Seven Days (12 page)

I flop on my seat by the window. It’s so grey outside, the weather of a slug – slimy and damp. I stare out at the view of a brick wall, broken up with little bursts of moss. Walls surround everything round here, the school, the shopping parade and the Mac. One great big brick fence. I am being slowly suffocated.

“Kez?”

I look up. Lois is standing next to me. This isn’t her tutor room.

“What are you doing here? You’ll be late,” I say.

Miss Welsh is due in any second. She will scuttle in, as usual, in her crazily high shoes and go on in her fake-positive way about what a “fab day we’re all going to have”. Yeah, right…

“This won’t take long.” Lois isn’t looking at me properly and she keeps licking her lips. I can tell she’s worrying about something; she may as well have a great luminous sign above her head.

“Go on, then.” I pull my bored face, but if I’m honest, this is far from true. My head hurts and that message from Mum keeps flashing through my mind. Dad has all day to brood about me, which isn’t good. I feel queasy with nerves. I just know something will kick off.

“It’s just – well.” She pulls herself upright and sighs. “It’s Jess. I’m worried about her. I saw her just walk right past the school gate.”

“So?”

“So? Jess never bunks does she – she’s not like that. I’m worried about her, Kez. So is Hannah. You know the two of them used to be mates.”

“Worried? About her?” I cough back a laugh. “You’re kidding, aren’t you? She’s big enough to look after herself – literally.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Saying what exactly?” I can actually see Dad’s face in my head, his glaring eyes. I imagine him at home, turning up his music, pacing the room. The pain is right behind my eyes now, piercing. “What do you want me to do, Lois? Chase after her? Bring her back in?”

“People might notice, though,” Lois hisses, leaning towards me. “Hannah and that are already saying how out of order we’re being. She says it’s gone too far.”

“So you listen to Hannah now? Miss No-personality?”

“That’s not fair! Hannah just cares.” Lois’s cheeks are flushed, she grabs her bag. “This is a total waste of time.”

“Yeah, it is.”

Lois clutches the strap of her bag and leans in right close to me. I can see little flecks of green in her eyes, the small mole above her lip.

“You might not be so smug if Jess reports you,” she says. “You shouldn’t keep on at her. You don’t know what damage you might do.”

I watch as she strides out of room. She looks taller.

You don’t know what damage you might do…

The picture in my head has changed now. To Mum and her swollen, purple face.

I smash my fist against the wall, crying out with pain.

And then I follow Lois out of the room, trying to block out the whispers around me.

“We’re just concerned, Keren.”

Mr Booth has one of those annoying voices, really drony. He is sat back in his chair, with his hands locked together in front of him. His old, wrinkled face is trying to look concerned but I can see his attention keeps being distracted towards the various emails that keep pinging up on his screen. Being a Head of Year can’t be much fun.

“Why? There’s nothing wrong,” I say, ignoring the pain in my hand.

“You punched a wall, Keren. I hardly think that’s nothing. What made you do that?”

“I was just wound up.”

“You must’ve been. It must be sore. After this you need to go to the medical room to get it checked.”

“I can move my fingers,” I tell him. “It’s fine.”

“I’ve been told you were talking to Lois Dobbs just before. You two are usually friends, aren’t you? Do you need me to talk to her?”

I keep staring up at his bald head. It’s shining in the light. I can see dry flecks of skin on it. I wonder if he still has to shampoo it. He rubs his nose, still watching me, knocking his glasses off-centre. He looks even weirder now.

“Keren, if you talk to me I can help.”

“I’m fine. I don’t need your help.”

The seat is hard and is making me want to fidget, but I stay still. I want to look calm and in control. My hand remains in my lap, hidden by my coat. I try and ignore the throbbing; at least it’s taken my mind off my head.

“I think I should ring your mum, Keren.”

“You don’t need to ring my mum.” I stare at him, willing him to shut up. “I’ll show her when I get home.”

“It’s a safeguarding issue, Keren; the school has a duty to make your parents aware of any concerns.”

Why does he keep repeating my name? I really want to scream at him to shut up. Every muscle in me is tightening up. I think I might snap right here in front of him. I look at his bald head again and imagine little pieces of me splattered all over it.

Was I always this angry?

“Just tell me why you did it.” He has his pen poised on a piece of paper. The clock is ticking. He obviously wants an answer from me. Something he can scribble down and stuff safely away in my file.

“Lois just pissed me off,” I say finally. “She made a comment about my boyfriend. It’s nothing. I overreacted. It’s fine now, really.”

Better they think that, than start asking questions about Jess. Or even worse, my family.

“And your boyfriend is… ?” He looks confused. I guess they have a problem with that too.

“Lyn, Lyndon Roberts in Year Eleven.”

He nods. Makes the connection. A small frown appears. “Ah, I see. Well, I will have to make your parents aware of that fact too, Keren.”

“Do whatever you like, sir,” I say.

I pick up my bag and leave.

I don’t usually walk home on my own. It’s just not what I do. But with Lyn still not answering my texts (and no there was no sign of him at school) and with Marnie at drama rehearsals, I have no other choice.

I walk the long way because I can’t face home yet. I know a call would have been made. I know Dad will be even more wound up. The heaviness in my legs seems even worse now, it’s like I’m wading through sludge.

I’m drawn to the Mac like I always am. The marked brick walls and torn chain-link fences are so familiar to me. The burnt-out car that has been sitting in the pub car park for over a month now. The community church with its huge “trying to be welcoming” noticeboard. The primary school with the bright yellow broken gate and stained concrete walls.

