27

 

 

Dear World, well it would seem that you never really know anyone that well, do you?  They don’t know me, and I don’t know them.  He can fuck off.  He has the nerve to shout at me and make me feel bad!  I am not the one dealing drugs for my brother.  I am just trying to be a decent human being, who does not run away from things the whole time.  How easy would it have been to avoid Marianne and refuse to see or speak to her again?  How easy it would be to vilify her and fear her, and bitch about her to the Stick Insects.  Harder to listen to her, to try to understand her, to try to be a friend.  Fucking Joe, I think, I rage as I head home alone, wobbling all over the pavement at one point and shouting at myself inwardly, for fucks sake walk straight, you are not that drunk!

It’s not the drink, my nagging little friend in my brain tells me smugly.  It’s the lack of food.  You used to be able to drink way more than that and still walk straight!

Yeah, so fucking what?  Who bloody cares?  Not me.

Why am I so angry with him?  Why am I so angry?

I realise how relieved I had been to hear him say the deliveries were over, that he had stood up for himself and said no for once.  I had felt so proud of him.  His courage, his nerve, had forced me out of my bed.  That was it.  I had done it for him.  I had started to feel like a miserable self-pitying puke lying there like that, when he had bigger stuff to deal with.  Oh Joe, I think desperately, why did you cave in again?  Because it’s not just one more time, and we both know that surely?  One more time leads to one more time.  One more time leads to a lifetime of being Leon’s errand boy, Leon’s scapegoat.  One more time leads to other favours, other crimes, can’t he see that?  Is that what he wants?  To be like them?  I kick at the dead grass on our front lawn.  Damn it!

Why do people let you down so much, I wonder?  One minute you feel so proud of them, so inspired by them, and the next minute they reveal their true weakness in spectacular style.  They just crumble.  I am thinking of mum and Les, and dad and his shitty sneaky little life, and me.  Me.

Me.  Christ, I am letting everyone down every day, and here I go again.  I start to feel incredibly nauseous as I approach the front door.  My headache has accelerated into a mind spin of pain.  I gag, then swallow, gag then swallow.  I watch my own hand reach out for the doorknob.  I feel the metal in my grip, and then I am falling forward, I am tumbling in, I am sinking down.  What a shock.

 

I come around to my mum panicking like a madwoman.  She is practically slapping my face, trying to wake me up.  When she sees my eyes open, she looks visibly relieved and starts to try to pull me in through the door, so that she can close it.  I can manage a crawl, to help her, but my head feels like play dough and every movement is a little kids fists pummelling and twisting it.  I wonder where Les is.  I hope he didn’t see me go down.

“Jesus Christ!  Jesus Christ that is it!” my mother is shrieking at me.  She manages to get my feet past the door, shoves them up towards my arse, and then finally slams the door shut.  I guess she didn’t want to let the neighbours see me like that.  Fair enough.  “What the hell is wrong with you, as if I don’t know?” she continues to squawk, as I heave myself into a sitting position in the hallway, with my back against the wall.

“Why are you asking if you already know?” I wonder out loud.  She looks apoplectic now.  She kneels next to me, hands splayed on her denim skirt, cheeks flushed with rage, and eyes brimming with tears.

“Don’t you dare start being cheeky!” she cries at me.  “You’ve been out drinking haven’t you?  Look at the state of you.  Right that is it, I warned you.  I am not wasting another second of my breath trying to get through to you.” She stands up abruptly and heads for the table in the hall, where the phone is.  I watch her angrily snatch it up and start to dial.

“Mum they won’t be open now,” I say quietly from the floor.  She slams the phone back down and kicks the wall.  “Mum calm down.  I’m okay.”

“I’m phoning the doctor first thing in the morning!” she turns on me, waving a finger my way.  “I am not taking no for an answer!  I will drag you there if I have to!”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I tell her, and climb slowly to my feet.  “I’ll go.  I’ve had enough of my head hurting anyway.”

This seems to both surprise and placate her.  She still looks like she would like to kill me, so I head for the stairs, and she does not try to stop me.  “I’ll go to bed,” I say meekly over my shoulder.  I feel like such an idiot, if I am honest.

“First thing in the morning,” she repeats to me.  “I’ll knock on your door.  I mean it Lou.  I cannot cope with this worry any more.”

“I said fine,” I say, and go into my room and close the door.  I hit the bed and don’t get any time to think about any of it.  I am asleep within seconds.

 

As promised mum wakes me up and hauls me to the doctors the next morning.  We walk there in silence, and we occupy the waiting room in silence.  I try to busy myself with a magazine, but they only seem to cater for the very young, (toddler bricks and baby books) or the very old (fishing and home makeover magazines.)  I give up and just sit and wait with my hands in my lap, trying not to look at my mum.  When my name is called, I go in alone, though I have a horrible feeling that my mother has already briefed the doctor.  She has that sympathetic yet patronising sort of smile ready for me.  The sort that says oh silly little you, what have you been doing to yourself eh?  I find myself slumped in a blue plastic chair, waiting to be grilled.

Doctor Fielding is plump and grey-haired and has been my doctor since I was born.  I almost expect her to say ‘my haven’t you grown?’ when she opens her mouth, but instead she looks over her glasses at me with concern.  “Now then Louise, your mum tells me she is very worried about you.  She says you’ve been on a diet, is that right?”

“Yes,” I nod at her politely.  She has that elder lady quality about her.  She also sounds rather posh, and I am tempted to call her maam or something.

“So how much weight do you think you have lost?”

“I think it’s about two stone,” I say with a guilty shrug.  I can’t help it.  She is peering at me over her glasses; she is making me feel like I have done something wrong.

“Shall we get you on the scales and see what you weigh now then?” she asks brightly, speaking to me as if I am five.

“Okay.”

She nods over to the big weighing scales parked next to the door.  I slip off my shoes and climb on.  I feel awful.  I feel so small and stupid and childlike.  Doctor Fielding has a look, writes a note and then motions for me to stand against the door where there is a chart to measure height.  Again, she makes a note and then nods for me to return to my chair.   “Okay,” she says breezily, glancing down at her notes, before reaching for her keyboard and tapping out a few keys.  “At five foot two, we would expect you to weigh somewhere in the region of seven stone, eleven pounds and nine stone, eleven pounds, and be healthy.”

“I was about ten and a half stone once!” I say quickly, and she looks at me with a patient smile.

“Well, you weigh seven stone two today Louise.  And that is too low.”  She gives me that smile again.  The one she presented when she called me from the waiting room.  She looks sympathetic and patronising at the same time.

