Page 110 of From Now On

After school, Shannon, Evie’s mum, collects Duke again because Charlie still isn’t back from rescuing Nina.

‘He has rung to say he’s on his way though,’ Mrs Marshall says.

‘Will they be back in time for the concert?’ Duke asks but Mrs Marshall doesn’t know.

At Evie’s, they dump their bags and coats in the porch, kicking off their shoes, before racing upstairs.

‘Do you want to practise your act?’ Evie says.

Duke tries, but the handkerchiefs he attempts to pull out of his sleeve get stuck and he still can’t quite master opening the secret compartment in his top hat without it being obvious.

‘Perhaps you should make it a comedy act?’ Evie suggests but Duke knows that weird isn’t the same as being funny. Everyone will be laughing at him tonight but it won’t be kind and encouraging but hard and spiteful. Duke can’t take much more of school. Tonight will be the straw that broke… whatever back it broke, a donkey? Duke pictures a donkey with red and white stripy straws coming out of his body but even the thought of this doesn’t make him smile.

Downstairs, Mrs Marshall dollops shepherd’s pie onto plates. It’s made with Quorn so Duke isn’t sure if she should still call it that because it doesn’t have any lamb in it. It’s delicious but Duke can’t eat because his stomach is already full of nerves. Instead, he asks for the recipe for Charlie so Mrs Marshall at least knows he likes the taste.

He feels sick, all his worries banding together and marching around the inside of his body. He feels their tiny feet in the pit of his belly, feels them moving under his skin.

‘Let’s get back to school, then.’ Mrs Marshall scrapes the leftovers into the bin. Duke wishes he could join them, hiding under the potato peelings and the browning banana skins. Bin Boy, he could be called, and…

‘Duke?’

‘Ready,’ he says. Even though he is not.

There’s a gap in the red velvet curtains that sweep across the stage and Duke peeps through it. The school hall is almost full, the hard grey plastic chairs his class had lined up earlier groaning under the weight of the parents. His eyes sweep over the audience. There is no one here for him. Once, he’d have had almost a whole row of people watching him; Mum, Dad, Nina, Pippa, sometimes Charlie, but then if Mum and Dadwerestill alive he wouldn’t have Charlie and if his brother had come it would be CharlieandSasha because she wouldn’t have left him because of them. Now he thinks of it, if Mum and Dad were still alive he wouldn’t be here, at this stupid school, about to make a fool of himself again.

He clutches his magic wand tightly in his fist and wishes he could make everyone disappear. Or that he had the ring fromThe Hobbit,which grants the wearer invisibility, then no one would be able to see him.

There’s a woman crouching in the aisle at the front, camera poised to film her son or daughter. She’s wearing a blue floaty dress that touches the floor. Mum had one the exact same shade, the colour of a cloudless sky, and Duke remembers the softness of it against his cheek as he cuddled up to her, the summer meadow smell of it.

He misses her so much.

Before he drops the curtain he sees Aunt Violet squeezing between the rows to take her seat but it just isn’t the same.

Jayden, Luke and Brandon swagger onto the stage in baggy tracksuit bottoms and huge T-shirts, thick, bright gold chains looped around their necks. And they call him weird, Duke thinks.

Luke starts beatboxing, Jayden and Brandon running to the front of the stage, fingers splayed, arms going up and down in time to the beat like one of those lucky ornamental cats that sits in the windows of Chinese restaurants.

‘Our teacher ain’t fly we think he’s a sucker,

‘He thinks that he’s so cool but he’s a mother—’

The power is shut off, the hall plunged into darkness save for the slivers of light leaking through the heavy curtains. Miss Greenly hurries on the stage and ushers the boys off.

The rest of the acts are okay. Some kids forget the words, forget their dance steps. They still get a round of applause. This should make Duke feel better but it doesn’t. What if he’s the only kid no one claps for? The show is nearly over. Again, he peers around the side of the stage, eyes seeking out Nina and Charlie. Theystillhaven’t come. Duke wonders if they’ve gone straight home. Forgotten about him.

Evie is the last act before him – penultimate – Duke learned that word today during dress rehearsal when Evie refused to take part. She said she had a sore throat and wanted to save her voice until tonight but Duke knew that was a lie. Even he doesn’t know what her act is. She crouches and sets up a small projector. The white wall behind her fills with the photos of a battery farm, featherless chickens shoved together in tiny cages.

The lights go out again and Evie is ushered off, shouting, ‘Meat is Murder,’ as she goes.

Duke’s name is called.

He can’t do this.

His name is called again.

Light-headed, he shuffles onto the stage, careful not to trip over his cape in the semi-darkness. There’s a movement to his left, a shadow rushing towards him, his magic wand is whipped away and, instead, something cold and hard is thrust into his hand, something looped around his neck.

The lights glare once more. Duke stares at the saxophone – his saxophone, which he clings on to. In front of him, Nina is adjusting a microphone. To his side, Charlie raises the lid on the piano, flexes his fingers.

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