Seven Days (6 page)

“Aren’t you eating?” he asks.

My eyes flick towards the queue again. It’s still really long; I’ll be waiting for ages, on my own like the biggest loser. Jess is at the front now, loading her plate with chips no doubt, she usually does. Being fat obviously doesn’t bother her. Shameless.

“I’m not really hungry,” I say, but I steal a chip from his plate anyway. Lyn raises an eyebrow.

“I’m goin’ to sit with the lads,” he says. I can see his mates looking over, suddenly interested in our conversation.

“Can I come sit with you?” I ask.

He looks at me for moment, like he pities me or something. “Where’s Marnie? Don’t you usually hang around with her?”

“She’s got a drama meeting now.”

“Well, surely you’re better off sitting with your mates? You always get bored sitting with us.”

It’s like he’s taking all of the air out of me. Surely he knows that I just want to be with him. I feel shapeless and unwanted. Why does he suddenly not want me around?

“OK,” I say, trying to remain casual, “I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Sure. I’ll call you or something. You can tell me what sexy outfit you’re going to wear on Saturday.”

He turns and walks towards his table. I don’t want to keep standing there, but something is keeping me rooted to the floor.

A few seconds pass, slow heartbeats in my head, and I make myself move away. As I do, I see Jess is sitting on her own at the back of the room. She is watching me, small beady eyes. I wonder how much she hates me.

I glare back at her, before striding out.

“She’s taking the mick,” Marnie says.

We are walking around the quad. There is only ten minutes left until the end of lunch and Marnie is sharing her large bag of crisps with me. At least my stomach no longer feels so raw.

“Do you think she knows I’m with him?” I ask.

“It’s hardly the best-kept secret. Your tongue practically falls out every time you see him.”

I laugh. “That just means I fancy him. And I do, who wouldn’t?”

Marnie shudders. “Err, no. Too moody for me. But I think our little friend might.”

She gestures towards the benches in the far corner. Jess (Stig-face) and one of her little friends are huddled on there, looking at a book. So dull.

“Who’s she with?” I ask.

“Phillip ‘bender-boy’ Thomas. Don’t you recognize the skinny freak?”

I nod, of course. They make quite an odd couple sitting there. But I guess they say opposites attract.

“C’mon,” says Marnie, walking over.

Jess looks up as soon as we approach. I notice how her face turns a ghostly white straight away. I’m surprised she doesn’t start shaking there and then. Her bottom lip drops open slightly and I can see her chin and cheeks start to wobble.
Jeez,
girl – you’re such a state.
Phillip on the other hand is still reading. I’m not sure if he just hasn’t noticed us, or can’t be bothered to look up.

“Care to join us?” he asks in a bored tone, still reading.

I sneer at him.
Stupid freak boy, who does he think he is?

“Not really,” says Marnie lightly. “We just wanted to have a little chat with Jess.” She purrs the words, each one dripping with intent.

“Perhaps she doesn’t want to talk to you,” he turns the page, head still bent.

“She can speak for herself, can’t she?” says Marnie sweetly, staring straight at Jess. She is sitting looking at the floor, biting her lip. I bet she’s dripping with sweat. Disgusting.

“She certainly didn’t have a problem talking to Lyn earlier,” I say.

Jess lifts her head. She blinks hard a few times, looking straight at me. “Lyn?” she says, as if testing out the word. “Lyn. But I’ve known him since I was a kid. We were just talking, that’s all. It was nothing – honestly.”

“What?” I bark, already irritated.

“It’s just … I said I knew him…” she is stammering now. “I – our dads were best friends, that’s all. Not any more though. We both live on the Mac and used to play together, years ago. But, of course he’s your boyfriend, isn’t he? I swear, we were just talking.” She blinked again and swallowed. “Nothing else.”

“Oh yes,” I say, leaning forward. “He’s with me. So keep your fat, sweaty hands off.”

