Good Me Bad Me(49)

‘Don’t worry, the olds are away until Monday. I’ll pay Ludy extra, she’ll sort it out tomorrow,’ I hear Matty say.

‘Good old Ludy,’ someone jokes.

In the reflection of the window I see Toby drape himself round Phoebe. I should ask him how his dick is, rape boy. She shrugs him off, walks through to the living room. He follows, ‘Let me take you home.’

‘Whatever.’

I should warn her he’s not a great chaperone. I bet he produces a key for one of the private gardens on the way – either that or gives her a leg up, tosses her over. The last few people leave the kitchen. I notice Phoebe’s handbag on the counter, hear her laughing with the hyena girl from earlier. On my way past I tell her it’s almost midnight but she ignores me so I leave on my own.

Mike lets me in when I arrive, he must have been waiting by the window, anxious.

‘Where’s Phoebe?’ he asks.

‘Just coming I think, she’s walking with one of the boys.’

‘Oh god, that phase in life already,’ he says with a smile. Asks me if I had a good time.

‘Not bad, I’m pretty zonked though. Can I have my pill, then I’m off to bed.’

‘Sure.’

Two hours pass, curfew been and gone. I wonder how long it took her to realize her house keys were missing, slipped into my pocket as I passed her bag. She and her enlarged pupils will have to face the music.

Eventually I hear footsteps coming up the stairs, muffled voices, something about dealing with this in the morning. The door along from mine closes with a slam. I fall asleep immediately, content in the knowledge.

That round was mine.





21


The sensation of falling jerks me awake. I thought I was in court and I couldn’t remember how to answer the questions. Everybody was staring at me, waiting. You, behind the screen. I get out of bed, go into the bathroom, update the number in charcoal, the countdown I’ve been keeping, change it to eight, lean my head against the cabinet door and try to breathe.

Bare feet are silent, Mike doesn’t notice me standing in the kitchen doorway. He’s reading something, holds a page in the air as he looks at the one underneath. I can’t be sure but I think I see my name at the top. He underlines, annotates as he reads, rubs his eyes, harassed, tired. I can’t but I want to, walk over and hug him. Thank him for having me. For caring.

He looks up, turns the paper over as I approach the table, slides the pages under his diary. I make a mental note to look for them later, or perhaps on a Thursday when Saskia’s at yoga and Mike stays late at work.

‘I didn’t notice you standing there. Would you like some breakfast?’ he asks.

‘Maybe in a bit. I might make some tea. Would you like some, you look tired?’

‘I waited up for Phoebe. Not only was she two hours late but she managed to lose her keys at some point.’

Oh.

‘Sorry, I did try to get her to leave with me.’

‘Don’t apologize, it’s not your fault, at least one of you made it home on time.’

‘Shall I make Saskia a cup as well?’

‘That’s very sweet but she’s actually up and out already, she and the girls headed off early to some kind of outlet, a big designer sale apparently.’

While the kettle boils he asks me if I’m looking forward to going away tomorrow. I nod, tell him that after he told me we were going to Tetbury, I looked it up online.

‘Did you find the Arboretum? It’s very close to there, it’s called Westonbirt. I think you’ll like it, there’s lots of nice walks. We used to take Phoebe when she was little.’

He used to, he means. Saskia there maybe, but not really. I don’t need to ask how he takes his tea, I enjoy how at home that makes me feel.

‘Once you’re done, Milly, come and sit down, there’s something I need to talk to you about.’

The teabags have stewed enough, the water surrounding them a deep brown, but I push them under, drown them, delay joining him at the table. I add milk to both, one sugar for me, none for him, stir, then take the mugs over, sit down opposite him. I tuck my legs into my chest, feet off the ground, the monsters that lurk, grab you. Don’t let go.

‘Thanks,’ he says, moving his chair closer into the table. ‘I don’t want you to take this the wrong way, you’ve got an awful lot on your plate right now, but I think it’s important to talk about the email Ms James sent me.’

About MK.

The tea is too hot, I take a large gulp anyway. Tongue. Burnt.

‘Ms James mentioned you’d given Miss Kemp a present, a candle, and that you’d been seeing her quite a bit.’

‘Not that much, no.’

‘Perhaps a bit more than other pupils might see their guidance teachers?’

‘Only so she can help me with my art.’

‘I know, but you’ve also been emailing her a lot I believe.’

‘Only a few times. She hadn’t replied, I wanted to make sure she was getting them.’

‘A few times a week is quite a lot, Milly. I’m sure Miss Kemp likes you very much but she’s been feeling a bit overwhelmed. I think perhaps you’d like to spend more time with her than she can manage.’

I feel humiliated and stupid and overcome with desire for you. It didn’t happen often, you weren’t often in a good mood, but occasionally you’d stand behind me brushing my hair. You told me how pretty I was and I felt it too. I always felt prettier when you did nice things.