I internally groan. Tommo is a friend from Vincent’s radio heyday. He used to read the sports reports on Vincent’s breakfast show and he’s one of his chief butt-kissers.
“I don’t know,” Damon says glumly. Vincent and I look at him in shock. It’s unheard of for Damon to turn down an invitation to football.
“What do you mean?” Vincent splutters. “It’s Spurs against Arsenal. How can you not want to see it?”
Mum appears behind Vincent in the hallway. She looks equally surprised to see Damon and me. “What’s going on?” she says, looking at me.
“Have you said something to him?” Vincent glares at me.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. But there you are, looking as thick as thieves, and suddenly my son doesn’t want to watch the football with me.”
Adrenaline starts pumping through my body, causing a thumping sensation in my ears. “He’s not only your son, you know.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Vincent comes closer, bringing with him the sour smell of stale alcohol.
“He’s Mum’s son too and he’s my brother.”
“Half-brother,” Vincent mutters.
“Yeah, thank God,” I snap.
“Clementine!” Mum gasps.
“Well, that’s nice, that is,” Vincent says.
Damon shifts slightly away from me.
“I didn’t mean I was glad that you’re only my half-brother,” I say to Damon. “I meant…” I break off.
“What? What did you mean?” Vincent stares at me.
“Never mind.”
“Oh, but I do mind. I mind very much being spoken to like that in my own home.”
“In your and Mum’s home.”
He lets out a snort of laughter. “Oh yeah, because she’s contributed so much to the mortgage.”
“OK, I think we all need to calm down,” Mum says, taking hold of Vincent’s arm. He shakes her hand away like it’s an annoying insect.
“I think somebody needs to apologize,” Vincent says, looking pointedly at me.
Anger burns inside me. “Yes, you’re right, they do.” I stare back at him.
“Clementine,” Mum says.
“What?” I snap.
“Julia, I think you need to control your daughter.”
“What, like you control Mum?”
An awful silence falls in the hall.
“OK, Dad, I’ll watch the football,” Damon says quietly. I instantly realize what he’s doing is trying to keep the peace.
“You don’t have to,” I tell him.
“What the hell?” Vincent yells. He turns to Mum defiantly. “See, I knew she was up to something. I knew she was stirring.”
“Trust me, if I wanted to stir, I’d have done it already.”
Vincent leans in so close we’re practically chin to chin. “Oh, really?”
My anger drains from me. There’s a coldness in his eyes that sends a shiver right through me. All I want is to be away from him. “Never mind,” I mutter. I get up and walk up the stairs, my heart pounding.
RUDY
Idiot Dave stands in the middle of the kitchen – my kitchen – waving a paintbrush at me. All the way home from work, I’d been preparing myself for this moment, hoping he’d be tucked away on the sofa or, even better, out somewhere with his friends. But no, he’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, grinning like his moving in is the best thing that’s ever happened.
“Hey, Rudy, your mum’s asked me to paint the kitchen and I was wondering if you’d like to help.”
I look at him like he’s insane.
“I don’t mean right now,” he says, laughing. “I know you’ve been working all day. I was thinking maybe we could make a start on it tomorrow.”
“On my one day off?” I go over and open a cupboard, more to have a reason to escape his grin than to actually get anything, but to my surprise, the cupboard’s full of food.
“I did a food shop earlier,” Dave says. “Feel free to help yourself.”
Ah, right, he thinks he’s going to worm his way in that way, does he? I shut the cupboard. “It’s OK, I ate at work.”
“I thought you might enjoy helping me decorate, as you’re so into art.”
Dave really, truly, is a complete idiot. “There’s a difference between art and painting and decorating,” I say.
“Well, that depends.” Dave sets the paintbrush down and puts on the kettle. “Fancy a brew?”
I shake my head, even though I could really do with a tea. Dave always seems to bring out the No, absolutely not in me. “Depends on what?”
“On how we decorate it.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.” He plops a teabag in a mug and pours in a dash of milk. Typical – he’s the kind of tea-drinking monster who puts the milk in before the water! I can’t wait to tell Tyler this latest development.
“I was thinking you might like to design something.”
I frown at him. “What do you mean?”
“What if you did some kind of mural, here on this wall?” He points to the largest wall in the kitchen, over by the table.
“Are you serious?”
He nods.
“But what about Mum?”
“What about me?” Mum says, appearing in the doorway in her work uniform of skin-tight skirt and sky-high heels.
“Does she know about this?” I ask Dave.
“Absolutely.”
“Know about what?” Mum says.
“Me doing a mural on the kitchen wall.”
“Ah, yes.” Mum smiles. “Dave thought it might brighten the place up a bit.”
“But what about the housing association?”
To my surprise, Mum shrugs. “What about them? As long as we paint everything back to magnolia if and when we move out we’re allowed to redecorate. And if it stops you from painting the wall behind your wardrobe…”
My stomach flips. “You know about that?”
“Of course I do. Do you think I can’t smell the paint?” Thankfully, Mum starts cracking up laughing.
“But – why didn’t you say anything?”
“You’ve got Dave to thank for that. I was about ready to kill you.” She nudges him affectionately.
