Seven Days (9 page)

“She’s needs to learn some respect! I’ve had it up to here with her attitude!”

I can’t hear my mum’s muffled reply. I imagine she’s trying to calm him down.

“I don’t care what you say. You let her get away with bloody murder. You’re spineless. Useless!”

There is a crashing sound, like breaking glass. I draw breath. I should be used to this but I’m not. My mum is screaming now.

“What did you do that for?”

“I can do what I like! It’s my house!”

I move over to the shower and turn it on. The blast of water is fierce and loud. I strip off clumsily and step inside the protective glass. In here I can pretend they aren’t killing each other. In here I make out that everything is OK. I turn my face into the jet of water and let the fine stream hit my skin. It stings, but in a good way. The tears are easing their way out of my closed lids. I don’t bother to fight them. It’s better that I cry here than later, in front of anyone else.

I dry and dress myself in the safety of the locked room, humming quietly under my breath. I take time at the mirror, carefully applying concealer to mask the dark circles, loading up the mascara, opening up my eyes. I continue singing so that I can’t hear them screaming. I only wish I’d brought my iPod in with me. The lipstick is my final touch, the dark rich colour that makes me look strong, in control. I pull my hair into a tight ponytail away from my face. And then, when it’s finally quiet, I creep out of the room and down the stairs.

I don’t check what room they’re in. I’m sure I can hear Mum softly sobbing somewhere. No surprise there, then. Luckily my school stuff is all waiting by the door. I open the front door and go outside, pulling the door shut behind me.

I doubt they’ve even noticed I’ve gone.

I hate science – mainly because I’m thick and don’t understand it. I don’t even know why they stuffed me in this set. I must’ve fluked a test or something. I’m not designed to be clever; my brains are just not made that way. Give me a paintbrush any day.

I only have to look at the diagrams on the board and I zone out. Wake me up when it’s all over, or even better kill me now. Anything but be subjected to this.

At least I have Marnie to sit with. She pretends she doesn’t get it, but she’s smarter than me. Marnie doesn’t like people to know that, though, because it’s not cool. Sitting with her means we can have a laugh and maybe get some of the work done – if we can be bothered.

As we walk in, she pulls my arm.

“Let’s sit with little Miss Stig Pig.”

I burst out laughing. I can’t help myself. She’s joking, isn’t she? Why the hell would I want to make this lesson even duller? But of course she’s not joking and she drags me over to where Jess is sitting. Everyone else in the room is either talking or playing with their phones, but not Jess. She has her head stuck in her book and is busy scribbling away.

I ask her what she’s doing and her whole face pales. She shifts over a little in her seat, like I smell or something. She says she’s doing homework, catching up. Her fingers drift over a worksheet stapled in her book.

Homework? Oh no, was there? I’m so far behind that Mr Jones has put a note in my book telling my parents what a screw-up I am. Remembering that makes my stomach sink. I’ve managed to keep it hidden – for now. The next thing will be a call home and that would send Dad deranged. I really don’t need the grief.

I take Jess’s book and tell her I need to copy some of the stuff. She nods meekly. She’s hardly going to say no, is she? But sometimes I wish she would. Just so she wasn’t always such a pushover. Then I might respect her more. Marnie copies some stuff down and she doesn’t even need help. She’s just too lazy to bother doing it herself.

Then Mr Jones walks in, his expression is dark and unreadable. I throw the book back at Jess; if I’m caught with that I really would be dead. Jess does this weird flappy motion with her hands and manages to knock the book on to her lap. More flapping sends the book to the floor. Honestly, she is such an idiot.

“Clumsy,” I hiss at her. I’m tempted to say more, but bite my tongue.

Jess’s face is wild with panic – she leans over to reach the book. She looks so stupid, half hanging off the stool that I can’t help giving her a soft little nudge, it’s just too tempting not to. She falls, almost in slow motion – flat on her side. It’s lucky she’s quite big, because that would’ve hurt. I feel a bit bad. She’s so pathetic down there and weirdly, she’s not moving much – it’s like she’s actually dying of shame. Part of me just wishes she would get the hell up instead of making herself look even more lame.

“What are you doing down there?” I ask, trying to keep it light. Making a joke of it. I assume she will jump up, smile and brush herself down.

“Like you care,” she hisses back.

I stare back at her, all sweaty and useless on the floor, and I can feel the anger rising inside me. Why the hell is she taking it out on me? It’s not my fault her stupid, doughy hands can’t catch for crap.

Mr Jones notices that something is going on and snaps at Jess to get up. He assumes she is messing around. I don’t think he likes teenagers much; he looks at all of us as if we’re something that’s just dropped out of a dog’s backside. Jess stands up. Her uniform now has dust on it from the floor, but she looked a mess anyway. Her skirt is all out of shape and far too long and her jumper has holes in it. She looks like she’s been styled by Oxfam, and even that’s being kind.

“I bet you liked it down there,” I say. “Judging by the state of you, you’re used to living in muck.”

