Educating Simon Read Online Free PDF Page A

Desperate times call for desperate measures.
    â€œSimon? Simon, please, open the door. I need to talk to you about this. About Tink.” I didn’t respond to her in any way; as far as I was concerned there was nothing to say. “Please?”
    Half a minute later I heard BM’s calm voice. “Come on, Em. He’s not going to talk with anyone right now. Wait until things have cooled down.”
    I almost shouted through the door, “Things will never cool down! I hate both of you, now and forever!” But then I realised that they had not only cooled down; they had frozen. Or, at least I had frozen. I was in a rage, but it was a cold rage.
    I finished packing essentials for a few days and shoved the bag under my bed. I grabbed my mobile, unlocked my door, went downstairs to the hall cupboard, and dug Tink’s carrying case out of the mess in there. I didn’t take it out; I didn’t want them to know what I was planning just yet. I knew where it was, and that’s all I needed for the moment. Then, as quietly as possible, I headed out into the warm air of early August. I rang Aunt Phillippa. Bless her heart, she answered.
    â€œThis is Simon,” I told her. “Um, we need to talk.”
    â€œAll right.” Her voice was friendly, if maybe a little wary. That was fine; I could work with that. She added, “What is it we need to talk about?”
    â€œYou know how Mum has married this Welsh American fellow? And you know she’s planning to make me move with them to Boston?” I waited for acknowledgement and then unveiled my plan. “I can’t go, Aunt Phillippa. All my friends”—all none of them—“my cat, my whole life—everything’s here. I have to find a way to stay in London, and I think you’re my only hope.”
    There was a second or two of heavy silence, and then, “Simon—”
    I sensed negativity and tried to head it off with a plea for sympathy. “Aunt Phillippa, they expect me to give up my cat! Mum even lied to me and said Tink would have to go through quarantine. She wouldn’t! That’s not true! The only reason Tink can’t go is because the guy’s stupid daughter is allergic!” There was too much silence. So I added, “Please tell me you’ll think about it? I can be ready any time.”
    â€œSimon, I’m so sorry. I’m allergic to cats, too. And as for having you live with me, well—my house is just too small.”
    I tried to breathe in; couldn’t really do it. I tried to breathe out, and a half-cough, half-sob escaped me. Finally I managed to say, “What am I going to do?” My voice sounded like that of a little kid who couldn’t find his way home. Or maybe a kid who couldn’t go home because being there would kill him.
    Aunt Phillippa mumbled something I didn’t really hear, and then there was more silence, and I rang off. Phone back in my pocket, I started walking. I didn’t know where I was going or why or how long I’d walk or whether I’d ever walk home again. I considered calling Graeme, but what could he do? I couldn’t even give him my cat; he lives in a flat where no pets are allowed. I turned my phone off, thinking, If Mum wonders where I am, well . . . let her wonder.
    Without really thinking about it, I headed for Hampstead Heath, following Platt’s Lane to the entry point on West Heath Road. If I’d had any grandparents still living, I’d have tried that option, but they’re all deceased. I began forming this plan where I really would kill myself, and this time I’d take Tink with me. A kind of suicide pact. Surely Tink would rather that than have to go live with a little girl who’d pull her tail and make her wear disgusting lace hats and aprons. But then it occurred to me that I was willing to live with Aunt Phillippa, unpleasant in so many ways though that would have been. So it might