“I told her you needed a place to express yourself. So, what do you reckon?” Dave nods to the wall.
“And I get to design whatever I like?”
“Within reason,” Mum says quickly.
“Why don’t you sketch some ideas first,” Dave says.
I know he’s trying to suck up to me, but I can’t help feeling excited. One thing’s for sure, I definitely did not see this one coming.
“And of course we’d pay you,” Dave says.
“You what now?” My eyes practically pop out of my head.
“You’ll be an artist working on a commission. It’s only fair that we pay you.”
I look at Mum for proof that he’s kidding, but she’s nodding.
“Wow, uh, OK.”
“Awesome!” Dave says, with yet another dimply grin. Already my mind is clicking into gear as the blank wall fills with possibilities.
CLEMENTINE
I walk along the beachside path aware of a weird kind of numbness. Ever since my argument with Vincent earlier I’ve felt unsettled. It was like a boundary was crossed between us today, one that there’ll be no coming back from. In fact, things can only get worse. It’s early evening. When I left the house Damon and Vincent were still at Tommo’s and Mum was in the loft, no doubt manically sorting and cleaning. I stop opposite the old pier and gaze into the darkness at the inky black sea. I listen to the soothing rush of waves on the beach. It’s not about the hurting, it’s about the rising, I remind myself. But what if you’ve got nowhere to rise to? What if you’re trapped in a situation where there’s no magical ladder reaching to the stars to save you? I turn and look at the wall by the steps leading up to the road. It would be the perfect spot for Rudy’s piece – our piece.
As I correct myself I feel a bud of hope begin to unfurl. I take a photo of the wall and send it to Rudy:
I think I’ve found the perfect spot. It’s right by the old pier – by the stairs leading up to the road.
My finger hovers over the “x” – but I don’t think Rudy and I are quite at the stage for kisses yet. A few seconds later my phone pings with a reply.
Are you there right now?
Yes.
I hold my breath and look at my phone.
Can I come and join you?
Yes, please do! That would be brilliant! I type, then instantly delete it and write “sure” instead. I don’t want to seem over-keen.
I’ll be about 5 mins.
OK.
I go up the steps and wait for Rudy by the cycle lane that runs along the seafront. The relief I feel at the prospect of seeing her again is so intense I almost feel like crying. I blink hard and stare at the sea. It’s going to be OK, I tell myself. Groups of people walk past, laughing and chatting, off for a Saturday night out in town. One day I’ll be old enough to do whatever I want to do too. One day I’ll be free of Vincent. I try and focus on my dream life but fear keeps prickling. I’ve never felt afraid of Vincent before and I really don’t want to now but there was something about the way he looked at me today; the contempt in his bloodshot eyes really unsettled me. I take out my notepad and lean against the railings.
YOU DON’T SCARE ME! I write in bold letters across the top of the page before falling down a rabbit hole of words and feelings. A few minutes later I’m snapped out of my writing trance by the rattling sound of wheels on the pavement. I turn to see Rudy flying towards me on a skateboard. She comes to a standstill and flips the board into her hand. She’s wearing black jeans and Converse and a scuffed black leather biker jacket. The only splash of colour is a bright blue woolly hat, pulled down to her eyebrows.
“All right?” she says gruffly.
“Hey.”
“Having another rant?” she nods at my notebook.
“Yes and no. I’m writing a ranty poem about misogyny,” I explain.
She laughs. “That’s good. Turn your anger into art.”
“Exactly.”
“Can I see it?”
“Oh – uh – well, it’s still really rough.”
“That’s OK. I won’t judge.”
I hand the pad to her, thankful that it’s dark and she can’t see the embarrassment playing out on my cheeks.
Rudy whistles through her teeth. “Wow, who or what inspired this?”
“My stepdad,” I say glumly.
“Sounds like a real Prince Charming.”
“More like the evil old troll who lives under the bridge.”
We laugh and Rudy pulls her jacket collar up against the cold. “So, where’s this wall then?”
“Just down there.” I lead her down the steps and point to the wall midway. “Think how many people would see it here.”
Rudy nods. “And the good thing is, it’s pretty secluded, so I should be able to do it without being seen. Especially if you and Tyler keep watch.”
“Yes, of course.” My skin prickles with excitement at the thought of helping Rudy, not to mention seeing Tyler again. Although how I’m going to get out of the house for one in the morning is a whole other question.
“Do you want to get some doughnuts?”
“Yes!” I answer so emphatically she raises her eyebrows at me.
“Sorry, it’s just been one of those days. A definite doughnut day.”
“I hear ya.”
We start walking along the front towards Palace Pier.
“So, my mum’s boyfriend moved in,” Rudy says, staring straight ahead.
“Oh dear. What’s he like?”
“He’s an idiot.”
We walk on in silence. I’m unsure what to say. I want to know more but I don’t want to seem like I’m prying.
“He’s trying really hard to make me like him.”
“Really?” To me this doesn’t seem like a bad thing. The thought of Vincent trying really hard to make me like him is laughable. Right from the start he was indifferent and now his indifference seems to have soured into out-and-out hatred.
