Someone Like me

SOMEONE LIKE ME

LESLEY CHEETHAM

Copyright © 2014 Lesley Cheetham

Published by
LambChop Publishing, London 2014

Text © Lesley Cheetham

Cover Image © Ella Ruth
Cowperthwaite

Author image and cover illustrations © Paul
Cheetham

The right of Lesley Cheetham to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988 (United Kingdom).

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved.

LambChop Publishing WC1

ISBN
:978-0957285828

ISBN-13:
9780957285828

F
or Nariece

ALSO BY LESLEY CHEETHAM

Her Sister’s Voice

Her Other Voice

PROLOGUE

MIRIAM

I’m the only one who gets out at Keston, the sight of the tiny station dragging my mood down with its emptiness. I linger to watch the train pull out from the platform, the whistle signalling the end of my adventure. I wish I hadn’t said those things to Khaled, but I can’t stand the thought of him going out with someone else. He says he’s going to tell her, but will he really? I pick up my bag, the weight pulling down on my shoulder. I’m so glad I brought my bike.

Why did I promise I would tell Mum about him? She’ll say he’s too old, he’s a different religion, and all those things that don’t matter one bit, I know she will, but she doesn’t know what he’s like, how can she? My insides tingle every time I think back to last night – when he kissed me. It wasn’t how I expected it to
be, somehow I knew what to do when his soft lips pressed against mine.

My bike is there, where I left it; it’s always a relief to see the familiar red frame chained to the fence, none of the wheels or other parts missing. I dump my bag into the wicker basket, glad to get the weight off my back. I rub my shoulders and stretch my arms before I bend down to undo the lock.

I hesitate at the path to the canal. Mum’s told me never to go that way but it’s so much quicker and it isn’t dark yet. I pedal off extra fast so that I don’t have time to change my mind.

It’s getting chilly now and there aren’t many people around. I pass a lady with a small dog and she smiles and stands to one
side  to let me pass. I feel better when she’s there, but it only lasts a moment. I’m almost at the bridge when I hear a snap and my legs judder underneath me. I panic as my feet drop off the pedals and I realise the chain has come off. I swear out loud, then glance around quickly but there’s nobody to hear me. I look up at the sky, it’s starting to get dark, the wind is picking up and I feel a little afraid. My phone battery died on the train, just after I texted Helen. I quicken my pace, listening out for sounds. Why did I come this way? If Mum finds out she’ll be mad at me for this and then I’ll never be able to tell her about Khaled. I wouldn’t be scared if he was with me now.

I walk as quickly as the bike will let me, my heart beating faster and faster as I start imagining all the terrible things that could happen. I swallow hard and focus on the light up ahead which I know is the lamppost on the bridge, marking the point where I will be able to get back on the road. There’s a phone box up there and I’m going to call Mum and ask her to come and get me. It’s properly dark now, it’s taking longer than I thought but at last I’ve reached the bridge. I can see the phone box and I can hear the noise of a car coming. I rest my bike against the phone box and rummage around in my bag for some change, my hands shaking. Then I notice the broken glass, the receiver hanging, the wires sticking out at cruel angles. I’ll dump my bike and pick it up tomorrow. I’m pulling my bag back over my shoulder when I notice the car. It’s pulled into the side of the road, lights on, engine running, the door slamming as a man gets out. I know I mustn’t speak to strangers, but it’s dark and cold and I’m frightened. He might be able to help me.

He’s coming towards me now, a big man, wearing a leather jacket and jeans. He stops and looks at my bike.

‘
What’s the matter?’ he asks, he has a rough London accent and a dark stubbly beard. I don’t like him. He leans over the bike and I smell alcohol and sweat. I try not to wrinkle my nose.

‘M… my bike… it’s no problem, I’m almost home.’ My voice
sounds  squeaky, I  swallow hard, I don’t want him to know I’m afraid.

‘I’ll give you a lift,’ he offers, but it sounds like a command.

‘No,’ I say, remembering my manners, adding, ‘thank you, but I haven’t far to go.’ It’s true, although home seems far away and out of reach and I want so much to be there, right now. I edge away from the bike which I no longer care about. My heart is trying to bump out through my chest.

‘I said I’ll give you a lift,’ he repeats, he sounds angry now. ‘What’s the matter with you Sadie?’ He sways a little and his eyes are fierce as he grabs my shoulders, shaking me hard, his enormous hands hurting me, stopping me from telling him I’m not Sadie, really I’m not. I cry out and his face twists into a mask. He knocks against the bike causing it to fall against him and he starts to shout. I want to run, but my legs are rooted to the ground, his hands still digging into my shoulders, then he releases his grip and he is raising his large arm into the sky. I hope that my parents will forgive me as I see his
fist flying towards me and I fall onto the cold hard ground.

