14

 

Dear World, those bastards! For the last two weeks they have refused to let me see, or speak to Joe. I can’t tell you how evil this is, I can’t begin to explain how depressed it makes me. He is about the only one who keeps me sane World! I feel I am falling apart without him, and I am not joking about this. Those evil hypocritical bastards have not allowed me to even phone him, or text him. They took my phone away and everything. The same goes for him.  Our parents have got together and decided on this forced separation themselves. Tough love they call it, the idiots! After I admitted to smoking weed too, they pretty much all lost the plot.  They can’t quite decide who the bad influence is among us.  None of them think to look any further than Joe and me.  One of us led the other one into it; they just can’t work out whom.  I hear layers of shocked and outraged conversations between them, where none of them actually go as far as to point the finger at the other parents, but the insinuation is there all the same.  The fact is, neither Joe nor myself have done anything to outrage or upset them before now, and they don’t know quite what to make of it.  In truth, the fact that we have barely focused on their radars before now, seems to make them come down on us even harder.  It feels like they already have Sara, Leon and Travis to lose sleep over, and they simply will not entertain the idea of Joe and myself adding to it.  It’s just not going to happen.  My dad tells my mum not to buy me any more new clothes, and my pocket money is suspended.

“I’m not having it,” I hear him hiss his opinion, when the four of them are huddled in our kitchen one evening, no doubt sipping wine and beer and flicking fag ash all over the place as they discuss what do to with us. “Drink is one thing, that’s one thing! I can handle that. We all did that. But drugs! Smoking weed! I don’t bloody think so, I’m not bloody having that, that’s bloody disgusting behaviour that is.”

I am listening on the landing.  They may be aware of this, but it does nothing to stop or hasten their enraged discussions.  “Leads to more of it, more drugs, that’s what happens!” my mum is freaking out about this.  The opinions of others and the newspapers she devours have convinced her that next week her youngest daughter will be smoking crack cocaine, and most likely be injecting heroin by Christmas. “It’s a gateway drug,” she informs the other three adults.  “That’s what they call it.  A gateway to harder things.”

“Well I’m not bloody having it,” my dad says again.

“Never even had this from Leon and Travis, did we Mick?” That’s Lorraine, obviously.  I can hear Mick grunting.  I can just picture him screwing up his face and squaring up the way he does, even when there is nothing and no one to square up to.

“They’re spoilt and lazy, that’s the truth of it,” he huffs and puffs in my kitchen, and the others murmur in agreement.  “I had a bloody job at that age, I bet we all did! They just lie around all day with nothing to do, that’s the problem.”

“Well Joe’s on babysitting and dog walking duties for the rest of the summer, isn’t he Mick?”

“Too bloody right he is!”

“And no band practice either.  We’re coming down tough on this, Michelle, and we think you two should as well.”

“Oh we are, we are, aren’t we?” my mum says quickly. “Well, I’m letting her have Marianne over, because she’s such a sensible young girl.”

“Is she?” Lorraine does not sound so sure.

“Oh yes, oh yes, have you seen where she lives? Her parents are very well off you know.  She’s a lovely polite girl.”

I don’t know about Joe, but I get through it by keeping a low profile.  I stay in my room, I go out jogging, or I take the dog for long walks around the estate.  I avoid my mother; because I do not want to have another drugs conversation with her.  Les is still living with us, if you can call it that.  He still has to run and hide every time my dad shows up.  I am relieved that I am allowed Marianne over, or I would probably go insane.  I soon learn that Joe has not been allowed the luxury of other friends at all.  Josh and Ryan are banned, and Joe is under house arrest.  He is forbidden from leaving the house at all.  I think that if they are deliberately trying to drive him crazy, they are going about it the right way.  Marianne comes over nearly every day during this punishment period.  It amazes me that my mother has no qualms about this at all, based solely on the fact that she comes from a big house and her parents have good jobs.  She has no idea that Marianne is so fucked up she slices into her own arms most days! She has no idea that Marianne was getting into the weed as much as us.

“Do you think they would let me visit Joe?” she wonders, when we are up in my room kneeling on my bed and gazing out of my window.  I sigh, feeling like a prisoner in my home. I am wondering how the hell Joe is surviving it.  At least I’ve got relative peace and quiet.  He’s got those bloody kids!

“I doubt it,” I tell her, watching one of the neighbours little girls ride her bike up and down the road.  “But you can try asking if you like. He must be going out of his mind by now.”

“You can’t even phone him?” she shakes her head incredulously.

“Nope. I did try on the landline.  Mick answered and went mental.  It’s not worth it.  They’ll just add another two weeks on.”

“Poor Joe.”

“I know.  It makes me sick.  The fuckers.”

“You could have landed his brothers in it too.” Marianne looks at me sideways.  I stare dismally down at the street.  Her younger brother has joined the little girl from next door.  He still has stabilisers on and can’t keep up with her, so he is crying and calling after her, but she won’t stop, she won’t slow down for him.

“I nearly did,” I tell her. “But it’s up to Joe really. They’re his family. Apparently he’s saving up for a drum kit. Leon reckons he would rather keep making money than drop them in it.”

“Insane!” Marianne breathes, her eyes growing wide.  I nod in agreement with her.  “So is he still sneaking out for them then?  Is he still, you know?”

“I’m not sure,” I admit.  “I wouldn’t risk it if I were him.”

“Oh my god,” Marianne smiles. “Crazy!”

She pulls back from the window and lies flat on her back on my bed.  She is wearing a long black skirt today.  Her pale little feet just barely poke out the bottom of it.  I look back out of the window, as my neighbours little boy crashes his bike spectacularly in his efforts to keep up with his sister.  I watch him sprawled out on the concrete, knees bloodied and face wailing.  I should feel sympathy but I don’t.  I look at his sister to see what she does.  She stops her bike and turns it around.  Then she looks up at her house to see if anyone is coming out yet.  She makes no effort whatsoever to go to her little brother, or to help him.  He just wails at the indignity and the unfairness of it all, as he clambers onto his shredded knees and throws back his head to the sky.  Finally their mother, who is very overweight and always wears bright pink tracksuits, comes waddling out of the house.  She shakes a finger and says something to the older girl, who just looks back at her blankly.  The mother drags the little boy up from the ground, slings him onto her hip and grabs his bike with her other hand.  I watch in awe as she staggers back to her house with both.  He must be about five, and the bike looks heavy.  I think to myself, well there you have it. Children are cruel.  Siblings are born to outdo each other and tear each other to pieces in the scramble to be the best.  Parents are simply adults who have been bumped to a higher status merely because of  the fact they are physically able to have sex and squeeze out babies. This all becomes clear to me from my window.  We live in a merciless world.  This life is full of people who want to stamp you down into the ground to stop you getting past them.  That is what it feels like World, at the moment. I am torn between wishing I was a child again, not having to worry about anything, except being allowed to play out, and wishing I was old enough to leave home like Sara, just pack my stuff and get the hell out.

I sigh again and look down at Marianne. I realise she has been a good friend to me this summer.  I used to view her with suspicion.  She intrigued me, but I did not trust her.  I found her hard and abrasive, lacking in warmth.  I could never tell if she meant the things she said.  I could never quite work out if she actually liked me or not.  But I feel differently now.  She must like me, and Joe, otherwise what the hell would she be doing with a pair of rejects like us?  I feel bad too.  I feel bad because she was right about us always being joined at the hip.  We don’t always think of her.  We don’t always think to ask her along, not unless we need something from her.

“You’ve been a good friend,” I tell her then, surprising her with a rare compliment.  She even sits up and gawps at me.  “What?”

“Wow.  It’s just unusual to hear you say something nice, or positive!”

“Really?”

“Yeah. But I can’t talk.  I’m the same. What makes you say that?”

