The Angel of Nitshill Road by Anne Fine

Author:Anne Fine
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Egmont
Published: 2011-10-26T04:00:00+00:00

‘I don’t want a sweetie.’

He turned away. But Barry Hunter was too quick for him. Catching Mark by the arm, he forced him round and squeezed his hand so tightly that Mark yelped.

Then he gave Mark’s wrist a twist-burn.

‘See!’ he crowed. ‘I told you I’d give you a sweetie! A big barley sugar!’

The tears rolled down behind Mark’s spectacles. He stumbled off blindly, just as Mr Fairway came back through the door.

‘Stop clattering about, Mark!’ said Mr Fairway. ‘Sit down.’

All afternoon Barry Hunter made life difficult for poor old Mark. He tripped him up when he was called to Mr Fairway’s desk. While Mark was up there, Barry took Mark’s pencil-box and hid it behind the books in the corner. He dropped Mark’s woolly on the floor and trod a huge footprint on it. And when Mr Fairway went out to fetch some more paper, Barry stood on his chair and announced that Mark gave walking-funny lessons every Saturday morning down at Marigold’s smelly old church.

Marigold just sat there pretending she wasn’t listening. But Mark took the chance of Mr Fairway being out of the room to crash about, trying to find his pencil-box.

‘Sit down!’ Mr Fairway said when he came back. ‘I’m sick of telling you, Mark! Stay at your desk!’

‘But –’

‘No buts. Just sit there, please, and stop disturbing everyone.’

Celeste rose to her feet.

‘I think you ought to know –’ she began to explain.

But Mr Fairway had had enough.

‘Sit down, Celeste,’ he said. ‘When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.’

Celeste sat down. All afternoon she never spoke a word. Mr Fairway smiled at her several times, trying to cajole her into answering questions he knew perfectly well she could get right. Each time she coldly turned her face away and gazed pointedly out of the window. Every few minutes she glanced at her watch, and drummed her fingers lightly on the desk top.

Mr Fairway was as glad as the rest of them when the last bell rang.

Out in the corridor, Barry Hunter pushed his way over to Celeste. You could tell from the look on his face that he was going to pay her out for trying to tell on him.

Calmly, Celeste waited till he was two feet away, then opened her mouth and screamed. Everyone stopped shoving towards the two cloakrooms and turned to stare. No one had ever heard anything like it. You’d think a police car had switched on its siren inside a biscuit tin. The noise was prodigious.

Barry Hunter backed off, fast.

As promptly as she’d turned the scream on, Celeste turned it off again.

‘You’ll catch it if Mrs Brown heard that,’ Barry Hunter jeered.

‘You’ll catch it, too,’ warned Celeste. ‘I’ll tell her all the things you did to Mark.’

Just as she said his name, Mark stumbled out of the classroom, last as usual, and tripped over one of his own feet.

Barry Hunter snorted with amusement.

‘I don’t know why you keep sticking up for him,’ he said scornfully to Celeste. ‘He’s weird.’

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