‘I was keeping an eye on this,’ she says, turning the phone to show us a fundraising totaliser. ‘I made it after the meeting at the school.’
Izz cautiously takes the phone from Fern. She studies the screen for a moment. ‘Eighty?’ she says under her breath, and I crane my neck to look too.
‘Eighty?’ I repeat, looking at all those noughts. ‘Eighty thousand pounds? In donations?’
Fern only nods. She looks like she’s going to pass out on the floor.
‘Bloody hell!’ Izz blurts, and I catch Patrick smirking at – by Izz’s standards – the sweary outburst. ‘You’ve raised eighty thousand pounds for the hall repairs? By posting some videos?’
‘Shell made a website too,’ Fern says, like the success isn’t down to her at all. ‘With the hall’s history written up and some of the old pictures from the foyer wall that I photographed. And Dad had some photos in an album at home too. The site’s had a few hits.’
‘Fern,’ says Izz, looking at the girl in amazement. ‘You clever, clever thing. You didn’t delete the video, did you? The one about me?’ she asks suddenly.
Fern shakes her head. ‘I didn’t know what to do, not when it had already been seen by so many people, and they were really reacting to it.’
Izz nods, thinking.
‘It’s because they talk about everything,’ I blurt. ‘Nothing’s secret with these kids. It’s how they’ve been brought up. They’re not ashamed of hurting. They don’t keep it in, choking down pain for years, suffering alone. They just… talk about stuff out loud and in public. Right?’ I offer, hoping Fern has the gumption to grasp the end of the olive branch I’ve thrown and run with it. I catch Patrick narrowing his eyes the tiniest fraction at this.
I’ve no idea what he’s thinking. We’ve been too busy since last night’s visit to Dunham Gravey to talk properly and frankly, that’s working for me. The longer I can keep this up, the better.
‘I s’pose,’ she says softly.
‘It’s true,’ Sully jumps in. ‘Look at Grandad. He’s what, nearly seventy, and he’s eaten up with anger about how Gran left him and that was, like, fifty years ago? It’s toxic, keeping things in.’
‘That’s right!’ I jump in. ‘These kids, they don’t like the toxic stuff. They want it out. They’re always banging on about it,this is toxic, that’s toxic…’ I don’t know why I’m working so hard to defend Fern, especially when she’s been intrusive and naive, though I know for certain her meddling came from a good place.
My mind flits between Izz and Fern and on to Lucy and the way they’re all stuck with their own habits. Izz and Lucy never talking about anything hasn’t actually done either of them any good. And Fern doesn’t know how to keep things to herself.
‘Wecanstill stop the video if you want to,’ Fern says.
‘No,’ Izz says, shaking but resolute. ‘How can you delete it when it’s working? It’s making money for the hall.’
‘I’m sorry I messed up,’ Fern says in her smallest voice. ‘I feel bad about sharing the video of you and Alexi without showing you first to check it was OK. I’ll just have to sit with these feelings, and I promise I won’t do it again. I’ve learned from it and I’ll do better in the future. But… I thought you should know about this.’
She flicks to the video of the dancing couple that caused all the drama in the first place. ‘You should see this,’ she says. ‘The top comment. It appeared this morning.’
‘“We’ve got to get these two reunited”’, reads Izz, struggling to make out the tiny words.
I join in by her side. ‘Wow! You’ve really caught these people’s imaginations,’ I say. ‘Hashtag reunite the Wheaton sweethearts?’
Izz pulls a pained face.
‘No, not those ones. Above that.’ Fern scrolls up until we see it: a comment ‘liked’ by precisely 4,343 people and exciting enough to garner many hundreds of replies in turn. Izz clamps her hand over her mouth as we read the words.
@carlie7bts2006Alexi Thorne is my grandad
Chapter Seventeen
Tuesday 19 December: The New Venue
The school gymnasium smells of fresh floor polish. Patrick’s work, of course. He came in early this morning to do it.
He’s also hefted in new rolls of white cloth that we’re using to cover the tables but there’s enough here to turn absolutely every surface in the school hall into a wintry wonderland. They’re all piled up in fat rolls on the low stage. I see he’s brought in the big folding screens we use to make his Santa grotto too. Thankfully, they weren’t set out under the hall roof when it collapsed but in Patrick’s school storage room. They’re still decorated from last year with theirThis Way for Laplandsigns and my cut-out penguins.
The heating’s on full blast so the first thing we’ll need to do is turn the radiators down or our icing will melt and we’ll have a natural disaster scene rendered in collapsed slabs of biscuit instead of a picturesque gingerbread miniature village.
‘You’ve been avoiding me,’ the voice says behind me and my shoulders jump.
