Because of You
Page 1
First published in 2019 in Great Britain by
Barrington Stoke Ltd
18 Walker Street, Edinburgh, EH3 7LP
This ebook edition first published in 2019
www.barringtonstoke.co.uk
Text © 2019 Eve Ainsworth
The moral right of Eve Ainsworth to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in any part in any form without the written permission of the publisher
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library upon request
ISBN: 978-1-78112-903-6
To Tom, Ella and Ethan – my own crazy team
Love you always
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter One
Today is the day. D‑Day. And in all honesty, I reckon it’s going to be the worst day of my life – so far.
I watch Mum and Richie from the safety of my bedroom window. They want me down there with them. They want me to do the right thing, to get involved and show them that I’m happy with this sweet new arrangement.
But I’m not happy, am I? In fact, I’m far from it.
From up here, I shoot dirty looks at Richie’s soppy face as he unloads his boxes and stacks them up on our driveway. So many stupid boxes. How much stuff has he got? I can’t stand how smug he looks as he loops his arm around Mum’s waist and kisses her cheek. He looks like he already owns the place, and Mum too. And look at Mum – giggling like a girl. It turns my stomach. So pathetic.
Just behind them, Kayla is holding a smaller box. She looks out of place standing there – too pretty and perfect to be leaning on our rough, crumbling wall. I see Kayla’s nose wrinkle, her lips pouting with boredom, then her eyes move up to meet mine.
We are locked together in an icy stare. I don’t want to break my gaze away, but I have to. This is Kayla Roberts after all. She’s not just older than me but also one of the most popular girls in school.
Maybe this is a bad day for Kayla too. Does she really want this to happen?
Mum is making such a huge mistake.
Mum really wants me to like Richie. It’s painful to watch. Mum’s eyes go all wide and pleading and she starts coming out with all the reasons why her boyfriend is so good for us.
“He makes me laugh,” she says. “He’s so kind. He just wants to make us happy.”
I don’t agree. For one, he doesn’t make anyone laugh apart from Mum – and she’s the type of person who finds adverts for toilet roll funny. Any normal person would find Richie loud, annoying and think he tries too hard. As for his kindness, OK, he might be all right to Mum as far as I know. But what man tries to muscle in on a woman who was just doing her job? Mum told me that she had been caring for Richie’s sick dad and she and Richie had begun to get close. She told me that Richie was “struggling”. He had lost his wife years ago and his dad’s death had brought back memories of that. Mum keeps going on about how kind and sensitive Richie is, like I care. He isn’t being so kind and sensitive now, is he? Breaking up our home, ruining everything. I bet Dad doesn’t see him that way.
And the last reason – he wants to make us happy? God, don’t even get me started on that one. That’s the biggest lie of them all, because if Richie Roberts wanted to make us happy, he would leave us alone.
I’m sorry. I probably sound all bitter and twisted, and maybe I am. I can’t help my feelings. I hate upsetting Mum, but the fact is I will never like Richie and it’s not worth pretending.
I have a dad already. And he’s the one who should be coming home now, clasping my mum’s hand and beaming up at me.
Not Richie.
Mum is making a special dinner. She never normally cooks, so this meal is bound to go horribly wrong. I feel like staying in my bedroom for the rest of the evening, but I know this will cause more trouble than I need. So I slip downstairs and watch as Mum fusses around in the kitchen. I avoid the living room, because I know Richie and Kayla are in there. Already taking over space, watching what they like on our TV. Laughing far too loud. I really can’t deal with it.
I lean on the door frame, watching as Mum moves around the kitchen, humming softly to herself under her breath. She’s pretty, my mum – everyone says so. She is tiny and cute like a doll and has delicate features. I look nothing like her. I’m all Dad.
It makes me feel a bit sad that Mum’s only cooking like this now. Normally she just sticks a pizza in the oven or mixes up a pasta dish from a jar. I’ve never seen her chopping up ingredients or weighing things out. In fact, I didn’t even know that we owned a set of scales. This is all for Richie. This is all to prove to him how perfect we are – which is another stupid lie. Mum never did this for Dad. It seems unfair somehow. A red‑hot fire burns in my belly.
Mum looks up, finally spotting me. Her eyes widen. I guess she’s surprised I’m there at all.
“Hey, Poppy!” Mum says. “Want to help? I’m making a Thai curry.”
I shake my head and tell her, “I hate curry.” She knows this.
Mum’s cheeks turn pink. She pushes a strand of her dark hair away.
“I know. But it won’t be that hot.” She sighs. “It’s Richie and Kayla’s favourite. I want to help them settle in.”
Of course she does. Because it’s all about them.
I nod, not wanting to say any more, and slink away from the door. I think Mum watches me for a bit. I can feel her eyes burning into my back.
I sit on the stairs, trying to ignore the noise from the living room. I could go in there. That’s probably the right thing to do, but I really can’t face it. Suddenly I feel small and pathetic. It doesn’t feel safe to be in my house any more. It’s all changed.
