by Amy Lloyd
He returns with glasses and cutlery clutched in his palms and sauce bottles tucked under his arm. I wipe the knife and fork with my napkin and he laughs and asks if I’m a germophobe. I insist on getting my own drink and when I’m up I ask the girl at the till for a spare glass and I want to tell her I’m sorry about Jack but I don’t know why.
Back at the table he puts his arm back around me and tries to force my face towards his for a kiss. I turn and his lips hit my jawline, and it hurts as he tries to twist my head back.
‘Stop!’ I say, suddenly, and it’s so loud that some people turn and smirk.
‘Fine,’ he says, flopping backwards. The girl at the till catches my eye and I’m too ashamed to look at her. ‘Why did you even come anyway?’ Jack asks. ‘If you don’t like me?’
‘You made me,’ I say. I’m confused because this is obvious, isn’t it? ‘You said that you’d tell the manager about that thing I took?’
‘I’ve never said that!’
I think back and I realise this is true.
‘Well, no, but you hinted that …’
‘All I did was ask you out,’ he says.
‘You said you did me a favour though?’ Everything looks different when I remember now and I feel stupid.
‘I did!’ he says. ‘I looked back at the security footage and it was really fucking obvious you were stealing. But you’re cute and I thought you liked me so I kept it to myself.’
It sounds again like the thing he’s saying, but not actually saying, is that if I don’t like him then he will tell the manager.
We eat and Jack stops trying to grab me and I think that maybe it will all be fine but when it’s time to leave he insists on walking me home.
‘I’m OK,’ I tell him. ‘Really.’
‘Where do you live, chick? Come on, I’ll take you.’
‘No, really, it’s OK. I have my bus ticket.’
‘I’ll get the bus with you. It’s dark.’
‘I wanted to get some shopping first,’ I say.
‘I’ll come with you there, then.’
I don’t want you to know where I live! I want to shout. Please! Leave me alone!
But Jack isn’t going anywhere and rather than get on the bus with him I suggest that maybe I could stay for one drink, just one, before I go home. I think about Jack on the bus with me, Jack moaning that now he’s come so far out of his way it’s only fair that he stays at mine. Jack smiles at the offer of a drink and I hope that he honours the deal and lets me go home after.
The bar is loud and dark and packed. People are already drunk and it makes me even more certain that I do not want to drink. Jack protests when I only ask for a Coke but I tell him that I don’t drink any more and he raises an eyebrow and says fine.
It seems easier to just let him hold my leg and play with my hair and speak into my ear, his breath thick with lager. I’m rigid and unresponsive but this doesn’t stop him from trying, again, to kiss me.
When I finish my drink I pat his hand and tell him I really need to go now.
‘I have to be home by ten thirty,’ I shout over the pounding music.
‘Or what? You turn back into a pumpkin?’
‘I’m going now,’ I say. ‘Thanks.’
Because he still has a lot of drink left I assume he will stay and I can sneak away but he leaves it and follows.
Out on the street he offers to get a taxi.
‘No,’ I say. I say it clearly so he can’t get confused. ‘I don’t want to go home with you.’
‘Who said anything about going home with me?’ he asks.
There’s a cab waiting at the taxi rank, so I slide in the back and close the door but Jack climbs in the other side. In response I open my door again and try to get out but he holds my wrist and tells me he’s just sharing a cab.
‘But you don’t know where I’m going,’ I say.
The taxi driver looks ahead impassively.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ Jack says.
I’m so tired of fighting that I tell the taxi driver the address for the home.
‘See?’ Jack says. ‘It’s on my way.’
Then he tells the taxi driver his address and I start to calm down. He leaves me alone and looks out of his window until we reach the home. I cringe as he watches me get out and the way his expression changes as he sees where I live. The sign on the outside reads only ‘Millbrook House’ but everyone surely knows what it really is, and how women in their dressing gowns smoke outside the gates.
I pay for the taxi and walk quickly towards the gate. Jack calls and I turn to see him leaning out of the open window.