“But I know it won’t last,” Rudy continues.
I want to ask what makes her so certain but I don’t want it to seem like I’m challenging her.
“How old are you?” Rudy turns to look at me.
“Fifteen. How about you?”
“Same.”
“Really?” I’m surprised. I thought Rudy was older. She seems so worldly.
“Yeah. What school do you go to?”
“Hove School for Girls.”
“Right.” There’s a curtness about the way she says this that immediately makes me feel awkward. I get the sense Rudy doesn’t have the best opinion of private schools.
“How about you?”
“Kemptown High.”
“I know a couple of people who go there, from my dance school.”
“Oh yeah, who?”
“Jody Blake and Abby Harwood.” As soon as I’ve said their names I regret it. What if Rudy’s friends with them and she asks them about me? They’re hardly going to give me a glowing report.
Rudy stops walking. “Are you friends with them?”
“Not exactly, no.”
“Good,” Rudy says quietly, which instantly triggers a sigh of relief in me. We carry on walking.
“Those girls sum up everything that’s wrong with society,” Rudy continues.
“How do you mean?”
“I mean, they think the world revolves around social media likes and dumb celebrities.”
I’m so relieved I start to laugh. “To be honest, I think they hate me.”
Rudy grins. “Good, that’s another thing we have in common.”
“Another?”
“Yeah, as well as the whole idiot stepdad thing. Although Idiot Dave is not my idiot stepdad – at least not yet.”
We reach the pier and buy a bag of doughnuts, then head down the steps to the beach, crunching our way across the pebbles to a sheltered spot beside one of the stone jetties. As the tide rolls in it brings a plastic carrier bag.
“This drives me nuts,” I say, scrambling forward to fish the bag from the frothy water.
“What?”
“All of the plastic in the ocean. I just don’t get why people don’t care about the harm it’s causing.”
“Hmm.” Rudy gazes out to sea. “Maybe we could get them to care.”
“How do you mean?”
She turns to face me. “Maybe that’s what we could do our next collab on, saving the sea life.”
“Yes! That would be awesome.”
We continue eating our doughnuts in silence. Rudy is staring out at the water, clearly deep in thought. The moment is so peaceful I’m filled with a sudden contentment and the sense that, however unlikely it might seem, she and I were supposed to meet.
RUDY
And straight in at Number One in the Cringe Top 40: grown-arse adults slow-dancing to Luther Vandross in the kitchen, on a Sunday morning.
“Morning, baby girl,” Mum calls over Dave’s shoulder as she spots me. “Are you joining us for breakfast?”
“Not if it involves joining your Strictly routine,” I mutter.
Dave cracks up laughing. I head straight for the kettle.
“So, have you had any ideas for the kitchen mural yet?” Dave asks, thankfully disentangling himself from Mum.
“Not really,” I reply, although the truth is, ever since he asked me, my mind’s been popping with images.
“Well, let me know as soon as you do and I’ll give you a lift down to Homebase to get some paints.”
“The paints I use aren’t sold in Homebase.”
“Who fancies a bacon sandwich?” Mum says, taking a packet of bacon from the fridge.
“I’m vegetarian!” I exclaim.
“Yeah, but it’s Sunday,” Mum says.
; “And?” I stare at her in disbelief. In her campaign to make me eat meat again this is a new level of crazy.
“It’s a day of rest.”
“And?”
“And enjoying ourselves and giving thanks to Jesus.”
“Try telling that to the pigs,” I say, looking pointedly at the packet of bacon.
“It’s organic and free-range,” she says lamely.
“Great. So they were allowed to roam free before they were slaughtered. That’s even worse. At least when they’re all cooped up they’re probably glad to be put out of their misery.”
A look of defeat flits across Mum’s face and I feel a twinge of guilt. I don’t want to make her unhappy but I’m not going to sacrifice my principles.
“Where do you get your paints from then?” Dave asks.
“The art shop in Brighton.”
He nods. “Fancy a trip there today, while your mum’s at church? Maybe getting some new paints would inspire you.”
I appear to be standing right inside the dictionary definition of “DILEMMA”. The thought of a trip to the art shop fills me with joy but the thought of having to go with Dave feels all kinds of awkward. “I don’t really have any money.”
“No, it’s on me. I told you,” Dave replies, popping some bread into the toaster. “We’re commissioning you to do this so we’re paying.”
Holy guacamole! My dilemma grows. “OK then,” I mutter.
“Say thank you!” Mum says.
“Thank you,” I echo.
CLEMENTINE
After the tension of yesterday, today has been surprisingly peaceful. This is mainly due to the fact that Vincent is having a “work meeting”, aka all-day drinking session with his producer, and Damon has gone to his friend’s birthday party. Mum is on the sofa with an industrial-sized bar of chocolate, mainlining one of those cheesy Real Housewives series. I’m lying on my bed about to start uploading my latest poem to Instagram when my phone pings. My first thought is that it might be Rudy, and just the fact that I might have got a message from someone who might potentially be a new friend fills me with gratitude. But when I check my phone I see that it’s a message from Dad.
Clementine and Rudy Page 10