Louise sits up, shocked. A word like that would never be allowed to cross her lips. Mary decides to hurl another bad word at her. “Why don’t you f**k off back to England with yourself? We don’t need any English lah-dee-dahs here.”
I look at Louise, her eyes swelling wet with offence and hurt, and I am glad. She did nothing to help me: she only told about Mary and the fairies because she didn’t want to get up, not because she cared about me. Now it is her turn to suffer and I rejoice.
It doesn’t last. Next day, I’m in the wringer again. Louise cries too easily and is too likely to tell. Louise’s mother would not stand for anybody giving her girl a bad time. She would bring it into the open, tackle Mary and Sally’s parents, get them punished. I am safe. I take what they dole out and wrap i
