Good Me Bad Me(17)

‘It means we’d be able to stay in touch though, if we did want to hang out.’

‘And I wouldn’t have to do anything for it?’

‘No, nothing. Like I said, you’d be helping me out.’

She chews on her lip some more, stares down at her feet, then looks up and says, okay, deal. She takes it, says she’ll find a way to let me know when she’s sorted a new number, then asks me what to do with the postcard.

‘Was it the only one?’

‘Only one that I saw.’

‘Do what you like with it, burn it for all I care.’

She nods, and walks away. I watch her go, pleased with myself. Your lessons, your voice, helpful to me. Sometimes.

The house is quiet when I open the door, unlocked, so somebody must be home, likely Saskia, she always forgets to lock the door behind her. The radiator next to the shoe cubby releases a whispering sound, the effort required to keep the entrance porch warm exhausting for its ancient pipes. I notice a pair of trainers on the floor I don’t recognize, too large for a woman.

I take off my shoes and dump my stuff at the bottom of the stairs. Rosie looks up at me with half-closed eyes, too comfy to rise out of her basket to greet me, a vague thump of the tail. Dinner is plated, left out on the kitchen counter. Three in a line. Sevita knows better than to leave anything for ‘Miss Saskia’, which means both Mike and Phoebe are still out. I take the chance to switch on the radio while the stew is heating up in the microwave, see if I can hear anything, but the headlines are over. I eat fast, hoping to avoid Phoebe, and after I put my plate in the dishwasher I head to Mike’s study, knock on the door, make sure he’s not home. No answer. I use a Post-it note from the block on the table next to the alcove, write ‘Dear Mike, I’m so sorry but I’ve lost my phone, I can’t find it anywhere. What should I do?’

I stick it on the middle of his study door, at eye level, so he can’t miss it. A neon-pink apology, and a secret fuck you to Phoebe. I want to get a new phone as soon as possible so Morgan and I can stay in touch. I notice the door to the basement is open as I pass it, it leads to the laundry and the gym. I have a quick look to make sure Sevita isn’t down there, then close it, wishing there was a lock.

I check from my balcony if I’m right about the gate leading into the garden being hidden from the house. I am. I’m about to come inside when I hear the whistle, a small figure in the close, waving at me. She does something after that with her hands. A spark, another, a lighter being lit, followed by a lick of flame. Impossible to see from this distance, but I know it’s the postcard she’s burning. When it becomes too hot to hold she drops it on to the ground, makes a swiping motion with her hands, job done, and jogs back up the close towards the street.

I let down my guard, fall asleep too fast. You come to congratulate me. Remind me if it hadn’t been for your lessons, I’d never have got Morgan to trust me. I wake up crying.





Up eight. Up another four.


The door on the right.


Put the trousers on.

Put the shirt on.

Do as you’re told.

Dress up. Your favourite game.

The boys dressed as boys, the girls did too.

Life-size, walking, talking dolls to play with. Discard when bored.

How special you look as a boy, Annie.

Come closer, let Mummy see.





9


Saskia offers to drive me and Phoebe to school this morning, noticing that as well as my usual load, I have to carry a large portfolio case for art in which I’ll store my work for this term. Phoebe, dressed in sports gear, says no, plans to go for a jog before school with two of the other girls who live close by, reminds them she’s staying at Izzy’s overnight. Mike shouts to her when she’s putting her shoes on in the porch, make sure you eat something for breakfast. The front door opens, and slams. He tuts, smiling shortly afterwards.

‘I saw the note about losing your phone. Usually I’d say wait a few days to see if it turns up but I feel better knowing I can get hold of you if needs be. I’ll replace it this time, but please be more careful.’

I ask him to change the number, helps me feel secure. He says he understands, he’ll have it sorted by tonight. I eat a bowl of cereal while I wait for Saskia to get dressed and, when she’s ready, we head out to her car, a soft-top Mini. I load the portfolio case into the boot, just about fits. An area of London where style trumps practicality. Appearance matters. Air kisses, as knives are simultaneously slid into backs. Twisted.

‘Ready?’ she asks, climbing into the driving seat.

I nod, annoyed by the way she said ‘ready’ in an overly chirpy manner. Scratch the perfectly applied foundation on her skin, weakness lurks. A cardboard cut-out of a mother. She hits the accelerator too hard, the car jerks across the gravel with protest. I want to say, relax, I don’t bite. Well I do, but I won’t. She’s wary of me. Female intuition maybe. She can’t forget who I am, who I’ve come from. Belong to. When she thinks I’m distracted, and I won’t notice, I see her looking.

I notice.

‘This is nice,’ she says as we turn out of the drive.

‘Yes,’ I reply, looking for Morgan.

‘How’s school going?’

‘Busy, a lot to take in.’