Mary's Law

By Ivan Kelsall

Messed up, Fourteen and dyslexic ...

Mary James is mixed race, struggling at school and home. New 'friends' are worrying her Mum but the Girl Gang has been Mary's salvation and is starting to turn nasty.

Christmas comes and Dad is predictably absent but Mary gets the coolest Christmas present from him. It has the potential to change her life. Physical access to the internet leads to a new computer game, Dad's mega gift.

Is it a curse or a blessing?

Mary's life opens up as danger and opportunity come to her.

Can she master her problems and succeed in the game?

Can she resolve her issues about her Dad's mental illness and parents separation?

Mary is going to give it her best shot and she won't give it up.... Ever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ivan Kelsall
• Release date: Dec 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781916034617

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The Curious Christmas

When are you opening your present from Dad?

Just building up to it, Mum, Mary replied, feeling an overwhelming excitement at the prospect of Dad’s present. It looked innocent enough, but throughout the day she felt her eyes drawn to the black and white swirls of the strange paper covering it. Dad had promised it would be good this year. Mary knew this was his attempt to make up for last year, when there had been no present and no Dad. She had punched Pete, her brother, earlier that Christmas morning and said she was saving ‘it’ until later. Pete, never wanting to be left out, said he was saving his too. Get lost, Mary, he’d said, when she’d rolled her eyes at him. And I’m opening mine first. She had stared at him, and had not given him the satisfaction of a reply.

Standing up, she flicked her long brown curls behind her and sauntered into the kitchen.

You are such a squirt, Pete, she said as she pushed past him, remembering how annoying he had been.

In the hot kitchen Mary stood in front of the cracked mirror and examined her almond eyes. Rubbing a coffee-coloured cheek she scowled at a spiral curl that was sticking out.

Mum, Mary pushed me! Pete cried.

Mary shuddered as his whining voice carried into the kitchen.

If you both cleared the floor a bit, there would be room for both of you, Mum said.

Mary looked over at her mum as she pulled more sausage rolls from the oven, cursing as she burnt herself again. Sensing trouble, Mary licked a finger and smoothed down the curl. Yeah, squirt, you heard Mum, let’s clear the floor, she said.

She watched Pete with satisfaction as he scrambled around the lounge and piled mounds of wrapping paper into a black bag until it was overflowing. She then sat next to him and stared at the unopened gifts from their dad under the glistening tree.

My, look at you two. Dad really has caught your attention this year! Mum said, coming into the room. Mary could sense her younger brother fidgeting next to her. OK, let’s do it! she laughed.

Yes! they shouted in unison as they watched Mum sink firmly into the settee.

Looking around her, at just the three of them, she decided she wasn’t going to dwell on that as the moment had come. Savouring the excitement, she hesitated and enjoyed the sensation. It felt like glitter suspended in the electric air around her.

Mum’s cotton skirt had spread across the cushions and Mary studied her for a moment. She looked cool and relaxed. What an odd pair Mum and Dad must have made; Mum all flouncy and arty, and Dad smart in his grey suit. Mary reminded herself that that was before he became ill. Shuddering inwardly, she then remembered Dad all grungy, looking like he hadn’t slept for a week – which he hadn’t.

Mary, are you going to open this thing or not?

Mum’s voice shook Mary back to the present. What? she replied.

Mary looked at Pete, who was bent forward inspecting the parts of his new fighter jet.

Mmm, he mumbled. Mission control ready for take-off.

She then glanced back at Mum, who looked at her quizzically.

Mary was now tense. Yeah, OK, I was just . . .

She lunged forward and grabbed Dad’s present. It was surprisingly heavy, even for its size – a big box which reminded Mary of the box their new microwave had come in – and carefully, she placed it on the floor in front of her and delicately brushed off the pine needles. Relishing the moment, she picked at the Sellotape holding the paper together.

For heaven’s sake, Mary, enough! Will you just open it!

Mum was now leaning forward, staring at the present with interest.

When the final fold of paper fell to the floor, the writing on the side shouted the name of the computer software. Mary gasped as she realised it was the upgrade she had been longing for; a game and visor and console that would allow her access to the deepest recesses of the Internet. Her head spun as she thought about accessing the ‘zones’ everyone was talking about. Sure, she had got Internet access, but this was going to set her free within the virtual space. She would really be there. ‘body and mind transference’ is what she’d heard it called, or ‘existence within existence’, which was some sort of quantum physical possibility. Whatever. Mary wasn’t interested in how it worked. Her body would be in there, and that was good enough for her.

"The best New Life software! she shouted. She liked the simple arrogance of it. No fancy name; just the most sought after trademark ever. She knew that top software meant top cost. Trust Dad. Anything for maximum effect," she then said quietly.

She yawned and stretched her arms; a master at concealing her emotions. Anything on the telly tonight? she asked as she held her breath and looked at Mum, who looked way too serious. Will she make me give it back? she thought.

"Well, Dad has been very generous this year. Hope he’s not overstretched himself." Mum’s voice was quiet, and she got up and left the room.

Mary breathed a sigh of relief as she heard her footsteps on the stairs. Her attention returned to the box as she flung aside the instructions, writing she would struggle with. Hesitating, she remembered Dad’s advice: ‘Study the rules to ensure full preparation and maximum potential.’

It had been his mantra for life.

Whatever, Mary said. She pulled out the polystyrene packing and located the visor. It was heavy, like a motorcycle helmet, and more retro than state-of-the-art computing.

Wow . . . Mary said quietly.

Space man! Space man! Pete sang as he crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. You’re a creep, Mary. What did you do to get that? Bloody goodie-two-shoes!

