachers whispering prayers.
“Exactly! Ten years gone, and nobody visits anymore. The grass has overgrown, and the headstones falling down,” Emily said, indignant.
“Ah, well… I always meant to, its just never the right time…” Dad mumbled.
The session ended right there.
Next day, we all went to the cemetery. Emily had never met her grandmother, only heard scraps of stories from dad. It took a while to find the grave the marble field had grown where a pine wood once stood.
Emily brought a bunch of yellow daffodils in a cut-down plastic bottle. Dad straightened the railing, Mum weeded the patch.
“Dad, Grandma says youre a good man, but youre buried in work and the internet, and no time left for anything else even for me.”
Dad reddened and nodded, ashamed.
“She says were going to make things right,” he said softly, patting Emily and brushing a hand across the faded photo on the headstone.
“Shes at peace now, and she wont come to me anymore, though Ill miss her a lot she was very kind, funny, and wise.”
“She really was. Saw through people, she did. Does she say anything else?”
“Yeah. She says your cucumber diet is rubbish. If you want to slim down, join the gym. And that foreign bank account was a waste you shouldve thought it through properly. Oh, and dont even get me started about the cheap cement you ordered for the garden shed foundation…”