I reach for my phone and dial Dad’s number. If I can just speak to him, I know I’ll feel better. I want to feel normal. I want him to tell me it will be OK.
My ear presses against the phone hopefully. Waiting.
But of course it just goes to voicemail again.
“I want to propose a toast,” Richie says. He’s standing tall, his glass raised. “To new beginnings.”
“New beginnings,” Mum, Kayla and I chant.
I am staring. I’m trying not to. But it’s so hard seeing Richie sitting there, in Dad’s chair. Richie doesn’t fit it properly. He’s too loud. He’s too smiley. I want Dad back there. Dad never tried too hard. He could make people laugh without even trying.
Richie catches me looking and winks. I look away, cringing.
Next to me, Kayla is playing with her food. She doesn’t look impressed but is saying nothing. She takes up loads of space at the table and her elbows keep knocking mine. I’m getting irritated – I swear Kayla’s doing it on purpose.
I slam down my fork. It makes a louder sound than I intended. Now everyone’s eyes are on me. Richie raises an eyebrow. Mum glares at me.
“I can’t eat this,” I say simply.
Kayla sighs dramatically and mutters, “Seriously?” under her breath. I ignore her. I’m not going to let her wind me up in my own house. Just because Kayla’s older and pretty doesn’t mean she can act all superior.
Mum looks over at me. “Please try,” she says. Her voice is firm. Her teeth are set in a fake smile, but I know she’s angry.
I stare at Richie. He’s still smiling. This just makes me feel even more annoyed.
<
br /> “I hate spicy stuff,” I say to Mum. “You know that.”
“It was a treat for Richie and Kayla,” Mum says. “It’s Richie’s favourite meal.” Her voice is cool. “I thought it would be nice to make them feel welcome on their first night here.”
In other words, she means, You’re doing a pretty lousy job of welcoming them.
“Come on, Poppy,” Richie says to me. “Just try some.” He raises his fork, as if to tempt me. His stupid giant mouth of perfect teeth is still grinning at me. “It’s really lovely,” Richie adds.
I push my plate away. “I’m sorry …”
But I’m really not.
Mum’s eyes are glinting. “Poppy,” she says. “Don’t do this.”
“I’m sorry I can’t join in with your ‘happy family dinner’,” I hiss. “It just doesn’t taste right to me.”
I push away my chair and stomp out, nearly tripping over Kayla’s legs, which are far too long. She mutters something like “sorry”, but when I look up at her, her eyes are cold.
Kayla takes a mouthful of the food, turns to Mum and says, “This really is lovely, Kat.”
I see Mum beam and Richie reaches over to squeeze Mum’s hand. They look at each other with soppy faces. It turns my empty stomach.
As I walk out of the door, I hear Richie say, “She just needs time …”
Time? He has to be kidding. They could give me all the time in the world and I would never accept this.
I slam the door loudly behind me and crash out of the house.
Chapter Two
I have nowhere to go – nowhere interesting anyway. I end up just walking to the shops and spending the last of my money on a chocolate bar and some crisps. Then I try to call Dad again. He’s not great at picking up his phone, which used to drive Mum mad. Now he’s even worse because he works all sorts of hours as a van driver. But I get that.
Even so, I could really do with talking to Dad right now. I find myself swearing under my breath as I listen to his voicemail kicking in once again. I know he’s busy. I know he’s got to start his life over since Mum threw him out. But even so … it would be nice if he called me back sometimes.
I don’t bother leaving Dad a message. Instead, I fire out a text, hoping that he might read it during a quiet time.
Miss you. It’s horrible here. Can I see you soon?
I last saw Dad three weeks ago. We kept changing when we would meet because he had to sort out a new flat and then got this new driving job. I was pleased for him. At least he’s working now. Mum was always moaning about Dad “sitting around and not doing anything”, and then she would moan about him being “out with his mates all the time”. To be honest, she has always been pretty mean to him. Dad could never win.
When Dad and I last met up, we went to the burger place in town. It was OK. Dad had lots of questions about Mum. He didn’t seem too happy when I told him Richie was moving in – Dad’s entire mood changed. That’s the thing with Dad – normally he’s funny and chilled and one of the best people to be around, but when something upsets him he becomes quiet and sulky. It can be frustrating. I hate seeing Dad upset. I know things weren’t perfect between him and Mum – I’m not stupid. But surely they could have worked harder to fix it? It just doesn’t seem right that they gave up so soon.
I shove the phone back in my pocket, feeling annoyed I couldn’t speak to Dad. Then I set off on a walk. There’s really nothing around here, just the shabby row of shops and a playing field where people walk their dogs. It’s pretty lame. Even the park is small and neglected, with battered swings and a slide caked in muddy footprints. I don’t think young kids use it any more.
I walk down the path that snakes past the field. It’s already fairly cold, so I pull my jumper sleeves over my hands to keep them warm. My head is fizzing with different thoughts. I wish I didn’t feel so angry, but it’s hard not to when everyone is trying to mess up your life.