Mary punched Pete on the arm for the second time that day and stared him out. Eventually he retreated behind the settee, leaving her to her prize. She struggled to hold the visor in one hand as she felt inside the box and pulled out the remaining two items: glove consoles, which had a black plastic base and chainmail for the fingers. She placed her hands inside them. The material felt cold yet warm; solid, yet mouldable.

Weird, she said; but she closed her eyes tight and savoured the moment.

Pete had crept back out from behind the settee and was flicking through the instruction booklet. Ooh, ‘Prepare to be amazed!’ he said, quoting the writing on the inside cover.

Mary lunged at him and tried to grab it, but Pete was nimble and swerved aside.

Let me read it, Mary. It’s too difficult for a dumbster to read.

She swore and jumped him. Pete ducked as she clawed at him, screaming abuse and swirling one way and then the other to dodge her outstretched hands. They both ignored a bang on the wall: the neighbour’s displeasure at the racket. By now, she had Pete in a neck lock and her arm circled his throat as his laugher turned into a croak. The bang-bang-bang stopped them and they went quiet. She looked up to see Mum standing in the doorway.

Well, this is a fine mess. What has got into you two?

Mary glanced around the room. She saw the Christmas tree leaning on its side, baubles dancing precariously near the floor, which was once again strewn with wrapping paper.

I, err, w-we . . . Mary stuttered, as she caught Mum’s eye. Her arms were folded as she stared at her delinquent children in despair. Mary kicked Pete hard and said, He called me a dumbster!

Mum’s arms unfolded and she moved her hands to her hips. She gazed accusingly at Pete. Pete glanced at her and fiddled with the instruction booklet. Mary could see it was crumpled and torn from the fight.

Well? Mum asked.

Pete flung down the booklet and bolted out and up the stairs. Mary sighed as the house echoed from the bang of his bedroom door. She looked at her mum, noticed how tired she looked; but she ignored the pang of guilt and remained silent.

Let’s forget it, Mary, can we? Mum said lightly. It’s Christmas. I know Pete can be a pain, but you’re older than him. You really shouldn’t rise to his bait. Mum smiled, unconvincingly.

Mary scowled back as she sat hunched up, hugging her knees. It’s all right for him, she mumbled. He’s only eleven and can read great!

Mum knelt down. Mary, it’s OK, it’s not your fault. The teachers say your dyslexia won’t hold you back. You just need more confidence in yourself. Mary twirled a long curl through her fingers. She wanted to believe her, but with exams approaching, her confidence was evaporating. Let me know if you are having trouble. We will get in extra help.

Oh, is that extra on top of the extra we are already getting? Mary replied, snatching her hand away from Mum’s warm grasp. Grabbing the booklet Pete had dropped in his hurried retreat, she ran across the chaotic lounge. Going to my room now. Don’t wait up!

As a last act of defiance Mary flicked the light off, leaving Mum sat alone in the dark. Christmas was definitely over.

In her room, she reclined on her bed and stared at the posters on her ceiling. Big white smiles rained down on her. How happy they all looked, all those boy bands. Her favourite was Tamis, and his smile was the most sublime to Mary. Not too much sugar, and very much in control.

Yo, girl, what you doin? Ain’t nothin gonna get this girl down. Mary spat out the words, before rolling over and studying the contents of her hand. She glanced at the fluorescent light of her music system, where the numbers glared back: thirty minutes past midnight.

Where did those last two hours go? she thought. She must have fallen asleep.

Propping herself up, she peered around. Tiny wall-lights sparkled and illuminated the room, reflecting in the panels of glass that adorned parts of the walls. A fluffy rug the colour of mocha warmed the room and added to the exotic feel of her bedroom-hideaway. She looked again at the instruction booklet and then sat up abruptly. There was something missing. She searched the room, her eyes darting into focus at each corner. Where was her present? That large square box was not in here? Then she remembered: she had left it downstairs in her haste to escape the events of the evening. She got to her feet and tiptoed out of her bedroom, across the landing and down the stairs to retrieve it from the lounge.

Sitting back on the edge of the bed again, she breathed heavily. She had managed her secret mission without awakening Mum or Pete. The door to Mum’s room was slightly ajar as Mary had passed, and she’d noted the quiet, rhythmic breathing coming from her bed, and the half-empty glass of wine next to it. Muffled grime music sounded from behind Pete’s door. She placed the visor and glove console next to her, eyes darting between them and her computer neatly perched on her desk. The fish screensaver floated over the screen, indicating it was on stand-by, ready for action. She looked at the booklet crumpled on her duvet, liking the white of the pages contrasted against the deep copper of her duvet cover. She smoothed out the pages.

Pete’s such a prat, she said to herself, as she brought the words into focus. "I can read. I’m just a bit slow."

She was keen enough to try, but the words always seemed to start moving around the page. It’s so boring! she had told Mum. Whenever I try to read the words they’re like ants, scurrying all over a blank page! When the words did eventually stay still, getting the meaning of the sentence was almost as hard. As for spelling . . . Let’s not go there, girl, Mary said out loud. Then, realising how loud, she sat silently for a moment and listened. She giggled. It was quiet, like a churchyard in the snow, and her attention was drawn back to the instructions.

Mary had learnt to be more resourceful since Mum and Dad had split up; but when the going got tough, escape to Internet fantasyland was her saviour. It lifted her mood like a drug; was her ultimate escape. She had hoped so much that Dad would buy this game for her; but now it was here she felt surprised by the overwhelming fear of trying it.

Totally stupid, she now said to herself. The accompanying information had not helped to reassure her. The reason it was so pointless became apparent as she read it, slowly, seeing phrases such as, ‘Enter the unknown and meet the challenges’. The words were clever but failed to give any clear details of the nature of the experience; no, this flimsy booklet only encouraged players to ‘Be brave and adventurous!’ How could it be so different,