‘He’s always texting you!’ My phone bleeps obligingly and she rolls her eyes.
It’s him. I read the message and smile to myself.
‘What does he say?’
‘He’s missing me.’
Zoe groans. ‘I can’t stand much more of this. It’s not fair. Has he got any mates?’
I shake my head. ‘Not that I know of.’
‘Come on, Anna, introduce me!’
‘He hasn’t,’ I say. It’s the truth. We’ve been going out together for weeks now and he’s never once introduced me to a friend. ‘He’s a bit of a loner. He seems to be happy just spending time with me.’
‘Lucky you,’ sighs Zoe.
‘I know I am.’ Lucky to have had the sense to choose someone who wants to be with me as much as I want to be with him. And who would never ever let me down. Not like poor Livi.
‘Ferret stood Livi up again last night,’ I say. ‘He’s a complete jerk.’
Zoe snorts. ‘I could’ve told her that in the first place.’
‘I did tell her that in the first place, but she wouldn’t listen. She’s finding it out for herself now though.’
Poor Livi is besotted with Ferret. She is completely at his beck and call and spends her life moping about for the next text, the next change of plan. It’s obvious to everyone but her that the little shit is backing off. I’m worried sick it’s because he’s got what he wanted. But I can’t ask her.
Maybe it’s not just luck that I chose the good guy. Maybe it’s judgement. Let’s face it, even when I was fourteen, I would never have fallen for Feral Boy. I’ve got too much pride.
Though, if I’m totally honest, I think it was Jem who chose me, not the other way round.
‘What’s he up to at the moment?’ asks Zoe. ‘Apart from ringing you up a couple of hundred times a day?’
‘Working on his portfolio,’ I start to explain but, right on cue, my phone rings again and Zoe rolls her eyes.
‘I can’t see you tonight,’ he says and my heart plummets. ‘I’ve got to work.’
‘OK.’
‘It’s not OK. It’s rubbish,’ he says and I can imagine his face, dark and scowling. ‘But it’s overtime. They’re paying me time and a half. I could do with the money.’
‘No problem.’
‘Shall I turn it down?’ he asks.
‘No way! I could do with a night in. I’ve got bags of work to do for college.’ It’s true actually. I’m seeing so much of Jem, my work is beginning to suffer.
And I know how much he needs the money.
Jem is a photography student in London. He’s down here for a while doing a project on the regeneration of the Docklands. To make ends meet, he works at the new hotel down there as a kitchen porter. Free accommodation, but he shares a room with two guys with smelly feet and a curry and lager habit.
‘I’ll make it up to you, I promise. We’ll go somewhere nice on my night off.’
‘Great. What are you doing now?’
‘Looking at photos.’
‘Of?’ I know the answer already but I want to hear him say it.
‘Some beautiful girl.’
Last night Jem was snapping away at me like the paparazzi. That’s what happens when your boyfriend is doing a photography degree. Forget about the docks, I’m his favourite subject.
I asked him why he chose the Docklands as a topic and he said it was because years ago he’d lived round here for a short time with his grandmother, while his mother was in prison for fraud.
His background is horrendous. Not that he goes on about it a lot. But sometimes it drip-feeds into the conversation and yet another terrible truth leaks out from his past.
The amazing thing is, he’s emerged from the chaos of his life completely sane. It puts into perspective all those excuses that are made for people’s conduct. You know, all the way through school, I heard allowances being made for disruptive behaviour. ‘He’s a bad lad but what can you expect?’ ‘Family like his, what chance has he got?’
Well, I’ve got news for you, it doesn’t have to be like that. No one could have had a more shambolic upbringing than Jem and he’s the nicest person I know.
‘You’re supposed to be taking photos of the docks, not me,’ I remind him.
He chuckles. ‘You’re more interesting. And better-looking.’
Right response. You’re so good for my self-esteem, Jem. I’m almost starting to believe it myself.