“Just, you know,” I slump back against the wall, under the window and shrug at her.  “You’ve been keeping me company and stuff.  Me and Joe probably leave you out a bit, usually, don’t we?”

“Oh I don’t mind that,” she grins, waving a hand at me. “I know what you two are like. I’m used to my own company anyway, remember?”

“Well yeah, but you know,” I shrug again.  I am not comfortable with praising someone.  It never sounds genuine, does it? It always just sounds like you are sucking up to them for some reason.  “I’m sorry,” I say instead. “If we have left you out ever.  That’s all.”

“Forget about it!” Marianne laughs at me.  “Don’t be silly. Hey, when this punishment is all over, I’m getting you both over to mine for a piss up.  And Ryan and Josh too.  They can bring their instruments!”

“Your parents won’t mind?” I feel brighter now she has said this.

“Course not.  They like me having people over, because I’m an only child and all that.  Anyway, we’ll do it when they are out.  It’ll be brilliant.  We need some good nights don’t we?  Before we go back to school and everything.”

I groan at the thought.  “Yeah, we do.  Definitely.”

“I bet you can’t wait for the stick insects at school to see you.” I look at her, and she is smiling a devilish smile at me.

“Oh yeah,” I murmur.  She stifles an excited little giggle.

“They probably won’t even recognise you Lou.  You’re gonna’ blow their tiny little minds.  They’ll be all over you like a rash.”  She leans forward then and puts her hand on my arm.  “I think you’ve done amazing, by the way.  Really amazing.”

“Thank you.”

“Has it been really tough?”

I shrug.  I am not sure.  I have not really thought of it that way. “Not really,” I tell her. “Once I made my mind up, that was it.”

“So many people fail, don’t they?  Fat people, when they try to lose weight.  They can never do it normally.  But you did!””

“Yeah,” I say slowly, frowning slightly at her delighted little face.  She seems particularly hyper today, I have to say.  “I did, didn’t I?”

“You should be extremely proud,” Marianne insists. “You’ve totally changed your body you know.  All by yourself!  No one helped you.”

“You’re right about that.”

“Yeah, I know.  Amazing.  Really amazing.”

I have to admit, as odd as she is at times, I do enjoy Marianne’s enthusiasms over my weight loss.  It’s really kind of her, I think, to encourage me all the time.  Makes me feel less alone.  She seems to notice every pound that I drop.  Bless her.

I consider telling her how odd it seems to me that I never feel hungry anymore.  That I really, truly cannot recall the last time I felt hunger.  I did at the start.  Bloody hell it was nothing less than torture at the start! I would find myself staring longingly at the food my mother and sister stuffed into their faces.  The silky smoothness, and overpowering sweet scent of  Cadbury’s Dairy Milk chocolate; my mum’s favourite ‘sin’. But I don’t do that now.  I don’t look at food like that anymore.  In fact I kind of see it the opposite way, if that makes sense.  I see the fat content and the spoonfuls of processed sugar.  I see the fat beneath my skin swelling and growing with every mouthful that I allow to enter it.  It’s great though, I think.  It’s great not feeling hungry anymore.  It makes it so much easier to eat less.

I don’t share this with Marianne.  Probably because she might think I had lost the plot a bit.  I don’t know.  I don’t tell her about the photos my mum took of me recently either. I hate having my photo taken World. It does not matter what you dress me up in, or what you do with my stupid hair, or whatever, I still don’t photograph well.  I am not, what do they call it?  Photogenic, that’s it. I’m just not.  Never have been. Well my mum has this old camera she’s had for years. She must be the last person on earth to still take rolls of film to Boots to be developed, bless her. I keep telling her just to get a camera phone, but she seems to think the two things should be separate.  Sometimes there is just no telling grown ups. So anyway, she was snapping away over my birthday, like she always does, then rushes off to get them all developed. Shows me. Fuck me, I wanted to cry. Oh look, oh look darling, she waffled on, going all teary like she always does when one of us is a year older, oh you look so grown up, so pretty! I don’t know what she sees when she looks at photos fof me World, but it sure as shit isn’t what I see! Would you believe World, even after all this effort, I still looked fat?  I was all ewww in those photos.  Really.  I wanted to shout bollocks and screw them up, but she whisked them off to send them to obscure and uncaring relatives. So I don’t tell Marianne this, as she already knows I always look down or cover my face when any of my friends snap me with their camera phones. But I do make a promise to myself to treat her more like a friend from now on, and not just an acquaintance, someone we call on from time to time.  She deserves more than that after all.

 

After Marianne has gone home, my mum comes up and sits on my bed next to me.  She has her hands in her lap, between her knees.  There is no tea towel.  She seems lost and weary and I almost consider putting my arm around her shoulders and giving her a hug.  I don’t though.  I don’t know why she has come up here, and my cynical suspicions are aroused.  “I have decided to tell your father about Les living here,” she sighs eventually, and confirms that I am nearly always right.  I nod, and wait for more.  “You are right, Lou.  I can’t live my life for him anymore.  He left me didn’t he?  He went to her.  I should be over it by now.  I should move on.  And Les is a good man, isn’t he?  What do you think?”

“Well,” I say, thinking on it for a moment before replying.  “I haven’t seen that much of him, seeing as how he’s mostly having to hide under your bed, but apart from that, he does seem okay.  I mean, he talks to you nice.  Not like dad.  He talks to you like you’re a human being, not a piece of shit.”

My mum looks at me with a stern frown.  “Lou!”

“What?” I shrug at her.  “It’s true.  Dad talks to nearly everyone like they’re shit.  Especially if they are female.  Can’t believe you’ve never noticed.”

“Well, actually I have noticed.  I was married to him, you know.”

“When are you going to tell him?”

“I don’t know.  Give me time.  It takes courage to work up to these things, you know Lou.  Even when you’re an adult.  Life doesn’t stop being scary.  I’m not looking forward to it.” She looks back at her knees and takes a deep breath, before exhaling again, as if to give herself some strength.  “I will do it though, I promise you that.  No more lies and secrets.  Everything out in the open.  Maybe Les and I will be happy.”

“Well I hope so mum.”  And I do.  I mean it.

“I will tell your sister too. Next time I see her.”

“Okay,” I nod again.  “Cool.”

“Lou, you’re not going to smoke that stuff again, are you?” She looks slowly at me, turning her head as if it pains her to do so.  Her eyes are narrowed, like someone flinching from a smack.

“You mean, cannabis?” I ask her, and she physically squirms at the word.

“Yes, Lou.  It’s time we had a proper talk about all that.”

“Course I won’t mum,” I tell her, with another shrug, that means so little, I wonder if she buys it any more than I do.  How can she even ask me that, I wonder.  How am I meant to know what I might do, or not do?  The chances are slim anyway, so it seems easier to just say no.  I don’t tell her that I would take being hammered over being stoned any day.  Though that might actually be a relief to her.  Obviously alcohol is a ‘safe’ adult approved and tested gateway drug.  “I only did it to keep Joe company.  You know.”

“Well no, I don’t know actually, but if you promise you won’t do it again…” she looks at me pleadingly.

“You were a teenager once mum,” I point out to her.

“And my mum would have clipped me round the ear if I’d even thought about doing something like that!” she tells me incredulously.  “It was very strict.  You did what you were told or else.”

“That’s not so different from today,” I mutter, thinking about Joe.  Mum blows her breath out through her teeth, and lifts one leg to cross it over the other.  She tugs her knee length skirt down towards her knee.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I don’t know really.”

“You mean us punishing you and Joe, don’t you?”

I shrug in reply.  She puts her arm around me then, taking me by surprise.  She wraps it around my shoulders and pulls me into her side, and I let her.  I rest my head on her shoulder, and feel her hand rubbing up and down gently on my bare arm. “You two,” she says, and I can feel her smile.  “You’re just like sister and brother, aren’t you?  Always have been.  Always been joined at the hip you two.  Never seen anything like it.  Me and Lorraine always say it, you know.  The rest of the kids never bothered much with each other, but you two….You two are so sweet.”

