The Accidental Life of Jessie Jefferson (2 page)

‘You want a turn?’ I call, buoyed by the cider as I climb off the contraption.

He says something to one of his friends and saunters over. By the time he reaches us, I’m back at the wooden platform and Natalie is raising one eyebrow at me. I smirk at her and pray I’m not blushing.

‘Did you win?’ I ask Tom, as he climbs up on to the platform and takes the pulley from me.

‘Course,’ he replies. He’s a bit sweaty after the match, but he’s still well fit. ‘Are you sure this thing’s safe?’ he asks.

‘Who gives a toss? Live dangerously, right?’

He grins at me and my heart flutters. Then he’s off.

‘Wooooooo!’ he yells, as some of his mates catcall and clap.

‘You fancy Tom Ryder,’ Natalie sing-songs into my ear. I eye the muscles on his arms as he clings to the pulley.

‘Who doesn’t?’ I reply without missing a beat. He’s the best-looking guy in school.

Soon all the boys from the football game want to get in on the act and a queue forms, but suddenly I feel a bit sick and dizzy. I gingerly climb down from the platform.

‘You were next,’ Tom says to me, taking the pulley from one of his mates. ‘They can wait.’

‘No, no, it’s OK.’ I wave him away.

‘Are you alright?’ he asks with a frown.

‘I’m fine,’ I reply, climbing a little way up the grassy mound next to the zip wire and sitting down. He follows and stands there, looking down at me.

‘You don’t look very well.’

Actually, I feel sick. Please go away, I think. ‘I’ll be OK,’ I say out loud. Too much alcohol, too little food,
way
too much excitement. I put my head in my hands and try not to throw up.

‘Jessie!’

I glance up to see Aaron and Dougie manically waving at me as they stride across the green. They point at the car park behind me, but I can’t see over the mound I’m sitting on. Tom looks past me. Before he can say anything, one of the guys waiting for the zip wire shouts, ‘What’s Mr Taylor doing here?’

I shoot to my feet in an instant and see him slamming shut the door of his little white hatchback. Mr Taylor. Our Maths teacher.

Otherwise known as Stuart, my stepdad.

Shit, shit, shit.

‘Better go,’ I mutter, getting up and walking away without looking back. I hear laughter and joking in the distance behind me, and I glance up once to see Stu’s features set into a hard line.

I’m still fighting the urge to throw up as I get into the car, an urge that overcomes me the moment Stuart drives with restrained fury out of the car park.

‘Stop!’ I gasp, shoving open the door in time to vomit on the curb.

He doesn’t say a word, but he doesn’t need to. The air is thick with his disappointment.

Chapter 2

The next morning I wake up with a pounding headache. Light spills underneath the curtains and I slowly sit up and climb out of bed, pulling back the curtains to reveal a beautiful blue sky, yesterday’s clouds nowhere to be seen. About time we had some sunshine. I’d probably feel happy if the nausea wasn’t taking up so much room in my stomach. A knock on my door makes me jump.

‘Get up, Jessie, or you’ll be late for school.’

From his tone, it’s clear Stuart has not forgiven me.

‘I’m up,’ I call back.

‘Be downstairs for breakfast in ten minutes,’ he says firmly.

I don’t reply.

‘Jessie!’ he snaps.

‘OK!’ I cry back petulantly.

My stomach churns. The last thing I feel like is food, but it’s the one thing that will probably make me feel better.

I don’t have time to wash my hair today, so I take a quick shower and fashion it into an untidy braid, then I get dressed in my school uniform, a green-and-white checked dress which is a little higher above the knee than it should be. I still hate wearing it. At least it will be the summer holidays soon so I can dress however I like.

My stomach churns again, but this time the feeling is not hangover-induced. I’ve been dreading the summer holidays. At least school keeps my mind occupied. I’ve lined up a few extra shifts at the clothes shop where I work, but that’s not really going to cut it. We were going to go to Spain – Mum, Stu and me. Mum had been talking about booking it the week before she died. I’d been complaining because I didn’t want to go away on holiday with just her and Stu, and she had said that maybe we could think about inviting Libby, too.

A lump forms in my throat and I quickly swallow. I don’t want to cry, not now.

I traipse downstairs to the kitchen. I can see Stuart standing over the toaster, but for a moment I pause in the corridor and imagine that he’s Mum. If I squeeze my eyes closed and peek through the blurry crack, it almost could be her, waiting for my toast to pop up.

