The Theft & the Miracle Page 2

  “Can you give me a hand with the graph? Kind of explain it very slowly, like I was a retarded five-year-old?”

  His thin, freckled face broke into a grin. “All right. We could go and see that new movie that’s on at the Odeon tomorrow afternoon, then my mom can give us something to eat afterward and we’ll do the graph.”

  Hannah blushed with pleasure. She hardly ever got asked to do anything on the weekends. “We could see if that new girl with the glasses wants to come to the movie,” she said. “Jessica something-or-other. She doesn’t seem to have made many friends yet. You okay with that?”

  “Sure. And I’ll pay for the movie. I’ve got cash.” He winked at her.

  She didn’t like to enquire too closely into the state of Sam’s finances, but she took the wink to mean that the family was for some mysterious reason in funds at the moment. Sam’s father seemed to divide his time pretty well equally between being at home out of work, and doing time at the city jail for housebreaking. Whether he was inside or not didn’t seem to make much difference to the family fortunes; in fact the Fallons were often suspiciously better off just after Arthur had been sent down for a stretch. At the moment, Hannah knew, he was inside, which might account for Sam suddenly having cash.

  On the face of it Sam Fallon and Hannah Price had absolutely nothing in common except that they were the same age and went to the same school. The odd thing was that ever since their first day, something between them had clicked. When she was with him, Hannah forgot that she had acne and surplus fat; not because Sam was too polite to mention these things—Sam was never polite to anyone! He just didn’t seem to notice.

  “Come on!” he said. “Last lesson of the week. Art. Now’s your chance to make the rest of us feel like retarded five-year-olds!”

  Normally, this was the best moment of the week for Hannah, but today she felt tired and listless, and her headache was getting steadily worse. The atmosphere in the art room was heavier than ever and the thunder, though still distant, was almost continuous.

  The class was divided into pairs, to draw portraits. Hannah found herself paired not with Sam, as she’d hoped, but with Emily Rhodes. That was all she needed! Emily was tall and slender with long blond hair, a flawless, honey-colored complexion surrounding a straight, delicate nose, a small neat mouth, and wide, slightly slanting green eyes. And she was clever. One of the most brilliant students in the class, destined for one of the top universities. Admittedly she didn’t seem to come from a background where there was much money, as her school uniform, though always clean and carefully pressed, had a slightly threadbare, mended look, but for some reason, far from detracting from her prettiness, this only seemed to accentuate it. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Emily hadn’t always been so terribly nice to Hannah—then she could have hated her quite cheerfully. As it was, whenever she got anywhere near her, her body seemed to grow to twice the size and her personality felt as if it were shriveling up, like a dead fly in a tub of lard. But there was one small crumb of comfort. Although Emily was beautiful and better at absolutely everything else than Hannah, she wasn’t quite so good at art.

  “I’m afraid I don’t seem to be getting a clear picture of your bone structure,” Emily said now, apologetically.

  “That’s probably because it’s invisible. My face is too fat.”

  Emily frowned and shook her head. “Oh dear!” she sighed. “This is so hard. You’ll just laugh when you see it.”

  “Look, don’t worry about it,” said Hannah, scowling. “I’m not exactly an artist’s dream model. Just do me a favor and leave out the pimple on my nose. Okay?”

  “Sure. Though my dad always says you should draw what you see, not what other people want to see.”

  “I suppose that’s honest, at least.”

  “Being honest doesn’t necessarily put food on the table!” Emily smiled wryly. “It certainly never put any on ours.”

  Hannah looked at her curiously. “So your father is an artist?”

  “Yes.” She went on drawing, glancing at Hannah every now and then. “Not a very successful one, I guess.”

  So that explained the frayed, carefully preserved school uniform.

  “Well, you’ll be different. You’re so smart you’ll never be short of money! You can be a doctor, or a lawyer like Tabitha’s dad. Her family is really rich.” Hannah glanced in the direction of the girl sitting just behind them.