CHAPTER EIGHT
On my way home from college that evening I bump into Jude, of all people, clip-clopping along the street in suit and high heels, hair scraped back in work mode, briefcase under her arm. It’s her voice I hear first, on the phone – to my dad, presumably.
‘Honestly, you would not believe the day I’ve had …’
It’s so distinctive. She has this habit of emphasizing one particular word in each sentence. When she catches sight of me, her face stretches into a fixed, professional smile. ‘Ring you back,’ she says and slips her phone into her bag.
‘Anna! How are you?’
‘Fine.’
‘How’s Livi?’
‘Fine.’
‘Your mum?’
I don’t deign to reply. Jude is used to firing questions at people and getting answers, but fortunately I don’t happen to be one of her clients. She’s a lawyer who spends her life defending petty criminals and little toe-rags who’ve broken the terms of their ASBOs.
Most people are in awe of her, my mother included, for having such a high-profile career by the age of twenty-six, but I reckon it sounds more glamorous than it is. It stands to reason she must spend most of her working week mixing with losers and perverts. Shame.
‘Your dad was so pleased to have you to stay – it’s been ages …’ she gushes. ‘You and Livi must come over again.’
Condescending cow! Who does she think she is? I don’t need an invitation to see my own father. ‘I’m busy at the moment,’ I say, my voice cold as ice, but she nods sympathetically.
‘A levels, hey? I remember it well.’
You should do, it wasn’t exactly that long ago. Her tone, dripping with solicitude, infuriates me. How dare she assume that the only thing in my life is exams?
‘Actually, I’m seeing someone.’
Why did I tell her that? It’s none of her business.
I know why. To make myself feel better. To show her I have a life beyond grumpy-stepdaughter-who-came-with-the-guy mode. Jude always lumps Livi and me together and reduces me to Truculent Teenager With Attitude.
‘Are you? That’s great! What’s his name?’
‘Jem.’
‘James?’ she says, mishearing. ‘Is he at college with you?’
‘No, he’s at uni.’
‘A student!’ she enthuses. ‘How lovely. Where? What does he study?’
Jude went to Bristol to study Law. ‘One of the hardest degrees at one of the top universities in the country,’ Dad informed us once. Photography at some obscure London college of higher education doesn’t begin to compete with that.
‘Oxford. He’s reading Medicine.’ Where did that come from? Flying out of my mouth before my brain was in gear. If I wanted to impress her, it worked. Jude’s eyes open wide in surprise.
‘Really? You must bring him round for dinner one night, Anna. We’d love to meet him.’
I bet you would! ‘Right,’ I say unenthusiastically.
‘I mean it. He sounds so interesting.’
‘He is.’ Actually, he’s far, far more interesting than you think. He has a split personality. Jem is studying Photography in London while working as a kitchen porter down here, while James is studying Medicine at Oxford. At the same time.
I groan inwardly. How the hell did I get myself into this? It’s all Jude’s fault, with her incessant questions. And now it’s too late to take it back.
At this point I make a firm resolution to keep my boyfriend as far away from her as possible.
On her own today
, the boyfriend must be working.
It made him sick to think of them, what they must get up to when they were alone together.
CHAPTER NINE
At home, Livi is busy getting ready for a night out. St Wilfred’s Big Party Night. Highlight of the social calendar, if you’re between the ages of eleven and fourteen. Actually, I’m surprised that Livi is so up for it; I thought she was way too cool for school.
But it turns out it’s a special charity night, a bit like a prom, with prizes for best-dressed couple, most popular couple, freakiest couple, etc. Needless to say, Ferret is her date for the evening, so I point out to her that they have a good chance of winning the last one, but she thinks I’m joking.
‘Best-dressed for us,’ she says, ‘every time!’
She does look gorgeous in a typically over-the-top way for what is, when all is said and done, a school disco. She’s wearing a red dress that clings to her amazing figure but stops just short of looking tarty. I’ll say one thing for my kid sister, for her age she has style. She’s spent a long time on her hair and make-up, you can tell. Which is why I’m kind of surprised by her choice of footwear.