“Oh,” I say.

“Your mum is right to be concerned.  That is not enough for your height, or your age.  Don’t forget you may still have more growing to do!”

“Oh.”

“Yes, and losing weight by cutting calories and increasing exercise is all very fine, but you have to be sensible about it.  Do you eat breakfast?”

“Yes.”  This is a half lie.  I eat breakfast sometimes.

“What do you normally have?”

“Apples,” I shrug, gazing around the room and wondering how much longer she is going to keep me here.  “Yoghurts, that kind of thing.”

She is looking at her computer screen.  “And what about lunch?”

“Um, I don’t know…just whatever.  Toast or something.”  I shrug again.

“Your mum seems to think you are skipping meals a lot, is that true?”

Ah here we go, I think.  Now she’s getting to it.  Now she’s going to stop skirting around the issue.  I think carefully for a moment as she looks back at me, one hand paused above the keyboard, and the other in her lap.  I wonder whether I ought to lie, and see if she buys it.  What can she do?  Get out a lie detector or something?  How does she know what I do or don’t eat?  How does anyone?  I also wonder if I should tell her the truth, and see what she does with that.  I am curious.  So I nod at her hesitantly and she instantly frowns at me.  “You seem like a smart young lady,” she says.  “You must know skipping meals is not a healthy thing to do.”  I just shrug at her.  I don’t know what else she expects me to say.  She starts rifling through a bunch of leaflets she has already on her desk.

“Can I have something for my headaches?” I ask her then.  I don’t want anyone to forget about my headaches.

“You’re getting headaches and passing out because you are not consuming enough calories, Louise,” she tells me rather sharply, and fixes me with a disapproving glare.  “You don’t need anything prescribed for your headaches.  You just need to eat three sensible, healthy meals a day.”

“Oh,” I say, and look at my hands.

“Are you worried about putting on weight?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Louise, I want you to take these leaflets and these diet sheets with you.  They document what a young girl your age should be consuming in terms of calories, and nutrition.  You do realise that if you continue the way you are, your periods may stop?  Your hair may fall out?  You may have to stay in hospital?”

I just stare at her in confusion and feel tears threatening to come.  Hospital?  I know she is probably trying to scare me, but for fucks sake!  I swallow, and try to hold myself together in front of her.  I feel angry with her then.  How dare she try to freak me out and scare me?

“You need to put on at least nine pounds for me to be less worried,” she goes on, and she is not even looking at me now, she is looking at the screen and typing again.  “So I am going to leave those with you, and make an appointment for you to come back in two weeks, so we can see how you are getting on.  How does that sound to you?”

I stare at her.  I want to say that sounds fucking horrible you mean old witch.  That sounds like fucking torture!  That sounds like I have no fucking choice and makes me want to kick you in the eye!  I scrape back my chair and stand up nodding, so that she doesn’t see the tears in my eyes.  They are tears of rage, I swear to you World.  She pokes the leaflets at me so I take them.  She scribbles on an appointment card and gives me that as well.  “You are not unlike a lot of other young girls I see in here,” Doctor Fielding sees fit to tell me then.  “We understand the pressures to lose weight, and look a certain way.  But there is healthy, and there is dangerous, and I am afraid you are heading for the dangerous side Louise.  I don’t want to see you get thinner and thinner and end up in hospital.  You don’t really want that to happen either do you?”  I shake my head.  I cannot speak.  “It’s a slippery road, you see,” she goes on. “You know I am talking about anorexia, don’t you?  This is how it starts.  People try to lose weight, and when they do they get hooked on it.  They can’t stop.  Eventually they are not even in control anymore, the disease is.  I don’t need to tell you it’s a killer, do I?”  I shake my head again, staring desperately at the door.  “Can you send your mum in please?” she asks me.  “I need to talk to her as well.  I am going to suggest you arrange to see a counsellor as well.”

“What?”

“A counsellor.  Eating problems are not simply physical problems Louise.  They are emotional, and psychological ones.  A counsellor or therapist can help you understand why you feel the need to starve yourself.”

I am staring at her open-mouthed.  I am gawping at her.  “Because I was fat!” I try to tell her, panicking.  “That’s why I started it!  I won’t do it anymore.  I’ll put nine pounds on, I will!”

“Louise, it is very worrying to see how quickly you have lost this much weight,” she says this from her chair, her plump hands folded neatly on her lap. “I am concerned that you have already slipped quite far into a possible eating disorder.”

I am outraged. I am gob smacked.  “Seriously?”

“Yes,” she nods twice.  “I am very serious.  Now send in your mother for me please.”

I don’t have any other choice.  I have to go back into the waiting room and tell my mum it’s her turn.  She just barges past me with this tight look on her face.  She makes me feel like I have done all of this on purpose just to wind her up, just to give her some more grey hairs, or something.  I sit back down and twist my hands together in my lap, and think about running out and running off, hiding somewhere, disappearing.  There is a little kid on the floor, a little boy playing with the bricks.  He is banging on brick on top of another, again and again and again.  His mother is watching him with quiet adoration, and gives me a wet smile when I look up and glare at her.  I feel like saying, you would have got a clip round the ear for that in your day.  But I don’t.  I get up and walk outside and wait for my mum.

When she comes out, she is by no means impressed.  I was right about feeling she is angry with me about all of this.  It is as if she thinks I have led myself down this road deliberately to hurt her, to make her worry.  “She thinks you have an eating disorder,” she snaps this at me as we start to walk home.  She is walking fast in her little black-heeled shoes.  I am trying to keep up, clutching the stupid leaflets in one hand.

“She didn’t say that,” I attempt to correct her.  “She said possible.  Like borderline.”

“That’s not what she said to me!”

“Oh.”

I think I don’t want to have this conversation with you.  I don’t want you anywhere near me in fact.  “She’s going to arrange a counsellor,” she goes on, and I feel my chest tighten involuntarily.  I want to scream.  “She thinks you need to talk to someone about your weight loss issues.”

“I don’t have weight loss issues!” I yell at her.

She wipes a tear from her eye.  I don’t care.  “She says you are very underweight for your height.”

“I know!  I know all that!  She wants nine pounds!  She can have bloody nine pounds!”  I am aware I am shouting and waving my hands about, but I can’t seem to stop.  “I’ll give her bloody nine pounds!” I shout.  “When we get in, just you wait, I’ll show you!  How much crap have you got in there?  Crisps?  Chocolate?  Doughnuts?  Give them to me; I’ll eat them all!  I’ll get her bloody nine pounds in no time!”

