there then.
‘I’m breaking the door down!’ he shouts. There’s a loud thump.
Blimey, he really has got his knickers in a twist.
‘I’m NAKED!’ I shout back. ‘If you want to get done by child services, go right ahead!’
‘Don’t you give me that, young lady. What would your mother say?’
‘Don’t push me, Stu.’ His words make my ears burn.
‘She’d be so disappointed,’ he adds.
I angrily throw the cigarette out the window and storm to the door, wrenching it open. ‘To hell with Mum!’ I yell. ‘She’s
dead,
so she can’t say
anything!’
The look on Stuart’s face makes me want to burst into tears, but before he can pull me in for another one of his suffocating hugs, I slam the door shut in his face and lock it again. And
then I slump to the floor and bawl my eyes out. I hope he’s got enough sense to leave me be.
‘Jessie?’ he says quietly after a minute or so.
No such luck. ‘Just leave me alone, Stu,’ I blub.
‘I want to talk to you.’
‘Well, I don’t want to talk to
you
.’
‘Come on, Jess, I hate seeing you like this. I want to be there for you, help you through this.’
‘Please,’ I choke out. ‘Please, just leave me alone.’
Silence. Has he gone?
‘You know I can’t do that.’
Nope.
‘Unlock the door,’ he tries again. ‘I’ve made you a fish finger sandwich.’
As if that’s going to swing it. Although, actually, I could really do with a fish finger sandwich right now.
‘Jessie?’ he tries again.
My stomach rumbles. ‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ I relent, and even through the solid wood door I’m sure I can hear his sigh of relief.
‘Okay,’ he says gently.
When I’m sure he’s gone, I get up and go to the mirror. My nose is red, my eyes puffy. My medium-length, light-blonde hair is a bit of a mess, but I like it like that. I grab some
make-up from my dressing table and do my best to rectify my blotchy complexion. Damn Stu for making me cry like that. My eyeliner is completely screwed, and my mascara is halfway down my face. I
outline my green eyes with black kohl and retouch my mascara, stuffing my pink lipstick into my pocket. Then I pull on my black beanie, grab my camo jacket and go and climb out of the window.
It’s only seven o’clock, so it’s not dark yet. It’s pretty cold though, considering it’s the middle of June. I shove my hands into my jacket
pockets and stomp along the footpath in the direction of town. I wonder if anyone is about. I pull out my mobile, but no one has texted me. I click on my inbox just in case I’ve missed a
message and the first one at the top is from Libby – it was sent yesterday. Frowning, I plunge my phone back into my pocket. I can’t be bothered to reply. My best friend since she moved
to Maidenhead, aged nine-and-a-half, wants to know how I’m doing. If she were
still
my best friend, she wouldn’t have to ask that question. Anyone with half a brain can see that
I’m not doing very well.
Maybe it’s my fault that we’ve grown apart. But I can’t stand to sit by and watch her and her perfect family get on with their lives when mine has been torn apart. She has her
mum, her dad and her brothers. I have no one. And I can’t help but resent her for it, even though a small part of me knows that’s unfair.
Okay, so maybe I have Stu, but he’s not my real dad. I don’t even know who my real dad is. He’s as much a mystery to me now as he was when it first occurred to me to ask my mum
about him when I was seven.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she’d told me. ‘Stuart is a better father to you than he could ever be.’
That may be so, but she’s still a bitch for keeping the truth from me.
Oh, God! I don’t mean that. I’m sorry, Mum. I look up at the blustery, cloud-ridden sky and my eyes prick with tears. You’re not really a bitch. I have to bite my lip to stop
it from wobbling as I take a left towards the park.
There are a group of guys kicking a football
‘I’m breaking the door down!’ he shouts. There’s a loud thump.
Blimey, he really has got his knickers in a twist.
‘I’m NAKED!’ I shout back. ‘If you want to get done by child services, go right ahead!’
‘Don’t you give me that, young lady. What would your mother say?’
‘Don’t push me, Stu.’ His words make my ears burn.
‘She’d be so disappointed,’ he adds.
I angrily throw the cigarette out the window and storm to the door, wrenching it open. ‘To hell with Mum!’ I yell. ‘She’s
dead,
so she can’t say
anything!’
The look on Stuart’s face makes me want to burst into tears, but before he can pull me in for another one of his suffocating hugs, I slam the door shut in his face and lock it again. And
then I slump to the floor and bawl my eyes out. I hope he’s got enough sense to leave me be.
‘Jessie?’ he says quietly after a minute or so.
No such luck. ‘Just leave me alone, Stu,’ I blub.
‘I want to talk to you.’
‘Well, I don’t want to talk to
you
.’
‘Come on, Jess, I hate seeing you like this. I want to be there for you, help you through this.’
‘Please,’ I choke out. ‘Please, just leave me alone.’
Silence. Has he gone?
‘You know I can’t do that.’
Nope.
‘Unlock the door,’ he tries again. ‘I’ve made you a fish finger sandwich.’
As if that’s going to swing it. Although, actually, I could really do with a fish finger sandwich right now.
‘Jessie?’ he tries again.
My stomach rumbles. ‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ I relent, and even through the solid wood door I’m sure I can hear his sigh of relief.
‘Okay,’ he says gently.
When I’m sure he’s gone, I get up and go to the mirror. My nose is red, my eyes puffy. My medium-length, light-blonde hair is a bit of a mess, but I like it like that. I grab some
make-up from my dressing table and do my best to rectify my blotchy complexion. Damn Stu for making me cry like that. My eyeliner is completely screwed, and my mascara is halfway down my face. I
outline my green eyes with black kohl and retouch my mascara, stuffing my pink lipstick into my pocket. Then I pull on my black beanie, grab my camo jacket and go and climb out of the window.
It’s only seven o’clock, so it’s not dark yet. It’s pretty cold though, considering it’s the middle of June. I shove my hands into my jacket
pockets and stomp along the footpath in the direction of town. I wonder if anyone is about. I pull out my mobile, but no one has texted me. I click on my inbox just in case I’ve missed a
message and the first one at the top is from Libby – it was sent yesterday. Frowning, I plunge my phone back into my pocket. I can’t be bothered to reply. My best friend since she moved
to Maidenhead, aged nine-and-a-half, wants to know how I’m doing. If she were
still
my best friend, she wouldn’t have to ask that question. Anyone with half a brain can see that
I’m not doing very well.
Maybe it’s my fault that we’ve grown apart. But I can’t stand to sit by and watch her and her perfect family get on with their lives when mine has been torn apart. She has her
mum, her dad and her brothers. I have no one. And I can’t help but resent her for it, even though a small part of me knows that’s unfair.
Okay, so maybe I have Stu, but he’s not my real dad. I don’t even know who my real dad is. He’s as much a mystery to me now as he was when it first occurred to me to ask my mum
about him when I was seven.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she’d told me. ‘Stuart is a better father to you than he could ever be.’
That may be so, but she’s still a bitch for keeping the truth from me.
Oh, God! I don’t mean that. I’m sorry, Mum. I look up at the blustery, cloud-ridden sky and my eyes prick with tears. You’re not really a bitch. I have to bite my lip to stop
it from wobbling as I take a left towards the park.
There are a group of guys kicking a football
Similar Books
