‘And you’d be
right
,’ said Chantelle, offended that he could even think such a thing. She had never stolen anything in her life, because she had seen her mum get arrested enough times to know that she would rather go without than suffer the shame of being branded a thief.
Anton’s eyes twinkled with amusement when he heard the indignation in her voice. She was even prettier up close, and she smelled real good.
‘Anton!’ Abdul’s voice suddenly boomed out over the tannoy. ‘Get back to work!’
‘You work here?’ Chantelle raised an eyebrow in surprise.
‘You don’t think I dress like this for fun, do you?’ Anton nodded down at his black trousers and bomber jacket. ‘I’m only here ’cos I’ve got to be,’ he went on, casting a dirty look in his boss’s direction. ‘Probation,’ he added, pride refusing to allow him to let her think that he was the kind of loser who would take a shit job like this of his own accord.
Chantelle was disappointed. For a moment there she had thought that maybe he wasn’t as bad as people made out. But if he was only working because he had no choice, then he obviously hadn’t changed.
‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, conscious that she was trapped between him, the shelf, and another shopper’s loaded trolley. ‘Excuse me.’
Anton stepped aside, waved for her to go past, and watched as she went to the till and paid for the bottle of milk she’d come in for before walking quickly out of the shop. He wasn’t stupid; he had seen the veil fall over her eyes at the mention of probation. She obviously thought she was better than him, but that was okay. He was out now, and there was no way he was ever going back inside, so there was plenty of time to win her over.
He made his way back to the front of the shop now, intending to take up his post at the door. But he hesitated when he heard his boss mouthing off. ‘You talking to me?’ he asked, turning to face the man.
‘Yeah, I said you’re bloody useless!’ Abdul’s tone was scathing. ‘That was a full litre of vodka that thieving bitch got away with while you were busy chatting up that girl. I should take it out of your bloody wages.’
Aware that customers were listening, and especially conscious of two teenage girls who he’d previously messed around with who were now giving their toddlers free rein to run riot while they watched to see what he would do, a smile came onto Anton’s lips. ‘Say again,’ he said, walking calmly up to the counter behind which his boss was standing.
‘I said you’re an
idiot
,’ Abdul repeated, raising his voice for the benefit of his audience. ‘This is what I get for hiring low-life criminals, but you wait till I speak to your probation officer, ’cos I’ll—’
Anton seized him by his shirt-front before he could finish the sentence and dragged him over the counter until they were nose to nose. ‘You ever mug me off like that again,’ he hissed, ‘I’ll string you up by your ankles and slice your fucking throat open, then sit and watch while you bleed to death. ‘Y’ gets me?’
Abdul let out a strangled squawk of terror when he saw the icy look in Anton’s eyes and quickly nodded his agreement. Satisfied that he wouldn’t make the same mistake again, Anton let him go and wiped his hands on his trousers.
Just a few more months
, he reminded himself as he strolled to the door … All he had to do was stick this shit out for the remainder of his sentence to keep the probation officer off his back, and then he’d be free to get his life back on track. And the first thing he was going to do was kick this poxy job into touch.
Scared that Abdul might send the security guard after her, Tracey ran all the way home. Out of breath when she got there, she fumbled her key into the lock and fell into the hall. Hands shaking, she rushed into the kitchen, twisting the cap off the stolen bottle as she went, and slopped a large measure into a cup before carrying it and the bottle into the front room.
That was the closest she’d come to getting caught in ages and her nerves were frazzled. Abdul didn’t faze her; he was too fat and soft to do anything. But that new security guard lived on the estate, and he looked like he wouldn’t think twice about giving her a good hiding.
Almost jumping out of her skin when someone suddenly started hammering on the front door, she crept to the window and peeked out through the gap in the curtains. Relieved to see that it was only Chantelle, she went back to the couch and flopped down to finish her drink in peace.
Chantelle knocked a few more times. Then she raised the flap of the letter box, and shouted, ‘I know you’re in there, Tracey, I saw you go in – and I’m not going away till you tell me where my mum is. I mean it … I’ll stay out here all night if I have to.’
As another volley of knocking echoed around the uncarpeted hall, Tracey squeezed her eyes shut and hissed, ‘Oh, piss off and leave me alone. I’ve got enough problems of me own to deal with.’