“Lou, please….”

“I’ll even round it up!  I’ll make it ten pounds!”

“Lou, listen to me, stop that shouting, you have to realise how serious this is, how worried we all are! We are just trying to do what is best for you!”

“Don’t worry,” I sneer at her.  I hate her.  “Don’t you worry mum, I don’t want you to worry so I’ll eat all that shit and put on bloody ten fat pounds all right?  I’ll do better than that if it makes you happy!  I’ll stop jogging and I’ll sit in front of the TV all day and do nothing but eat!  I’ll get really fat again!  Fat as a whale!  How would you all like that then?  You would all love that, wouldn’t you?  None of you cared when I was a big fat pig did you?  None of you worried then!”

I run off.  I run off before I can see her tears or hear her whimper of a voice, or listen to another word she can say.  I run off because all of it is true.  They are right, and I am right.  I run off.  I just keep running.

 

26

Dear World, we end up walking to the park.  The fucking park.  I look at it with a kind of hate and scorn I have never viewed it with before.  How many hours of my life have I spent in this park?  We sit up on the hill, just as I did with Joe earlier, and Marianne gets her stuff out of her bag and spreads it all out on the grass and proceeds to roll us a joint.  I lie on my stomach, chew a stem of crispy grass, and stare out at the park, and the fields beyond.  I think, look at this here, this is my entire life!  This is it, right here.  This park, and this field, and school, and the fucking walk over the bridge to get there, and the town, and the bus ride in, and the quay and the tourists, and the ducks and the swans, and the Priory church, and a terraced house, and noisy neighbours, and the parade of shops, and everyone knowing who you are and where you live, and the men’s club, and the car parks and the alley ways and the Provident loan lady and the Avon lady calling, and the Christmas hampers that take all year to pay for.  This is it.  This is all of it.  I feel my shoulders shaking with strange laughter.  Marianne looks and me and smiles as she rolls the joint.

“You okay?”

“I’m just looking at this fucking place, that’s all.”

“Looking, and thinking what?”

“I don’t know.  Thinking what the fuck? Is this all there is to life?  Do you ever think that?”

“I always think that,” she grins, finishing the joint and packing her tin back into her bag.  She sticks the smoke between her teeth, finds a lighter and flicks up the flame.  “And I have a nice big house and rich parents.”

“Oh yeah.  And you still think that?”

“I think that even more.  It’s all pointless.  It all means nothing really.  I look at my parents, rushing around, full of stress, knocking back coffee and vodka and wine, on the phone all the fucking time, fucking business suits and brief cases!” Marianne lifts her chin and grimaces at the sky.  “Grrrrr!” she growls, and then looks at me and laughs.  I smile.  “Honestly!  They kill me.  On a daily basis.  I swear, every single time they speak I want to puke.”

“Oh Marianne, they can’t be that bad,” I laugh at her.  “They seem lovely!”

“Lovely!  Who wants to be lovely?”

“Not you obviously!”

“Fuck no.”  She passes me the joint and lies down on her belly next to me, kicking her shoes off, and waving her feet back and forth.  “No one should.  Who would aspire to be lovely?”

“Did Leon think you were lovely?” I ask with a giggle.  Marianne nudges me sharply with her spike of an elbow.  “What?”

“Oh how did I know you were going to ask me that soon enough?”

“Well you wanted to come here and talk lady.  I was quite happy minding my own business.”

“How’s your head now?”

I pass the joint back to her and grimace.  “Not good.  Come on then.  Tell me what it was like with Leon.  Now we are both sober.  Tell me everything!”

Marianne giggles and looks down shyly, and plucks a stem of grass between her thumb and finger.  “It was nice,” she says, smiling.  “It was very nice.  He certainly knew what he was doing.”

“I bet he did.  I hope you were safe by the way.  I hear he gets around!”

“Of course we were safe,” she groans at me.  “I’m not an idiot.”

“Did you talk much?” I wonder.  “He’s never been much of a talker.”

“I talked a lot!” she laughs, puffing smoke out in front of her.  “You know me.  I didn’t shut up!  He listened though.  He seemed to really listen.”  She takes another long drag of the joint and hands it to me.  She looks down for a moment, playing with the grass with her fingers, stroking the stems back and forth, and then she raises her glittering green eyes to me.  “It might surprise you to hear, that he was actually incredibly gentle and loving.”  She nods and grins at my widening eyes.  “It’s true!  He was really lovely Lou. Really gentle and considerate.  He didn’t even rush off after or anything.  We laid in bed and talked for about an hour.”

I am shaking my head slowly from side to side.  “Un-fucking-believable.” I think to myself, if there were two words I would never in a million years associate with Leon Lawrenson, it would be those two.  Gentle and considerate. Unbelievable.

“Well it’s true.  I wouldn’t lie.  I would tell you if he was a complete shit, believe me.”

“Have you heard from him since?”

“No,” she answers too quickly, and that gives it away.  I feel sorry for her then.  I look away and smoke the joint, and feel my head getting fuzzier and fluffier, and the feeling spreads down through my body, lifting me up slightly, removing me from the reality of it all.  I feel woozy and light-headed, and slightly sick, but my head is feeling better.  “I don’t expect to.  You don’t sleep with someone at a party like that and ever hear from them again, do you?”  I don’t answer her because how the fuck would I know? “No,” she answers for me.  “I expect I’ll bump into him again at some point, and that’s fine.  I am cool with it.  Does it surprise you to know he’s not the total arsehole you always thought he was?”

I laugh out loud and pass back the joint.  “He’s still an arsehole as far as I’m concerned!  Well, actually, now that you mention it, he did kind of do one good thing for Joe for a change.”

Marianne looks interested.  “What was that?”

“Just stood up for him at home.  Him and Travis.  Joe and Mick got in a fight, and they came and backed him up.  Don’t think they’ve ever done that before.”

“Wow,” she says, looking both intrigued and surprised.  “That’s really nice!  And speaking of Travis, that brings me to my question for you!  Are you hoping to see him again?”

I just groan and moan and drop my face into my arms.  My head is then too heavy and fucked to lift back up again, so I stay like that for ages, just mumbling and moaning to myself, while she shakes and laughs beside me, and I am left wondering how I could have feared seeing her again so much, because I am actually enjoying myself, I am actually enjoying her company.  She stubs out the joint and digs around in her bag again.  She pulls out a bag of haribo sweets and opens them, and places them between us.  “Best thing ever for munchies,” she remarks, plucking one out.  I just roll my eyes and then close them again before I am tempted.