“Mum, why are they so horrible to him then?”

“I don’t think they are horrible, Lou.  They just think it’s best to be tough.  To nip these things in the bud.  Boys can be a handful you know.  Lorraine was on her own for a while with the first three. I know how tough it was for her.”  She is still rubbing my arm slowly.

“But mum, you don’t understand.  When I was there, Mick just waded in and smacked Joe in the head.  He has no right to do that!”

“Oh Lou, Mick is very fiery, he acts first and thinks later, you know that.”

“That’s no excuse.  He’s vile to her kids! He thinks his two can do no wrong!”

“Well they are only little, darling. It’s different.  Three teenage boys in the house is hard work for anyone.  I don’t think I could do it!” She holds me a little tighter and leans in to kiss me on the top of my head.  “I’ve always been glad I had two little girls, you know.  But Mick cares about those kids really, he does.  He wouldn’t do a thing if he didn’t care.  He would let them do whatever the hell they liked, wouldn’t he?”

“Well I don’t like him,” I say, petulantly, and I pull away from her hug, dismayed at her allegiance to him, determined to not ever feel empathy for him.  “He’s always horrible.  Always has been.”  I cross my arms over my stomach.  Mum sighs a little and gets to her feet.

“You might understand more when you are an adult, and a parent Lou,” she says, looking down at me calmly.  “That’s all I can say.  It’s the hardest job in the world being a parent, and I imagine being a step-parent is even harder.”

“Whatever.”

“Okay,” she sighs, this time it’s a huge one, and she walks to the door. “I’ll leave you to it.  You can go and see Joe tomorrow, okay?  Lorraine said.  But you two are on thin ice, remember?  Best behaviour or else!”

I could say whatever again, but I don’t.  I just turn my back on her slowly, making a feeble effort to hide my disappointment, and I lie on my belly on my bed.  I hear her open the door.  “Lou, I don’t want you getting any thinner either,” she says suddenly, and the way she says it I can tell it’s not just an after thought, but more like something she has been building up to saying.  “You’re lovely as you are now okay?  I don’t want you taking this diet any further.”  I don’t answer her, so she goes out and closes the door behind her.  I am left alone with my own jumbled thoughts.  I lie flat on my belly and experience a whirlwind of contrasting emotions.  I feel the familiar stab of pride at my weight loss.  Even the fact my mum has mentioned it the way she has makes me feel proud and defiant.  I feel excited and yet nervous about seeing Joe tomorrow.  How has his two weeks been?  What are we going to say to each other?  I feel a little warmer towards my mum, and relieved about her telling dad the truth for once, but still….she always has to stick up for Lorraine and Mick, doesn’t she?  Makes me sick.

 

13

 

 

Dear World, for a moment or two it feels like time stands still, and not in a good way. I often wish I could freeze time, pause it so that I can catch up, catch my breath, but this isn’t the kind of moment anyone would want paused, or dragged out.  This is one of those moments you want to end as quickly as possible and never have to relive again.  Joe does not answer Mick’s question.  Instead he takes a small step backwards, towards the door that we have closed behind us.  I look at his face and I can see he is shitting himself.  Mick is holding a whole handful of the roaches Joe has been throwing out of his bedroom window.  Mick looks wild.  He comes forward.  He thrusts his hand towards Joe’s startled face.  “I said are these yours!”

I look from Mick to Joe, starting to panic now.  Joe nods his head ever so slightly.  Lorraine is right behind Mick.  I glance past her towards Leon and Travis, who are keeping quiet, just watching.  Mick pulls his hand back and sniffs the ends.  He narrows his eyes slightly.  “Not just fag ends are they?” he barks at Joe.  Joe has his back flat against the door now.  His hazel eyes are getting wider by the second.

“Are they joints Joe?” Lorraine snaps then, coming up beside her husband, shaking her head at her son, as if daring him to say they are.  Joe says nothing.  He looks down, away from her accusing face, and he scratches at the back of his neck.

Lorraine’s eyes shift to me.  “Lou?  Are you going to help fill us in?”  I don’t know what to say.  I start to shrug my shoulders, but think better of it, and just look down at the floor instead.  “They are aren’t they?” she goes on.  She jerks her head back towards Leon and Travis, lurking in the background.  “Now we’ve grilled these two already.  They say this is nothing to do with them.  We found these in the back garden, Joe.  Tommy was collecting them up and putting them in his dumper truck.”

At the mention of his precious baby son, Mick’s eyes widen in anger, and he folds his fist over the roaches, and licks his lips slowly.  He looks like he can’t decide what to do first.  Like there are a couple of possible solutions that would make him feel better right now, but he can’t choose one quick enough.  He lifts one hand momentarily and touches his own forehead, glancing down, almost as if he is attempting to compose himself. “Have you been smoking fucking weed in your bedroom and throwing the butts out the window?” he asks, not looking at Joe. Joe swallows.  Scratches his neck again.  Looks at his mum.  Looks down.  He knows he cannot win here.  He knows this is bad.  I watch his nervous eyes flick towards his brothers, as if pleading them to step in and say something, but we both know that they won’t.

“Joe,” Lorraine says the word clearly and carefully.  Her hands are planted on her hips.  Her eyes are fixed on Joe in a stern and motherly way that traps him in her eye line, forcing him to look her in the eye.  She knows he cannot lie to her face and she is using this to full advantage.  “Tell the truth.  Have you been smoking weed up there and throwing the butts out the window?”

Joe finally drags his gaze down to the floor again as he mumbles his almost incoherent answer.  “Yeah.”

“Where my fucking kids can play with them?” Mick roars, rushing forward then, coming at us with his fists up.  I move back, nearly stumbling over my own feet, and Joe cowers against the door, ducking at the same time, and Mick’s fist catches him on the back of the head.  He crouches down, against the door, arms over his head, fearing more.  I stare at Mick, and Lorraine in disgust and horror, but they look resolute and strong, and not embarrassed.  Lorraine merely puts a hand on Mick’s back, and he stops at that, but leans over Joe, shaking his head from side to side and pointing a finger at him.  “You’re smoking cannabis up there?  You fucking little shit!”

I am close to tears.  I look desperately to Leon and Travis, begging them with their eyes to stop this, and help their brother, but they remain silent witnesses in the background.  Leon has his arms crossed.  He looks stern faced, but calm.  Travis looks like he would rather be anywhere else in the world right now.  Guilt is splashed all over his reddening face.

“Kitchen!” Mick barks into Joe’s ear.  Then he straightens up, as Joe stands away from the door, and he looks back at Leon and Travis, and points at them quickly, one at a time.  “You two out.  Now.”

I move closer to Joe again, as he steps from the hallway and into the lounge, I reach out and grab his arm again, and I can feel his whole body shaking.  I see him looking at his brothers again, looking at them for help.  His eyes are begging them, but they do and say nothing.  They just walk past us and leave.

Joe heads for the kitchen, with me in tow.  But Lorraine holds her hand up to me.  “You need to go too love.” I feel outraged by the sight of her. I want to lash out and slap her pinched up, make-up plastered face. I step around her and follow Joe into the kitchen, where Mick has pulled a chair from the table.  Joe stands there looking lost and helpless. Mick shoves him into the chair.  He is a raging bull of a squat little boxer man, all thick pulsing arms and broad shoulders, and short stumpy legs.  I hate him.  I can feel Lorraine behind me, sighing angrily at me.

“What’s the matter with you anyway?” Mick asks, slamming his hands down onto the table in front of Joe.  “Running around with girls all the time like a little gay boy!  Smoking drugs out the window!  I ought to throw you out!”