Outside, Chantelle moved from the door to the window. She was sure that she’d seen Tracey going into the flat but the room was pitch dark when she peered through the thin gap between the curtains, so maybe she’d got it wrong?
Too cold to carry out her threat of staying there all night, and scared that Leon might take off if she left him alone for too much longer, she gave up and went home. Her heart had soared when she’d seen Tracey in the shop just now; she’d been made up to think that her mum was back to pick up the reins. But Tracey’s words had given her an uneasy feeling. She and Mary were usually glued together at the hip, so why didn’t she know where Mary was? Or
did
she know, and was lying to cover for her? Something was going on, and if her mum still hadn’t turned up by the time Chantelle got home from school tomorrow she was going to go back round to Tracey’s – and
keep
on going back until Tracey told her the truth.
6
‘Okay, settle down!’ the form tutor, Lynn Foster, called, struggling to make herself heard over the cacophony of chair scraping and excited chatter. ‘Those of you who are coming back for sixth form, remember what I said and try to have a bit of fun during the holidays, because it will be a difficult year ahead. For those who are going straight to college, I wish you the very best of luck. And those of you who are leaving, please try to do something positive with your lives, because you’re all capable if you put your minds to it.’
Aware that her pupils weren’t listening as they noisily pushed and shoved their way out of the classroom, desperate for the freedom that lay beyond the door, Lynn sighed. Then, locating Chantelle at the back, she caught her eye and said, ‘Could you stay behind for a moment, please?’
‘Aw, what’s she want now?’ Chantelle’s friend Immy muttered. ‘Hope she’s not gonna give you one of her epic lectures or you’ll be here all day.’
‘Go on ahead,’ Chantelle said, a sinking feeling already settling over her. ‘I’ll try not to be too long.’
‘I’ll wait by the gate,’ Immy said, flashing the teacher an unimpressed look. ‘But I promised my mum I wouldn’t be late, so I’ll have to go if you’re not out in ten.’
Chantelle nodded, and hung back as the classroom quickly emptied. When they were alone, the teacher closed the door and waved for her to sit down.
‘I’ll try not to keep you,’ she said, taking her own seat and linking her hands together on the desktop. ‘I just wanted to speak to you before the summer holidays, because I’m a little concerned about you.’ She paused now and smiled before continuing. ‘Nothing to worry about – you just haven’t seemed yourself lately, and I wondered if there was anything worrying you?’
Chantelle shook her head and dipped her gaze. ‘Everything’s fine.’
‘Are you sure?’ Lynn probed gently. ‘I know you struggled with your exams, and that wasn’t like you because you usually do so well. If there’s something wrong, I hope you know that you can talk to me?’
Chantelle inhaled deeply and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek. ‘I’m fine,’ she insisted. ‘Honestly. I’m just tired, that’s all.’
Lynn nodded slowly. ‘I understand that; it’s been an arduous few weeks. But you’re one of our brightest students and you don’t usually have so much trouble with tests. I know you’re not the kind of girl who likes to talk about your feelings, but it’s my job to help if you’re having difficulties.’
The teacher stopped talking and Chantelle knew that she was waiting for a response. But she didn’t dare speak for fear of what might tumble out. Everything was a mess, and it was getting worse by the day. It had been three weeks now since her mum had disappeared, and not only was she struggling to keep Leon under control but the money that her mum had left was long gone, so she’d been forced to break into her savings – which she really hadn’t wanted to. Ever since she’d first started high school she’d known that she wanted to go to college so, while her friends spent their pocket money on magazines, make-up and clothes, Chantelle had put every penny she’d ever managed to get her hands on straight into her bank account. She was determined not to end up like her mum: struggling through life on benefits, with unwanted kids to feed and an insatiable appetite for fags, booze and drugs to cater for. It had been hard, but she had managed to accumulate just under £300 and she resented having to spend it on food. But what choice did she have? She wasn’t old enough to sign on, and she definitely couldn’t ask anyone for help because then the authorities would know that their mum had abandoned them and it would be game over.
‘I wish you’d talk to me.’ Lynn tried again, watching as the troubled thoughts flashed through the girl’s downcast eyes.