‘You need heels with that outfit,’ I say as she wriggles her feet into her pumps.
‘Nah, it’s OK, I want to dance.’
I stare at her in disbelief. This is Olivia talking, who wore her six-inch heels all through summer until her feet bled and Mum donated them to Oxfam. Then the light dawns. ‘Oh, I get it …’
She frowns and ignores me, but we both know what I mean. Ferret isn’t that tall. In her heels she’d tower over him. He wouldn’t like that, would he?
Catch me ever changing my appearance for the sake of some guy’s ego.
Mum shakes her head at me imperceptibly to deflect a row. ‘What time is Steven coming to pick you up?’
‘Um …’ Livi looks uncertain. ‘Not sure. I think I might be meeting him there.’ She grabs her phone and dashes off to put a search out on his whereabouts.
‘He can’t even be arsed to come and get her,’ I say in disgust.
Mum sighs. ‘Not all men are as nice as Jem. Give him a chance, Anna. He’s just a boy.’
‘He’s a little rat,’ I say. And two minutes later, when Livi rushes off all in a dither because, even though she can’t locate him, she doesn’t want to keep him waiting, Mum looks as if she might agree with me for once.
I settle down when she’s gone and start making inroads into my college work. I’m more behind than I thought. It’s piled up over the past few weeks since I’ve been spending so much time with Jem. I can’t blame him, it’s my choice, but I need to get back down to it if I want to get into Newcastle.
Out in the hall, the phone rings. I can hear Mum jabbering away, then she sticks her head around the door.
‘I’m going over to Karen’s. She’s a bit upset.’
Karen, who works with Mum, is always upset. She’s going through a messy divorce at the moment and she and Mum are ‘there’ for each other. Which means the pair of them meet up constantly to drown their sorrows over medicinal bottles of dry white wine.
I move on to Sociology. An essay is overdue. I’ve never been behind with my work before. I put everything else firmly out of my mind and buckle down to it.
Two hours and five pages later, I’m concentrating so hard that I jump when my phone rings. It’s got to be Jem.
But I’m wrong.
On the end of the phone, someone is crying. Loud, ugly, racking sobs, like a soul in torment. It’s one of the scariest sounds I’ve ever heard in my life and totally freaks me out.
‘Who is this?’
‘An-na?’ My name is a choked, broken whisper.
Livi!
‘Livi, what is it? Answer me. Tell me what’s wrong.’
I’ll kill him. I’ll kill if he’s done something to her. I’ll strangle him with my bare hands.
‘What’s happened? Livi, stop crying. Tell me!’
She’s been in a fight. I can’t believe it. And come off the loser, by the sound of it.
‘Where are you?’
‘Outside school.’
‘Who are you with?’
‘No-bo-dy!’ The wails start up again.
‘Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you, right this minute. Don’t move, Livi. I’m on my way.’
I grab my coat and make for the door, wondering if I should leave a note for Mum to say where I’ve gone. No, too complicated, it will only worry the life out of her.
Outside, the night is wild. Rain sleets down on me as I make my way towards the taxi-rank on the main street. In ten minutes we draw up outside the school. I have just enough money in my pocket to pay the taxi-driver. I make a bee-line for reception, ablaze with lights, but then hear my name being called from the shadows of the car park.
‘Anna?’
‘Livi?’
My sister emerges into the light. She’s a wreck. Her hair is a mess, her nose is bleeding and black mascara tracks run down her face. The classy new dress has been torn at the shoulder and the hem is hanging down. She’s sobbing, fit to burst.
I fling my arms around her. ‘Who did this to you?’
‘Cora.’
I remember Cora Pugh when she started at St Wilfred’s. She was a mean, hard-faced cow, even in Year 7.
‘I’ll slaughter her! Where is she? She’s not going to get away with this. I’ll report her. I’ll tell the Head. Come with me … !’ I grab hold of Livi, furious, but she resists.
