Oksa Pollock: The Last Hope (4 page)

E
VER SINCE SHE WAS A LITTLE GIRL
, O
KSA HAD BEEN IN
the habit of visiting her gran after school in the evening. Her parents were very busy with work and Dragomira was always there. Oksa could count on her. They’d chat about one thing or another—what had happened during the day and sometimes about more serious matters, such as Oksa’s worries, disappointments or triumphs. That evening had been unusual: when she’d come home after that terrible day—one of the worst she’d ever had—the house had been dead silent, much to her annoyance.

“Mum? Dad? Are you here?” she’d called, already feeling disappointed.

With a sigh, she’d thrown her bag at the bottom of the stairs. Of course they weren’t here; they were at the restaurant, busy getting things ready. She was in Dragomira’s apartment now, though, and it felt so welcoming, despite being messy and old-fashioned. She’d been waiting for this moment all day. As usual, Dragomira immediately bombarded her with questions: “So how did it go? Tell me everything!”

She’d prepared a delicious afternoon snack with all Oksa’s favourites: fresh raspberries with little biscuits and spiced tea, a special home-made recipe. Now that she was here with her Baba, Oksa could relax at long last. She flopped into the small, threadbare pink armchair, the one she liked best, and curled up into a ball. Opposite, a vast wall was lined from floor to ceiling with shelves laden with jars, cans, boxes and books which it had taken Dragomira all day to arrange.

“It went well, Baba, very well,” she said, feigning an enthusiasm she was far from feeling.

“You look awful, Dushka! You seem worn out. Have they been working you so hard on the very first day?” Then, changing the subject completely: “Are you hungry?”

“I’m starving,” replied Oksa, biting greedily into a delicious chocolate biscuit.

“Eat up and tell me everything, even with your mouth full. I can’t wait to hear all about it!”

“Well… inside, the school is totally amazing, it’s an incredible place, you’d love it. Our form teacher is Dr McGraw, who also takes us for maths and physical sciences. He’s
very
strict, you need to watch your step with him. He’s not exactly a bundle of laughs.”

There was a tense silence. Dragomira waited for her to go on. “And?”

“Well, apart from that, being in the same class as Gus is a dream come true! I’m over the moon, as you can imagine… Otherwise, nothing much else to report,” she added, trying her hardest not to let on that she was upset. “Gus and I met a really nice boy. His name is Merlin. He’s lived in London for five years and I think he’s probably very brainy. The other students seem pretty cool, except for one girl who has a face like a pit bull terrier. She looks as if she hasn’t got two brain cells to rub together.”

“Come with me,” said Dragomira, studying her carefully, not at all convinced by Oksa’s outward cheerfulness. She took her by the hand and led her to a gorgeous red velvet sofa, which she hastily cleared of everything heaped on it.

“Hang on a moment…”

She went to the back of the apartment where there was a massive, cluttered set of shelves and a large work surface made of polished wood, where she indulged her passion for botany and medicinal plants—Dragomira had been a herbalist for some thirty years. With a small key hanging from one of her bracelets she unlocked a bookcase with opaque panes
of glass. Instead of books, it contained hundreds of phials lined up on the shelves. Dragomira picked one and locked the door.

“Here’s something that’ll do you good, my darling. A special oil for ‘difficult days’.”

“But the day hasn’t been difficult, Baba.”

“Hush… not another word.”

Oksa obeyed and let her gran massage her temples comfortingly as she stared at the fragrant coils of incense burning in every corner of the living room, which was filled wall-to-wall with knick-knacks, consoles, pedestal tables and sofas upholstered in old gold or crimson velvet. The coils drifted gently towards the stucco ceiling roses, as unpleasant thoughts circled around Oksa’s head. Dragomira couldn’t be more wrong: the day hadn’t been difficult. No. It had been just terrible! And her memories of it, which were still very raw, continued to torment her. Unable to fight them, she was relentlessly taken back in time to the classroom, two hours earlier…

When she’d regained consciousness, she was lying on the classroom floor, her forehead covered in sweat and her blood hammering furiously through her veins. She felt as though she’d hit herself on her chair when she fell, because her stomach was hurting badly. Several faces were leaning over her. A worried-looking Gus was crouched beside her. Merlin, his forehead furrowed and his cheeks scarlet, was murmuring, “Don’t worry, don’t worry about a thing,” and the pretty girl with a penetrating gaze he’d sat next to, Zelda, had also knelt down, but was at a loss what to do to make Oksa feel better.

Dr McGraw, on the other hand, looked annoyed. “You’re easily upset, Miss Pollock, very easily upset,” he remarked coldly.

To prove the teacher and his unsympathetic words wrong, she made a huge effort and struggled to her feet, seething with anger, shame and frustration.

“Sir, sir, should we call an ambulance?” asked one boy in a frightened voice.

