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Blood Rush (Lilly Valentine)

Page 13

by Black, Helen


  He holds his breath. Got to keep still. Cannot move. He feels a shiver at the top of his spine. Tries to check it. Tries to push it back in. Can’t. It snakes down his back.

  As if in slow motion he sees Tristan’s hand wobble. Back and forth like a glass of water in a thunderstorm. His eyes open wide, waiting for the moment of impact.

  ‘What the fuck?’

  Tristan is still lying down, the look on his face moving from puzzlement to horror as he takes in Jamie’s erection and its proximity to his own hand.

  Jamie has no idea what he should do. Could he turn it into a joke and end up slapping Tristan on the back? Or should he feign indignation? After all, it’s not his hand wandering in someone else’s lap is it? Instead, he just sits exactly where he is, motionless except for the slight shake of his shoulders. He stares at Tristan. Tristan stares back. The thought as to what is actually happening here stretching between them like a string of chewing gum.

  At last, Tristan breaks the silence, his voice steady and low.

  ‘I always knew you were a fucking fag.’

  Jamie shakes his head. He can’t think of an answer.

  ‘You know I’m going to break every bone in your body,’ says Tristan.

  Jamie blinks, taking in the threat. He knows what his housemate is capable of. He’s seen the bloody noses and the bruises from almost casual elbow jabs. He heard Harry Chambers gasping for air as Tristan pushed his head down the toilet in the cricket pavilion.

  Jamie leaps to his feet, like a cat, and makes for the door, tripping over sleeping bodies and discarded cans and bottles.

  ‘You better run fast, queer boy,’ Tristan shouts behind him.

  Outside, the air is cold, and Jamie can feel the wind sting his cheeks. He keeps going, running faster than he’s ever done in his life. He doesn’t stop until the party, the house and the street are far behind him. It enters his head that Dad would be pleased to see his son displaying such speed and stamina.

  Then there’s a strange noise in the air, like a wheezy dog barking. Jamie looks around, trying to locate it. Then he realizes it’s the sound of his own hysterical laughter.

  ‘And where is it exactly that you think you are going?’

  Gran looks up from the sewing box. It’s an old Quality Street tin full of odd buttons and bits of cotton.

  ‘Out,’ Demi shrugs.

  ‘Out where?’

  It’s not like Chika gives her a timetable, is it?

  ‘Just out,’ she mumbles.

  Gran pulls out a pin cushion in the shape of a strawberry. Malaya made it for her in primary school. It’s lived in the sewing box ever since, becoming studded with a collection of pins and needles.

  ‘You don’t want to visit your sister?’ Gran asks.

  ‘I’ll meet you at the hospital later,’ Demi replies.

  Gran narrows her eyes. ‘If you are not too busy with your new friends.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  Gran doesn’t answer. She pulls out a needle, checking that the eye is big enough. Why is she so against Demi having some friends? Doesn’t she want her to be happy at last? Or would she prefer it if Demi stayed upstairs all day long in her room?

  She watches Gran suck the end of a piece of white cotton to flatten it. Her glasses are perched on the end of her nose, but she got them for seventy pence in Help the Aged and they’re worse than useless. She peers down at the needle.

  ‘Do you want me to help with that?’ Demi asks.

  Gran waves her away and stabs the end of the cotton at the eye of the needle, missing by miles. Stupid old woman. Why won’t she just let Demi do it?

  ‘Right then,’ Demi pulls on her hoodie, ‘I’ll see you up there.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Gran holds the cotton up to the light bulb.

  Stupid old woman.

  Chika finishes her milkshake and leans back against the window, balancing her chair on two legs. Dirty Mick’s is emptier than usual because it’s a Saturday. No workmen. He keeps it open anyway.

  ‘What’s up with you?’ she asks Demi.

  Demi shrugs. She’s still riled about her argument with Gran, but doesn’t think Chika will be interested.

  ‘You worried about Malaya?’ Chika asks.