“It’s all right for you,” I tell her.  “You can eat whatever crap you like and you never put on weight.  It’s so not fair.”

“These are pretty low in calories,” she assures me, taking another.  I just shake my head and grab my water bottle instead.  “So you’re still at it then?”

“Dieting?”

“Yeah, and running.  You’re looking increasingly stick like Lou.”

“Is that a compliment or what?”

“You look great,” she grins.  “But you should still allow yourself the odd treat.  A couple of sweets won’t do anything!”

I shake my bottle of water at her and unscrew the lid.  I drink a few mouthfuls then screw the lid back on and chuck it in the grass before me.  I drop my head back onto my arms and realise that I desperately want to sleep.  “You’re not passing out on me or anything, are you?” she prods me and asks.  I moan.

“Nah.”

“I thought we could talk for a while?”

“Talk then.”

And so she does.  Marianne talks about her night with Leon, and how she had instigated the whole thing, starting with the coy flirting I had witnessed before they vanished.  She talks about him tracing his finger along her scars, without asking what they were or how she got them.  She talks about how she spent the entire next day cleaning and tidying the house, and how her lovely parents never suspected a thing.  She talks about having another party soon, and she talks about how she thinks Joe does not like her and never has.

Before I know it I am being prodded awake by urgent jabbing fingers, and I climb groggily out of pot-induced sleep. But thankfully my headache has subsided considerably.  I look up at Marianne, who is kneeling down beside me and looking slightly anxious.  “Sorry,” I mutter at her.  “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.  Don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.”

“It’s Joe,” she whispers.

“Huh?”

“Joe.  Coming across the field with his dog.”

“Oh! Shit.”  I look across the field and sure enough, there he is, striding quickly towards us, with Rozzer running and darting around him, and a carrier bag swinging from one hand.  He is walking fast and he does not look happy.  “It can’t be seven o’clock?” I ask in amazement.

“It’s twenty past,” Marianne replies.  “Oh please don’t let him kick off with me again.”  I am surprised that she cares.  She can hold her own in an argument and we all know it.

“Oh Christ, I bet my mum is having a fit,” I groan, rubbing at my eyes, and then at my head.  “We had this massive row before I came out.”

Marianne does not answer.  Instead she packs up her things and slings her bag onto her shoulder.  I cannot really believe that she is worried about what Joe will say to her.  Since when has she ever cared what people think of her?  “Are you off?” I ask her.  She nods.  Joe is upon us and does not smile at either of us.

“Hi,” I call out weakly.  He climbs the hill and stops in front of us and folds his arms across his t-shirt.

“Your mum is going mental,” he informs me tightly.  I grimace.

“Sorry Joe.  Fell asleep here.  Just woke up!” I smile at him uselessly.  Marianne climbs to her feet and flicks back her hair.

“I’m off,” she says brightly, looking down at me.  “Better not be late home.”

Joe looks at her darkly but does not say anything to her.  He drops his carrier bag onto the grass and a bottle of cider rolls out.  Marianne looks at it, and then at me, before shrugging her shoulders and starting to walk away.  “See you later Lou.  Joe.”

“Bye Marianne.  Thanks.”

Joe says nothing.  He waits until she has walked away, back across the field towards where you cut through to her house, and the drops down beside me, still with his arms crossed tightly.  “Joe,” I start to say softly, as I can feel the resentment and anger coming from him in rolling waves.

“What the fuck are you doing here with her?” he snarls at me then.  I blink in surprise.  I think, the last time I saw him this angry was at Hogan’s party, when he attacked Travis.  I blow my breath out slowly.

“Joe,” I say again, meaning to explain how I just bumped into her by accident, and everything is okay, and everything is smoothed out.

“You come here with her!” he says, sounding and looking like he would like to punch me in the face.  I am finding it hard to look at him.  “That fucking mad bitch!  What did you come here with her for?  Come to sit here and carve yourselves up together or something?” I look up at his face in stunned silence.  I cannot believe he has just said that!

“Joe!”

“Well, what then?” he yells.  “What are you doing here with her?”

“I bumped into her by accident!” I yell back and I sit up.  My head starts to pound a little again.  I glare back at him, as he is glaring at me.  “I had a row with mum and stormed out of home, and just bumped into her!  What are you so mad about?”

“I’m mad because she is a fucking little bitch! I’m mad because you said if and when you spoke to her, you would do it fucking sober!” He runs his eyes over me and lifts his top lip in disgust.  “And you obviously aren’t!  And I’m mad because you were meant to be meeting me!  Instead I get your mother all crying and stuff, wanting to know where the hell you are!”  He unfolds his arms and rakes one hand back through his hair.  “Jesus Christ Carling! What the fuck is your problem at the moment?  You used to be normal!”

“No I didn’t,” I shake my head at him. Now I want to punch his face in.  “What the hell is your problem?  You knew I wanted to speak to her, and I have!  We got stoned, not drunk, and if you want to know the truth, it’s done me a lot of good!”

“Did she explain why she cut you then? Eh?”

“It’s not like that,” I press my hands against my face in exasperation.  “I didn’t want to really go into that.  Look we were both hammered that night, Joe!  People do stupid things when they are that drunk, you know that.  She was really worried about me actually, about our friendship.”

“Yeah, right, bollocks!”

“What do you think she is, dangerous or something?  For God’s sake Joe, you don’t own me, I can be friends with who I like, and to be honest I don’t exactly have that many fucking options!”

He is shaking his head, his lips pressed tightly together.  He tears his angry gaze away from me, and snatches the bottle of cider up from the ground.  He lifts it, showing it to me.  “Want some?” he sneers.  “Because this morning you wanted to get drunk with me, remember?  So you could talk and stuff.”

“I still do.”

“Can’t believe you’ve been up here with her,” he mutters this to himself, as he unscrews the lid from the cider, and the orange bubbles rise up and froths out over his hand.  He swears and shakes it off, then lifts the bottle to his mouth and drinks.  I watch him, not knowing what to say or do to calm him down.  His face is flushed.  His eyes are narrowed.  He lowers the bottle, burps and drags his hand across his mouth.  “I don’t trust her,” he says then.  “I don’t trust people like that!  She knows what she’s doing Lou.  You just can’t see it!”

“What is she doing then?  You tell me.”  I take the bottle as he holds it out to me and drink from it slowly.