  Tabitha Trelawney was striking rather than beautiful, with glossy black hair and very pale skin, large dark eyes made even more dramatic by black eye shadow and a strong, slightly sulky mouth. Ever since her arrival at the school the previous year, several of the other girls had copied the eye shadow, dyed their own hair black, and adopted a lot of white face makeup, with the result that nearly half the girls in 8B now looked as though they suffered from some mysterious illness. Hannah smiled to herself and turned back.

  “I don’t want to be a doctor or a lawyer,” replied Emily quietly.

  “Well, a banker then. You’ve got the head for it. You’re good at math.”

  “I don’t want to be a banker either.”

  “Well, what do you want to do then?” Hannah looked at her with interest.

  “I want to be an artist.”

  Hannah stared at her in disbelief. “But why?” she blurted. “You’ve already said there’s no money in it. You know that from your father. Besides, you could do anything! You don’t need to choose something you’re—” Less good at, she’d been about to say but she stopped herself just in time.

  “I’m not going to be like my father,” said Emily. “I’m going to be famous and successful. I’m going to paint what people want to see!”

  And when after ten minutes she turned the easel around, Hannah saw a face that was still quite recognizably her own, though subtly altered. It wasn’t just that her acne had miraculously disappeared; her nose was very slightly narrower, and there was a faint suggestion of definition to the chin and cheekbones. The eyes were the same size and shape, but the lids and lashes had been darkened, which made them seem bigger, and the mouth was straighter and more regular. But what struck Hannah most forcibly was the almost complete absence of expression. It was, she thought, a face without attitude. Well, maybe she’d been more successful than she’d thought in trying to disguise the surprise she’d felt on hearing that Emily wanted to be an artist!

  She smiled. “Thanks, Emily. Definitely an improvement on the original.”

  “You could do the same with a little makeup,” Emily replied kindly.

  “And six months’ dieting!”

  “Perhaps not quite six months.”

  Hannah gritted her teeth, removed the picture of herself, clipped a fresh sheet of paper to the easel, and prepared to draw Emily. She began by taking a long, close look at her subject. Then she took out her pencil. She worked steadily and in silence, forgetting everything except the task in front of her. For twenty minutes she even forgot how she felt about Emily, who sat quite still, without speaking. She seemed to be staring at a spot just behind Hannah.

  At last Hannah sat back and examined the portrait critically. She was pleased with the lines of the face, the shape of the chin, the pretty curve of the upper lip. Something about it wasn’t right though. She had always considered Emily to be beautiful. Now she wasn’t quite so sure.

  She looked up to see the art teacher standing at her shoulder.

  “That’s very good, Hannah,” said Miss Beamish thoughtfully. “Very good indeed.”

  “Something’s wrong though, isn’t it?” She frowned in an effort to see what it was. She looked back to Emily, who now appeared serene and lovely as always, and Hannah was struck by how vividly green her eyes were. It was impossible to show that with only a pencil of course, so what was the matter with her drawing? There was something about the expression that she didn’t understand.

  “I can’t see anything wrong,” said Miss Beamish. “Come and see what you think, Emily.”

  E
mily got up and walked round to the other side of the easel while Hannah watched carefully to see her reaction. She noticed that her expression changed very slightly when she saw what Hannah had drawn, and the odd thing was that now it seemed she had gotten the eyes right after all.

  Miss Beamish was looking at the picture of Hannah. “Very nice, Emily,” she said, smiling. “But you have left out something that makes Hannah’s face special.”

  “What?” An uncharacteristic flush momentarily darkened the honey-colored skin.

  “Her personality.”

  Hannah blushed in embarrassment and looked down at the floor, but the awkward situation was mercifully saved by the bell, which signaled the end of the class.

  The students left quickly, eager to get home for the weekend, and Hannah found the new girl, Jessica, in the coatroom, where she suggested going to the movie the following day. Jessica looked surprised but pleased and they arranged to meet outside the cinema at two o’clock.