She is still staring at me. Her cheeks now turning the shade of salmon. She shakes her head. “I didn’t…”

“I’m sorry,” Phillip suddenly barks, slamming down his book. “What exactly are you hassling Jessica for? Talking to your boyfriend. Is that not allowed?”

I switch my attention. Phillip is sitting facing me now, his face totally expressionless. He is beyond geekness with his stupid flat hair, neatly pressed clothes and naff bag. “I don’t like her flirting with my boyfriend, no,” I tell him.

Jess dips her head again, still protesting. “I wasn’t. It wasn’t like that. Honestly. Ask him?”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

“He’s probably still traumatized by it,” Marnie sniggers.

“Are you telling me you’re that insecure, you have to threaten someone for simply talking to your boyfriend?” Phillip asks. “Didn’t you hear what she said? They were friends long before you two even got together.”

“I’m not insecure,” I say. “What a joke, coming from two weirdos like you.”

“Weird I might be,” Phillip says, standing up. “But at least I’m happy with who I am, unlike you. Come on, Jessica, let’s walk to lesson.”

As if on cue, the bell goes, echoing around us in its shrill, piercing manner. All around us, people are rushing to class. A teacher screams over at us to “get a move on”. I wait as Jess scuttles after her lanky “freak-friend”.

“You better watch yourself,” I hiss after her, noting how her back and shoulders tense at my words.

Marnie grabs my arm and we start to walk towards the main block, late as usual. I listen as she drones on about drama and her part in the new
Oliver!
production.

I just wish I could shake Phillip’s words from my head. What the hell does he know anyway?

Freak.

Home. Jeez, how I’ve
really
started to hate this place.

It looks all right outside. People think I’m lucky, living in a neat terraced house with plants around the front door. It’s funny how the problems can be shut away. Hidden neatly from everyone’s eyes. Sometimes I think that’s so much worse. It’s not like I want my life outed on some naff TV show, but it would be nice if we could drop the stupid pretence for once.

I push open the front door. It’s not late, just gone eight. They can’t be mad at me this time. I’ve done what they asked.

The music hits me as soon as I walk into the dimly lit hall. It’s the same rubbish he always puts on when he’s in one of his better moods; some indie crap from when he was my age. If I come in to this, things will probably be all right. I can feel a small weight drop off me.

There’s no point avoiding it, so I step into the living room. Dad is spread out on the sofa, the CD remote control resting precariously on his large belly. A hairy arm hangs loosely down, skimming the carpet. He’s singing along. Loud, tuneless words.

I step in. “Dad. Where’s Mum?”

He doesn’t turn, doesn’t even bother to look at me. There was a time, years ago, when he used to scoop me in his arms and ask me how my day was. I haven’t forgotten. I wonder if he has. I guess we’re both different people now.

“She’s popped out, be back in a minute.”

I stand there, feeling useless. The music is vibrating on the soles of my feet. I wonder if Mrs Fletcher next door will complain again. The last time she did that Dad was in a rage for hours and we never heard the end of it. I hope she’s out. “Don’t just stand there. Fetch me a tea,” he says and then starts singing again.

I walk through into the kitchen and flick on the kettle. It’s spotless in here, it always is. I daren’t even leave a dirty teaspoon in the sink. I open our fridge. Mum has stuffed it full of healthy food – salad and stuff. She’s on another one of her diets. On the bottom shelf are beer cans, on their sides like large, cold grenades. He doesn’t drink them all the time. But when he does things are usually much worse.

I carefully make his tea. I use his favourite Chelsea mug. Stir the teabag forty times, no more, no less. I watch as the dark water swirls around the soggy lump of a bag. Two heaped spoons of sugar and just a hint of milk. He says he likes tea you “can stand a teaspoon up in”. To me it just looks dark and angry, a lot like him. I wonder if it stains him inside. Once I made it too milky and he threw the cup against the wall. It took me ages to get the stain out of the carpet. That was a particularly bad day.

I think I might actually hate him.

