“When I was in the juniors I had to make Dad’s packed lunch before I went to school,” I said. “I had to wake him up and tell him where I left it. If I swear a lot you have to blame my paps—every morning he’d bruise the air with his Cs and Fs. Then he’d go straight to the bog. He might as well have taken his bed in there. Sometimes I had to piss in the sink. And when I came back from school I had to clean up the bog cos Dad was usually sick in it. And when I asked him for the funds so I could buy Domestos, did he give me it? No!”
“Not . . . nice,” said Colleen. She had her sympathy face on.
I heard footsteps stomping down the stairs. Tony wore blue overalls over a black T-shirt. His thick gray socks had holes in them. A stumpy pencil was wedged between his left ear and head. “Morning, Naomi,” he greeted. “Morning, Colleen. Sandwiches ready?”
I side-eyed Tony. He kissed Colleen on the cheek. I couldn’t remember my dad or Rafi ever doing that to Mum in the morning. “Not quite,” Colleen replied. “Apple or orange?”
“Both,” Tony answered. He sat opposite me. “And how was your night?”
“Not too blessed,” I said. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“That’s kinda natural with all the excitement of moving to a new home.”
“Excitement?” I repeated. “Are you on something? This isn’t my home. Haven’t had a proper home since . . . This is just somewhere I’ll be resting my bones for a week and maybe a bit. This time next year you’ll forget who I am. I haven’t got a diddly where I’ll be by then. But I’m used to it.”
Tony swapped glances with Colleen. “We’ll both do what we can to make this place a home for you, Naomi, for as long as you’re here.”
I thought about Dad again. Then I placed my mug on the table, bit my top lip, and crossed my arms.
“I’ve gotta get going,” said Tony. “You two have a good day.”
I side-eyed him as he disappeared. I knew he was trying to be on point but Kim’s warnings swirled around in my head.
“Sharyna!” Tony called.
A minute later, I heard the front door closing. Tony’s pickup truck pulled away. I peered into my coffee mug. “Does sex with him hurt?” I asked.
Placing a frying pan on the stove, Colleen blushed again. “Er, erm. When, er . . . when you’re in a loving relationship, sex should never hurt.”
“My friend Kim says it hurts. Take that frucking thing outta me, she said to the last boyfriend she had.”
“Language, Naomi.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“Perhaps . . . perhaps your friend Kim wasn’t in a loving relationship?”
Social wanker and sex educational class speak.
“Lost count of the amount of bruvs Kim’s had,” I said. “I don’t think she loved any of ’em. She’s got a girlfriend now. Can I have sausages as well as eggs? Oh, and baked beans if you got ’em.”
“Of course.”
“You gonna do my hair today?”
“Yes, after we go to the supermarket.”
“When did you first have sex?”
“Are these appropriate questions to ask an adult?” Colleen placed her hands on her hips and locked her eyes on me. “I know you’ve had experiences that a fourteen-year-old girl shouldn’t have to go through, but you’re still fourteen.”
“Louise is always telling me to talk about these issues in a grown-up way,” I said. I wasn’t lying.
She dropped two thick sausages into the frying pan. Good. I like ’em fat.
“Louise told you that, did she?”
“Yeah, she did,” I replied. I put on Louise’s voice: “There’s nothing wrong with talking about sex if you’re mature about it.”
Colleen half grinned. “Okay,” she said.
“Well, spill then.”
Colleen took in a breath. “I was far too young,” she said. “Fourteen.”
“Fourteen,” I said. “Are you sure you never had an abortion? Anyway, that’s not the youngest I’ve heard. I know a girl who got spermed at thirteen. Connie Richards. Right little prick-sponge she was. She’d fruck a guy—”
“Language, Naomi.”
“And it was her fault for getting spermed,” I carried on. “She told me she wanted a baby. She wanted something to look after. Her social worker shoulda given her a bunny rabbit or something. Felt sorry for her in a way though. Her mum was always out and she was forever looking after her baby sis. The bruv she’d done it with was manky-looking—they’d never have him on Love Island. He had little volcanoes around his mouth and you could’ve deep fried dinosaur wings in his greasy hair. Dunno how she slurped tongues with him. I’m gonna get myself a bruv when I’m fifteen and he’s not gonna look like that. No way, José. I’m not that desperate.”
Colleen turned over the sausages. I thought I spotted a quarter smile spreading from her lips. “Fourteen . . . is very young to know what you want,” she said.
“What were you on when you were fourteen?” I asked.
Rinsing her hands before joining me at the table, Colleen sighed. “I was living in a children’s home,” she revealed.
“No jokes?”
Colleen nodded. “My dad didn’t stay around. My mum couldn’t cope. You know, that kinda story.”
“Left you on the steps of the town hall, did she? Happened to my mate Bridget. She’s always going on about it. It really messed her up, like if a boy she fancies doesn’t look at her she wants to kill herself. Stupid cow! Bit of a loudmouth EastEnder mama she is. I mean, how the fruck can she remember being left on the steps of the Ashburton town hall when she’s only seven months old?”
“I wasn’t left anywhere.”
“Then what happened?” I wanted to know.
“I was six when I went to the children’s home,” Colleen said. She full-stopped and scoped me hard. I think she was working out if she could trust me with her personals. I smiled like a clown at a kid’s fifth birthday party.
It worked.
“Mum got me up early that day,” Colleen continued. “She put me in the bath and washed my hair. She blow-dried it and plaited my hair into little China bumps. She dressed me in my church clothes—a yellow dress, white socks, and pink sandals. God, I loved that yellow dress. I looked as innocent as a choir girl.”
“Yellow dress, white socks, and pink sandals,” I repeated. “I bet the prick fiddlers were watching ya. And there’s a lot of ’em in church—it’s where they chill. Kim’s always warning me about ’em. She told me they’re usually people you know, uncles and older cousins and all that. If he buys you sweets, he really wants treats. Kim’s always saying that.”
Colleen gave me one of those Naomi hasn’t got all the cucumbers in her salad look. She went on: “To this day, I don’t know why, but Mum ordered a taxi. We were only going half a mile to the social worker’s offices. We could’ve walked. She had these one-p and two-p coins in a whiskey bottle. She took them all out, arranged them in little see-through bags, and put them in her handbag. She paid the cab fare with them. I’ll never forget the white gloves my mum was wearing that day. She got them in the market and she would wash them like they were the queen’s knickers. Mum and her white gloves. Lord have mercy.”
“I