  Then she remembered that before going home she had to see Miss Murdoch about her math homework. She took her time packing her book bag and walked slowly to the staff room, half hoping that Miss Murdoch wouldn’t remember to wait for her.

  However, when she got there she found not only the math teacher but Mr. Henderson, who taught geography, with Tabitha Trelawney. He seemed to be discussing a piece of homework with her and the two of them looked up briefly as Hannah came in.

  Miss Murdoch greeted her enthusiastically. “I wanted to see you, Hannah, because I feel you are still very confused about these equations and I think you and I should get together after school one day next week to really come to grips with the problem and clear your mind of the fog!”

  Hannah couldn’t help thinking that any help from Miss Murdoch was only likely to make the fog thicker, but she found herself saying thank you and agreeing to visit the teacher’s house the following Thursday afternoon for some extra tutoring. Then, blushing as she noticed Tabitha’s eyes raised toward her, and thinking that now it would be common knowledge that Hannah Price was so useless at math that she needed special help, she escaped to the coatroom, put on her coat, and made her way to the entrance hall, where, after a few seconds spent arguing with her conscience, she bought a Mars bar from the vending machine. It had been a bad day, she told herself. She needed something to cheer herself up on the way home.

  Although the air was now stiflingly close, the storm still hadn’t broken. Most people had already left, but Katie Brown, a small, pale girl who looked as though she didn’t get enough to eat, was standing by the front door peering up at the purplish and threatening sky.

  “Where’s your coat, Katie?” asked Hannah, as Katie seemed to be preparing to leave in just her sweater and skirt.

  “Can’t find it,” replied Katie unhappily. “I had it this morning, but when I came down at lunchtime to get some money out of the pocket, it was gone!”

  Hannah looked at her in alarm. “So what did you do for lunch?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t have any.”

  “What? You must be starving!”

  Katie nodded miserably and Hannah reached resignedly into her pocket.

  “Have a Mars bar,” she said. “At least it’ll stop me from getting even fatter!”

  Katie took it and immediately started to unwrap it. As she ate, a faint color returned to her cheeks.

  Hannah went back to the vending machines, inserted another coin, and waited for the heavy clunk that told her a can of Coke was waiting in the tray at the bottom. She picked it up and handed it to Katie, who was starting to look more cheerful.

  “Maybe someone took your coat by mistake when they went outside at lunchtime and accidentally wore it home. If they left theirs behind, you could take that instead. Let’s go and take a look.”

  But a quick glance around the coatroom, though showing plenty of abandoned clothes strewn on floor and benches, didn’t reveal a spare coat.

  “How far have you got to go?”

  “Linton Green.”

  “That’s quite a long way, isn’t it? Which bus do you get?”

  “The ninety-three, but my bus pass was in my coat pocket.”

  “I’ll lend you some money and you can pay me back tomorrow.” Hannah felt in her pockets, but discovered that after paying for the Mars bar and the Coke, she now had only ten pence. That wouldn’t get Katie as far as the end of the road.

  “Tell you what—you’d better take my raincoat. It’ll be far too big for you but at least it’ll keep you dry. Don’t forget to bring it back on Monday though, or my mother will kill me!”

  “Thanks, Hannah.” Katie took the coat and put it on.

  Hannah giggled. “It’s nearly down to your ankles! The hood’s zipped inside the collar. You’re going to need it any minute, though.”

  “What about you? You’re going to get soaked now.”

  “I’ve got my pass, and the bus stop’s only the other end of Tanner’s Lane. I’d better run, before the rain gets going.”

  Hannah watched Katie retreating like a sleeping bag on legs and set off in the opposite direction at a brisk trot. But before she had gone far, there was a deafening clap of thunder as the storm broke directly overhead, and a minute later she could hardly see where she was going for the blinding downpour.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE STATUE

  THERE WAS NO POINT in trying to reach the bus stop now—she would just have to try to find a place to shelter until the worst of the rain had passed. There were no shops nearby, only the vast, towering cathedral, loftily impervious to the sudden storm. It had seen far worse than this in the last nine hundred years.