Joe folds his arms across his t-shirt and stares at the table.  “I’m not gay,” he says, teeth clenched.

“Why you always with girls then?” Mick questions, his confused glare taking me in.  “Unless you’re girlfriend and boyfriend all of a sudden?” He straightens up and looks even angrier for a moment, as if being deceived by us about this would be even worse than having a gay weed smoking stepson.  “Are you two girlfriend and boyfriend?” he asks, looking at me.

“No!” I say haughtily, my voice shaky and emotional. “And he’s not gay either!”

Lorraine steps around me.  “Are you smoking this stuff too?” she asks, peering into my face. “I’m going to have to talk to your mum.”

“No she’s not,” Joe speaks up from the table, with his back to me.  “She never has.  It’s just me.”

“Go home then Lou,” Lorraine says it again, this time her tone is gentler. “This is family business now, okay?”

I don’t want to leave Joe there with them, but Lorraine takes my arm when I don’t move and propels me back towards the front door.  I can’t stand it, but I don’t know what I can do.  One way or another they are just going to destroy him.  As Lorraine pulls open the front door I hear Mick saying; “I can’t cope with you kids much longer.  There’s always one of you causing trouble.  If my Will or Tommy had fucking eaten those or something?”

I am pushed outside.  I am still clutching my fucking New Look bag.  The sun blinks and glints off of all the cars parked in the street.  I don’t know what to do World. Then I see Leon and Travis leaning against the fiesta and smoking cigarettes.  I march right up to them.  I am shaking with anger and disappointment by the time I reach them.  “You’re not going to stand up for him?” I practically scream at them.  “They’re tearing him apart in there!”

“Nothing to do with us,” Leon gives me his usual unbothered shrug.  I want to smack him in the face as hard as I can and watch his nose explode.

“Yes it is! Who does he get it from? You!”

Leon throws down his cigarette then and snatches up my arm, hissing into my face; “keep your fucking voice down!”

I try to pull away but he holds on.  “I ought to go back in there and tell them the truth,” I say to him, our faces barely an inch apart.  “Why should he take all the blame?  You got him into all of this!”

“He can handle it,” Leon says to me, still holding my arm.  “You know them.  We’re nearly rid.  Then it’s all over.  They’ll chuck all three of us out if you tell.”

“He’s right,” Travis tells me, almost apologetically.  I finally yank my arm free of Leon’s grip.

“Unbelievable,” I spit at them.

“Please,” says Travis.

“It’s not like we’re not sharing the money with him,” Leon points out, stepping back from me and shoving his hands into his pockets.  “He’s saving up for a drum kit, you know.”

“Look, we’re not going anywhere,” Travis says, his voice falling softer, his teeth biting at his lower lip.  He glances quickly up at the house and then back at me.  “We’ll stay out here.  Make sure they go easy on him.”

“You’re a pair of scumbags.  You’re the worst brothers in the world.  You just stand there and let Mick smack him in the head.” I feel tears prick my eyes now, so I turn away.  I start to walk away from them.  “You make me sick,” I say quietly, and I leave them there.  I have no idea if either of them feel guilt, or concern, or indeed are capable of it.  They say nothing as I walk away.

I have no choice but to go home.  I feel so heavy as I walk; each footstep is a trial, a huge effort.  I feel like someone up above has their hands upon my shoulders, and I’m being slowly pushed down into the ground.  It really feels that way World, like you and all your troubles are pressing down on me, trying to grind me into the pavement. I want to shake it all off, but it clings to me as I walk, the heaviness of despair.  I struggle on, anger fading away now, only to be replaced by sheer sadness.  Poor Joe.  None of them understand him.  Poor Joe.

I let myself into the house and once again I am instantly met with solemn, straight adult faces.  My mum and my fucking dad, no less.  I throw my New Look bag onto the stairs and kick off my shoes.  My shoulders are slumped; my feet drag as I walk down the hallway to join them in the kitchen.  It is plainly obvious that Lorraine has already been on the phone to them.  They know everything; I can see that from their faces.  My dad is smoking a cigarette, with one arm slung across his waist as he leans against the worktop.  Mum is sat at the table, wringing a tea towel in her hands.  Does she ever fucking put them down? “Let me guess,” I say to them, slipping weakly into the chair opposite my mother.  “Lorraine has already filled you in.”

My mum looks at my dad.  He smokes his cigarette.  Why the hell has she got him here anywhere?  I wonder where poor old Les is again.  “She phoned me when they found the cigarette ends, or whatever they are,” mum answers me, holding onto the twisted tea towel with both hands as she rests it on the tabletop.  She shakes back her short hair, glances nervously at my dad, and then back at me. “She wanted to know what I thought.”

“Oh right,” I say, looking away from her. “What do you think then?”

“Well, I don’t know,” she says, sounding flustered, and looking to my dad for help again, but he just remains silent and smokes his cigarette. “It’s not you though is it love? Its just Joe smoking that stuff isn’t it?”

I look back at her and sigh, and I really want to say, no it’s not just Joe, it’s me too whenever the hell I feel like it, but it is just Joe running around the estates at night delivering cocaine to people for his brothers.  It all goes through my mind.  It enrages me again.  “I’ve tried it a few times,” I tell her, watching her carefully, wondering what the hell she is going to say to this.  My dad lowers his hand, the one holding the cigarette, and he cocks his head at me as if he has not heard me correctly.  My mum has covered her mouth with one hand, finally letting go of the bloody tea towel

“You better be joking!” my dad yells at me.  I look at him, scowling in disgust.

“What?” I say to him. “Why would I joke? I suppose I could lie and say it’s all just him, but that wouldn’t be very fair on him, would it?”

“Oh Lou,” my mum is shaking her head into her hand. “I am so disappointed in you.  I thought you knew better than that.  What has gotten into you two lately? First getting drunk and fighting and now this?”

“Getting drunk and fighting?” my dad practically explodes at her. “You never told me that! When was that then? What the hell is going on around here lately?”

I get up then.  I do not want to hear any of this. “Stay there please Lou,” says mum, holding up her hand. “We need to talk about this.”

“There are lots of things we need to talk about mum,” I say viciously, raising my eyebrows at her, so that she understands what I mean.  Who I mean.  She closes her mouth quickly, biting back her words.  I know I have won.

“This is a joke!” my dad yells at mum.  He is not even looking at me.  He does not give a shit if I smoke weed or get drunk, he just relishes another reason to throw shit at her, to hurt her and humiliate her and ground her down even more than he already has done.  “What kind of mother are you? Letting one daughter move in with her boyfriend, and the other one is just running wild!”

I leave them to it, which is really rather cruel of me, as none of this is my mum’s fault really.  But I’ve had enough.  I could stand there and really get into it with them, really give them what for on their own fucked up little lives. I could turn it all around on them, and ask them to think about why Joe and me have let them down so badly.  I mean, who raised us eh?  But I can’t handle this anymore.  I need to be alone.  I can’t even look at my dad most of the time, let alone argue with him.  What is the point?

Up in my room I hear them screaming at each other downstairs.  It is so bad I have to cover my ears with my hands.  I close my eyes and tell myself over and over again, that I will never be like them; I will never be like them.  No one will ever talk to me like that.  No one will ever treat me like that.

“You can never lay the law down can you?” I can hear my dad bellowing.  “You’ve never been able to control them!”

“Easy for you to say!” my mother is screaming back at him.  She can scream with the best of them when she’s angry enough.  “You were the one who walked out on them! I’m the one who stayed! You have no right to say a thing!”