Marnie giggles next to me. I’m pleased that she’s looking impressed. I’m not usually much good with the quick lines like her.

Marnie starts tearing into Jess now that I’ve sparked her interest. She points out that Jess’s hair looks awful (it does) and she looks a complete mess (she does). Jess stands there and takes it. Her eyes keep flicking over to Mr Jones. I think she’s hoping he will say something. She’s such a little grass, I’m surprised she doesn’t stick her arm up and report us. Or burst into tears.

“Your poor little sister stands no chance does she?” I say. I know this will piss her off. She’s crazy about her sister, everyone knows that.

Her face changes then – goes all weird and hard. “What?” she says. She’s looking directly at me now, she never usually does that. Her eyes are all starey and glassy.

I sigh, acting like this is boring me now, but it’s actually getting interesting. I want to see how far I can take this. “I said your poor little sister stands no chance, with you as a sister. No wonder your dad ran off.”

She keeps looking at me for a few seconds more; I’m surprised how long she can hold my stare. I’m also surprised at how green her eyes are. I’ve not noticed that before. It’s a shame she doesn’t do anything with them. They’re wasted on her.

And then she just leaves, gets her bags and storms out of the room, leaving Mr Jones in more of a flap than ever. She even barges me slightly as she goes – cow. I imagine she’s running to the toilets or medical room for a good cry. Just as long as she doesn’t report us, I don’t care where she is. I prefer not having to see her soppy face.

“Was it something we said?” whispers Marnie with a grin.

“She’s just weak as…” I hiss back.

I turn and notice she’s left her exercise book behind. Without thinking I pull it towards me. On the front she’s drawn her name in big bubble writing – like a kid would. Underneath she’s drawn a neat little flower, a rose bud I think. It’s quite clever.

“Urgh,” hisses Marnie, peering over my arm, “she’s so naff.”

“I know.”

I get my black pen and draw around her rose. It doesn’t take long for me to turn her stupid little picture into a neat-looking gravestone. Complete with the words –
JESS R.I.P.

She should get the message now.

The house is quiet when I walk in. That’s not right. Dad’s always home now. Where else would he be?

I throw my bags down by the door and can feel my whole body going tense. Maybe it’s all right – he’s probably just asleep. Or maybe he’s actually got an interview. He’s not had one of those for months now.

I slip past the living-room door. It’s standing wide open. At first I think there’s no one there and go to walk past. And then I see her, curled up in a ball on the sofa.

“Mum?”

I step inside slowly, keeping my voice lowered. Mum is facing the cushions. She sighs gently and turns. I see her face and it’s like an invisible punch has struck me in the stomach.

“Not again,” I say. I go over to her, not wanting to look at the swollen lip, the red nose, the eye that’s closing against me. She looks such a mess, all bright colours that look so wrong on skin. I want to walk back out the door again. I wish I’d not had to see this.

“I’m OK,” she says. Her voice sounds all muffled like her mouth is stuffed with cotton wool. “It looks worse than it is.”

“Where is he?”

She tries to pull herself up, her good eye blinking hard. “Out. I don’t know where. He stormed out ages ago.”

“Oh, Mum.” I taste sick in my mouth. “Do you need me to get something?” I reach out towards her nose and retract as she flinches from me, “Surely we should get that checked? It might be broken.”

“I’m fine! I told you. Stop fussing. A few days and this will all be forgotten. I’ve had worse.”

Yeah, like the broken arm, do you remember that one? You told me that was your fault too – like everyone deserves having their bones snapped in two.

The buzzing in my head is driving me nuts. It’s all I can do not to shake her and shout in her stupid cut-up face.

“You can’t let him get away with this,” I hiss instead.

“It’s not his fault, Kez. You don’t realize how stressed he is right now. We both need to give him a break.”

“A break!” I spit. “You’re joking, right? He’s just smashed up your face.”

Mum turns away from me. “I’m not talking about this any longer. All parents row. It’s part of life. You’ll understand that one day.”

I step back, shaking. I have no words left. It’s all been said before. We both know she’ll roll over and take it. We both know Dad’ll do it again.

My heart lurches as I suddenly remember Dad standing at the foot of my bed this morning. That curled fist around my doorframe.

“This is because of the row with me, isn’t it,” I say. “This is my fault
again
.”

Mum doesn’t answer, but that’s an answer enough.

I walk out of the room and shut the door quietly behind me. I just pretend I can’t hear my mum crying. She’s always crying these days.

I’m getting good at pretending that all this doesn’t matter any more.

Kez Walker: Party soon. Can’t wait. Just gotta decide what to wear…

23 minutes ago.

Marnie: Yea! Going to be so much fun. U look beautiful whatever you wear

Kez: Yeah – right ;o(

Lyn: Can’t wait guys. Goin to keep the Mac awake!

Kez: Yeah!!

Marnie: Goin 2 b so cool. Cant wait

Lyn: Loadz goin now

Kez: You’re brave

Lyn: Or mad…;o)

Kez: Can’t wait Lyn Roberts. This will be the best night eva

Lyn: You betta believe it