Seven Days (11 page)

“Is your mum still not around?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. Auntie Pam is there loads to make sure I’m OK – she’s in a flat in Tower B now. But it’s not the same; I just want Dad back home.”

I remember Lyn’s mum walked out on them when he was still a baby. His dad used to drop him round to ours when he was working. In those days my mum didn’t have a job so she could look after both of us.

“We used to have fun, didn’t we?” he says, now looking straight at me, like he can read my mind. His eyes are so deep and piercing; it makes my heart beat a little faster.

“You used to put worms in my hair,” I say, poking him in the leg, “and you made me lick a snail once, do you remember? For a dare.”

“Oh God! Yeah, I do. But you were evil. You used to break my cars on purpose! I swear those days were some of the best ever.”

“But then you got all cool at school and that was it,” I tease. “No more hanging around with the fat girl.”

His eyes widen. “Don’t think that, Jess. I was just older. I got into other things I guess. But I’ve never forgotten about you.”

I can feel myself blush, so I quickly look away. I feel stupid for feeling like this around Lyn. He was always like my big brother. Why did he have to grow up to be the popular, good-looking one?

“We all change,” I say instead.

“Not really. Not inside. That’s the thing, isn’t it? You start to realize there’s more to people than a ton of make-up and flashy designer clothes.”

“I guess.”

I’m staring at him, wondering if he’s referring to Kez. But I don’t dare ask him.

“Did you see the picture I put up? Of us?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I shake my head, my cheeks burning. “I looked awful!”

“No, you didn’t! You were dead cute. How could you look awful with those eyes of yours?”

I don’t know what to say, I let a little grin escape, I can’t help it. He holds my gaze for a minute and then pulls away, biting his lip.

“To be honest, I feel bad about having the party, but Dad says I should go ahead. He wants me to carry on as normal.”

“So do it,” I say.

He turns, his eyes are bright and I can see the hint of tears in the corners. “You’re coming, aren’t you?” he says. “I really want you there.”

I stare back at him; I can actually hear my pulse racing in my ears. “You’re joking? I won’t be welcome.”

He suddenly takes my hand and squeezes it tightly. “Yes, you will. Say you’ll come.”

I think of Kez. She’ll hate me for this. This could finish me.

I look at his hand in mine.

“OK,” I say.

He smiles back at me. “You shouldn’t take any more stick. Stand up for yourself a bit. Don’t be scared.”

I nod, feeling a bit silly. But it’s so easy for him to say.

“I need to go in a bit,” I say instead. “I have to pick my sister up from school.”

“Cool,” he stands up and stretches. “You mind if I walk with you? I could use some company.”

I’m tempted to look round me, check that Kez and Marnie aren’t hiding in the bushes filming all of this. Is it just a trick? Another laugh at my expense? But something in Lyn’s calm expression is telling me to trust him.

“Sure,” I say.

He grins back at me. I’m sure I can see a flicker of something in his eyes, almost as if they’re softening in front of me.

The trouble is I have no idea if it’s pity, or if it’s something more.

“There we go, it’s beautiful,” I say.

The painting of a pink splodge with arms and legs is now pride of place on our fridge. Apparently this is a picture of me. Hollie has taken care to give me a particularly round tummy, almost a perfect circle. What else could I do but praise her, even if the humiliation was burning in my eyes. Hollie, satisfied I liked it, immediately dashed away to play outside with her friend Lucy. Sometimes it depresses me that my five-year-old sister has more friends than I do.

I stand by the window so I can keep an eye on her. She is drawing chalk pictures on the paving slabs outside our house. I hope there are no more images of me. Mum is sat at the table, drinking tea and watching me. She looks more tired than usual.

“Did you get any sleep?” I ask.

“Some.” She is rubbing her arms. Dark bruises are dotted across them. She looks like rotting fruit. Her face is so pale and heavy-looking. She’s not looking after herself. I just wish I could give her a week off. A month, even.

“How did you do that?”

“I bang myself all the time at work,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s nothing. I love Hollie’s painting. Isn’t it pretty?”

I look at it again, the massive round thing. I’m just thankful Lyn didn’t see it. He sloped off to the shops before I collected her. “It’s meant to be me,” I say.

“Well, she’s given you a lovely smile,” Mum says. “How was your day, anyway?”

The rush of guilt almost takes my breath away. I can’t even look at her. What if she can see I’ve been skiving just by looking at me? How can I justify missing school, when she’s working so hard she can barely stand up straight?

“It was fine,” I say and then, just because I know this would make her really happy, “I’ve been invited to a party.”

“A party! That’s so exciting!” Her eyes brighten immediately; the light inside her has been turned on again. “When is it?”

“Saturday, I think.” A dark cloud hovers over me. I swear it’s Kez’s shadow reminding me not to get my hopes up. “I’m not sure though. I might not go.”

“Might not go!” Her eyes are really blazing now. She leans towards me. “Why the hell wouldn’t you go? This is the first invite you’ve had since primary school. Things like this are really important, Jess. It’ll help your confidence.”

“But I’ve got nothing to wear,” I say lamely.

“I’m sure we can find something. What about that dress you wore for Uncle Ken’s wedding?”