I listen to them going at it, and I am reminded of every argument that filled my childhood.  The screaming, the banging, the slamming of doors, the accusations, and the crying.  I remember thinking, why are you even together?  What are you doing married to each other if you hate each other this much?  I could never work it out.  I could never see where the love was.  I could never see what the point was.  Maybe I never will.  My mum says I will understand everything when I am an adult, when I have grown up and been in love myself, when I am a parent.  Maybe she is right.  Fair enough if she is.  But right now I want to tell them to shut the fuck up.  It’s only a bit of weed.  There are far worse things we could be doing.  If only they knew.

 

12

Dear World, I have not written to you for the last two weeks, and I can’t really tell you why, except for that I didn’t have much to say.  Maybe I thought I was going to be all right on my own.  But things are still concerning me World, and my wall is still overflowing with it all, so if you could bear to listen a little longer, I will fill you in.

So guess what?  I now weigh eight and a half stone, and I am a size ten.  This is like a miracle to me.  This is like a dream.  A fantasy.  Something I have yearned for my entire life, yet never believed would truly happen.  My mum seems pleased when I tell her I have reached my goal weight and size, and she ruffles my hair and tells me how beautiful I am, and how proud she is of me.  But she looks anxious when I tell her I really, really need new clothes again.  She even rolls her eyes, and lets out this big heavy sigh.  It’s as if she expects me to go around in trousers that keep falling down.  Tops that hang off me like tents.  How would she like that?  She says she will have a word with dad about some money, because she has none.

In the end though, I don’t need either of their money.  Joe takes me shopping in town, and we drag Marianne along for the fun.  She always has money, but never seems to want to buy anything, except music and books.  Joe shoves me into New Look and stands about awkwardly, telling me to hurry up and choose something.  I choose two new tops, both closer fitting than I would ever have dared to buy before, and a short denim skirt, and some rather small shorts.  I try them all on with Marianne, and for the first time in my life, when I look in the mirror in the changing room, I honestly, genuinely like what I see.  I smile, and Marianne smiles at me smiling.  “You look lovely in all of them,” she tells me, and I feel tremendous.  I feel on top of the world. I feel like I was right. Everything is all right now that I am slim.

I mean, it should be shouldn’t it world?

Joe insists I have all of them.  He pays the girl at the till with cash.  I swap looks with Marianne, and she just grins.  She knows what he’s up to for his brothers, but typically, she gets off on the thought of the danger, and thinks it’s all cool.  I thank him with a kiss on the cheek, and we all link arms and head to a café for a milkshake.  Joe pays again, and Marianne spends most of the time fiddling with her phone and making us repeat the parts of the conversation she has missed.

After that we wander down to the quay, and this time Marianne puts her hand in her pocket and buys us all an ice cream.  All the schools break up today, so we are reminded that this is the last time for six weeks that we will have all the parks, the fields and so on, to ourselves.  Soon enough there will be screaming brats and stressed out parents in our way wherever we go. Joe groans that he will be expected to watch Tommy and Will even more, and asks us to remind him he needs to be home by four o’clock at the latest, as his first babysitting duty commences at that time. We determine we must enjoy this last day of total freedom. “We’ll do whatever it takes!” Marianne informs us brightly. Only six weeks left now until we go back to school.  It’s a horribly grim thought and drapes me in a momentary cloak of depression.

Marianne invites us back to her house, so my mood lifts again in curiosity.  As usual, her parents are not at home.  While she puts the kettle on to make us all a cup of tea, Joe spreads his cigarette papers out on the large oak table, and starts to roll a joint.  “Yippee, great idea,” Marianne enthuses.  I say nothing. I think he has been getting his little tin out far too much lately, but who am I to tell him this?  He has a lot he wants to escape from, I guess. He has a lot he wants to block out.  We take our cups of tea out to the garden.  Marianne grabs a packet of chocolate chip cookies and brings these too.  She leads us down to the summerhouse, which is beautiful.  “I could live in here,” I tell her, as we pull out the deck chairs and set them up inside.

“I’ve kind of adopted it lately,” she grins.  She has certainly put her teenage stamp on it, I think, as I look around.  There are posters stuck on the walls, and she has shoved all her dad’s packets of seeds and gardening tools into a cardboard box on the floor.  She has set up a little radio and she stands and fiddles with this, while Joe sinks into a chair and lights his joint.

“I could pay you rent,” I say, sitting down next to Joe and gazing around me.  The summerhouse is gorgeous; it is painted white, and looks like a little log cabin.  Marianne laughs, finds a station she likes on the radio, and passes us our teas.  “I am not joking,” I tell her.  “I really could.  When the shit hits the fan at my house, I am moving in here, I’m telling you.”

“Me too!” agrees Joe, smiling widely.

“We won’t even tell you,” I go on.  “You’ll just come down here one day and find us here.  We’ll claim squatter’s rights and everything.  You’ll never be able to get rid of us.”

“I won’t mind that,” Marianne says, shrugging her tiny shoulders.  She has been brave enough to ditch the long sleeves today.  She would have melted in this heat.  She is wearing tiny black shorts, and a deep purple vest top.  The scars on her arms stand out like tiny white and pink flecks, like her skin is mottled and covered in veins.  I try not to look too long, but there is one new one on her right wrist, that looks pretty nasty.  The scabs are huge.  She seems happy though, I think, looking at her face.  She seems fine. Like nothing in this world can touch her. “I’d like the company,” she tells us, and then she holds her cup of tea out to me, indicating that we clink cups.  I oblige, and Joe holds his out too.  “To you, Lou,” Marianne says sweetly.  “Well done on the new you.”

“Yeah, well done,” Joe agrees with a snort. “Though I still say you looked fine before.”

I shake my head at Marianne. “Yeah, right.”

“Well I thought that too,” she says, “but it’s what Lou thinks and feels. That’s what important.  It doesn’t matter if other people tell you that you look great, does it?  If you don’t believe it yourself.” I nod in agreement.  Joe makes a face at us, drags for the third time on his joint and passes it my way.  I take it.

“So this is a celebration?” he asks, sitting back in his chair, looking very chilled out and relaxed.

“Yes I think it is,” replies Marianne, her eyes on the spliff and me. “A celebration of Lou’s hard work.”

“Well I think you’re both stupid if you really believe any of that shit matters,” Joe says to us.  Marianne frowns at him and crosses her thin little arms.

“It matters to Lou,” she tells him.

“But it doesn’t really matter,” he argues. “You know, in the grand scheme of things, that’s all I’m saying.  I think Lou looks great, yeah, but I thought she looked great before as well. I’m not going to encourage her to go along with all that superficial shit.”

“I am here you know,” I speak up, exhaling, and passing the joint onto Marianne.

“Not if you get any thinner,” says Joe.  I laugh at him, but I do feel slightly annoyed at him really.  It’s like he’s pissing on my celebration, making a mockery of my achievement.

“Oh Joe,” Marianne sighs, smiling lazily at him, and evidently enjoying her turn with the joint very much indeed.  “We can’t expect you to understand, being a male.  You can’t possibly understand what girls have to put up with.”

“Oh yeah, like what?”

“The whole society that surrounds us! Everything! It’s all geared towards looks and sexiness, isn’t it? For girls.  All the magazine, all the TV shows, the pop stars, everything.  You’re made to feel fat if you’re any bigger than any of them.”

Joe gives her a look of pure contempt and drinks his tea, shaking his head slowly.  “Crap,” he mutters.

“No, she’s right,” I butt in.  “It is like that, you know.  It’s not like that for boys. You don’t have to care what you look like.”

“Neither do you! You don’t have to.”

“Oh he doesn’t understand does he?” Marianne touches my bare knee with her little pale hand and smiles at me as if we share a secret.

“No, he doesn’t understand.”

“You’re both so stupid,” Joe leans back in his chair and tells us.  He has his legs crossed at the ankles, and I look him up and down.  He is wearing old jeans with grass stains around the knees and a Rolling Stones t-shirt that he’s had since he was about fourteen.