‘Peanut butter or Marmite?’ she’d ask. I open my eyes, disintegrating the fantasy, and walk into the room.

‘Would you like toast or cereal?’ Stuart asks, not looking at me.

He’s obviously still really angry. ‘Um, toast, please,’ I reply cautiously.

It pops up and he puts it on a plate.

‘I can butter it,’ I say, hoping to placate him. He abruptly hands the plate to me, then turns back to the toaster, putting another two pieces of bread in for himself. I nervously go to stand beside him at the counter. He shoves the butter in my direction.

I’m only five foot six, and petite, so he’s taller than me by about six inches. The short-sleeve T-shirts he chooses to wear only seem to highlight his lanky frame. He has dark, messy hair and wears black, horn-rimmed glasses. I pretty much think he looks like a total geek, but apparently some of the girls at school think he’s quite hot. Geek chic, I suppose.

‘What the hell were you thinking?’ he erupts all of a sudden, making me jolt and clutch my hand to my chest.

‘Scare the life out of me why don’t you!’

‘I’ve had just about enough of this, Jessie.’ He stares down at me, waving his butter knife around in his hand. ‘How dare you sneak out of your window last night without telling me where you were going!’

‘Stu. Put. The. Knife. Down,’ I say slowly, trying to keep a straight face. But he looks at me like he hates me, and the urge to giggle vanishes. ‘If you’ve had enough of me, why don’t you just kick me out? It’s not like I’m
yours
,’ I spit. ‘At least Mum never lied to me about
that
before going off and getting herself killed!’

The fury slips from his face and is replaced with remorse. ‘Hey,’ he starts, but I don’t give him time to finish, turning on my heel and grabbing my bag from the kitchen floor as I storm out the door.

‘Jessie!’ he shouts after me, but I’m already gone.

That was a bit stupid, I think to myself as I fling my backpack over my shoulder and walk out of the small close and away from the 1970s townhouse where we live. Now I’m going to have to walk, and school is flippin’ miles away.

I have to pass by Libby’s on my way, and I make sure I’m on the other side of the street so there’s less chance of her spotting me. I keep my gaze trained on the footpath, but instinct takes over and I can’t help shooting a look up at her home. Libby’s large, detached house is beautiful compared to our shabby little terrace. Her mum likes gardening and it shows, the hedges neatly trimmed, flowers bursting with colour in the beds. Her dad’s grey BMW glints in the sunlight on the driveway. I glance through the kitchen window and can see Libby, with her bobbed, ginger hair, sitting with her back to me at the kitchen table, flanked by her similarly ginger-haired brothers. Suddenly her mum appears at the window and her face lights up as she spots me. I quickly look away before she has a chance to wave.

My heart is pounding as my footsteps quicken, the pit of my stomach sick with sadness and regret. Libby’s mum always used to make me feel like I was a part of their family. But now Libby and I have nothing in common. I wonder if we ever really did. Just look at her house, look at her dad’s car, look at the happy little gathering around her kitchen table. I’m not a part of their family. I’m not a part of anyone’s family.

The trouble with having a stepdad who works at my school is that I can only avoid him for so long. I manage it until after first break, but then he corners me in the corridor outside Physics.

‘Well, at least you had the courtesy to turn up for school,’ he says.

I roll my eyes.

‘Don’t disappear anywhere at home time. We need to talk.’

‘OK, but I’m going out tonight,’ I inform him.

‘You’ve had too many nights out recently – you’re not going anywhere,’ he replies sternly, giving me a hard look as he sets off along the corridor towards his classroom.

We’ll see about that.

I turn to go into my Physics lesson and see Tom and one of his football mates, Chris, heading in my direction. I quickly put my head down. I wonder if they saw me barf in the car park last night. How freaking embarrassing.

‘Hey, Jessie!’ Tom calls. I hesitate outside the classroom door, glancing back to see him grinning at me cheekily. He jerks his head in the direction of Stu’s departing back. ‘You in trouble?’

I shrug. ‘Might be.’

He reaches me and Chris peels off, raising an eyebrow at Tom as he goes. I wonder what that’s supposed to mean.

‘Is he grounding you?’ Tom asks me, bringing my attention back to him.

‘Let him try.’

‘So you’re still coming to the party tonight?’

