‘It makes me feel trapped,’ I reply flatly. ‘I don’t want to spend my time counting down the minutes, always clock-watching.’
‘You need to be responsible—’
‘I am responsible.’ Wrenching my arms out of my blazer, I lob it into the corner. ‘Dad, stop! God, why can’t you just give me some space? What do you think is going to happen? I’m fourteen, not four.’
He stands up, shaking his head sadly. ‘With what happened at your last school …’
His disappointment is more than I can stand, and I don’t need the reminder. ‘Look,’ I huff, ‘that’s behind me. I stayed all day, okay? Can’t you give me some credit? I was only half an hour late.’
My grandad – whom I refer to as Ray nowadays – strides in from the kitchen holding a cup of tea. He must be having a good day with his illness, because he normally needs a mid-afternoon nap. ‘Leila, don’t you speak to your father like that! Not under my roof. In my day you showed your elders some respect. And in the Navy, you were taught to obey authority – your superiors – whether you agreed with them or not. You trusted that the orders you got were for the greater good. You should give your dad the same respect.’
I cross my arms across my chest, face boiling. ‘Sorry,’ I mutter. He’s never reprimanded me before, and although I’m tempted to flounce up to my room, his expression says it won’t get me anywhere.
Stepping closer, he extends the hot drink toward me. ‘Come on, take a seat.’
Relaxing at his easy acceptance of my apology, I take the cup and sit down at the old mahogany table, giving Dad a conciliatory smile and rubbing his arm as he joins me. Thankfully he returns the gesture by squeezing my hand, warming my heart. No matter how shitty I can be, he always loves me.
‘Now that’s done –’ Ray clears his throat, uncomfortable with the show of emotion ‘– is this yours?’ Going over to the towering oak bookcase in the corner, he comes back with a copy of Pandora and passes it to me. ‘Someone left it on the doorstep earlier,’ he explains, ‘but they were gone by the time I got there. I’m not as quick these days with my bloody lungs. Yours?’
‘Yes.’ Flipping to the Orlando Bloom bookmark inside, I find a tiny charm stuck to the back with tape; a book with open pages and lines scored into them to look like writing. There’s an odd quiver in the pit of my stomach. It’s weird getting a charm from Jake. It’s mine and Mum’s thing so it feels like he’s intruding, and we don’t really know each other well enough to exchange gifts. I suppose it is kind of sweet though. ‘It’s from Jake.’ I look at Dad. ‘He picked up the book when … Uh, something happened today. I kind of lost my temper in class and he took the flack for me. I did try and sort it out,’ I blurt, ‘really, I did, but it was too late. He got expelled, and he wouldn’t let me do anything to stop it.’ I pause, thinking. ‘It was almost like he wanted to get thrown out. Then his dad arrived, and he was horrid, yanking Jake around all over the place. I didn’t get to say goodbye before they left.’
Dad frowns. ‘Doesn’t sound good. Now this boy knows where you live?’
‘It’s Jake Harding, Dad. From down the road? The one who lives in our old house?’
Ray clutches his side and goes white, before taking a deep rasping breath. ‘My Jake?
‘Ray, take it easy.’ Dad gets out of his chair, sliding an arm around his waist to prop him up. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘We need to check on him,’ Ray mutters urgently. ‘I won’t rest easy until I do. I can go knock on the door and see if Jake can come over and help with something. I pay him to mow the lawn and help me wash the car, so it shouldn’t look suspicious.’
I follow uneasily as they shuffle into the hallway. Dad helps Ray put his shoes on, before pulling on his own toe-capped work boots. Since when does Ray need help with household maintenance? He’s only been ill for a few weeks. As I shove my feet into my flats, Ray steps away from Dad and steadies himself. ‘I can manage, thank you.’ Throwing open the door, he straightens his shoulders and marches down the front path as if his pain was never there.
Dad and I rush onto the pavement behind him. We come to an abrupt halt as the peeling red front door of my old house opens and Jake’s dad emerges, dragging his son along by one arm and carrying a bag over his other shoulder. ‘Cut it out, boy,’ he roars, ‘I told you what would happen if you kept getting in trouble at school. You can go up north to my family and give them grief instead!’
Unlocking a run-down blue Ford Mondeo with rust around the arches, he thrusts Jake into the back and throws the bag in after him, hitting him square in the face. I can see it all because their car is facing us, the driver’s side closest to the pavement. Jake’s head disappears beneath the line of the seats, and I turn into my dad’s shoulder, wincing.
Dad tenses, putting his arm across Ray’s chest as he tries to step forward. ‘You’re not well enough, and it’s not our business.’
‘I have to do something.’ He’s agitated, his hands clenching.
Jake’s mum steps out into the messy garden, greasy black hair dishevelled and a vivid scarlet mark on her cheekbone. Spotting us, she scrubs at her tearstained face and tucks shaking hands into her skirt pockets, trying hard to conceal her emotions. But I can see from the way her shoulders bow forward that her heart is breaking, and a little of my own breaks with it. No mother should be separated from their child. It’s just not right. But she stands by while her husband gets in the car and starts the engine. She does nothing but watch. Says nothing. Doesn’t take one step forward. My sympathy for her withers and dies. Every parent should fight for their child, doggedly, until there’s not an ounce of energy left in their body, until there is no breath left. It makes me hate Mum all over again, and tears sting my eyes.
Jake’s head reappears and he meets his mum’s gaze, nodding once and then giving her a solemn wave goodbye. His eyes flicker our way, but he pretends not to see us. I don’t blame him.
Winding the window down, Jake’s dad shouts at his wife to get in the house, or else. She hastily retreats inside, the door slamming behind her. Paint flecks shower down onto the garden path with the violent force, like dried blood. Revving the engine, Jake’s dad sticks his middle finger up at us, ‘Enjoying the show? Fuck off, the lot of you.’ With a screech, he peels away from the kerb, narrowly missing the cars parked on the other side of the road.
Ray’s shaking with anger, and Dad’s concerned, holding his elbow to guide him home, checking over his shoulder to make sure I’m following. As we go back inside, I picture Jake’s thin face, feeling scared for him and hoping he’ll be okay. I can’t help feeling it’s my fault.
Crossing the threshold into the dim interior of Ray’s hallway, realising how thoughtful it was of Jake to return my book and give me a charm when his own situation is so bad, I wonder when I’ll see him again.
I have no idea that the next time I do, I’ll be saving his life.
The Puppy Charm
‘How cool is this?’ Eloise spins around on the steep stone-edged steps, sapphire eyes sparkling. ‘An end-of-school party at Durdle Door. Isn’t it brilliant?’ Flinging her arms out with enthusiasm, she starts to overbalance, alarm filling her face.
‘Careful!’ Grabbing her wrist to steady her, I nod my chin towards the beach below us. ‘Come on, we’ll chat down there.’ Behind