“How are we stupid?” I ask.

“You’re stupid if you think any of that stuff matters.  All this weighing yourself every ten minutes, and starving yourself just so you can be a fucking size ten? What’s that about you moron? You’re you! It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks, you loser.” The scorn that he drips onto me is never-ending and vicious and I can’t help but love him for it.  “Idiots,” he tells us again.  “Brainwashed. Think you’re modern feminists, but you’re not, you’re sheep!”

Marianne stands up for me.  I don’t have to say a word.  She launches a counter attack in her deadpan, emotionless voice, staring Joe right in the eye and refusing to release him.  “It’s not her fault,” she says, neatly excluding herself from his insults. “She’s a product of this male dominated, consumerist society.  Look at every ideal that has ever been forced upon her, from fucking Barbie dolls, to princesses in fairy tales, to all the famous people who are all fucking skinny. Go to your mums shop now Joe. Look at the covers of the celebrity magazine. So and so and their magical weight loss! Diet shame! Who’s lost and who’s gained? People scrutinising every pound they lose or gain. Cut her some slack Joe.  It’s hammered into girls from the moment they are born. It matters what you look like.  Boys can roll in the mud, and have torn clothes, and get their food all over their faces, but girls can’t, because it does matter what you look like. Bollocks if you think any different.”

Joe raises his eyebrows in calm surprise, looks to me, and starts to laugh.  I start to laugh too.  I can’t help it.  “I’m not saying you’re not wrong,” he tries to speak over his own giggling. “I’m not saying I don’t agree with you on that.”

“Shut up then,” Marianne tells him curtly.  “Don’t try to have opinions on things you don’t understand.”

“I just don’t want you to go along with it,” he tells her, his shoulders still shaking with laughter.  Marianne is smiling silently.  “Don’t fall for it!”

I am laughing so much, and I am not really sure why, or what at, that I lean back too far in my deck chair and the fucking thing suddenly collapses under me.  I hit the floor with a bang, and they stare at me in amazement, before bursting into hysterical laughter.  “What a bunch of fucking freaks we are!” I say to them from the floor, where I am so weak from laughter that I have no fucking chance of getting back up again.

“Speak of yourself!” Joe yells at me.

I point a finger at him.  “You and your drugs you fucking stoner!” I point at Marianne, “you and your cutting, and me and my weight obsession.  Fucking bunch of freaks!”

“She’s right,” Marianne is smiling at Joe and nodding.  The joint is on its way around again, and she opens the cookies up as well.

“I’m surprised we’re not beaten up on a daily basis at school,” I manage to croak, trying to pull myself together.

“Me too,” says Marianne, holding out the cookies to me.  I take one, thinking oh what the hell, it won’t suddenly make me fat again.  I am ravenous.  I get onto my knees, give up on standing, or sorting the chair out, and eat my cookie.

“We should be dead meat every day,” Joe agrees with me.

“It’s only because of your family,” I tell him. “Everyone knows how hard they are.  No one will mess with you because of them.”

“True,” he nods. “That’s one thing to thank them for I suppose.”

I stay where I am on the floor, which I realise I seem to be doing a lot of lately.  It just seems easier, that way.  I finish my tea, take two more cookies from Marianne, and tell myself it is a reward for fitting into my wonderful new size ten clothes.  The warmth of satisfaction fills me again, and I feel giddy, and girlish, and brimming with happy confidence.  I know deep down that Joe is right.  It is superficial to care about such things.  It is sad to want to be like everyone else.  But it is easy for him to say.  He has good genes, looks wise.  He has always looked good, damn him.

Plus, he’s a boy.  He doesn’t know what it’s like to look in the mirror and see every little flaw.  He doesn’t know what it’s like to be name called for being fat by your own stinking family. I feel a closeness to Marianne then, which I have never experienced before.  I want to be alone with her, even.  I want Joe and his good looks to sod off and leave us alone.  She understands.  She’s tiny and skinny, but she is odd looking, and she cuts herself up, and I don’t really understand why or what sadness drives her to do it.

I roll onto my side, and find myself gazing up at her strange, calm little face.  I think we ought to get a bit drunk one night and have a conversation.  Take things a little deeper.  Right now is not a good time though.  I feel sleepy again.  I put my head down on my arms, and close my eyes, and listen to the conversation going on between Joe and Marianne.

I wake up suddenly when one of them kicks me in the backside.  They start giggling immediately.  I roll onto my back and glare at them.  “You fell asleep,” Joe tells me.  He is on his feet; hands on hips and grinning down at me like an idiot.  Marianne is stood next to him, looking even tinier from where I am lying on the floor.

“Really?” I ask, hoping my tone is as laced with sarcasm as I intend it to be.  I feel groggy and light-headed.  “Was I?”

“Been out for ages,” Marianne giggles. “We thought we better leave you to it.  You obviously needed the kip!”

“It’s the lack of calories,” Joe says, faking concern, nodding his head at Marianne.  I roll my eyes and sit up.

“Shut it idiot.  You could have left me alone.”

“I need to go,” he replies. “Back to look after the little shits, remember?”

I groan again, feeling rushed and irritable.  “Is it that time already?”

“Nearly.”

“Okay, okay.” I haul myself slowly to my feet and pick up my shopping bag from the floor.

“You don’t have to come too,” Joe points out.  “I’m just telling you I got to go.”

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’ll help you,” I say with a yawn, and we head out of the door together, while Marianne remains inside the summerhouse.  “What else am I gonna’ do? Go home?”

“Bye Marianne,” Joe calls back to her.  “Thanks a lot.”

“Oh yeah, thanks,” I say over my shoulder.  She just watches us go, and nods her head once.  It is not until I am on the front driveway that I realise what I bitch I have just been.  Why didn’t we ask her to come too?  I flick my hand out at Joe, slapping him on the arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Forget it,” I say grumpily.  I look back at the house as we leave.  Why didn’t I stay with her?  God, I am a bitch.  I could have stayed with her.  Oh Christ.  I decide to chat to her properly next time I see her. Or maybe text her later. I remember my thought about getting a bit pissed and grilling her about a few things, and I nod to myself.  I am definitely going to do this.  I am going to make more of an effort with her.  She’s actually pretty cool.

“Good day, wasn’t it?” Joe says, as we start across the sun-parched fields towards his house.  He links his arm through mine and I swing my New Look bag back and forth as we walk.

“Yeah,” I grin. “It was a really good day.  Thanks so much Joe, for the clothes.”

“You’re welcome Carling. You look good in them.”

“You ought to spend some of the money on yourself though.  You’re the one earning it.”  He looks at me and rolls his eyes and shakes his slim shoulders with a little laugh.

“That’s true.”

“It doesn’t scare you yet?  Not at all?”

He looks down at the ground as he kicks along.  “Not really, no.”

“I don’t know how you do it.”

“I just get on with it,” he grins at me, as if he is talking about mowing the lawn, or washing the car or something.

We turn into his road, and walk slowly up to his house.  I am not relishing the thought of helping baby-sit Tommy and Will, but I am less keen on going home.  Sara is not at dads anymore.  I knew that wouldn’t last long.  They are just as fiery and outspoken as each other.  She has moved in with her boyfriend Rich, who she has been going out with for nine months.  Mum and dad are both concerned and angry about this, and so poor Les is practically living under the fucking bed.  I just can’t be witness to it World, I just can’t!

We are grinning and feeling stupidly warm and fuzzy and at ease as we open the front door and go into the hallway.  But almost instantly, that feeling changes.  There is something wrong.  My body knows it, and Joe’s body knows it too.  There are four silent faces staring at us from the lounge.  Tommy and Will are nowhere in sight.  Joe and I hesitate in the hallway, our smiles falling away, our eyes meeting, our bodies stiffening with caution.

