Imaginary Friend

Imaginary Friend

For the last three days, Emily had become the centre of attention at school. Rumours had spread like wildfireshe could see the future and had the wisdom of a seasoned counsellor. Eager to benefit from her insight, students crowded around her: lurking by the loos, squeezing onto lunch benches, and lavishing her with offeringsbiscuits, chocolate bars, their homeworkto which she only ever shook her head.

I really like Jamie from Year 5B. Do you think well end up together? sighed her classmate, Clara, her eyes hopeful.

I wouldnt bet on it, Emily replied, slurping her tea and munching on a custard cream. Jamie looks sweet enough, but you should see what he does when he thinks no ones watchingpicks his nose and eats it! Youll never go hungry, but youd be scraping by, thats for sure.

Disgusting! Clara cried, wrinkling her nose. Well… What about William? He gets top marks and has started lessons on the guitar, she added, her cheeks tinged pink.

Williams horrid to cats. Ties empty baked bean tins to their tails and chases them round the estate. Hell be cruel, and hell probably end up drinking, too.

How do you know?

Have you ever met a teetotal guitarist? Honestly, theres plenty of time, dont let lads fill your head. Work on your maths and stop biting your nails, or youll end up with threadworms.

Near the end of the table sat Oliver from Year 4, scowling. I dont have any friends. They all call me fat and never invite me anywhere, he muttered, shoving Clara aside so she slid down the bench.

Sign-ups for judo are on Wednesday, Emily suggested, matter-of-factly. Ask Mr Watson, the PE teacher. You might not slim down straight away, but no one will dare tease you again. And youdont shove your future wife like that.

Emily stood and took her tray to the kitchen. At the sink, she was joined by Miss Hawkins, the Geography teacher, who tried to look casual as she washed her mug. Emily, do you think I ought to take driving lessons this year or wait till next?

To drive legally, Miss, you need a car, not just your dads banged-up Astra. See the difference?

I suppose so

Rolling her eyes, Emily dried her hands and continued, Sell the heap. Use the cash for a decent bicycle and some new shortsin two months, youll get lifts to school anyway. Or better: look into a mortgage, rates are brilliant right now. Its not right to live with your parents at thirty-five. Trust me on this.

Dumbstruck, Miss Hawkins just nodded as Emily strode off to her textiles lesson.

While her classmates struggled with sewing needles and measuring tapes, Emily expertly mended her own trousers, took in a skirt, and crocheted a pair of socks, which she presented to the Home Ec teacher, saying, Pregnant women need warm feet, Miss. Moments later, the teacher asked to be excused, dashing off to the pharmacy for a pregnancy test. The next afternoon, everyone enjoyed a rich chocolate cake brought in as her thank you to Emily.

At home, life looked different too. Emily scolded her mum for buying cheap mince, then expertly filled and shaped fresh dumplings herself. In the evening, instead of YouTube videos, she curled up with The Three Musketeers and held hushed, one-sided conversations. Her dad eyed her over the laptop, and Emily reminded him to sit up straight. Youd be better off giving the rug a good whack or staying off those grotty websites, she advised.

Murmurs about Emily escalated; teachers grew anxious and called for a meeting with the school counsellor. One morning, the entire staffheadteacher includedassembled in the conference room.

Emily, sweetheart, is someone at school being unkind to you? asked the bespectacled psychologist, smoothing his trendy beard.

Im just bothered that the school got a government grant of a couple of million pounds, yet our new gym kit is a battered pommel horse and a single skipping rope, she replied airily.

Everyone swivelled to stare at the headteacher, who promptly excused himself via the office window.

Do you have any friends? the psychologist pressed.

Friendships an abstract concept, Emily answered, toying with her pigtails. Today youre playing tag at playtime, tomorrow your so-called friend is doing your washing up while youre sorting out your tax rebate.

Wait, what tax rebate? What washing up? Who told you all this?

My friend did.

There we gothe root of the problem. Would you mind inviting her in?

Shes right here, Emily replied serenely, sending a ripple of alarm through the room.

Well, we cant see her. Whats her name?

Margaret Pauline.

How How old is she?

Seventy.

What does she say to you?

She says to brush from the gums upward, the big dog in our street isnt savagehes frightened and hungry, and you shouldnt forget your family. Oh, and that your council tax has been wrongly calculated for five years now. You need to visit the council to have it recalculated using the market rate, not the outdated estimate.

The psychologist made frantic notes, double-underlining that last point.

A swift call was put through to the parents, both still at work when the news broke.

Waithang on! yelled Emilys dad down the line, winded with shock. Thats my mums name! She passed away a decade ago!

A wave of gasps swept the conference room, prayers whispered at the back.

Exactly, Emily said softly, ten years gone and nobody visits. The graves choked with weeds, the fence is a mess.

I I meant to, but, well, theres never been time her father stammered, voice reduced to a mumble.

The session ended.

The following day, the whole family set off to the cemetery. Emily had never seen her grandmother in life, only heard faint stories from her dad. The grave wasnt easy to findthe marble rows had overtaken the forest that once stood there.

Emily placed a bunch of yellow tulips in a cut-down plastic bottle. Her dad straightened the fencing; her mum cleared away the long grass.

Dad, Grandma says youre a good man, just completely lost in work and on the internetand thats why you never have time. Not even for me.

Her fathers face flushed red. Silently, he nodded.

Tell her well be better, he whispered, softly stroking Emilys hair, and then the faded photo on the headstone.

Shes at peace now and wont visit me anymore, though Ill miss her fiercely. She was so lovely, so funny and clever.

She was, her dad agreed, voice thick with emotion. She could see through anyone. Did she say anything else?

Yes. She says your cucumber diet is rubbish, and if you want to slim down, join the gym. And you never shouldve opened that foreign currency accountalways plan these things properly. And about that cheap concrete you ordered for the shed foundationHer dad laughed, rubbing his eyes with his sleeve. That sounds exactly like her.

Emily smiled, the morning sun glinting off her glasses. She ran her fingers over the engraving, tracing the letters.

They stood a little longer, the cool air fragrant with cut grass and the gold of new spring. Birds chattered in the alders overhead, and Emily sensed, just for a moment, the warmth of a hand on her shouldera weightless, loving squeeze.

On the way home, her mum suggested ice cream, even though it was not quite summer. Emily chose chocolate, and her dad went for a double scoop, grinning like a child.

No one at school crowded Emily the next dayword had got around that her special wisdom was gone, somehow flown. The teachers smiled at her differently, and Clara invited her for lunch, just as friends do.

Sometimes, in quiet moments, as the world whirled on, Emily thought she heard a distant laugh, or caught the scent of violets on the breeze. She didnt talk about it anymore. Some secrets are gifts, meant to be cherished, then set gently free.

And as days went by, she learned something her grandmother never had to say out loud: that sometimes, bringing a little bit of magic into the world is enoughand letting it go is how you make room for your own.