Читать книгу Feather Boy онлайн | страница 11

“What?” says Albert.

“She wants you to tell the children your secrets,” shouts Matron.

“No I won’t indeed. They’d be shocked.”

“Not secrets,” says Catherine. “Wisdoms. Things you’ve learnt over the years.”

“Not to be nosey,” says Weasel’s Elder. “That’s what. Mind your own business. That’s what. Little piggies have big ears. That’s what.”

“Well, that’s a start,” says Catherine.

“That’s what,” says Weasel emphatically.

“Wesley…” says Liz Finch.

“I’m just repeating the wisdom,” says Weasel. “Learning from Dulcie here. That right, Dulcie?”

“Cheeky little blighter,” says Dulcie.

“Anything you’d share with me,” I say to Edith Sorrel, “if I was going to be beheaded tomorrow?”

“No.”

I put my finger to my throat and make the sound of ripping flesh. “That’s me gone then.”

“What?” For the first time she seems caught off-guard.

“Dead,” I repeat. “I’m dead. Just twelve years old and dead. D.E.A.D. Dead. Finished. Kaput. Head on the carpet.”

“Stop it,” says Edith Sorrel. “Stop it at once.”

“Can’t stop it. Sorry, without The Wisdom, I’m a goner. Didn’t Catherine say? Just one or two old forest truths and I’ll be OK. You can save me. You do want to save me, don’t you?”

She gives me that stare. “Of course. I’d give my life to save you. You know that.”

“Oh. Right. Great. Well, you’ve got to tell me something important then.”

“What?”

“I don’t know! You’re supposed to be telling me. Whatever the most important thing in your life is. Was. Whatever.”

“Top Floor Flat. Chance House, twenty-six St Albans.”

“What?”

“You can go there. Walk. It’s not far.”

Geography has never exactly been my strong point but I’d say St Albans has to be two and a half hours’ drive from here. So maybe Niker’s right about the vegetable shop after all.

“Sure,” I say. “I’ll go right after school.”

“You’re such a good boy,” she says and then she reaches up towards my head and gives me this little dry, tender tap. “Beautiful,” she murmurs, hand in my hair, “beautiful.”

I pull away. “It’s horrid,” I say, “my hair.” And I tell her how they used to call me “Chickie”.