  Guilt floods over Demi and she coughs into her tea. To be honest, she hasn’t given Malaya a second thought.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ says Chika, ‘she’s tough.’

  Then she turns her head and looks out of the window. A wind has whipped up the rubbish from the gutter, sheets of newspaper and cigarette packets flying down the street. Demi’s feeling deepens. Not only has she not given her poor sister any head space, she hasn’t even told Chika that Malaya is on the mend.

  ‘The doctor says she’s going to be okay,’ Demi whispers.

  Chika swivels to stare across the table at Demi.

  ‘She’s woken up anyway,’ Demi swallows.

  Chika doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, just continues to stare at Demi.

  ‘Did you talk to her?’ she asks.

  To Demi it sounds like an accusation.

  ‘I’m going up to visit her this afternoon.’ She hangs her head, frightened of how Chika will react.

  Finally, a smile spreads across Chika’s face and she pushes her empty glass aside.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  Gran won’t be happy to see Chika. Not happy at all. But Demi is just grateful that Chika isn’t annoyed. Anyway, Chika has already scattered coins across the table for Mick. It annoys him when she does that and he always grumbles that she should just pay at the till like everyone else. She doesn’t care, just winks if she’s in a good mood, swears at him if she’s not.

  ‘We need to get her something.’ Chika is already out of the door. ‘Chocolates and that.’

  Demi thinks about the splits in Malaya’s mouth, how the doctor said a lot of her teeth had been kicked out. Then there’s the money issue. Demi has about thirty pence in her pocket and no way of getting any more.

  As if she can read Demi’s mind, Chika pulls out a wad of twenty pound notes. ‘I got peas, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  Demi takes in the cash. There’s at least a few hundred pounds. More money than Demi has ever seen in her life. It makes her feel hot, and a bit sick.

  ‘I can’t keep letting you pay for everything.’ Demi is trotting alongside Chika.

  Chika stops dead in her tracks. ‘We’re family and we share what we’ve got.’

  The litter is still flying around in the wind, like dirty kites. Chika catches a burger box with her toe and crushes it.

  ‘Respect to you though, sister, for wanting to make your own way.’ Chika gives Demi’s arm a gentle punch. ‘So how about I let you start making a little bit for yourself?’

  Demi raises her eyebrows. How can she make any money? She’s not good at anything.

  ‘You can do a few little t’ings for me, innit.’ Chika cocks her head to one side. ‘Okay?’

  There’s nothing Demi would like more, than to help her friend and repay her for all the kindness she’s shown. And to earn something into the bargain. Unbelievable. She imagines how the notes will feel in her pocket. How she’ll peel them off, one by one, when she goes to buy some new trainers. High-tops, like Chika.

  ‘Flowers.’ Chika points to a florist with buckets of roses outside and marches across the road. ‘That’s what we need for Malaya.’

  There’s a lovely smell inside, like grass and meadows. A woman with her hair tied in a bun and a pair of glasses on a chain, is threading pins through a tray of carnations. She glances up at the two girls.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  Before they can answer, a man crashes through the door. He’s wearing a coat with a long tail, and one of those things round his neck that’s not a tie, but not a scarf either.

  ‘I’m late,’ he laughs. ‘Are they ready?’

  The woman behind the counter smiles up at him and places the last carnation on to the tray.
‘All done.’

  As the man pushes past them and reaches for the tray, Chika kisses her teeth.

  ‘So I’m invisible now, am I?’ She raises her voice. ‘You can’t see me or nothing?’

  The man turns to her. He’s still smiling but he looks puzzled.

  ‘I’m waiting to be served here,’ Chika tells him. ‘So you can’t be just barging in front of me.’

  He gives a nervous cough. ‘Sorry about that, but I’m best man at my brother’s wedding and if I don’t get these to the church in ten minutes I’m dead.’

  Chika stares at him as if she couldn’t care less if he were late to save his child’s life. Demi holds her breath, the back of her neck tingling.

  ‘Sorry,’ the man mumbles.

  Demi bites her lip. The power Chika has is making her dizzy.