I never asked for any of this.
I just want my family back.
As I turn the corner, I see a group of kids sitting on the benches by the football pitch. There are about eight of them from school, mainly girls but a few boys too. I can see Lia Armstrong clearly. She is standing up, and her long, glossy dark hair is whipping around in the wind. I don’t understand how she can be out here in just that tiny top and ripped jeans. She must be freezing. I see she’s laughing – her standard fake “I’m so happy” laugh that seems to echo across the whole school. One of the boys reaches up and touches Lia’s arm gently. The other girls are laughing too.
I turn my focus back to the path and keep walking. I hope that they don’t see me. I really don’t need their attention today.
I’m rounding the last corner on my way back to the house when my mobile begins to buzz in my pocket. I dig it out and know it’s Dad before I even look at the screen. My heart leaps. I imagine him in his tiny bare bedsit, sitting on the second‑hand sofa he’s just bought. He’ll be tired, I bet. He’ll probably be drinking a beer to help him sleep.
“Hey!” Dad says, his voice light and cheerful. “I missed your call.”
I smile. I don’t say, “You always miss my calls”, because I know how busy he is right now and I don’t want to stress him out.
“Dad!” I say. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
I’m really hoping that he will let me. I’m happy to sleep on his scruffy sofa overnight. Anything is better than being stuck in the house of smugness for days on end.
“Ah – Pops …” Dad says, breathing hard. I wonder for a moment if he’s smoking again. “I’m really sorry but I’ve got so much on at the moment. I’m working a lot and I still have to pick up some bits for the flat.”
Disappointment stabs at me. I can’t fight it.
“Can’t I just pop over for a bit?” I ask.
“I don’t think I’ve got time, sweetheart,” Dad says. “Not tomorrow.”
He only lives half an hour away. A bus ride. He wouldn’t even need to pick me up, but I know there’s no point in arguing.
“How’s things there?” Dad asks. “How’s Rich Richie?”
I can hear the bite at the end of Dad’s sentence. He hates Richie as much as I do – calls him a “flash git” and moans about him taking Mum away from him.
“He’s … He’s the same …” I say. I’m almost at my front door. I look across at the living‑room window. I imagine Richie sprawled on the sofa, his arm around Mum, his hand clutching the TV remote. Already in control. Richie was like this before he’d even moved in. It’ll be worse now.
“Is your mum OK?” Dad asks, his voice soft.
“I guess.”
“Ah … that’s good.”
We both know it’s not. Not really. We want her happy with us again.
“I better go, Dad,” I tell him. “I’m home now.” My hand is on the door.
“Poppy …” Dad hesitates. “What about the weekend? Saturday? I’ll take you to a match, yeah? Just you and me? Fancy that?”
My skin prickles with excitement. Normally Dad says he can’t afford to take me to games any more. He knows it’s my favourite thing to do.
“Really?” I ask. I’m trying to contain my excitement. “You can sort that?”
“Really,” he replies. I know he’s smiling.
I end the call feeling brighter. At least now I know I’ll be seeing Dad soon. We can watch the football, have a laugh.
It’ll be like old times again.
Chapter Three
It seems so wrong to come down to breakfast and find Richie there at the table, his size almost taking over the room. He grins as I walk in.
“Hey, Poppy!” Richie says. “I was about to give you a shout. You don’t want to be late.”
I frown and give him my “yeah, thanks for that” stare before getting myself some cornflakes. I don’t need Richie’s help getting ready in the morning. I’m used to doing it on my own. Mum always leaves before six to start her shift at the nursing home.
“I’m going now,” Kayla says brightly, then she looks over at me. “You coming?”
I pause for a second. I never thought Kayla would want to walk to school with me. I’m just a Year Nine for a start, while she’s in Year Eleven. Not only that, but I’m a Year Nine with acne and bad hair. I can’t imagine we’ll have much to talk about. But I ram a spoonful of cereal in my mouth and nod. Anything is better than being left alone with Richie. He is bound to start talking again, trying to be my new best mate.
I can’t face that.
“Are you not going to eat your breakfast?” Richie says, and gestures to the bowl that I’ve just dumped in the sink.
“Obviously not,” I say.
“Most important meal of the day, you know.”
I shrug. I’ll be fine. I don’t bother to tell Richie that I have a Twix in my school bag.
“You ready, then?” Kayla asks, and waltzes out. I follow her, breathing in her sweet perfume as I trail behind.
“Dad’s all right really,” Kayla says, “once you get to know him. I mean, he drives me mad sometimes too, but he could be a lot worse.”
Really?
We’re walking down the main street towards school. Kayla is talking to me while also stabbing out a message on her phone. I can’t text and walk at the same time. I’d just end up crashing into something.
“I don’t need another dad,” I say, then realise how sulky it sounds.
Kayla sniffs and says, “To be fair, I don’t think he’s trying to be. He’s not like that. He’s actually pretty much OK most of the time.”