Dr McGraw looked at him contemptuously then replied in a curt, mocking tone:

“Why not the special response unit from the Department of Health while you’re at it? But perhaps we should ask Miss Pollock? Should we take you to the infirmary, Miss Pollock, or do you think you’re in a fit state to endure this
exhausting morning
right through to the end?”

Amazed, Gus glared reproachfully at their teacher, but the man ignored him. With the help of her classmates, Oksa sat down again as best she could, trying to ignore the pain in her stomach and the anger darkening her heart.

“Anyone else planning to collapse? Yes? No? Any volunteers?” asked Dr McGraw, his voice sharp as a knife. To his great surprise, someone raised their hand. “Miss Pollock?” Dr McGraw looked thrown by this sudden, and obviously unexpected, turn of events. Devoid of all sarcasm, his voice was virtually shaking. Perhaps through remorse at being so harsh…

“I’d like to finish what I was saying, sir.”

Just as Oksa said these words in a monotonous but clear and determined voice, a gust of wind cold enough to raise goose pimples swept through the classroom and the half-open windows banged violently shut. Everyone jumped. Except for McGraw, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Oksa.

“My name is Oksa Pollock,” continued the girl, not permitting any interruption, “and I’ve just arrived in London. My favourite subjects are science and maths. I like astronomy and rollerblading and I’ve done karate for six years, like Gus. There, I’m done, sir.”

All the students looked at her, some in amazement, others in admiration. But what none of them could see was the profound exhilaration she was feeling deep inside and which was acting like a bumper dose of vitamins.

“Thank you, young lady,” drawled Dr McGraw in a flat voice. “Shall we continue now? We’ve wasted enough time.”

When the bell rang for break, Oksa felt immediately relieved. At last she could escape from this classroom. Not a moment too soon! Any longer and she’d have begun screaming at the top of her lungs. This had never happened to her before—it wasn’t like her at all. Gus found his friend crouched against the statue of a winged angel in the school courtyard and knelt down in front of her. Seeing how sad she looked, he wanted to put his arms around her and give her a hug, but he didn’t dare.

“What happened?” he said. “I thought you were having a heart attack! You went stiff as a poker, then you fell down. You scared the living daylights out of me.”

“I’ve never felt so ill in my life. Everything was spinning, I couldn’t breathe.”

“Were you in pain? Were you scared of speaking in front of the class?”

Oksa didn’t reply. Puzzled, Gus watched her out of the corner of his eye, not knowing what to say to make her feel better. He thought for a moment then said: “Don’t worry about it! Don’t think about it any more, it’s ancient history!”

“Yes, you’re right,” replied Oksa. “You’re right, of course…”

In the darkness of her room, Oksa was lying on her bed, staring at the phosphorescent stars stuck to the ceiling, which were glowing with a milky light. She was trying and failing to get to sleep. Her headache had vanished—Dragomira’s massage had been very effective—and she could barely feel the pain in her stomach now. Gus had called her during the evening to check up on her. It had given them the chance to tell each
other again how glad they were to be in the same class. It was such a relief! The call had done her good, she was so glad she had a friend like Gus. But what a strange day it had been, all the same… she really hoped they wouldn’t all be like that. It was almost midnight and sleep was the last thing on her mind. She turned on her beside lamp and, sitting up in bed, looked around, thoughtfully. Her desk was littered with the contents of a box that she hadn’t had time to put away: trinkets and toys she no longer used but couldn’t bear to part with. Her gaze fell on her Poupette doll with red hair, which had been one of her favourites a few years ago. The happy times of childhood were long gone now; she sighed and shrugged sadly. Her half-closed eyes lingered on the doll before closing. She thought back over the most unpleasant events of the day. The butterflies she’d felt at going back to school. The anxiety, which still churned her stomach and made her feel sick. She reopened her eyes and immediately widened them in surprise: the doll’s long hair was standing up on its little plastic head as though magnetized by some mysterious force! Oksa blinked to convince herself she wasn’t dreaming. Then she leapt out of bed, sending her duvet flying. With her hand stretched out in front of her, she just had time to see a small fireball fly from her palm, heading straight for the doll’s head.

“What on earth is going on
?” she thought frantically.

Before her horrified eyes, the synthetic hair began to crackle with flames. Instinctively she grabbed the doll with both hands—a very bad idea which she immediately regretted as the scalding plastic burned her fingers. Stifling a cry of pain, she dropped the doll and—another bad idea—began to blow on the hair, which only made it burn more fiercely. The flames soon reached the wood-panelled wall against which the desk had been placed, emitting alarming, acrid smoke. Her heart thumping painfully in her chest, Oksa’s only option was to grab the vase of flowers put there that morning by her gran and throw it on the fire to douse the flames. Startled by what had just happened, she fell back onto her bed, panting. She felt terribly ill and her stomach was hurting
again. She writhed in pain, overcome by feelings of nausea, which soon turned to a violent dizziness. She closed her eyes and slipped into a state of unconsciousness, allowing her to blank out reality.