  ‘My friend is in hospital,’ Chika tells the woman with the bun, ‘and I need a big bunch of flowers for her.’

  The woman puts her hand out towards a pretty spray of chrysanthemums.

  ‘I said a big bunch,’ Chika hisses.

  The woman nods and goes out to the back of the shop. While she’s gone, Demi, Chika and the man stand in uncomfortable silence, punctuated by the impatient tap of Chika’s foot.

  When she comes back, the woman is carrying a huge bouquet wrapped in silver and gold paper.

  ‘This is the largest I’ve got.’

  Chika eyes the shiny ribbon tied around the stems. ‘It’ll do.’

  ‘Seventy-five pounds,’ says the woman.

  Demi’s mouth falls open. Seventy-five pounds? Gran doesn’t spend that on her fortnightly trip to Aldi. Chika reaches into her pocket and throws four twenties on to the counter, then she snatches the bouquet.

  When she reaches the door, she flicks a disdainful glance back into the shop and snarls, ‘Keep the change.’

  Had she done the right thing?

  Lilly asked herself the same question over and over as she sped back to Harpenden.

  If she had just mentioned the pregnancy, the outcome might have been different. Mr Manchester had been wavering at one point. It might have been enough to tip the balance.

  Prison was no place for a kid, least of all a pregnant kid.

  When she pulled into Penny’s drive her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a baby screaming. Somewhere inside her friend’s converted barn, Alice was attempting to demolish the cool stone walls with the power of her lungs.

  Before Lilly had a chance to ring the bell, the front door swung open. Penny had clearly been waiting for her.

  ‘Lilly.’ Penny’s voice was slightly hysterical and a blob of something white and viscous nestled in her usually sleek hair.

  ‘Hi.’

  She followed her friend down the corridor to the orangery at the back of the house. Lilly loved this peaceful room, bathed in sunlight, a huge table covered with a Cath Kidston cloth. Today the floor was littered with toys and books and paper aeroplanes. Alice lay howling in the corner.

  ‘So how was court?’ Penny’s tone strained to remain cheerful.

  ‘Shit.’ Lilly scooped up her daughter. ‘Another child sent to prison.’

  ‘Anything you can do?’

  Lilly thought about Tanisha’s baby.

  ‘I’m going to visit her first thing tomorrow to try and talk some sense into her.’

  She jiggled Alice on her hip and the bawling calmed to an annoying whine. ‘I don’t need to ask how things went at this end.’

  ‘I don’t know what went wrong.’ Penny let out a false laugh that bounced from wall to wall. ‘I tried every trick in the book.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s not you.’

  Penny opened her mouth to speak and then bit her lip.

  ‘What?’ Lilly asked.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Penny, this is me.’

  Penny pursed her lips. ‘I’ve just been wondering if Alice is okay. If, you know, everything is okay.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s just that she seems so unsettled all the time.’

  Lilly ruffled Alice’s hair. ‘She’s just a bloody handful, that’s all.’

  ‘If you’re sure.’ Penny looked doubtful.

  ‘I am sure.’

  It’s almost four o’clock and the light is fading.

  Jamie’s been walking for hours, round and round in circles, and he can no longer feel his legs. It’s getting really cold now, a biting wind stinging his skin, and he left his coat at the party. He pulls the sleeves of his sweater over his fingers and buries his hands in his armpits.

  He hasn’t eaten or drunk anything since last night and his mouth is so dry he can barely swallow. Crusted flecks of blood have gathered in the corners, but he can’t be bothered to pick them off.

  It’s time to go home. But he can’t. Images of Tristan’s hand in his lap and the snarl on his lips when he woke up, pound through Jamie’s head. He can still feel the way his cock had throbbed uncontrollably and the raw, violent anger that ran through Tristan’s body.

  He doesn’t want to think about what’s going to happen next. How Tristan will tell everyone what happened. By now it will be all over Facebook.

  Jamie’s phone makes him start and he fumbles in his pocket. He has a text.