‘Next time you’ll have to tell me how you ended up here,’ he says, grinning.
18
Her: Then
The school-dinner bell rings and I get in the line with everyone else in my class. I look around for Sean in the hall but I can’t see him even though all the other year fives and sixes are there already, because the oldest classes get to eat first. I am eight now but when I am nine like Sean I will be able to go for lunch earlier and there will always be chocolate pudding left for dessert on Wednesdays.
I can smell the chips and my stomach feels empty. We move forward, too slowly, and I’m stretching to see what the dessert is when someone pushes into me from behind. It’s like dominoes then, I push the person in front and they push the person in front of them. We all look back and see some older boys fighting towards the back.
‘Gyppo!’ Liam is saying.
It is Sean he’s calling a gyppo and I’m so happy to see him that I smile before I realise everything that’s happening. Sean pushes the boy again and again we all smush together.
I break out of the line even though it means I’ll have to go to the back (because those are the rules) and I hold Sean’s hand and say, ‘He’s not a gyppo.’
Sean pulls his hand away and wipes it even though my hands aren’t sticky at all. His hands are covered in blue ink where he’s been drawing on them.
‘Is she your girlfriend?’ Liam says.
Sean punches him in the mouth, a big wet slap sound, and it makes me cover my eyes.
Mr Pocklington grabs Sean and Liam and takes them away. I follow and try to tell him: ‘Mr Pocklington, sir, he called Sean a bad name, sir …’ but he isn’t listening at all. I follow all the way to the office and before he can slam the door I shout, ‘SIR! I saw it and it wasn’t Sean’s fault!’
Liam is holding his mouth and sniffling and Mr Pocklington tells me and Sean to stand against the wall and wait for him to come back. Then he goes off to the nurse with Liam, who is crying.
‘Why did you get involved?’ Sean asks. His neck is all red and he’s frowning at me like I did something wrong.
‘Because he was calling you a bad name,’ I say. I put my hair in my mouth because I’m nervous and I’m hungry thinking about the chips.
‘You made it worse,’ Sean says.
‘Oh.’ I drop my hair. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Shut up.’ Sean bangs the back of his head against the wall and his face is bright red like he might cry but he doesn’t.
‘Where have you been?’ I ask him. ‘I haven’t seen you all this week.’
Sean shrugs. ‘Didn’t want to come back to school.’
‘But you have to,’ I say. ‘Did your dad let you stay home?’
Sean laughs. ‘I mitched off, didn’t I? But the school called and he came and found me and made me come in for the afternoon.’
‘Aren’t you scared of getting in trouble?’ I ask. My heart beats really fast even thinking about mitching off and the trouble I’d get into with Auntie Fay.
Sean shrugs again. ‘Don’t care,’ he says. ‘It’s fucking shit here anyway.’
Mr Pocklington comes back and Liam has some blue paper towel over his mouth but has stopped crying.
‘Go back and have your lunch,’ the teacher tells me. ‘You,’ he says to Sean, ‘come with me.’
‘But—’ I start.
Mr Pocklington shakes his head. ‘I don’t want to hear it. We’ve had this behaviour before, haven’t we, boys?’ he says.
The boys both look away.
‘But—’ I say again.
‘Enough. There’s no excuse for this behaviour. Go and finish your lunch. Now.’
It’s hard to concentrate after dinner because it’s so unfair and it feels like no one ever listens and because the sun is coming in through the windows, warming me up and making me sleepy. When the afternoon-break bell rings I rush to get out into the playground and see if Sean is still here. He isn’t. I try not to cry and I do my walking that I like to do, following the walls all the way around the school, from the play area to the pond and past the school gates. I’m on my second time when I see Sean, crouched down at the side of the pond by himself, and I run until I’m right next to him but he doesn’t look up.
‘Did you get told off?’ I ask him.
‘What do you think?’ he asks. He’s scooping water up in his hands and letting it run off his fingers.
‘It’s not fair,’ I say, sitting down next to him. ‘Liam was calling you a gyppo.’