CHAPTER
1

Sadie was pouting into the mirror, painting a shiny red bow onto her lips. She snapped her compact shut and put it carefully into her designer handbag. Now she was tapping on her Blackberry, shiny silver nails dancing rapidly over tiny pink buttons, tap, tap, tap. I wanted a phone exactly like hers. Suddenly Sadie whipped her head round and her deep green eyes fixed for a second onto mine. I looked away, furious. She mustn’t recognise me. I scraped my chair back. I was out of here.

I
didn’t go far. The tree across the road was well placed to stand behind and I’d used it before. Like clockwork she exited the café, stopped to pat her hair in place then off she went, her dainty heels making tiny clicking noises on the pavement. She didn’t notice me. She rarely did. Today she was wearing dusky blue skinny jeans, long drainpipe legs stretching giraffe like into expensive boots. She was expensive. People turned their heads to look at her when she passed by. She was that sort of girl.

Sadie was giving it some pace tonight. I had trouble keeping up.
Skinny cow. The streets widened out as we got  into  a  better  part  of  town  and there were more trees. Just  before  she  stopped  in  front of the poshest house  in  the  street  a  car  horn  sounded  and  a flash motor pulled up beside her. I was too far away to see who was driving. It wasn’t her boyfriend’s car. I memorised the number plate. She pushed her face through the driver’s open window and pouted those ruby red lips. A masculine leather-jacketed arm reached out of the window and circled her waist, drawing her in. I wondered how that felt. Then she was in the passenger seat and being driven away from me. Damn! At least I’d got the car number plate.

I walked back through the town. I knew where she’d got her bag from; I’d seen them in the window of the boutique at the far end of the high street. A bell tinkled as I opened the door. Two sales assistants were chatting behind the counter, and neither of them looked up. A grungy looking girl was rifling through a pile of belts.

The bag was near the counter, on a shelf. I lifted it down, the leather felt soft and delicious. I opened the clasp and looked at the price tag. My breath caught as I saw the red line scratched through the price. It was still expensive, but I had my birthday money left. This bag would make me that little bit more like Sadie. I couldn’t get it to the counter fast enough.

The house was dark as usual. Mum was at work. I sighed and flicked the hall light on. I pulled off my jacket and slung it over the bannister. I imagined Sadie doing the same with her chic red coat. She had a proper family; I bet she didn’t rattle around that great big house when she got home.

I went into the living room and switched the lamp on. The leather sofa gleamed at me, the floorboards smelt of fresh polish. The cleaner must have been in. I held
my  breath  as  I  extracted  the bag from the smart carrier. It was gorgeous. Soft warm brown leather, with a large bronze buckle, clearly expensive. I stroked it lovingly, then put it over my shoulder, the way Sadie did. Perfect.

I wondered what Sadie was doing. I had imagined
the scene so many times. The large open kitchen, the mum at the island in the middle fixing her some food, smiling at her, loving her. Today she was playing a game on her Apple Mac with her sister, her arm slung around her shoulder. I had no idea what it must feel like to have a brother or sister.

My phone rang. I grabbed at it, hoping it might be Tess. Mum. I pulled a face.

‘Darling I’m still at work,’ she said, in that breathless always in a hurry way she has. ‘Are you alright to fix yourself something to eat?’

‘You mean like I do most nights?’

‘Oh please don’t start Jasmine, you know I can’t leave work early, much as I’d like to. How was school?’

I sighed. ‘School was fine, mum. I’ll get myself some food.’

‘There’s some pasta left in the fridge, you can have that.’

‘Sure.’

‘Good girl, I’ll be back around nine, OK.’

Great.
Another evening amusing myself. My phone buzzed. Mum again.

‘Yes?’

‘Have a think about what I said this morning. About the summer.’

‘I’ve
spent  all  day  trying not  to  think about it,’ I said, cutting her off.

My stomach was making little growling noises. I went into the kitchen and opened
the  fridge. I  stared  at  the pitiful contents. Three bottles of wine shaded from pink to white, a square of cheese and the sad looking bowl of congealed pasta. I ignored the pasta, cut myself a slab of cheese and grabbed a bag of peanuts from the cupboard.

I slumped back onto the sofa and aimed the remote at the TV. It was almost time for
Crimewatch
. I love anything to do with crime, a complicated problem to solve. I’m good at finding things out. That’s how I had started with Sadie, she was kind of an experiment – I didn’t expect to become quite so good at it.

The wanted pictures were being lined up on screen now; this week’s
alternative top ten. The best bit. I like to imagine who these shady characters are, what kind of lives they lead. They always look well dodgy. The usual suspects flashed on the screen before me, hooded, bearded, tattooed, a woman with her hair scraped back and hard eyes. The last figure on the screen was completely different and made me drop the bowl of peanuts on the floor. This man had no hood, or beard, or tattoo, but I’d know his face anywhere. He was my dad and he was staring out of the television right at me.