The Imaginary Friend
For the past three days, a veritable flock of pupils had been fluttering around Alice. The girls reputation had spread throughout the school. She was now considered something of a soothsayer and amateur psychologist, and everyone was desperate to get a slice of her wisdom. Kids would loiter by the loo in hopes of catching her, slide into her seat at lunch, present her with sweets, exercise books, or other tributesnone of which, curiously, she ever accepted.
Alice, sighed her classmate Molly, dreamy-eyed, I really like Tom in Year Five B. Do you think we could ever have a future together?
I wouldnt recommend it, replied Alice, munching a digestive biscuit and slurping tea with the authority of a fortune-teller at Blackpool Pier. Tom might look nice enough, but he picks his nose and eats it. You wont go hungry with him, but is that really what you want from life?
Yuck! Thats disgusting! Well, what about Ben? Hes cleverand hes having guitar lessons, Molly pressed hopefully.
That Ben torments cats. Ties tin cans to their tails and chases them round the streets. Hes bound to be cruel. Plus, hell probably drink when hes older.
Why would you say that? gasped Molly.
When have you ever met a sober guitarist? Anyway, its too soon for all this. Live for yourself a bitboys never go out of stock. Work on your maths and stop biting your nails, or youll end up full of worms.
Poor Charlie from Year Four V, whod been shoved by a starry-eyed five-grader, shot across the bench and landed at the far end, grumbling.
I dont have any mates. Everyone calls me fat, and no one ever invites me anywhere, Charlie whinged.
Sign-ups for wrestling start Wednesday in the PE office, Alice advised. You wont lose weight, but at least theyll stop calling you names. And dont go pushing your future wife around like that.
She stood up, tray in hand, preparing to march off to the sinks.
Alice, do you think I should do my driving lessons this year or wait till next? asked Miss Green, the geography teacher, sidling up in a not-so-casual way.
Miss Green, to take lessons you need a car, but all youve got is your dads clapped-out Ford Fiesta. Spot the difference?
II suppose youre right
Alice rolled her eyes, washed her hands, and continued authoritatively, Sell the thing off, buy yourself a nice bike and some shortsby autumn, someone will probably be giving you lifts anyway. Better yet, get yourself a mortgagerates are as creamy as Devon clotted. Living with your parents at thirty-five isnt chic. Take it from someone in the know.
With a barrage of slightly stunned glances following her, Alice strode off to textiles class.
While her classmates struggled to wrangle the tailors tape and thread a needle, Alice managed to darn the trousers shed brought from home, take in a skirt, and even crochet a pair of socksto which she presented to Mrs Barker, the textiles teacher, with the suggestion that pregnant women ought to keep their feet warm. Mrs Barker promptly nipped out on a quick errandreturning later waving a Boots receipt and looking a touch nervous. The next day, everyone was rewarded with an absolutely delicious chocolate cake, courtesy of a very grateful teacher.
At home, Alices unusual streak continued. She scolded her mum for buying dodgy supermarket mince, took over and hand-rolled a batch of meat pies, and, rather than watching YouTube, sat down in the evening to read The Three Musketeers, occasionally murmuring to someone no one else could see. Her dad peered at her over the top of his laptop, only for Alice to scold him for slouching. Honestly, go and beat the doormat like a proper Englishman instead of lurking on those grim websites, she added.
Rumours ran rampant through the school, teachers grew alarmed, and eventually a school-wide intervention was calleda meeting that had, if nothing else, the effect of making everyones tea go cold.
Alice, sweetheart, is anyone treating you badly at school? inquired Dr. Kettleworth, resplendent with trendy beard and tortoiseshell rims.
Im only harmed by the fact that the school was given thousands in funding, but all we got in the gym was one knackered vaulting horse and two metres of rope, Alice replied, causing the headteacher to edge rapidly toward an open window.
Dont you have any friends?
Friendships a slippery concept, intoned Alice, twirling her plaits with the air of one whos seen too much. One day youre playing tig at break, the next your so-called best mates doing your washing up while you apply for tax relief.
Sorrywhat? Tax relief? Dishes? Who tells you all this?
My friend, Alice said serenely.
Thats itthe root of all the trouble! Can you invite your friend here?
Shes already here, responded Alice matter-of-factly, to the collective shivers of those present.
Wecant see her. Whats her name?
Margaret Florence.
And how old is she?
Seventy.
And what does she say to you?
She says you should always brush your teeth from the gums down, the dog outside my house isnt mean, just scared and hungry, and you mustnt forget your relatives. Oh, and she said your property tax has been calculated wrong for the past five years. You should take it up with the Land Registry. They did it by the old rate, but it should be by market value.
The school psychologist quickly scribbled all this down, double-underlining the last bit.
Finally, the parentswhod been at workwere summoned over the PA system.
Hang on! hollered Alices dad, clearly agitated. But thatthat was my mums name! She died ten years ago.
A hush fell. Alice pouted, Exactly, ten years! And nobody ever visits her anymore; the grass is overgrown, the railings falling down.
Well, I meanIve been meaning to, justyou knowbusy came Dads muffled reply.
The session ended.
The next day, the whole family took a trip to the cemetery. Alice had never met her granonly heard the odd tale from her dad. They struggled a bit to find the grave, what with the place now a marble meadow where pines used to grow. Alice placed a bunch of yellow tulips in a plastic bottle, Dad fixed the railings, and Mum pulled up the weeds.
Dad, Grandma says youre a good bloke at heart, just buried in your work and online rubbishso much so, you dont even have time for me.
Dad reddened and managed a sheepish nod.
Tell her were going to do better, he said, patting Alice and the faded photo on the gravestone.
She says shes at peace now and wont pop in anymorebut Ill miss her. She was lovely: funny, wise, and kind.
Youre right. She could see straight through people. Has she left you any more pearls of wisdom?
Two, actually. One: your cucumber diet is nonsense. If you want to lose weightgo to the gym. Two: opening a foreign currency account was daft. Always do your sums first. And about that dodgy concrete you bought for the garden shed foundationAlice paused, letting the sunlight catch in her hair, her thumb tracing the carved letters on the headstone. Dad and Mum looked at her expectantly, somewhere between pride and bewilderment.
Well? Dad prompted. Anything else?
Alice grinned, her old spark returning. She says we should always boil the kettle with as much water as we really need, not more. Apparently shes still keeping an eye on the billseven from the hereafter.
For a moment, there was just birdsong and the faint, sweet scent of grass. Then Dad let out a shaky laugh. Mum wiped her eyes.
They walked home hand in hand, the spring wind tugging at their coats, somehow lighter than before. Later that evening, Alice made teajust enough for three cupswhile her parents sat together, dusty photo albums spread between them, sharing stories shed never heard. The house felt a little less crowded, but warmer.
From then on, Alice found herself less visited by questions at school, less hounded in the corridors. Sometimes, though, people still came to her quietly, for advice or a hug or simply to sit near her and share a cookie at lunch.
And as the weeks turned, and tulips faded on the grave, Alice sometimes caught herself pausing in the kitchen or at her desk, half expecting a voice to whisper in her ear, practical and comforting and just a little bit bossy.
But all that remained was her own quiet confidenceand a sense, deep down, that she was never truly alone.