‘No, Anna. Leave it there.’
‘She attacked you, Livi!’
‘No. It was me. I started it.’
‘What?’ I stare at my sister aghast. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I started it,’ she repeats. ‘It was all my fault.’
CHAPTER TEN
Poor Livi. She explains it all to me as we make our way home.
There’d been no sign of Ferret when she got to school and he wasn’t answering his phone. She hung round for ages waiting, working herself up into a state. After a while, with everyone else in couples, she took herself off to the loo to shed bitter tears.
When she came out he was there, and Cora was snogging him. She was so angry she marched straight over and slapped her. Cora slapped her back. A fight ensued and was broken up by teachers. She started it, so she was thrown out.
‘D’you know what the worst thing is?’ she says to me between sobs. ‘It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t know I was still going out with him. He’d told her he’d dumped me.’
‘That’s what she says,’ I say grimly. But it’s probably true. That’s exactly the sort of lie I would expect Ferret to tell. Two-timing little rat.
‘Come on. Let’s get you home.’
We don’t have enough money between us for a taxi, so I slip my arm through my sister’s and together we dash across the main road, dodging a stream of orange headlights, to take a short-cut through the multi-storey car park to the bus station.
The car park is bleak and dimly lit at this time of night. It’s a horrible concrete jungle of a place, with graffiti sprayed all over the walls. Row upon row of silent cars stand brooding and there are dark, sinister corners where anyone could be lying in wait for you.
But my sister has had enough. She can’t take any more, and I need to get her home. So I grit my teeth and march her through it, my senses on high alert, eyes darting this way and that.
Something is scuttling in a corner. Automatically we grip each other tight.
‘You’re never more than three metres from a rat in Britain,’ whispers Livi, looking petrified.
Don’t we know it! ‘Or a ferret,’ I whisper back and am rewarded by a giggle that bubbles up out of nowhere.
We move on as one, glued tight to each other, stiff with apprehension. From the corner of my eye I think I see something moving, a shadow, a shape … I quicken our pace, Livi stumbling along beside me. In front of us a concrete stairway leads up to the next storey … Anyone could be up there, lu
rking …
Suddenly, from somewhere above us, comes a dreadful, unearthly wail, like something in torment. I nearly jump out of my skin and Livi screams. We cling to each other as it goes on and on and on …
‘Car alarm!’ I say and we collapse in relief. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here! I hate this place.’
But the next second there’s a skittering, clattering, stamping noise, and down the concrete stairway bounds a guy in jeans and sweats, hood knotted well down over his face. I pull Livi out of his way as he leaps the last set of steps and goes sprawling on the ground, hands outstretched in front of him. My heart misses a beat. In a split second he’s up and vaulting the barrier, then he disappears outside into the night.
Within seconds a uniformed security guard appears, puffing and panting, in his bright day-glo jacket.
‘Did you see him?’ he gasps.
I nod.
‘Would you recognize him again?’
Livi shakes her head, scared stiff. ‘It was all too fast.’
‘You couldn’t see his face,’ I say truthfully.
The guard swears loudly and turns away, speaking into his radio. I grab Livi’s arm.
‘Quick!’ I say, not wanting to get caught up in all this. ‘Let’s go.’
On the bus I ring Jem, but his phone is turned off. I curse under my breath.
‘I thought you said he was working tonight,’ says Livi.
‘He is.’
‘Well, he’s not going to be able to answer his phone, is he?’
‘No, I guess not.’ I stare out of the window, lost in thought.
After a while she says in a small voice, ‘Are you mad at me, Anna?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t tell Mum what happened, will you?’
I turn my head to look at her. ‘Clean yourself up a bit then or she’s going to notice.’
She takes out a mirror and some wipes and starts to repair the damage. By the time she’s run a comb through her hair and reapplied her make-up she’s looking more or less back to normal.
‘All right?’
‘You’ll do.’
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