“She’s manipulating you all the time,” he says.  “You even said yourself you don’t know if she’s your friend or your enemy!   Remember?  She’s sneaky and sly, and she should not have done that to you that night!  For fucks sake!”  He snatches the cider back and drinks more.

“Just calm down,” I try to tell him.  “You don’t need to worry about me so much, you know.  I’m a big girl!  And I’m not an idiot.  I can figure Marianne out for myself.  Maybe I’ll always keep her at a safe distance, you know?  Either way, it’s nice to have female friends.”

“Nice?” Joe practically explodes at me, cider dribbling down his chin.  “Nice to have female friends who try to get you self-harming, or whatever the fuck you call it?  When you already have enough fucking issues?  Yeah, that’s really nice Carling.  Really, really nice of her.  She’s a fucking angel!”

I look down and say nothing.  I think anything I try to say will just come out wrong and enrage him more.  I wait for him to pass the bottle back and take a few more mouthfuls.  I wonder vaguely what my mum will think now.  Christ.  I just seem to keep making things worse.  I just seem to fuck up every single day I exist in.  We pass the cider back and forth between us silently for what seems like ages.  During this time, Joe does not look at me once.  He stares at the ground, like he is in a trance, and just feels with his fingers for the cider bottle before raising it to his lips.  Then he stares up at the sky, and at the field, and the hedgerows where we can see Rozzer having a shit.  I wonder why he can’t look at me.  I wonder what the hell is going through his head.  I start to feel really drunk and giddy and stoned.  I remember uselessly that I didn’t eat all my salad, and start to wish Marianne had left her sweets behind for us.

It seems a wise idea to lie down again, so I do, this time on my back with my arms folded behind my head.  “I’m sorry Lou,” I hear Joe say eventually, and I smile at him when he lies down beside me.  He is still clutching the bottle of cider, but there is not much left.

“It’s okay, you idiot,” I tell him.  “You had a right to be angry.  I was meant to meet you.”

“You fell asleep.”

“And I’m sorry.  I’m sorry you had to deal with my mum.”

I watch him drop a hand over his face and leave it there.  I look at him sideways and can just make out the creases of skin around his eyes, where he has screwed them up tightly.  “What’s wrong?” I ask him then.  “You’re not just angry about Marianne are you?”

He snorts in reply.  “What are you, a mind-reader?”

“No, just your best friend who has known you since you were in the womb.  I can tell when something is up.  What is it?”

“Fucking…” he starts and then trails off, still with his hand over his eyes.  I wait for him to find the words he needs.  “Just…..fucking Leon.  That’s it.”

“What now?”

“You know.”

“I think I know.  You mean deliveries?”

Joe nods under his hand.  “He won’t take no for an answer.”

“Well he has to.  You want out.  He can’t make you.”

“I kind of agreed to one more.”

I roll onto my side and stare at him.  “Joe!”

“I know, I know.  Fucking idiot right?”

“Yes, fucking idiot!  Why would you do that?  Remember what you were saying this morning?”

“You have no idea how persuasive he can be,” Joe mumbles, refusing to look at me.  I watch his chest rising and falling under his t-shirt.  It has ridden up where it is too small for him now, and I can see a slice of his bare stomach.  I watch it go in and out as he breathes under his hands.

“Joe,” I say to him.  “Don’t do it.  You don’t want to do it.”

“I’ve said it now.  Can’t back out.”

“Course you can!  What’s wrong with you?  You don’t have to do it.  Why did you let him talk you into it?”  I want to smack him I am so cross. I also want to hug him, I am so confused.  What has happened to him since this morning for fuck’s sake?

“Oh,” Joe lets out a moan, drops his hands away and rolls onto his side to face me.  He grimaces in anticipation for how disgusted I am going to be with him.  “It’s not the money,” he says quickly, although this was not what I was thinking.  “It’s just hard to say no to him.  You know how he is.  Plus he reckons I owe him after he stuck up for me with Mick.”

“You are joking?” I ask in disbelief.  “He sticks up for you once, he does one nice thing for you and now you owe him?  More like he owes you!  Jesus Christ, he is one cheeky bastard.”

“It won’t hurt to do one last one,” Joe says with a pathetic shrug.

“That’s not the point Joe.  You said this morning you were done with it all.  You were different this morning!”

“I know, I know.”

“And then you have the nerve to storm up here and have a go at me for trying to sort things out with Marianne!” I roll away from him then, shaking my head as I stare up at the sky.  I am rather pissed, it has to be said.  I am brimming with anger and disappointment.  “I’m not coming with you,” I tell him rather spitefully.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I don’t know what is wrong with you.  And you have a go at me!”

“Only because I care about you,” he says quietly.  I don’t look at him.  He sounds miserable and unsure.  “I didn’t mean to upset you.  I probably felt like a shit for letting Leon talk me into it, and took it out on you and Marianne.  Sorry.”

“You can say sorry as much as you like,” I snap, and suddenly force myself up from the ground.  I am too angry to be around him.  I think it is probably the alcohol and the state of my mind generally, but if he wants to let his bullyboy brother wreck his life and talk him into crime, then that is up to him.  I can’t be bothered anymore.  I feel his eyes on me as I brush the dried grass from my clothes.  “I’m going home.”

“I thought we were gonna’ talk?” he says, sitting up.  “You know, you wanted to get drunk and talk?  It was your idea!”

“Changed my mind,” I say and start to walk away.  “I’m going home to bed.  I feel like shit.”

“Lou!” he calls after me, but I don’t answer him and I don’t look back.

25

 

Dear World, when I get home I go straight back to my room.  I think my mum must be at work. The house is silent as I climb back into my bed.  I am just so, so tired.  I wonder helplessly if this is normal.  If I am a normal teenage girl, or just a complete freak?  I put Bob back on and this time he is singing ‘Positively 4^th Street.’  I listen to it under the duvet, the irony of the lyrics not lost on me at all.  Weirdly, it is probably my favourite Dylan song.  It makes me think and wonder about Marianne.  Who is she really?  Is she my friend or my enemy?  I don’t particularly feel like seeing her again, but I know I need to speak to her.  Maybe it will straighten things out in my own head, if I speak to her, maybe I will feel better.  Or maybe she will be the way Joe sees her, and I will end up feeling even more confused.

