Gloves Off

by Louisa Reid

  follows me

  wherever i go.

  why would you care?

  “i don’t,” she says, and turns away,

  turns again, to face me –

  “but aidan, right, you know,

  he’s not coming back.”

  and a small sort of smile

  appears on her face.

  “that’s good right, lil?”

  BERNADETTE (20)

  Sweat.

  Heat.

  Swelling ankles

  Fingers,

  Rubbing thighs,

  So much of me to disguise –

  Breathless,

  I cannot begin to summarize

  The effort

  Needed

  To begin.

  But –

  I can,

  I will –

  I am.

  When Lil goes to school

  I take myself

  To the local pool.

  And there in the water

  I float,

  And swim.

  EVEN IF YOU WIN, IT HURTS

  i walk over to rosie’s.

  buy flowers from the garage, on the way,

  a cheap bunch

  cheap gesture,

  scarlet petals scatter

  and curl,

  wilting in the heat

  of my hand.

  i throw them away.

  she opens the door.

  i step almost inside.

  we face each other,

  there

  on the step,

  deciding.

  sorry, i say.

  because someone has to speak.

  “no,” she shakes her head,

  “i think i knew it would go that way,

  you got good, lil,

  better than me.”

  she swallows.

  “well done.”

  so, you’re okay?

  “yeah, i’m fine. you know, GCSEs, all that stuff,

  just busy.”

  i get the message.

  i’m not stupid

  and used to this.

  but, it hurts –

  and pains holds

  my heart in its clenched fist.

  “lil,” she calls after me,

  once i’ve turned to go,

  “look, you need to know,

  that i’m not perfect.

  no one is.”

  DON’T LET ANYBODY GET YOU DOWN

  i miss the gym,

  it’s a funny feeling

  but i’ve been itching to move.

  sitting long hours

  through exams that reach into forever

  has made me stiff

  and sore.

  so,

  i pack my bag

  and open the door,

  pull in a huge breath

  just in case

  rosie’s there.

  people call hello,

  and jane comes over

  to put her arm around me

  and tell me she’s glad

  i’m back.

  being missed feels good.

  i work out at the bag,

  and push myself

  until i can only hear

  my fists and heart

  pummelling:

  release.

  it’s only when i realize

  that someone is standing near,

  behind me, waiting, patient and still,

  bronze and gold, her reflection

  shimmering,

  it’s only when i realize who it is,

  that i stop.

  and turn around.

  “lil,” she says.

  rosie shrugs –

  the girls behind her

  nod.

  “good to see you, so,

  listen, I mean,

  come on, let’s get out of here, let’s go.”

  HOME

  “Summer’s nearly here,”

  Mum says.

  I stop, stare,

  Realize –

  She’s in the garden,

  Hanging washing on the line.

  Another ordinary, extraordinary thing.

  “Look at that sky,”

  Mum says,

  And she’s right,

  It’s beautiful out here.

  A butter sun slides off our skin

  My legs and arms

  Are warm, pinking in the heat.

  “I thought maybe you and me,

  Could take a walk,

  Round about,

  Like when you were small,

  Remember?

  Our treasure hunts?”

  She smiles, and waits for me to answer.

  Okay.

  And I have a glimpse

  Of long-lost different days.

  It’s been ten years, I think,

  Since

  We’ve done this.

  My steps match hers

  We’re slow,

  But I don’t care,

  She talks as we walk,

  Says she’s got something to say,

  And I hold my breath –

  “Don’t, Lil,

  Don’t frown,

  It’s good news,

  All right?”

  I breathe.

  “Me and your dad,”

  I suck my breath tight again,

  She squeezes my hand,

  “We talked,

  He’s right, I think,

  There’s lots of ways

  To change your life—”

  What? You mean, that operation?

  I can barely speak,

  You’re not doing it after all?

  “No, look, Lil,

  I’m not sure, maybe

  I will, I’m thinking –

  It’s hard, I need

  The help you know.

  Sometimes

  You can’t change

  Everything on your

  Own.”

  It’s true.

  I get it, and want to say,

  That I’ll help her, if she likes,

  To find another way,

  But I bite my tongue and listen

  For a change.

  “So,

  I applied for a job,

  Nothing much,

  But I got it!

  Can you believe that?”

  I STARE at her, mouth open.

  You what?

  “Childminder,”

  she says, cheeks pinking with pride,

  “Taking care of a baby,

  just the one.

  The family are nice

  They live round the

  corner,

  The money will help –

  And I can still do my

  sewing

  In the evening

  If I’ve any energy left.”

  She laughs.

  I look at my mother

  For what feels like the first time,

  And I see her –

  Underneath

  All the pain she’s been wearing,

  Underneath

  All the fear –

  She’s been there the whole time.

  And I think

  Of how

  There’s beauty

  Everywhere.

  I should have seen

  Hers before.

  PART FOUR

  ROUND TWO

  September again,

  And Mum’s right.

  There can be

  A start as fresh

  As a clean sheet on my bed,

  As a sun-framed morning,

  And the bright green,

  Of trees that still grow here

  Despite the traffic and the noise

  And the cracks

  In the road

  Out of which peeps

  The stub of a flower

  Bright and

  Gold.

  I make my way

  Through wide open doors,

  Into the noise

  And chaos of another world.


  But everyone else is new, too,

  And so,

  I square my shoulders

  Standing tall,

  And ready,

  I smile

  At strangers

  And say, hello.

  There’s a flurry of footsteps

  Rushing close behind,

  Chasing to catch me –

  And I turn as

  Rosie steps up, breathless, and laughing

  To walk there, at my side.

  The bell rings

  And it’s time –

  THE END

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  The hugest of thank yous to Bella Pearson, editor and publisher extraordinaire; thank you so much, Bella, for believing in this book and getting it out into the world. It is a privilege to be a Guppy author.

  Many thanks to my agent Hilary Delamere at The Agency whose expertise and guidance have been a godsend. Thanks to Jessica Hare, too, for her support. Huge thanks to Ness Wood, Hannah Featherstone, Catherine Alport, Sam Webster and all at Team Guppy for their hard work and wonderfulness.

  To my family (but especially my mum and Emily and Margy), and to Juliette – the best, best friend anyone could have – thanks for everything you all do to help me.

  Thanks to the north-west SCBWI crit group for their invaluable encouragement, camaraderie and notes. Thanks to Sarah M-J who always boosts my confidence; Milene for creating my website and being such a staunch supporter; Alexia Casale for reading an early draft and generously giving brilliant advice and friendship, and lovely Amanda Jennings for being a fantastic help when I needed it. Thanks also to Teri Terry for your continued support and kindness.

  A massive thank you to Lisa Williamson for the blurb.

  To my esteemed colleagues at Loreto Grammar, Altrincham (especially the English department, unparalleled in laughter), and to Jane Beever for being so kind: you are a marvellous bunch. A shout out to the fantastic girls I’m lucky to teach.

  Thank you to all the readers, bloggers and librarians who make writing YA so rewarding and who have supported my writing so far.

  Thank you to my dad, David Barry – who loved poetry, but who knows what he would have said about this . . .

  And thank you to Alistair, Eve and Scarlett – you’re amazing.