Chantelle shook her head and inhaled deeply. ‘There’s nothing wrong. I’m absolutely fine.’
Lynn sighed. As she’d already said, Chantelle was one of the school’s brightest students, and yet she looked set to do badly in every one of the exams that she had sat. It didn’t make sense.
‘Maybe I should talk to your mum?’ she ventured.
‘
No!
’ Chantelle’s head shot up. ‘Please, don’t. She’s not very well at the moment, and I don’t want to worry her.’
‘Ah …’ Relieved to have finally got an insight, Lynn leaned forward. ‘Would you like to talk about it?’
‘No, we’re all right.’ Chantelle dropped her gaze again.
The teacher’s voice was so soft and kind that she felt like bursting into tears. She had always liked Mrs Foster best of all the teachers in the school, and she knew that the woman was fond of her, too. But, in her experience, the kindest adults were often the most easily shocked, and if Mrs Foster were to discover the truth she would feel duty-bound to alert the social worker.
‘It’s just a bit of flu,’ Chantelle lied, forcing herself to look the woman in the eye now as she rose from her seat. ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to go or I’ll be late picking my brother up.’ She reached for her bag. ‘And I said I’d go to the doctor’s on my way home and get my mum’s prescription.’
‘Okay, well, try to relax during the holidays.’ Lynn stood up and came around the desk. ‘And don’t worry too much about your exam results. If they’re not up to par we can talk about re-sits when the new term starts.’
Chantelle nodded and pulled the door open. Then, forcing a smile, she fled down the corridor, determined to get out of there before the tears came.
When the girl had gone, Lynn gathered her own things together. Chantelle had always been reserved but she’d been even quieter than usual of late. And she’d lost weight, which was a definite indicator of stress. As she made her way to the staffroom Lynn wondered again if she ought to call the girl’s mother. But she quickly decided against it. Chantelle had asked her not to, and she didn’t want her to think that she’d gone behind her back. Apart from which, Mary Booth was hardly the most approachable of women – as Lynn had discovered to her cost on the one occasion when the woman had actually bothered to turn up for parents’ evening, eyes glazed and reeking of alcohol. Lynn had only spoken to her once since then: eighteen months ago, after Chantelle and her brother returned home after being placed in temporary care. She had called to offer the school’s support, but Mary Booth had made it quite clear that she neither needed nor wanted their help.
So, no, she wouldn’t be making that mistake again.
As much as she suspected that something was bothering Chantelle, she sensed that no good would come of interfering. All she could do was be here when –
if
– Chantelle decided that she wanted to talk.
Chantelle was glad to see that Immy had gone when she reached the school gates. They had been best mates for years and always walked home together, but Immy would be bound to ask what was wrong if she saw how upset Chantelle was, and Chantelle couldn’t risk telling her. She couldn’t tell
any
one. It was too dangerous.
She had more or less pulled herself together by the time she reached Leon’s school, but her heart sank all over again when she turned the corner and saw her brother standing at the gates with Anton Davis.
‘What’s going on?’ she asked, quickening her pace when she saw Leon’s ripped shirt and the thin trail of blood that was dribbling out of a little cut above his eye. ‘Oh my God, what have you done? Have you been fighting?’
‘Everything’s cool,’ Anton assured her, shifting the little girl he had in his arms onto his other hip. ‘Your bro was having a beef with some older kids, but it’s sorted now. Ain’t that right, Champ?’ He ruffled Leon’s hair.
Leon nodded and grinned, and Chantelle frowned when she saw the adoring look in his eyes as he gazed up at Anton. It was bad enough that he’d been smoking and drinking and hanging around with a gang, without him adopting Anton as his new hero as well.
‘Right, well, thanks for looking after him,’ she said, pulling Leon away. ‘But I’ll take it from here.’
‘It was no probs,’ Anton said, falling into step beside her as she started walking away. ‘Didn’t realise him and my little sis went to the same school. Small world, eh?’
‘It’s the closest primary to the estate,’ Chantelle replied frostily. ‘Where else are they going to go?’
Amused by her feistiness, Anton grinned. ‘Haven’t seen you at Abdul’s in a while; been shopping somewhere else?’