I drift into sleep for a while, and when I wake up my headache is even worse.  Mum has been at work all day, so I have not eaten lunch.  I sit up in bed and hold my head in my hands for a while, just letting it drum, feeling it throb.  It is like humming waves of pain that make me want to close my eyes.  I have no idea what time it is, and as usual I experience no desire to find out.  My mouth and throat are incredibly dry, so I decide what I need is a big drink of squash, most likely followed by a large coffee.  I get slowly out of bed, taking no pleasure in feeling just like a little old lady.  I hobble to the door and go out onto the landing.  I listen there for a moment, in case anyone else is home, but the house is still quiet, so I go slowly down the stairs, holding onto my head as I go.  I stumble weakly into the kitchen, ignoring Gremlin as he trots out from his bed and tries to greet me.  I make myself a pint of blackcurrant squash, and put the kettle on.  Shit my head is really spinning.  I sit down at the table when I have made my coffee, rest my forehead in one hand, and take slow sips of the coffee.

I only realise what time it is when the key turns in the lock and mum comes in.  She smiles at me gently as she comes through to the kitchen.  “I stopped by to see Sara,” she tells me brightly.  “That’s why I’m a bit late from work.”

“Oh.  Is she okay?”

“Oh same as ever,” mum sighs and drops her handbag onto the table.  “Fighting with Rich.  Had a good moan!”

“Oh.”

“Did you enjoy your walk with Joe?”

“Um yeah.  We’re meeting for another one later.”

“Another one? Why’s that?”

I think fast.  “Well it was too hot for the dogs, so we didn’t keep them out long.  They didn’t run around much. It’s cooler later.”

“Oh lovely,” mum smiles, and goes around the kitchen, opening and shutting cupboards.  She is trying to decide what to cook for tea, I can tell.  She has a very thoughtful look on her face, and shoots the odd glance my way, and pulls at her bottom lip occasionally with her finger and thumb.  I decide to make it easier for her.

“Can we have chicken salad or something?”

She looks at me quickly.  “Is that what you want?  We could have that.”

“Les won’t mind?”

“No he won’t be home.  It’s just us love.  Just you and me.  Chicken salad it is then.  That will be nice and quick and easy anyway!”

“Thanks mum.”

I relax for a bit then.  I even go in the lounge and watch a bit of telly with Gremlin stretched out on my legs.  I look down at him, twitching restlessly in his sleep, with his tongue lolling dramatically out of the side of his mouth.  He is knackered, and I feel a little surge of guilt about my lie.  He’s got to go back out and run around with Rozzer again, the poor mite.  My mum makes the salad and brings it into the lounge for us to eat.  She put a plate loaded with buttered granary bread on the coffee table between us.  “This is nice, isn’t it?” she questions, forking a cherry tomato from her plate.  “Us alone?  Having dinner in here?”

“I suppose so,” I force a smile at her and eat some lettuce leaves.  “How are things with Les?”  I don’t ask her this because I really care; I just want to deflect the attention from me before she starts it up again.

“Oh fine, I think, fine,” she replies breezily, and grabs a slice of bread from the table.  “Have some bread Lou.  Salad alone is not enough unless you have bread.”

I sigh in misery and pick up some bread and drop it on my plate.  “So has he moved in for good then?” I ask her, trying again to get her mind off my eating.

“Well we haven’t really discussed it in depth,” my mum says, her eyes moving between the telly and me.  “I suppose we should.  Your dad has been a bit funny about it again though, that’s what worries me.”

“Why what has he said?”

“Oh you know, the usual.  Moaning about how much this place costs him, how it’s bleeding him dry and he’d be better off if he could sell it.  You know.” She raises her eyebrows at me and I nod.  I do know.  And I do appreciate the fact she never really slags him off or runs him down to me.  She could, if she wanted to.  It would all be true, and I would even join in.  I feel no loyalty towards him whatsoever.  I could care less if I never saw him again.  But she always bites her tongue and keeps it in, whatever she really thinks about what he did to her.  I look down at my food and poke it around a bit, trying to break up the chicken so I can flick little bits onto my lap for Gremlin.  I realise this is probably the first time I have looked at life through her eyes.  My mum.  When he left I was shocked and disgusted and angry, but I was also relieved.  We had never got on, and it was a relief to see him go.  I had never considered it from her point of view, because as I remember, she had really loved him.  They had rowed loads, but it was always him starting it, it was always him having a go at her and her just defending herself.  I wonder how it must feel to love someone so much, that you will take anything from them, let them treat you like dirt and then have them just walk out on you.  Just go off with someone else like you don’t matter at all.  Just grind your heart into dust and spit on it.

“Maybe you and Les could buy it off him?” I look at her and suggest with a shrug.  “If you two are serious, that is.”

“I’m not sure about that,” she answers with a thin smile.  “I would rather keep renting.  Neither of us earns very much darling.”

“Why don’t you rent another house then?  Be out of dad’s control.”

“Yes, there is that.  We could do that.”

“Talk to Les then,” I tell her.  “I won’t care.”

“We’ll see what happens,” mum says, and I know that means she does not want to talk about it with me anymore.  She still sees me as a child, I think, a child that needs protecting.  “What do you really think of Les then?” she looks my way and questions.

I lift my knee a little so that she can’t see Gremlin snuffling up bits of chicken.  I take one bite of the bread just to please her and console her.  I wait for it to go down, which seems to take forever.  “He’s okay,” I say.  “He doesn’t talk much.  He doesn’t have conversations with me or anything.”

“He’s very aware Lou,” mum says this slowly and carefully, her eyes on her plate as if she is trying to choose her words wisely, “of, you know, being my partner, and not your dad or anything.  He is very aware that he has no children of his own, so no experience with kids.  He doesn’t want to overstep the mark, if that makes sense.”

“Well he is allowed to talk to me!” I say with a laugh.  “I don’t bite!”

“I know, I know, but he is a shy man Lou.  He is a gentle kind of man.  He feels very awkward really.  Moving in here.  He is very aware of how it could make you feel.”

“Well that’s nice of him but he doesn’t need to worry.  Tell him to stop worrying.  I don’t care he’s here, but it’s weird him not talking to me.”

“Okay,” mum smiles at me warmly.  “I’ll tell him.”

“Apparently Lorraine is his biggest fan.  Joe says.”

“Oh yes, you know Lorraine, she had to check him out for me.  She thinks he’s lovely.  We’re all off out on Friday by the way.  Me and Les, and her and Mick.”

I try not to smile or smirk, and eat some more lettuce instead.  “I can’t imagine Mick and Les getting on.”

“Well you know,” mum laughs.  “Men just play darts and drink don’t they?  Talk about the football and all that!”

