Swallowing Grandma Read Online Free PDF Page B

to read while the other girls swapped bits of packed lunch. Julie Berry kept kneeling up on her seat to chat to Clare Greenhalgh behind, and Mrs Kirtlan kept turning round and shouting at her to sit down and put her belt on. Everyone was drawing love-hearts on the windows, then shrieking and rubbing the initials out. Part of me really, really wanted to join in but I just lifted my book up higher, like I was too gripped by the story to bother with anyone.’
    ‘I’ve done it myself,’ Dad said silently.
    ‘And it struck me then, how do people know what to wear? Because when I looked round, all the girls seemed to be in on some great clothing conspiracy which meant friendship bracelets, and tiny twin plaits framing your face, and turned-up jeans were de rigueur. And yet if I’d dared to appear that morning wearing any one of those items, it would have gone out of fashion the night before .’
    ‘It’s a lot easier being male,’ said Dad.
    ‘All the girls had these little vest-tops on as well, even Sally Ralphs who was the other fatty in the class and should, by rights, have been a target too. She’s got a boyfriend now, I saw them in the bus shelter before Christmas.’
    ‘You’ll get a boyfriend.’
    ‘Don’t want one. They’re too much trouble. Anyway, halfway round the zoo, when I was nearly dead from heat-exhaustion, I thought it might be an idea to strip off the jumper and tie it round my waist. I thought I could get away with it.’
    ‘You were more developed than the other girls, even at ten. They were probably jealous.’
    ‘No, I think they just thought I was a blob in bad underwear. They were whooping so loud Mrs Kirtlan had to blow her whistle.’
    ‘I’d have sorted them out.’ I imagined my dad making a fist on the tabletop and scowling.
    Above the kitchen, Poll’s bedroom door clunked shut, vanishing Dad. I opened the cupboard over the sink, drew out a box of Frosties and ate a dozen handfuls while the moonlight streamed in, bright parallelograms on the specked lino. I was thinking about Sally Ralphs’ big arms.
    Once the house was quiet and the sugar had kicked in, I tiptoed upstairs and listened at Poll’s door. Then I crept into my room, put a chair under the handle like they do in films, and pulled the rustly binbag from the back of the wardrobe.
    It was amazing to get all the clothes out again and look them over in detail, like Christmas to the power of ten. The sweater and skirt were obviously brand new because they still had their tags in and I had to snip them out with my violin nail clippers. The basque I think had been worn before, because it had a tiny black bow at the front that was coming loose. I just clipped it off and the neckline was as good as new.
    Then I set to trying all the outfits on, one after another. The clothes themselves looked fantastic. My stupid face stuck on the top spoilt the effect a bit.
    I combed my long hair over my face, like Esther in Bleak House does the first time she looks in the mirror after her terrible disfigurement. Peeping through the strands, I thought maybe I didn’t look too bad. Yes I was big, but I went in and out, I had a waist, and the flesh was pretty firm. Poll’s arms are thin, but the muscle’s all slack and hangs and swings under her biceps in a truly repulsive way. I gather there are men who find big girls attractive (Dogman, apparently).
    I felt drunk on possibility. Perhaps I had an admirer. A secret lover had spotted my potential from afar, and left me these clothes as a token. I wondered what shoes you wore with an outfit like this. Not the brown sandals I had on now, that was for sure. A mum would know such things, but I didn’t have one handy.
    I so wanted Dad. Handsome, clever, sitting on the bed; I could nearly see him. Chatting about my plans, my escape; giving crucial advice. I wanted the life that went with these clothes.
    Why couldn’t I have a normal, alive father instead of a bloody dead one?

    *

    I put the