I place the cup carefully on the table beside him, making sure I use the coaster. On Saturday, I spilt a tiny bit. I didn’t hear the end of that for hours.

Clumsy, inconsiderate bitch…

He looks up at me and nods, slow and grudging. His lips are pulled into a sneer. He reminds me of a bear, but not a friendly one like Winnie the Pooh. Lois has a dad like a teddy bear, a friendly, cuddly one. My dad should be kept in a zoo. He closes his eyes and goes back to his music. He has no interest in me now.

I barely register the front door opening and Mum walking in. But then I see the Co-op bag clutched between her thin fingers and I know what she was sent out for. His cigarettes and yet more cans. We live our lives around him.

“This is pathetic,” I hiss at her, barging my way past. I make her wobble off balance.

“Where are you going?” she says. She looks at me with those wide blue eyes that take over her tiny, bony face. I swear I’m losing a bit more of her every day. A puff of wind will blow her inside out like a useless umbrella. Even her hair is more candyfloss than curls.

“I’m going out,” I say, grabbing my bag again. I need to get some air. I just know I can’t be here.

“But you’ve only just got back?” Her voice is whiny, pleading. She needs me here, I know that, but I can’t face it. She puts the bag down. I see the light reflecting off the cans inside and want to kick them across the room. Why does he need more? More beer spells trouble.

“What’s the point of talking? He’s bad enough at the moment –” I gesture towards the living room, “ – and you’re just encouraging him.”

Her eyes drop. “He just said he wanted more for later. It’s been a tough day.”

“But he has enough in the fridge. Why does he need more?”

“You don’t understand,” she says lamely.

“No, I don’t!” My eyes are drilling into hers. Why does she let this happen?

“What’s going on?” Dad’s voice booms over the music.

“Nothing, Stu!” Mum shouts back. She turns to me. “Please, Keren. Please come inside. You can’t keep walking away.”

But I grab my jacket and leave, hearing Dad’s shouts behind me as I slam the door.

Like I said, it’s easy to shut the problems away.

“Hi, Lyn.”

I can hear his soft breath on the other end of the phone. “Hi. Where are you?”

I don’t think I can tell him that I’m in the Mac. He’ll just think that’s weird, like I’m stalking him or something. I’m not. My feet just took me here automatically. Now I’m staring up at the grainy, graffiti-stained buildings of the Macmillan Estate. I know he lives up in the flats on the main block. I even know he’s on the seventeenth floor, he told me once when he was boasting about the view. But he’s still not taken me there. I wonder if he ever will.

“Just getting some fresh air,” I say.

I walked away from my tidy little house nestled in the roads where Lyn never goes. I went through my wrought-iron gate, past my dad’s battered Audi and down the tree-lined streets, with the neatly cut verges. I walked without even thinking. Ten minutes later and I’m here. Mum calls it hell. I call it real.

“Really? It’s freezing out. Rather you than me.”

I wonder what he’s doing. Probably playing Xbox or chatting online.
What else do you do when you’re alone, Lyn?
Why do I feel like I don’t really know you at all?

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” I say softly, squinting up at the brightly lit windows of the tower. I can picture the families inside; sitting down to the TV, all snug and warm.

“I’ve got a good voice,” he growls, and I laugh.

It is pretty cold now and my light jacket isn’t much use. I jiggle around a little, watching as the street lights dance in front of my eyes, creating hazy waves in front of me. I like being out at this time, the border between light and dark. Everything seems softer somehow, all the edges blurry, like the hard lines have been smoothed out with a rubber.

“I saw you talking to Jess earlier.” I didn’t mean to. The words just tumble out.

“Jess? Yeah, she was behind me in the queue today. I’ve not spoken to her in ages.”

“Say something funny, did she?”

There’s a pause. “Look, Kez, I know you don’t like her or whatever, but she’s a nice girl, OK? Bit shy maybe. I really don’t want to be dragged into one of your bitchy catfights, but I don’t see why you’ve got it in for her.”