It is Mick that moves and speaks first.  He gets up from the sofa where he has been sat rigidly beside Lorraine.  Leon and Travis are behind the sofa, Leon looking shifty and nervous, and Travis even more so.  I feel the urge to reach out and hold Joe’s hand.

Lorraine rises from the sofa behind Mick. Her face is pinched and scowling, her eyes are blazing.  She cannot wait to explode. Mick thrusts his hand towards Joe and I in the hallway where we have frozen.  We can see his open palm is full of what look like scrunched up fag ends.  A horrible realisation floods me then.  I feel my skin turn cold.  I do reach out for Joe.  I slip my hand around his arm, just above his elbow.

Mick’s wrinkled up, bashed in face is a mask of barely contained rage.  “Are these yours?” he demands.

11

 

 

Dear World, I wake up desperate to see Joe, to talk to Joe, to see how he is, and tell him about the farce I am surrounded by.  He will make it seem funny, and we will laugh about it.  But I do not feel very well.  My head is killing, and my stomach hurts.  I know this is because I need to eat something.  I am not stupid World, in case you were beginning to wonder.  Well, obviously I am, but you know.  So I make myself some breakfast once I am dressed.  I decide to go for a huge coffee, an apple and yoghurt.  The yoghurt is always a good plan, because it comes in a pot, which tells you the calorie content on the side.  I like this information, it makes me feel secure.  I eat my breakfast in the kitchen alone.  I am assuming mum and Les are still asleep.  I roll my eyes.  Gremlin trots in for some fuss, so I decide to take him with me to thank him for his loyalty.  I think about Marianne, and decide to call her, or visit her after I’ve seen Joe.

My day mapped out in my head, I leave the house quietly, glad of the peace and glad that I do not have to see or speak to anyone.  The morning outside is warm, but fresh.  I can tell it is going to be a scorcher once it gets going though.  I eat my apple on the way around to Joe’s house.  I am hoping Travis and Leon will not be there, and I am immediately reassured by the absence of the red fiesta.  They are usually together, so there is no reason to suppose that only Leon is out.

As I approach the front door, I see Will and Tommy playing with cars on the doorstep, and I can hear the screaming from within the house.  I stop, and look around, and imagine the neighbours all hushed and waiting inside their own little boxes, rolling their eyes and whispering about the family next door.  Will and Tommy look quietly shocked, but they keep playing, they keep pushing their little cars up and down on the doorstep.  Will is in his school uniform, and has his book bag and lunch box sat neatly next to him. They have two pieces of wood propped against the step, and they are using them as ramps, so the cars go up one ramp onto the step, across to the other end and then down the second ramp.  They do not look up at me or speak to me as I walk up to the door, where I stop again, and listen, and think twice about going in.

“You fucking useless bastard, get your bleeding hands off me!” That is Lorraine screeching.  She sounds madder than hell, like she can’t even breathe.

“What’s your fucking problem? You’re just never happy are you? Miserable bitch! You’re just never happy!”

“Get your fucking hands off me before I call the police!”

I decide to go in.  I am scared for Joe.  I hate and loathe Mick, and Lorraine scares the shit out of me, but I make myself be brave, just like I did yesterday, and I step over the kids, pulling the dog in with me, and walk into the lounge.  They stop screaming when they see me.  The lounge is all messed up, furniture is overturned and it looks like someone has hurled a cup of tea at the wall.  Mick has Lorraine by the throat, pinned to the wall, but she looks anything but scared, and part of me doesn’t blame Mick for not letting her go.  I can imagine those talon like fingernails slicing into his face the second he does.

“What do you fucking want?” Mick yells at me.  I look past him, to where I can see Joe in the kitchen.  He is standing next to the sink, where it looks like he has been assigned washing up duties again.  He looks blank and cold.  Mick releases Lorraine and she immediately socks him in the chin.  He staggers back, and she makes a run for it, past me and out of the house, slamming the door shut behind her.  I spin around to the window, and see her marching towards her car, head held high, dragging Tommy and Will along with her.  I hear a thud and spin back to Mick.  He has started to kick the hell out of the kitchen door.  I watch him in shock, my mouth hanging open as he lands strike after strike on the thin wood, and bits of it splinter off and land on the carpet.  My eyes meet Joe’s, and I can see the problem here.  He is on one side of Mick, and I am on the other.  I swallow, and take one step forward, thinking I am probably swift enough to nip around him, grab Joe and get the hell out of the back door.

But I don’t have time to do this, because Mick gives up on the door, hurls a shelf loads of DVD’s onto the floor and reels back into the kitchen, towards Joe. “Get out!” he bellows, obviously wanting to be alone. “Go on get out! Get the fuck out, all of you!” Joe does not move. He seems rooted to the spot.  Mick launches himself at him, grabs him by his t-shirt and hauls him out of the kitchen.  “Get out I said! Get out!” Joe stumbles towards me, I snatch up his hand and pull him towards the front door.

“I’m grounded,” he mumbles at me.

“I don’t think you are now,” I tell him, and shove him out of the house.

I pull the door shut behind me.  Joe is just standing there in confusion.  I push him again to get him moving. “Come on let’s go to the park or something,” I say, and propel him forward.  He finally starts moving.  He drops his shoulders with a sigh, puts his hands into his pockets, and walks.  “Jesus Christ, someone should call the police,” I say to him, glancing back at his house.  “What was all that about?”

“They went out last night, to the pub,” he tells me, looking sideways at me with a frown on his face.  “They got hammered.  They started fighting when they got in, because he caught her flirting with another bloke or whatever.”

“They’ve been fighting all night?”

“No they passed out, then started again this morning.”

“Bloody hell Joe.”

“Nothing new,” he shrugs in reply.  “Weekly occurrence, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know how you put up with it.”

“Neither do I.” I look at him and he grins at me.

“Well just wait till I tell you what’s going on at my house,” I say, as we head to the park with Gremlin.

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah, I think it might trump yours.”

“No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way.”

We arrive at the park on the fields, and slink over to the bottom chamber of the slide. I let the dog off the lead, and we duck our heads and go inside the little hut.  Joe sits down on the floor with his back against the wall.  I sit on the tiny little bench and start to giggle. “What?” he asks me.

“Just got the image of your mum socking Mick in the chin in my head, that’s all.”

“Was pretty funny.”

“Where are Leon and Travis?”

“Stayed out last night.  You know, working.” He looks at me and raises his eyebrows.  I nod.

“Oh, I see. Much more to get rid of?”

He shrugs. “Fair bit.”

“Jesus, your family are unbelievable.”

“Tell me about yours then.  Make me feel better.”

“Okay, okay.” I settle back on the bench, resting on the wall, and cross one leg over the other.  I watch Joe pull a small tin out of his back pocket, and realise that he is going to roll a joint.  I hesitate for a moment, and then I think fuck it, he deserves it, so I say nothing.  “Okay, so you know Les has moved in, and Sara has moved out?”

“Yeah, mum said.  How’s it going?”

“Hilarious to be honest.  I can’t stand to be around either of them.  It’s all got to stay a secret because of dad.  I go out for a run yesterday, then when I get back, dad’s fucking there!”

Joe looks at me with widened eyes. “Ooh!”

“Yeah, you know how he just turns up like that?  I go in and Les is nowhere to be seen.  Fucking hiding somewhere, the gutless prick.”

“Oh my god, what are they playing at?”

“Sad, isn’t it? So dad leaves, none the wiser.  I say to mum why don’t you just tell him? He’s not your husband anymore.  It shouldn’t matter.  Not that I think much of Les, but you know.”

“Your dad’s a cunt,” Joe says and I smile at him.

“Thanks.  He is, isn’t he?”

“He’s got Maria but your mum can’t have anyone?”

“Well, exactly. I think she should tell him. I’m going to give them a week then tell him myself.”