“That was years ago. It’ll be too small.”
And it’s really naff. I might as well wear a sign round my neck saying
KILL ME NOW
.
“I need a tent.”

“A tent? Don’t be silly,” Mum says, but I can see that look on her face, that flicker of
but you are fat aren’t you
. “I’ll find you something. Come here.”

Reluctantly, I trail after her. I can still hear Hollie’s yelps of joy from outside and I wish I could join her.

Mum is now in her bedroom. She has the smaller room, painted bright pink by the people who lived here before. “I will sort it one day,” she always says, but doesn’t. It makes me feel sad, coming in here, seeing her single bed unmade and squashed up against the wall. I remember our old house, with the bigger rooms and nice furniture, Mum and Dad’s kingsize bed with the squishy duvet. Most of the furniture was sold and Mum says we’re lucky to be able to afford this place.

She opens up her big white wardrobe. It has chipped paint on the side, exposing darker wood. It looks like decay.

“I have some tops,” she says. “Maybe we can have a play around.”

Mum is dead skinny, probably a size eight, so I really have no idea why she’s doing this. But she pulls out some tops and throws them on the bed. I pick one up. Its black, long-sleeved and low cut. It’s actually really nice.

“That’ll go well with some jeans,” she says.

“My jeans are horrible,” I say, feeling rubbish again. But the top is so nice and it looks like it’ll fit.

“Maybe we can pick some up on Saturday,” she says. “I have a little money saved and there’s some sales on.”

“But we need money for food,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m sure I can find something to match. At least the top looks special.”

“Well, as long as you’re sure. I want my girl to look good.”

“I am,” I say, but I’m not. Really I want her to spend all her money on me. The horrible, nasty part of me wants a whole new wardrobe. I want to feel better.

She sighs and sits herself on the bed. “I know it’s been hard. If I could just get some regular money from your dad I could treat you both.”

“Oh, Mum!” I pull her into a hug, hearing her gasp as I do so. I can feel her bones as I hold her. She’s like a tiny doll. The top is still clasped in my hand. “I still don’t get how this ever fit you, though?”

“I wore it when I was pregnant with Hollie,” she says, gently easing me away. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”

Lovely. A top for a pregnant woman. The perfect top for me.

The skinny girl inside is sobbing once again.

How could anyone fancy me?

Marnie is sitting opposite me, pulling her “when will she shut up?” face. I really don’t mind Julie going on. She has a loud, friendly voice that makes me want to smile (most of the time). Just as long as she doesn’t start on me. I’m just glad I was allowed to stay another night.

“Honestly, Marnie, all I’m saying is you’ve got to try harder,” Julie says as she shuffles across the kitchen, busying herself making coffee.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Marnie now has her head resting on the kitchen table.

“I just hate calls from the school. You know that. Your Head of Year seems pretty concerned. Says you have so much potential.”

More than me, that’s for sure. I wonder if they’ve tried to call home. I think Mum only gave them her number. God knows what would happen if Dad was ever contacted. I shift in my seat at the thought.

“I’m just asking you to try harder, that’s all. You don’t want to end up like me, do you?” She gestures at her skinny, bronzed body. “Five nights in a pub and trying to run an Avon catalogue. Hardly a shining example of success, am I?”

“You do OK,” Marnie mumbles.

“But you could do
better
!” Julie’s eyes flicker over to me and I swear I see something there. I don’t know what it is. Resentment? Blame? I quickly turn my face and look back at my phone. It’s still sitting in my hand, staring at me blankly. No message from Lyn yet. Why hasn’t he replied? I sent him a sweet message as soon as I woke up, but still nothing from him.

“What did you two get up to last night anyway?” Julie asks too brightly.

“Nothing,” says Marnie, her head still buried.

“We just walked about,” I say.

“Not too late I hope. There’s nutters about you know. That Terry at number twelve hasn’t cleaned his curtains in years. And his eyes point in different directions.”

“Hardly makes him a paedo,” says Marnie.

“Whatever. You’d soon be running to me if you were buried under a foot of concrete in his back garden.”

“Urgh, Mum, you’re so sad.”

My phone buzzes, the tiny vibrations sending prickles of hope down my spine. He’s replied.

This can’t carry on. Dad is fuming. You need to come home tonight.

I blink hard at the words. I can feel the curling fist of panic gripping my stomach.

I can’t face him.

I send the message before I’ve even had a chance to consider it. I can picture her at home, somewhere quiet and hidden like the downstairs loo, reading my reply. Hoping I can do what she wants. She sends back her reply.

You have to. We need to get things back to normal. Please.

It’s the please that kills me, the further tug in my gut. I know she’s probably crying, mentally pleading with me to make things better. But how can I go home, not knowing what I’m going to face? How can I look him in the eye and pretend everything is OK?

“Are you OK, sweetie?” Julie’s beady eyes are on me. She never misses anything. Marnie is still buried in her own arms. Sometimes I think she would miss an atomic bomb if it were to go off.

“I’m fine,” I say, as I press delete on the message.

Walking into the tutor room is like walking into to a hive of mad, frantic bees. The noise is just crazy. Several of the boys are sat at the back, shouting about some pathetic football game last night. Rosie and Jade are busy doing their make-up. The nerds, who I can’t even be bothered to remember to name, are catching up on their work at the front of the room.