  Battling against the driving rain and strong wind, Hannah reached the end of the north wall and came to the beginning of the wide gravel path that led up to the great west door. She could just make out that a smaller door inside it stood open. She ran with difficulty along the deep, loose gravel, stepped over the sill of the larger door, and stood dripping on the enormous mat.

  Immediately the noise of rain and traffic ceased, and she was struck by the sudden hush. There was a sort of stillness that held itself quite aloof from the soft murmur coming from the visitors, who walked sedately, inspecting stone tablets and gazing up at the vaulted ceiling. It was very cold.

  There was a smell of ancient stone and timber, of dust and candle wax. She breathed in slowly, enjoying the strangeness of it, then sneezed violently. This attracted the attention of a man wearing a black cassock, who ambled over in her direction, a friendly look on his face. She noticed that he had a small white tag pinned to his chest, with the words “Day Chaplain” written on it.

  “Strange how many turn to God when the weather’s bad,” he observed, winking at her.

  Hannah felt herself blushing. “I…just came in to see the Virgin and Child,” she said with an attempt at dignity, trying to make it sound like it was something she did regularly.

  “Go ahead then—they’re waiting for you,” said the chaplain. “But you won’t find them down that aisle,” he added, as Hannah set off purposefully toward the other end of the cathedral.

  “Oh.” She stopped and turned. “Have they been moved then?” She was still trying to make it seem as if she had a better reason for the visit than simply keeping out of the rain.

  “Not for the last four hundred years or so,” he replied equably. “Before then I couldn’t say. Try up there.”

  Hannah admitted defeat and followed his direction slowly down the north aisle, passing a tomb where the stone effigy of a medieval knight lay, hands crossed on his chest, sword reaching down to daintily pointed toes. She glanced up at the great north window, but she wasn’t able to make out the stained glass with the day so dark outside and couldn’t remember what story it told. She passed the strange modern signs that seemed to be warnings against exploding lunchboxes but in fact were only forbidding flash photography, and came at last to the end of the aisle, to the left of the altar. There stood the ancient figures of
the Virgin Mary and the Infant Jesus, for which the cathedral was famous all over the world.

  Hannah couldn’t see the statues immediately, as a small crowd of Japanese tourists was looking at them respectfully and obediently not taking photos. She sat down in a pew to wait, near a man who was leaning against a pillar and fiddling with the spokes of an umbrella. She shivered as the damp seeped through her thin clothes. At last the little group moved away, and Hannah found herself alone with the figures.

  They were smaller than life-size. The Virgin stood at a height of about four feet, holding a baby that was in fact a separate figure, able to be removed and put back in its mother’s arms, just like a real baby. The Virgin gazed at her Child with an expression of devoted and almost bewildered tenderness, while the baby looked straight back into her eyes and smiled happily.

  Hannah hadn’t set foot in the cathedral since that time six years before when she had come with the rest of her class on a field trip. She remembered how one of the boys had reached out to stroke the Virgin’s hair and a different chaplain, a lady that time, had been very angry with him and told him not to touch the statue because she was so old and special and it was disrespectful to go putting sticky fingermarks all over her. Somehow Hannah had gone away with the impression that the Virgin didn’t like small children much, which didn’t really make sense when you thought about it.

  But now that she was older and had a chance to see the statues alone, she was struck not only by how astonishingly beautiful they were, but also by an overwhelming sense of friendliness that seemed to radiate from the small couple.

  She reached into her book bag, pulling out her sketchbook and a pencil. Something made her want to capture the expressions on those faces for herself. Slowly she drew a few tentative lines and, gaining confidence, settled to her task with absorption.

  Then something very strange happened. Quite suddenly she found herself growing warmer. The chill left her fingers and they began to tingle, as if she were sitting in front of a hot fire. At the same time she felt the pencil grow firm and quick and deliberate. It traveled with complete assurance, tracing the soft, gentle eyes, the protective, encircling arms, the long, flowing folds of the robe, the baby’s outstretched fingers.