Joe is spreading tobacco along a cigarette paper.  He roars with laughter at me.

“Are you really gonna’ do that?”

“Why not? I would love to see the look on his face.”

“But he won’t like, try to kick you all out, or something?”

I shrug at him. “Probably. Who cares? I don’t want to live in his house anyway. My mum should just find somewhere else to rent.”

I watch Joe run his tongue slowly and carefully along the sticky edge of the cigarette paper, before adeptly rolling the joint up.  “But do you think Les is all right?” he asks me, his eyes on his work.  “Or do you think he’s going to be an arsehole?”

“I don’t know,” I sigh. “He seems okay every time I’ve seen him.  Sort of weedy and wimpy really.  Seems harmless.  Not like Mick.  Not yet anyway.”

Joe snorts at me. “Yeah well I remember him being a prick from day fucking one, so you’ll probably be okay.” Joe pulls a lighter out of his pocket, holds it to the end of his creation, and inhales deeply as the joint lights up.  I lean back against the wall and watch him lazily.  I wonder what time it is.  Joe pulls his knees up, and rests one arm across them.  He seems thoughtful for a moment, lost.

“Why do you think your mum stays with him?” I ask then, watching him carefully. “When he does stuff like that to her?”

“Oh don’t worry, she gives as good as she gets. She starts it half the time.”

“I know that, but you know, it’s not right is it? It’s not how marriages are meant to be.  It’s not normal married behaviour to grab your wife by the throat and all that.” Joe lifts his gaze to mine and holds the joint out to me.  I don’t know what to do for a moment, so I just make a face at him, so he knows that I am thinking.  He waits, saying nothing, while I make up my mind.  Finally, I lean slowly forward and take it from him.  He wraps his other arm around his knees.

“Mick is like her match,” he says to me.  “They’re exactly the fucking same, if you think about it.  Act now, think later.  Get mad, lash out.  Shout and scream the place down.  They fucking love it don’t they?”

“I don’t understand why.” I take a long drag on the smoke.

“It’s just the way some people are,” he shrugs. “It’s why it didn’t work out with my dad.  Because they were too different.”

“But I thought they say opposites attract?”

“I don’t know.  But he wasn’t up to it.  She obviously wanted someone who would stand up to her and fight her back.”  I hold the joint back out to Joe and he takes it from me.

“Weird,” I say, resting my head back on the wooden wall behind.

“Fucked up,” Joe agrees.  “I thought that was what women like.  The bastards and all that.”

“I don’t!”

“Well not you obviously. You’re some kind of freak.”

I sit up indignantly, but Joe is grinning at me.  The wall is too hard, my back is aching, and my head is getting fuzzy and tired.  I slip down to the floor and lay on my back, with my legs hanging outside the hut.  When Joe passes me the joint again I take it without thinking.  “Do you remember that time the neighbours called the police on them?” I ask him, blowing out smoke and watching it drift slowly up to the wooden ceiling.

“Oh yeah,” says Joe, nodding.  “We were what? About twelve?”

“Think so. And it was Leon that got fucking arrested!”

“Shit yeah!” Joe exclaims, smiling a wide amazed smile, as he begins to remember. “It was New Years Eve, wasn’t it? All your family were around, and mum and Mick got into a fight in the kitchen about something.  Me and you were out there with the phone I got remember?”

“How can I forget?” I ask him, laughing. “You were so chuffed you got a bloody phone for Christmas at last.  You made me sit and listen while you showed me all the amazing things it could do!”

“Shut up! I felt so embarrassed, when they started fighting right in front of you.”

“My parents were just the same mate, remember?”

“Oh yeah.  Fights or silence, right?”

“Yep.”

Joe takes the joint and lies down next to me.  We are both flat on our backs, giggling and staring at the ceiling, which is covered in abusive graffiti, some of which is our own work.  “We just sat at the table, trying not to look at them,” he says softly beside me.  I can see it in my head like it was yesterday.

“She slaps him one.  He slaps her back, then they start really grabbing each other, until Leon runs in.”

“Yeah, he grabbed the fucking frying pan and clocked Mick over the head with it.  Jesus Christ there was blood everywhere.  He had to have eight stitches in a and e.”

“And the police turned up.”

“And arrested Leon.  Mum and Mick fucking told them to.”

I turn my head and look at the side of Joe’s face.  “Joe, I’ve never really thought about it much until now, but you do know that is fucking disgusting don’t you?” I watch as Joe nods back at me.  “He was about fourteen then?  He was just trying to protect his mum.  I’ve never ever felt sorry for Leon before, but thinking about it now, that was pretty harsh on him.”

“He’s hard to feel sorry for.”

“Do you think your mum and Mick ever feel sorry about that? Letting him get taken away, when it was them fighting in the first place?  I couldn’t live with myself.”

Joe snorts again. “They always think they’re right,” he replies.  “Doesn’t matter what you say or do.  Doesn’t matter if you prove them fucking wrong or whatever. Neither of them are ever fucking wrong, ever.  So no, I don’t think they would ever feel guilty about that.”

“Madness,” I say.

“I’m really feeling fucked up,” Joe says quietly, and lifts his hands up to his face.  He presses them down onto his eyes and groans slowly and softly under them.  “Are you?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“I think I made it too strong.”

“I think you did.”

“I feel a bit sick.”

“Me too.”

“Just lie still,” Joe advises.  I have closed my eyes too.  I close them and the darkness of my own mind surrounds me tightly.  It is a relief.  I do feel sick.  I feel really really wrong.  I try to fight it.  I do what Joe said and just remain still.  I feel totally and utterly detached from everything, like I am physically floating alone, separated from him, and the hut, and the hot July morning.  In the end I have no choice but to open my eyes, roll onto my belly and vomit spectacularly.  Most of it lands on the grass outside the hut.  I am dimly aware of Joe patting me on the shoulder, and then on the back.  “Sorry,” he is saying.  “Sorry mate.”

“Ah, that feels better now.”

“Sorry mate, I’m such an idiot.”

I drop my head onto my arm and close my eyes and just breathe in and out nice and slowly.  My stomach is empty and growls accordingly.  But my head is already feeling clearer.  I am coming back.  “Bloody hell,” I mutter. “You’re trying to kill me.”

“I made it too strong,” Joe repeats pathetically, rubbing at my back with his hand.  I can sense his sadness strongly.  I laugh at him.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m such a twat.  They’re all right about me, aren’t they?”

I want him to lighten up.  I want him to laugh.  So I take the piss out of him, which usually works.  “What, that you’re gay?”

His hand drops away from me quickly.  “I am not fucking gay!”

“All right, I’m only joking.” I lift my head and look at his face.  “Calm down you freak.”

“Well I’m not! Fucks sake.”

“Well I know that, don’t I?”

“Do you?”

“What?” I am so so confused.

“Nothing,” he snaps at me, and sits up.  He rakes his fingers back through his hair, and leaves them there.  He looks totally wrecked.

“Sorry,” I say from the floor.  Then; “I think I better go home.”

“Oh no, don’t.” Joe looks back at me, biting at his lip.  “Stay.”

“Okay, okay,” I say, and I reach out and pull him back down by his arm.  He lets me and I snuggle into his side, like the other day on his bed.  I close my eyes and feel the sleepiness rushing in.  As I drift away, I am thinking about everything, you know, how everything can just pass through you all at once?  Images, and memories, thoughts and feelings, and I feel pretty numb, so that is all okay, and I tighten my hold on Joe’s arm, and I am warm and fuzzy all over as he presses his lips down on the top of my head, and I want to tell him that he is the one constant thing, the one thing that means anything to me, the one person that has never let me down or saddened or sickened me, the only one person who gets me, and that I love him.  But I cannot speak.  I open my lips very slightly, but nothing comes out.