‘Of course.’ Does he
want
me to come?

‘Cool. See you later,’ he says with another grin, then jogs off to catch up with his mate.

I realise I have butterflies in my stomach and I want to be annoyed at myself, but I’m not. Does Tom Ryder, the hottest boy in school,
like
me? I turn around and bash straight into Libby.

‘Oof!’ she gasps as I knock the breath out of her.

‘Watch out,’ I snap, pushing past her and into the classroom.

Her hazel eyes crease with hurt and I instantly feel guilty. I hate how she makes me feel like this. I hated how she sometimes made me feel when Mum was alive, too, always siding with her when we argued and never with me. Telling me that I shouldn’t pick fights so much, that I should be grateful my mum was so cool. Now Libby just reminds me of how much I took for granted, and I don’t want to be reminded. Another reason I’ve been trying to stay clear of her.

I pull out my chair with a loud screech and slump into it, steeling myself for the misery that is my Physics lesson. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Libby quietly go to take a seat next to Amanda Blackthorn. Amanda smiles brightly up at her and Libby shakily returns her smile. Amanda’s closest friend Maria recently moved up north, so her BFF position is up for grabs. I bet Libby takes it. Amanda only lives around the corner from Libby and her life is just as perfect. They’re much better suited to each other than Libby and I ever were. I’d say I didn’t care, but the truth is, I’d be lying.

After school, I wait beside Stuart’s white Fiat in the staff car park. I see him come around the corner with a black look on his face, and he’s momentarily surprised to see me standing there. I guess he expected me to split. I will, soon enough. First I’ll lull him into a false sense of security . . .

God, when did I become such a bitch?

When my mum failed to turn up for my birthday party, that’s when.

Pain hurts my heart and I try to steel it into anger instead. I push off from the car and glare at Stu as he approaches.

‘Take your time, why don’t you,’ I say.

‘Get in the car,’ he replies, unlocking it.

I begrudgingly do as he says.

‘How was your day?’ he asks.

‘What, so now we’re doing small talk?’

‘Fine,’ he says abruptly. ‘Forget the small talk. Instead, why don’t you tell me when you’re going to stop hurting yourself like this?’

I scoff. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

He turns to stare at me. ‘You know, no one can hurt you as much as you can hurt yourself.’

‘Are you taking the piss? A serial killer could tear my heart out!’ I raise my voice. ‘Literally, I mean,’ I add, because sometimes I feel like my mum’s death did that metaphorically. ‘I could get raped or murdered or . . . or . . .’
hit by falling glass from a loose fourth-storey window on my way to pick up a birthday cake . . .

Suddenly I’m gulping back my sobs and I want to get out of the car and run, run, run far away from here, but Stuart’s hand is on my arm. I can see pity in his eyes and I want to shake him off, but I don’t have the energy so I sit there and cry out the remains of my torn-out heart instead.

‘Jessie . . . It’s OK. I miss her too,’ Stuart says gently. ‘I’m here for you,’ he adds.

For how long? I think to myself. Why should he look after me, now? He owes me nothing. He was only ever in it for my mum.

That’s not true, a little voice inside my head says, but I quash it. Because he’s
not
my dad, much as my mum tried to tell me he was as good as one. I have never called him ‘Daddy’. He’s just Stu.

I roughly drag my arm across my nose and wipe away the tears from my eyes, sniffing loudly. I stare sullenly out the window. ‘Are we going home, or what? If anyone sees me sitting here with my
Maths teacher
, I’ll never live it down.’

Stu starts up the ignition, but before he pulls away he says, ‘You can keep pushing me away, but I’m not letting you go. Just so you know that.’

Hot tears sting my eyes as we drive out of the car park.

Stuart and I settle into an uneasy truce that night. He’s smart enough not to make me eat at the kitchen table with him and force polite conversation. Instead we take our bowls of spaghetti bolognese into the living room and sit and eat in front of the telly. He barely raises an eyebrow when I drop a strand of red spaghetti on the carpet. He even lets me watch one of my trashy reality TV shows, which is so not his thing. I want to say that I feel reasonably content, except that at the back of my mind I’m constantly aware that I know I’m going to go to the party at Natalie and Mike’s tonight, even if it starts World War III. I wonder if I can persuade Stu to agree on his own terms. Me having a meltdown earlier might have softened his heart a little.