Good Me Bad Me(16)

‘What happened?’

‘Walked into a door, that’s what my mum always says anyway.’ A smirk on her face.

And what Mummy says goes, right?

‘You said your name was Milly, yeah?’

‘Yes.’

‘I found something I think belongs to you, it’s got your name and your photo on it. M-I-L-L-Y.’

She sounds out the letters, releases them slowly from her sore lips with concentration.

‘Why are you sounding it out like that?’

‘Fuck off all right, I’m dyslexic.’

A hurt look passes over her face. I look away, ashamed I caused it.

‘Anyway, you don’t need to know how to read properly to work this out.’

She hands me the card. A professional job, laminated, quality colour. I think about how it was made, handed around a printing shop perhaps, overweight guys spluttering into mugs of tea as I’m passed back and forth.

‘Where did you get it from?’

‘Found it last night in the phone box, down on the right by the arches near Ladbroke Grove. My phone’s broken and my mum hasn’t got any credit on hers.’

I know where she means. Amongst the dirt and grime, piss and chewing gum, a collection of adverts live. Me. A new face, added to the bill. Roll up roll up, a tasty newcomer. A gallery of boobs, open mouths, weird grotesque looks on the women’s faces. And now, a schoolgirl. The image, the same one used on the poster left on my locker. New words.





SCHOOLGIRL MILLY ‘DTF’ READY TO SUCK COCK, CALL NUMBER BELOW


The science-block toilets. Izzy. ‘I won’t ask again.’ My phone vibrates, a buzzing from inside my left pocket, I enjoy a brief moment of how popular feels. Hungry lambs at a teat, enough is never enough.

‘No offence, but you don’t look the type.’

‘I’m not.’

‘What’s it all about then?’

‘Someone’s idea of a joke.’

‘You must have pissed them right off, it’s a pretty sick joke.’

‘It’s a couple of the girls from school, and the girl I live with.’

‘What, that snotty blonde bitch?’

She points towards our house, I look over my shoulder.

‘Yeah, her.’

The driveway obscures most of the windows but two or three look out on to the street. I’m hit by an urgency to keep Morgan a secret.

‘Has anyone called you?’ she asks.

‘Somebody just did.’

‘Fuck. What are you going to do to get her back?’

I’ll think of something.

‘Not sure, probably just let it go. How long do you reckon the postcard was up for?’

‘Maybe a day or something, I don’t know. You just moved here, didn’t you?’

I nod, reply, ‘They’re my foster family.’

‘We were almost in care for a bit when my mum was sent down but our nana came and looked after us.’

‘So your mum’s out now?’

‘Yeah, she was only in for a few weeks. Something stupid she helped my uncle with.’

She picks at her lips again. I resist the urge to slap her hand away, tell her to stop. She pushes her body off the wall, stands up. I ask her if she wants to hang out some time. Maybe, she replies. Suspicious. That’s good, I want to tell her. Safer that way.

‘We could meet at the bottom of my garden. The blue door in the close takes you into it, it’s usually locked but I could open it. My room’s the one with the balcony.’

‘Why are you so keen to hang out?’

‘Dunno. It’s not easy being the new girl, especially with a foster sister like mine.’

She nods. I get the impression she’s lonely too.

‘What do you reckon? Do you fancy it?’ I ask her again.

‘Like I said, maybe. You want us to meet in your garden so no one knows we’re friends, isn’t it?’

‘It’s not that, it’s to do with the blonde bitch I live with. Your words not mine.’

We both smile when I say it.

‘She’d find a way to ruin it, tell her dad or something,’ I explain.

‘Bet she would, silly cow.’

I need something to close the deal. Gifts open doors, trust comes easier afterwards, I watched you do it a hundred times with the kids at the refuge. THINK, ANNIE, THINK. Your voice in my head. The phone thinks for me, vibrates again in my pocket. I ask Morgan if she’s any good with them, take it out, show her.

‘I’m all right.’

‘What am I supposed to do now that I’m getting calls from the advert?’

‘Don’t know, change the number?’

‘I can’t, I’d have to ask my foster dad, he’d figure something was up.’

‘Chuck it?’

‘It’s brand new, it’d be crazy to throw it away. I could tell him I lost it but he’d be pretty angry I think.’

‘Who cares, they must have a shitload of money, what’s a stupid phone to them.’

‘True, but I still feel bad about binning it. You said your phone was broken, maybe you could borrow mine for a bit, get the number changed or something.’

‘Nah, it doesn’t feel right, I don’t even know you.’