  Where are you, J?

  Mum x

  Tears spring into Jamie’s eyes. Mum’s been worrying about him. Surely that means she does care. That if he told her about what was happening she’d listen. He wipes his face with his sleeve. He tries to picture having a proper conversation with Mum. He’s sitting on his bed and she’s in the chair by his desk. She’s put her phone and BlackBerry away, and she’s concentrating on what he’s telling her. Jamie’s temples ache with confusion.

  He realizes he’s only ten minutes from home. If he runs he can make it in five. His heart leaps into his mouth and he can almost taste it. He stabs out a reply.

  Home very soon

  J x

  A smile breaks across Jamie’s face. Mum will understand. She’ll help. She’ll sort out this fucking awful mess he’s got himself into.

  He points his feet in the right direction when his phone bleeps again. Another text.

  Dad and I going out now.

  Help yourself to food in the fridge.

  Mum

  Jamie cries out as if he’s in physical pain. It’s like Tristan has punched him in the stomach. The force knocks Jamie sideways. He staggers towards the nearest lamp-post and clings to it as if it were the mast on a sinking ship. A drop of fresh blood falls from his open mouth and splashes on the pavement at his feet.

  He is completely alone. Even as a young boy he knew this. In a world crammed with people and crowds, Jamie is utterly separate.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Jamie looks up to find an old man stood over him. His white hair is neatly cut. His scarf is wrapped around twice.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he repeats.

  Jamie, both hands still holding the lamp-post, opens his mouth to speak. Another drop of blood escapes. The old man’s eye line follows it, until it hits the ground and opens like a flower.

  ‘Are you ill?’ He pulls out a mobile phone. ‘Can I call someone for you?’

  Jamie doesn’t answer. Every cell in his body is aching and screaming. But who can he call? Who can help? There’s no one. No one at all.

  The old man frowns. ‘Do you need anything?’

  Need? He pushes himself up the lamp-post and straightens his back.

  ‘I need to get out of here,’ he tells the old man. ‘I need to get to Luton.’

  Lilly beat together sugar and butter with a wooden spoon. The repeated circling of her wrist was soothing. She cracked three eggs on the side of the bowl and let them slip into the mixture. Alice sat in her high chair, mimicking her mother with a plastic plate and a breadstick.

  After the disastrous morning in court, Lilly had been baking. The air in the kitchen was a chocolatey fug she could almost bite.


  Sam poked his head around the door and sniffed. His eyes widened at a plate of muffins cooling next to the oven.

  ‘They’re still hot,’ Lilly told him.

  He shrugged and helped himself to two. Lilly chuckled indulgently and reached for a cup of melted chocolate, dark and glossy. As she poured it in with the other ingredients, the door bell rang.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Sam offered, his mouth full.

  ‘Blimey,’ said Lilly, ‘those muffins must be bloody good.’

  He wrinkled his nose at her but left to answer the door. While he was gone, Lilly dipped her finger into the cake mixture and held it to Alice’s mouth. The baby licked it off with a wet smack of her lips.

  ‘See,’ Lilly muttered to herself, ‘there’s nothing wrong with you at all is there?’

  When Sam returned he was scowling. ‘There’s some man here for you.’

  ‘Who?’

  Sam shrugged.

  Lilly shook her head in despair and made her way out to the front door, her flour-covered hands held out in front of her like a sleep walker. It was Karol.

  He glanced down at her old jogging bottoms and flowered apron. ‘Am I interrupting?’

  ‘Not at all.’ Lilly pushed the hair out of her eyes with her forearm. ‘Come through to the kitchen.’

  She cringed as he followed her through the sitting room, the sofa piled high with case papers. In the kitchen, he smiled at the dozens of bowls and utensils that littered the surfaces.

  ‘I’m baking.’ She laughed and kicked a cupboard door shut with her bare foot.

  ‘It smells great.’

  There was an uncomfortable pause where Lilly noticed how muscular his arms were and how badly her toenails needed cutting. Sam glared at them both.

 

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