Sean’s neck turns red again and he snaps at me. ‘I know! Shut up.’
‘You’re not a gyppo,’ I say.
‘Shut up!’ Sean punches the water and it splashes everywhere.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say.
‘Don’t start crying again, please!’
‘I can’t help it.’ I sniff and wipe my eyes. ‘I thought we were friends but you don’t want to be my friend any more because we’re back at school.’
‘I’m still your friend,’ he says but his voice is all groany.
‘No, you’re not. You don’t want to be my friend because everyone thinks I’m weird.’
Sean stands up and digs a hole in the mud with his shoe. ‘Look, you don’t need to stick up for me,’ he says.
‘Did Liam get into trouble? For calling you a—’
‘No.’ Sean kicks a big bit of mud into the pond. ‘He gets away with everything just because his brother’s a spastic.’
‘What’s a spastic?’ I ask.
‘Come here,’ Sean says and I follow him back to the play area. ‘There.’ Sean points at a boy called Luke who’s in the year above me. Luke has a bad leg and a bad arm because he has something wrong with his brain. When he walks he wobbles and he seems to go up and down and side to side and it reminds me of the way a butterfly moves, all clumsy and beautiful at the same time.
‘Luke?’ I ask.
‘Luke’s a spastic and he’s Liam’s little brother so that’s why Liam can call me a gyppo and never get in trouble.’
The bell sounds and we line up in our classes to go back inside. But behind me I can hear Liam and his friends saying it again, ‘Is that your girlfriend, gyppo?’ Liam’s eyes are still all red from where he was crying and his lip is bruised. Liam and his friends point and laugh and make kissing sounds and I get so mad that I forget that Sean told me I’m not supposed to stick up for him.
‘Oi,’ I say. I try and say it like Auntie Fay does, where she looks in my eyes and points one finger at me. ‘Just because your brother’s a spastic doesn’t mean you can call everyone else names.’
There is silence and Liam is staring at me with his mouth open the way I stare at Auntie Fay when she tells me off. I feel brave and right and I look at Sean to make sure he isn’t mad at me but he looks really happy and like he’s trying not to laugh at Liam.
I turn and walk back to my line, and everyone is looking at me like I’m important. We file in and sit back down. In the afternoons we do reading comprehension and it’s my favourite part of the day but just as we get our books out Mr Pocklington comes in. We all have to stand every time a teacher comes in but I don’t know why. Everyone’s chair scrapes across the floor and it hurts my ears. I used to cover my ears when it happened but everyone made fun of me so now I don’t even though it kills.
Mr Pocklington whispers to our teacher and they both look at me. Then I realise that Mr Pocklington is calling my name and he’s frowning. As I walk towards him, everyone starts to whisper and the teacher tells them to be quiet. Mr Pocklington closes the door behind us and I follow him to his office.
Liam is in the waiting room where you get to sit if you’re sick and your mum is coming to pick you up. He’s crying and one of the ladies from the office is sitting next to him. When she sees us walking past she frowns as well.
‘Sit there,’ Mr Pocklington tells me, and I sit on the chair on the other side of his desk while he leaves the room again. I feel like I’m going to get told off but I don’t know why. When he gets back he sighs and shuts the door.
‘Can you tell me what happened?’ Mr Pocklington says. He laces his fingers together and puts his elbows on the desk.
‘When?’ I ask.
‘At the end of break. What happened between you and Liam.’
‘He was calling Sean names again so I—’
‘Sean Jenkins?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘What was he calling Sean?’
‘He was calling him a …’
‘You can say it.’
‘A gyppo.’
‘Right. And he calls him this a lot, does he?’
‘Yes. And it’s a horrible word and he shouldn’t say it. It makes Sean upset.’
‘You’re right. So what did you say?’
‘I said he shouldn’t call people names.’
‘What else did you say?’
‘I said. I said … just because his brother’s a spastic it doesn’t mean he can call people names.’
