‘Can you give me a ride home then? I live on Gloucester Road,’ she said, undeterred by his efforts to shake her off.
He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, giving in to the inevitable again. Be normal and do what you’re supposed to do, then people won’t ask too many questions. He had to fit in; he was already at a disadvantage because he stood out like a sore thumb. There was no reason to draw even more attention to himself by turning down one of the hottest girls in the school. It didn’t make sense and people would wonder why. He couldn’t have people looking too closely at him – and so he opened the door for Pippa.
Outside Pippa’s house, the sound of the car clock rolling over made Connor pull back from her and look at the dashboard. All the zeroes. Midnight – his father would not be happy. Connor’s seat was pushed right back and Pippa was straddling him, both of them with shirts unbuttoned. Pippa kissed Connor’s neck, making a lot of noise about it. She sat up a little; he looked through the space between them and saw her tanned breasts inside her cornflower blue bra, striking against her white-blonde hair.
‘You aren’t like the boys around here.’
‘Is that a compliment?’
‘Oh, hell yes.’
Connor glanced at the clock again as he pushed Pippa off him; she was light but fit under her clothes. He did his flies up. Connor remembered his girlfriend back home, how they would have sex in his car, how she would use sex to make sure he stayed in line. This had been a huge mistake. Connor felt torn between wanting what he used to have and running from it, knowing full well what the outcome had been. He couldn’t replace the girl he had lost, the life he had lost, and he didn’t really want to. He didn’t want history repeating itself.
‘You should go inside,’ he said, ‘I need to get home.’
After dropping Pippa off, Connor pulled into his own drive. The house was completely dark as he walked towards the front door. He pushed the key in as quietly as possible. With any luck, his father had drunk himself into a stupor again and passed out in front of the television.
The door clicked open and he stepped inside. Dead silence. He waited until he could see the bottom step before he attempted to go upstairs. As his eyes adjusted to the light, a weight lodged in his stomach. He noticed the shape of a man, a silhouette to be precise, leaning against the wall at the end of the hallway.
‘Jesus Christ!’
The light came on. Connor saw that the figure was Jacob … drunk.
‘Nope, just me,’ his father said quietly.
‘You scared the shit out of me!’ Connor exclaimed.
‘What the fuck time do you call this?’ Jacob said through gritted teeth, edging closer to Connor, who instinctively tensed and leaned away.
‘I had car trouble.’
‘Car trouble? What? Do I look like a fucking idiot to you or something? You think you can just lie to me whenever you feel like it, you little prick?’ Jacob’s voice got steadily louder as his temper took hold.
‘OK, sorry I’m late. I won’t do it again.’ The sound of his own voice pleading made Connor feel sick. How pathetic. He should just tell him where to go.
‘You’re damn right you won’t! If you screw things up this time you are on your own, I’m not moving to a new house again.’
‘I’m not going to screw anything up; I’m just a bit late.’
Jacob moved in towards Connor and looked him dead in the eye.
‘No girl is worth ruining your life for, asshole. Keep your dick in your pants and your mind on school.’
Connor sighed. Jacob didn’t understand, how could he?
‘OK, I get it … jeez.’
‘Are you trying to be clever?’
‘No, Dad, I’m just tired. I’m going to bed.’
Connor took a deep breath and put his foot on the first step. He could tell that his father was looking for an argument. Connor’s instinct was always to fuck up and contribute to these inevitable confrontations. He had promised himself when they moved to Exeter that he wouldn’t keep doing it, but the tighter Jacob’s grip, the more Connor wanted to pull away. He moved up the stairs, unwilling to stay and repeat every argument they had ever had.
‘Don’t you walk away from me!’
Connor fell onto his hands as Jacob pushed him with full force; the second step jarred against his shin, the bare wood clashing against bone, his leg instantly throbbing. He quickly shielded his head, knowing the places his father liked to punch, and curled into the smallest ball possible, protecting his ribs, throat, face and stomach. Right on cue, Connor felt the full weight of Jacob’s trainer as it hit him in the thigh. Connor’s eyes closed tight and he hoped that Jacob would keep kicking the same spot as it didn’t hurt so much there and it was easy to hide. His father was unhealthy with a bad leg, so the kicking part didn’t usually last very long.
Connor heard a metal clinking sound; the sound of Jacob’s belt unbuckling and being pulled quickly from his waist. He knew what came next. The hard edges on the side of the belt cut into his skin as it connected with his shoulder. Jacob had wrapped the belt around his fist, either to protect his hands, or to cause maximum damage – the buckle always left the biggest mark.
‘Dad, please … Please, I’m sorry!’ He hated to beg, he wasn’t even convinced he meant it.
‘I’ll make you fucking sorry!’
He hit him a few more times, each time slightly harder than the last, until Jacob ran out of steam. Finally, Connor heard the familiar sound of Jacob’s foot dragging as he walked away. He got worse beatings when his dad was sober; at least when he was drunk he ran out of energy faster.
Connor waited until he knew his father was gone before uncurling from his self-imposed cocoon. It didn’t really hurt yet, but that was because of the shock. At least he hadn’t had a seizure this time. Getting beaten up by his dad was bad enough without the added humiliation of losing control of his faculties altogether.
Pulling himself up, Connor peered into the lounge and saw his father sitting in front of the TV with a beer in hand. As though this interaction had never occurred, as if it were all just a dream. Connor trudged up the stairs and flopped onto his bed, wanting to fall asleep before the pain really started.
As he lay there, he heard mutterings through the wall, coming from the house next door. It was a low sound, an almost drone-like murmur. He realised that any kind of volume would most definitely have been heard through the walls. He exhaled deeply, embarrassed that his neighbours might know what kind of a man his father was, what kind of a coward he was. He couldn’t think about it right now.
He closed his eyes and thought instead about the home he had left behind. The home that wasn’t really a home anymore, not to him anyway. He thought about his old friends and how he wished he was back there with them. Occasionally, on nights like this, he would try and remember to feel fortunate. He had been told time and time again how lucky he was. He thought about a girl in his old class called Marianne; they had been in school together for seven years. He remembered the last time he saw her vividly – she had been hanging a banner for the end of year summer prom. Standing on a ladder in the cafeteria, obscuring the clock with it. The thing he remembered most about Marianne was that she had always worn yellow shoes in all the time he had known her. He tried to push her out of his mind as he recalled the image of one yellow shoe in the school gym … He didn’t want to think about Marianne anymore. Sleep. He wanted to sleep and forget, wake up in a new day and deal with that rather than with this.