The houses are thin, grey and tired. The gardens surrounded by walls, front and back. Everyone seems penned in, shut away. Little patches of yellow grass sit in the middle of each block of housing – Lyn calls them the “dog-crap patches” and usually they are covered in litter and poo, or discarded kids’ toys.

But of course everything is overshadowed by the looming tower blocks. Dad calls them “unsightly”. Says they should be “knocked down” as they make the whole town look cheap and nasty. I don’t know who Dad thinks he is, really. I guess it was different in the days when he used to put on a suit and drive to work in his nice car. I think he thought he was above everyone else then. Trouble is, even though he’s not worn his suit for years – even though he spends most days on the sofa – he still thinks he’s different.

Personally, I don’t mind the towers. They skim the sky, far and reaching. They look like they’re in charge of the place. They are the Estate.

Jess lives here, in one of these shoebox flats. I know because I’ve seen her shuffling around, trying to avoid us. Marnie says her mum has a really nasty job cleaning bogs in a club in town. Apparently she’s out every night. I guess that must be hard for them.

I wonder if I’ll see her. If I do, what would I say? Am I sorry? Has this gone too far?

I start walking away, towards the park. I feel cluttered, like I want to empty everything out of me and start again. I don’t remember ever feeling this tired or confused before.

I hear the voices first, sharp laughter coming from the main path out of the park. I carry on walking towards it. Whoever it is sounds really happy.

And then I see them.

Both of them.

It’s like everything inside me has just been sucked away. I have to keep looking just to make sure I’m getting it right. But of course there’s little doubt. I know it’s him. Lyn. And how could I miss her?

They’re walking together. Him and Jess. They are talking and laughing and, Jesus, is his hand touching her waist? It is! He’s touching her!

I think I want to be sick.

I think I actually want to kill her now.

“You bitch,” I hiss under my breath, before slipping away, my hand reaching for my phone, preparing to call Marnie.

I stay with Marnie for as long as I can, but in the end I know I have to go home. I can’t keep hiding away.

I’m so wound up, so on edge that I walk into the house without thinking too much. The whole thing with Lyn and that stig Jess is still replaying in my head like a nasty dream. The front door shuts loudly behind me before I even realize where I am.

I slip my bag on to the floor by the wall and carefully place my keys in the small bowl on the side table. There’s a chance of course that he didn’t hear me. He might even be asleep. With any luck I can still escape unnoticed.

Creeping past an open door in your own house must be the saddest, most tragic thing that anyone ever has to do. I seem to be making a regular habit of it. I hold my breath. I tense up. I just pray with every fibre of me that he doesn’t hear me. But of course, he does.

“Keren. Come in here, please.” His voice is cool and controlled. I freeze on the spot. I can’t move. It’s like when we used to play musical statues as kids, except this time there’s no fun-size Mars bar at the end.

“Keren. Come here, please.” The voice is louder now, more brittle.

I go in. I try and act casual, because what’s the point of being anything else? I keep my face calm, even though the icy feeling of dread is eating me up inside. I can do this. He will not bring me down.

He is sitting there facing me, perched on the edge of the seat in an upright, awkward position. Mum is sat opposite on the smaller sofa. She’s facing away, scribbling notes on a notepad. Probably her shopping list or something equally dull. Why won’t she look at me?

And then I see the plate on the coffee table. Sausage and mash. I can see the gravy has congealed around them like a muddy jelly. The sausages look grey and thick with cooling fat. The knife and fork are sat beside them like silent soldiers.

“Your dinner was three hours ago,” Dad says, still staring at me.

“I know. I’m sorry. I was held up.”

“I don’t want to hear that,” he says, his lip curling. “Your dinner was cooked for you three hours ago. You should’ve had the decency to come back for it.”

I keep my voice neutral; my words come out slow and measured. “Like I said, I was held up. I’m sorry. What else can I do now? I can’t rewind time.”

“What else can you do?” His eyes are properly glinting now. He starts to laugh, a manic, nasty laugh that cuts right through me. “Did you hear this, Mel? She wants to know what else she can do … WELL YOU COULD GET HOME ON TIME FOR A START! SHOW US A BIT OF BLOODY RESPECT!”

His hand slams the table, I see Mum flinch but she still keeps her eyes lowered. I swear she’s mumbling something under her breath. I don’t move a muscle. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“And now, you will eat that dinner.”

“Er, you’re kidding me.”

“Er, no! I’m not. You are going to eat that dinner. Every last mouthful.”

I look at it again, the cold mess. I don’t like sausages much at the best of times. “Can I at least heat it in the microwave?”

“No.”

“But I might get a bug or something. This is rank. Mum – aren’t you going to say something?” I plead.

“Just do as he says,” she whispers, still with her head bent. “It won’t kill you.”

“No.” I can feel the anger snaking up me again. Everything – him, Jess, Lyn – it’s all too much. I don’t have to stand for this. “This is out of order. I’m not doing it.”

“Oh yes you are.”

He grabs my head before I’m even aware of what he’s doing, gripping my hair tightly and forcing me forwards. I try and fight back, but it’s useless, his anger makes him ten times stronger. My whole body is being pushed. I can see the dinner coming towards me, one last pathetic look before his whole weight shoves my face into it.

He keeps hold of my hair and moves my head back and forth into the cold, stinky food. All I can feel is mush.

“Eat it,” he hisses into my ear.

I keep my mouth clamped shut. He’s not going to win.

“Eat it!”

He moves my head faster now. Cold, plastic-tasting meat is forced into my mouth. Mash like lumpy milk goes up my nose, slips down my throat. I’m going to choke. I gag and then I manage to scream. I use my elbows to force him away.

Finally, he lets go and I fall to the floor, dinner dripping off me. My scalp is throbbing. Dad is panting behind me. Mum is sobbing.