Mr Pocklington pinches his nose between his eyes. ‘Why did you say that?’ he asks.
‘Because it’s what people say. That he’s allowed to say anything because his brother’s—’
‘Do you know what that word means?’
‘Gyppo?’
‘No. The other word.’ I wait for him to say what because I don’t know what he means. ‘Spastic,’ he says suddenly. He looks red and he blinks a lot.
‘It means that you walk funny like Luke.’
‘It’s a bad word for someone with a disability, like Luke. Did you know that?’
I shake my head.
‘Who told you that word?’ Mr Pocklington asks.
I shrug.
‘Was it Sean Jenkins?’ he asks.
I don’t move.
‘Now that you know it’s a bad word, will you use it again?’
I shake my head.
‘Good. I know you wouldn’t want to upset Liam, would you?’
‘I didn’t mean to make him cry,’ I say. My throat hurts.
‘Can you tell me … why are you so concerned about Sean all of a sudden?’
‘He’s my friend,’ I say.
‘Friends don’t get friends into trouble, do they?’
I don’t know what he means.
‘Sean told you to say that word to Liam, didn’t he?’
‘No!’ I say and it’s true because he never told me to say anything to Liam. ‘He told me not to stick up for him but I did anyway because it isn’t fair what Liam says to him, even if Liam’s brother does have a bad leg.’
‘It isn’t fair that Liam calls Sean names, you’re right,’ Mr Pocklington says. ‘But Sean is …’ He sighs. ‘Sean is a troubled boy. He can be difficult and … I think that you would be wise to steer clear of him. Do you understand?’
‘No,’ I say, because I don’t; none of it makes sense.
‘You should be friends with girls – and boys – your own age. Ones who are well behaved like you are.’
‘But I like Sean,’ I say.
Mr Pocklington shakes his head and leans across the table. He talks really quietly and it makes the back of my neck tickle in a bad way.
‘It may seem fun now but I guarantee that if you follow Sean down this path you will look around yourself one day and you will wonder how you got there. And then you will think back to this moment a
nd you will wish you had listened to my advice.’
19
Her: Now
I arrive at Dr Isherwood’s office twenty-five minutes early but the secretary tells me she isn’t in yet.
‘What?’ I ask. I’m sure I’ve heard her wrong.
‘She’s not in,’ she says again. ‘You’re lucky there’s anyone here at all. I’m only in early because there’s tons of admin to catch up on. Our system went down last week.’
‘Do you know when she’ll be in?’ I ask.
‘You’re her first appointment and that’s not for another twenty minutes,’ she says. It’s actually twenty-three minutes but she looks like she’s starting to get fed up of me so I don’t say anything.
‘Can I wait here?’ I ask. There are new chairs at the far end of the room, a big green plant in the corner.
The secretary shrugs. ‘If you want.’ She says it in a sigh and has turned away from me, getting a file out of a locked cabinet in the back room and sliding the drawer shut with a bang.
I take a seat and breathe in the smell of fresh paint while I try and slow down my heart. I have looked forward to this appointment for days. Ever since the date with Jack, I’ve been practising what I would say, whether I should mention him at all in the session. Dr Isherwood would just tell me to stop seeing him, and then what could I say? I couldn’t tell her that I’d been stealing again. I can’t tell her what’s really bothering me.
Not that it matters because she isn’t here like she’s supposed to be, like she always is. A little voice inside me says I’m not being fair and that makes my stomach twist, as if someone is wringing it out like a dirty rag.
Sometimes when we’re mad at other people we’re really mad at ourselves. That’s what Dr Isherwood told me once and I think that’s how it feels right now. I shouldn’t have stolen that bra from work and I hate myself for it. If I could tell Dr Isherwood the truth I know it would make me feel better, but I can’t. I’m too ashamed.
The secretary tuts and sighs at things as she works. One time she catches me looking at her and her eyebrows pinch together and make her forehead wrinkle. I look away quickly but can’t help glancing back, where I see her shaking her head like she’s completely sick of me.