Imaginary Friend

My Imaginary Friend

For the third day running, a crowd of pupils buzzed around Emily. The girl had gained something of a reputation throughout the school as a prophet and a bit of a psychologist. Everyone was eager for a slice of her wisdom. They would catch her outside the toilets, join her at the lunch table, and bring her chocolate, completed homework, and all sorts of other giftsthough for some reason, she always turned them down.

I really like Jamie from Year 5B. Do you think well end up together? asked her classmate, Lucy, with a faraway look in her eyes.

I wouldnt recommend it, replied Emily, munching on a scone and slurping her tea. Jamie might seem all right, but he picks his nose and actually eats it when no ones looking. Youll never have to worry about food, I suppose, but thats about the only upside. Hell spend his whole life picking away at things.

Ugh, gross! What about Harry, then? Hes top of the class and is learning the guitar, Lucy responded, her face lighting up with hope.

That Harry messes about with cats, said Emily. He ties empty cans to their tails and chases them round the estate. Hes going to be mean, that one, and hell probably end up a drunk too.

How do you know that?

Well, have you ever seen a sober guitarist? Anyway, youre too young to worry about all thisboys arent going anywhere. Youd be better off improving your maths and stopping biting your nails or youll get worms.

I dont have any friends, came a grumble from Callum in Year 4C, who shoved the lovestruck Lucy so hard she slid to the other end of the bench.

Theyre starting wrestling lessons on Wednesday, Emily calmly advised. You wont lose weight, but people will stop calling you names. Oh, and dont throw your future wife around like that.

Emily stood up and carried her tray over to the washing-up area.

Emily, do you think I should start driving lessons this year, or wait until next? asked Mrs. Graham, the geography teacher, feigning casualness by the sinks.

Mrs. Graham, you need a car to learn to drive, and youve only got your dads old Ford Escort. See the difference?

I think so

Emily rolled her eyes and, having washed her hands, added, Sell the thing, and with the money you make, get a bicycle and some shorts. In two months, someone else will be driving you to work anyway. Actually, youd be better off getting a mortgage. Rates are soft as butter right now, and living with your parents at thirty-five isnt exactly ideal. Take it from someone who knows.

With every eye following her in bewilderment, Emily made her way back to class for design and technology.

While her classmates faffed with tailors tape and practiced threading needles, Emily mended a pair of trousers shed brought from home, took in a skirt, and crocheted a pair of socks, handing them to the DT teacher with the comment that pregnant women really ought to keep their feet warm. The teacher made a swift exit to Boots for a test, and the class all got to share a delicious chocolate cake the next day as thanks to Emily.

At home, Emily was still acting oddly. She berated her mother for using supermarket mince and made homemade dumplings instead. In the evening, instead of watching YouTube, she picked up *The Three Musketeers* and would occasionally whisper to someone only she could see. Her dad kept glancing at her over his laptop, and Emily remarked on his slouching and suggested he dust the rug instead of browsing those dodgy websites.

The school was buzzing with rumours; teachers started panicking and demanded a meeting with the school counsellor. A session was set up right in the middle of the school day, with every teacher, even the headmaster, in attendance.

Emily, darling, have you been bullied at school? began the therapist, a man with a trendy beard and thick glasses.

I do take offence, Emily replied, deadpan, that the millions the council handed you only bought us a second-hand gym horse and two yards of rope for the PE hall.

Everyone turned to the headmaster, who suddenly decided to disappear through the office window.

Dont you have any friends? the therapist pressed on.

Friendship is an abstract concept, Emily sighed, twisting her plaits. Today you play tag at break, tomorrow your best mate is washing your dishes while you sort out your tax rebates.

What tax rebates? What dishes? Who told you all this?

My friend, Emily replied simply.

Theres the root of it all! Could you invite her in?

Shes here already, Emily said calmly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

But we cant see her. Whats her name?

Margaret.

How old is she?

Seventy.

What else does she say to you?

She says you should brush your teeth from the gums down, that the dog in our block isn’t mean, just scared and hungry, and that you shouldnt forget your relatives. Alsoshe says you’ve been paying the wrong property tax for the past five years. You should go to the council and have them check it at market rate, not the old rate.

The psychologist scribbled everything down, double underlining the last bit.

A call was made over the tannoy to Emilys parents at work.

Wait a minute! Emilys dad shouted, breathless on the end of the line, That was my mums name! She died ten years ago!

The staffroom fell silent, punctuated by a few muttered prayers.

Well, there we are, its been ten years and no ones visited her grave. The grass is overgrown, the railings are falling down, Emily said, sounding rather hurt.

I know, I know I was meaning to, her dad mumbled, embarrassed.

Session over.

The next day, the whole family went to the churchyard. Emily had never met her grandmother, just heard scraps from her dads stories. It took some searching in the now-overgrown field of gravestones that had once been a pine wood.

Emily lay a bunch of yellow daffodils into a cut-down plastic bottle, while her dad mended the railing and her mum did a quick weeding.

Dad, Granny says youre a good man, you just get far too bogged down in work and the internet. Thats why you havent got time for anythingor for me.

Blushing, her dad nodded in understanding.

Say youll try to do better, he said, ruffling her hair and gently touching the faded photo on the stone.

Now shes at rest and wont visit me again, but Ill really miss her. She was so kind, funny, and very clever.

Thats just how she wasshe could see right through people. Has she said anything else?

Yes. She says your silly cucumber diet is a total waste of time. If you want to lose weight, go to the gym. And you shouldnt have opened that foreign currency account before doing the mathsit was daft. Oh, and about that cheap concrete you ordered for the conservatory foundationsHer dad let out a helpless, pyjama-button-popping laugh. That sounds exactly like her, he said, voice cracking a little. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, as a soft breeze feathered through the gravestones and lifted Emilys plaits.

Emily smiled, sensing that the air felt lighter, as though a window had finally been opened somewhere above. The three of them stood there for a moment, hands linked, sunlight glinting off newly-scrubbed stone, and it feltfor the first time in a long whileas if someone kind and wise was smiling down on them.

On the walk home, Emily glanced over her shoulder at the path winding through the lichen-covered graves. For an instant, she thought she saw a silver-haired lady in a flowery dress waving by the gate. But when she blinked, it was only the shadow of a birch tree in the late-afternoon sun.

Emily reached for her mum and dad, squeezing their hands in hers. Lets stop for ice cream, she said. Granny says not everything has to be healthy. Sometimes, its all right to be happy.

Her parents laughed, hearts lighter, and as they walked on together, Emily felt certain that wisdom didnt always need to come from the other side. Sometimes, it could start as a whisper in your earand slowly, become a voice of your own.