“Did you hear what Joe did that morning Lorraine brought me home?” I put down my fork and ask her then.  I think this is probably the longest, and most adult conversation we have ever had.  I am very aware of how easily it could slip into misunderstandings and an argument, so I pick my words carefully too.  I am curious to know what, if anything Lorraine has said to my mum.

Mum wipes her mouth on the tea towel she has on her lap.  She looks at me for a moment, and then picks her fork back up and stabs it into a chunk of warm chicken.  “Yes, she did say something about a fight between him and Mick.”

I feel slightly triumphant, on Joe’s behalf, although I have no idea why.  “He punched him in the nose,” I say.  She nods, and looks uncomfortable.

“Yes, I know.  And obviously I do not need to tell you that is no way for Joe to be treating his step-father.”

“You called him a special boy this morning,” I remind her.  “Saving the day and all?”

“I know,” she says tightly.  “And I meant it.  He is very good to you and always has been.  But he cannot punch his step-dad in the nose!  Poor Lorraine, she gets enough grief from the other two!”

“Well that’s not Joe’s fault, is it?” I try to point out to her.  “He can’t be punished his whole life because of what Leon and Travis are like.  And also, why is it okay for Mick to punch him in the head then?”  I look at her, waiting for an answer, a reaction.  I wait for her to defend this man she thinks is so great, this man she is going out for drinks with on Friday.  Her lips get tighter and she forks more chicken.

“I don’t know anything about that,” she says, not looking at me, and I feel the anger then like a fucking wave washing over me.  I wanted so badly not to row with her, but I had no idea the anger was there like that, lurking and hiding, ready to unleash it so readily.  I bite down on my lips and try to think before I speak.

“I know about it mum,” I say through gritted teeth.  “That’s what I am telling you.  I know because I have seen it a hundred times.  Some people would call it child abuse, you know.”

She looks at me in amazement then, her shoulders drop and she huffs and puffs and rolls her eyes and clicks her tongue all at once.  “Lou!” she says this in her scolding voice and I want to laugh out loud at her.  “Don’t be so ridiculous! So melodramatic!  It is not child abuse!  It is nothing of the sort! Lorraine and Mick love those boys to death, I know they do, because I have to sit and listen to all her fears and worries about them!”

“Punching kids in the head is not child abuse?” I question, my tone rigid yet calm.  She sucks in her breath.  “And Mick loves his kids, mum.  His kids can do no wrong.  You just have no idea.”

Mum shakes her head.  She is really pissed off, I can tell, and this in turn pisses me off.  How can she be so fucking blind?  She puts her plate down on the floor and wipes her mouth again with the tea towel.  “Lou, things are never as black and white as you think they are.  Now, Lorraine is my best friend and has been for years.  I will not sit here and listen to you accuse her of child abuse! For God’s sake!”

“Not her, him.”

“Lou, he tries to help her.  He tries to back her up.  Those boys would be the death of her otherwise!  The older two have been running wild for years now.  God only knows the truth of what they get up to!  Now I know Joe is not like that, I know he is sweet and gentle.  I know that Lou.” She has turned herself towards me.  She is leaning forward, trying to get me to look at her.  I am staring at my plate.  “But if Mick and Lorraine left him to it, and didn’t try to guide him, he would probably end up like the other two, wouldn’t he?  They would lead him astray.  They are probably extra strict on him for his own good love.  They want to keep him nice!”

“You have no idea,” I say softly.  She blows her breath out this time.

“What does that mean, I have no idea?”

I look up then, right into her eyes. I am thinking about Travis kissing me, and Leon doing coke with Marianne, and Joe and me up on that bridge and the madman that almost threw him over. “You have no idea about anything,” I tell her and put my plate on the coffee table.

“I don’t want to argue with you Lou,” she sighs, and presses her hands to her face for a moment.  “God knows I don’t know what I am doing with you either at the moment.”

“Joe just stood up for himself for once, that’s all.”  I push Gremlin gently from my lap and stand up.  “He’s been pushed around by all of them for years.  The little ones wreck his stuff then tell tales to Mick if he tells them off, and the older two treat him like crap, and Mick and his mum just come down on him like a ton of bricks every time he does even the smallest thing wrong!”  I have moved just in front of her.  She remains sitting and I am staring angrily down at her.

“I am sure it is not quite that bad an upbringing for him,” my mum says, attempting to remain calm, attempting to smooth things over.  Expecting me to back down and agree with her. “I know for sure that it’s a much nicer upbringing than either Mick or Lorraine had, I can tell you that young lady.”  I roll my eyes.  I am not interested in that.  I am sick of always hearing things like that.  We don’t know how good we’ve got it, in their day children were beaten with sticks, or whatever.

“Do you want to know what he said to me once?” I ask her.  She looks irritated and glances over at my plate.

“Lou, you’ve hardly eaten a thing!  Look at your plate!” Her voice is exasperated, panicked even.

“Mum, do you want to know what Joe said to me recently?”

“Lou, you cannot keep doing this! I made you a salad, a healthy salad, and you won’t even finish that!” She is stubbornly ignoring my question, and won’t look at me either.  Instead her gaze is fixated on the bloody plate and the fucking salad.  “You’re going to kill yourself or end up very ill if you keep this up young lady!”

“Mum!” I yell at her.  “I want to tell you what he said!  About Mick!”

“I’m calling the doctor in the morning, that’s it young lady.” She gets up, grabs my plate and hers and marches from the room. I follow her into the kitchen where she slams down the plates.  “I’ve had enough.  I’m calling her in the morning and that is final.” She spins around to face me, her hands on her hips.  “I’m not joking Lou.  Maybe the doctor can talk some sense into you!”

“Mum, I am trying to tell you something!”

“You are fading away before my very eyes!” she wails then, and her face crumples with the tears that spring into her eyes.  I guess I am meant to feel sorry for her or something, and beg for forgiveness or say the right thing, to calm her down.  She is trying to make me feel guilty, and I won’t let her.

“Joe said they’re lucky he doesn’t do what that kid in Redford did all those years ago!” I shout at her instead, because I just want to shock her out of her stupidity, I just want something meaningful and important to break through to her for once.  She looks at me as if I am insane.  “He said if they’re not careful he’ll just snap one day!”

“Lou stop it!” my mother points her finger at me and warns.  “That is enough!  How can either of you say such a thing?” her eyes are confused, her brow furrowed, her mouth wide open.  “That is….that is just…that is horrible Lou Carling!  That is truly horrible!”

“I’m just telling you what he said,” I say calmly and turn around.  “Just so you know how much they get to him.”

“That is meant to be some kind of sick threat?” she questions, her voice high and shrill.  I go out of the kitchen and head for the front door. “That is disgusting!  What happened over there was completely different and you know it!  You bloody kids!  You think you know all the answers don’t you?  Just you wait till you are parents!  It’s the hardest job in the bloody world!”

I slam the front door behind me.

 

I am staring down at the ground as I walk across the front garden, and then I bump right into Marianne.  I look up and stare into her wide green eyes.  Jesus Christ.

“Hi!” she says in amusement.  I don’t know what to say.  I just stare at her.  My brain has taken up its drumbeat again.  My brain is killing me.  “Are you okay?” she asks me, frowning slightly now.  “Where are you going?  You look like shit!”

“Thanks.”

“Sorry, but you do!  What’s wrong?”

I start to walk down the pavement, no idea where I am going or why, and she falls in step beside me.  “Had a bad few days,” I shrug.  “And my head is killing me.”

“Oh.  Well have you taken anything?”

“No.  I keep forgetting to.”

“You idiot!”

I look at her in annoyance.  “Thanks again.”

“Look, you’ve been avoiding my calls, so I decided to come and see you.”  Marianne has this kind of khaki satchel on her shoulder, and she shifts it to the other one and looks at me sideways.  Her hair is down, and seems impossibly black and shiny, like ironed out oil, gleaming down her back.  “I wanted to check you were okay.  Why wouldn’t you turn on your phone?”

“I told you, I’ve been ill.  I’ve just been in bed.”

“That’s not what your mum said.”

I shoot a look her way.  “What did my mum say?”

“She said you were in bed, refusing to get out, refusing to eat.  Just all depressed and stuff.”  She lifts and drops her tiny shoulders, and shakes her hair back over them.  “I just worried about you, that’s all.”

“I’m fine.  Totally fine.”

“It wasn’t anything to do with me then?” she asks carefully, as we walk along.  I don’t even know where we are going.  “With the party, I mean?  It was pretty wild in the end, wasn’t it?  A night to remember!”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“So you just ran off…”

“I was hammered Marianne,” I tell her with a sigh.  “I was probably the drunkest I have ever been in my stupid life.  I didn’t know what I was doing half the time.  Forget about it.”

“It’s just that Joe called me.  He was really angry with me.  You know, because I tried to explain why I cut myself?”  I look at her for a moment and all I see is this tiny, pretty girl, with jet-black hair and big green eyes.  She is wearing black three quarter length trousers, a purple vest and a long black cardigan.  I try to read her, to find her, to trace any sign of that wild girl with the glass.

“Don’t worry about Joe,” I tell her, and she smiles and looks visibly relieved.

“Okay, well good.  I know how protective he is of you, and that’s fair enough.  But the thing is, boys will never understand something like that, will they?  Boys have it so easy!”  She looks at me with a broad smile.  I just look back down at the pavement disappearing under my feet, while my head feels like someone is kicking it repeatedly.  “They have nothing to worry about, compared to us girls, do they?” she goes on.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Anyway I tried to explain to him that I didn’t exactly attack you or anything!  I think that’s what he has envisioned!  Funny boy.  I was drunk too, right?”  She keeps looking my way.  I have no idea what she wants me to say, so I just shrug.  I can’t actually concentrate on any of this while my head hurts so much.  “I was trying to explain it to you, that’s all, you know, the best way I could.”

“Look forget about it,” I tell her.  We have ended up at the shops and I suddenly realise that I can go in and get some painkillers and a drink.  What a fucking fantastic idea that is.  “We were all pissed and stupid.  We all did stupid things.  Don’t worry about it.”

“But I just really needed to know,” Marianne persists, and she reaches out and touches my arm softly.  “I needed to know you were okay, and you weren’t upset because of me or anything?”

“Course not.  It’s not you.”

“Well what is it then?  You don’t seem yourself at all.”

“I don’t know,” I say, and go inside the shop.  I pass Lorraine on the till at the door.  She is packing an old lady’s bag for her, but watches me pass by with narrowed eyes, and a tight mouth.  I get the feeling she is still coming to terms with Joe’s newfound courage.  Maybe she blames me, who knows?  Marianne traipses behind me as I locate the paracetemol, and then grab a bottle of water from the chilled drinks cabinet.

“Is that Joe’s mum?” she whispers from behind me as we head for the till.  I nod at her.

“Yep.”

“Sight for sore eyes,” Lorraine announces when I drop my tablets and water on to the counter before her.  Her eyes regard me with suspicion.  “Your mum has been in a right state about you!”

“Can’t help being ill,” I shrug, not looking at her as she scans my things.

“Hmm,” she says in reply to this. “Do you need a bag?”

“No thank you.”

“You kids,” she practically snarls at me as I pay her and leave.  Outside I pause by the doors to chuck a pill down my throat and wash it down with water.  Marianne is leaping about from one foot to the other, trying not to laugh.  Finally, I shove the rest of the tablets into my back pocket and we head off again.

“She’s lovely!” Marianne exclaims when we are around the corner.  I nod at her.

“Oh yeah.  She’s priceless.  Now you can see why Leon has such great social skills.”

Marianne laughs, and swiftly slips her arm through mine.  “Oh he has some very interesting social skills all right,” she giggles.  I am not sure I wish to know.  “So where now?” she asks me.  “What shall we do?”

“What time is it?”

“About half five, quarter to six?”

“I’m meeting Joe at seven.”

“Oh right.  Well I will duck out of that if you don’t mind.  I don’t want him having another go at me.  Maybe once you’ve explained it to him properly?”  She looks at me pleadingly and I force a weak smile in response.

“Course.”

“Want to get stoned somewhere?”

“What?”

“I’ve got weed,” she says, and pats her bag.  “Where shall we go?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea really,” I say and stop walking for a moment.  Marianne smiles good-naturedly and cocks her head to one side.

“Come on, why not?  It’ll be fun.  I don’t want to smoke it all by myself, do I?  That’s no fun.”

A thousand questions pile up behind my lips.  Who did she buy it from this time?  Leon, or Ryan again?  Has she slept with any of them again?  How many times has she slept with them?  Who else has she done it with that I don’t know about?  What did Leon think about her scars?  I rub my head and let my shoulders drop.  What does it matter, I ask myself, what does it matter?

“Okay,” I give in.  “What the hell.  Come on then.”

 

 

The Mess Of Me:Chapter 24.