Sometimes I Lie(63)

Taylor didn’t say much during dinner and hardly ate any pizza. It was Mum’s fault because she got us a Hawaiian, which meant Taylor had to pick off all the little bits of pineapple before she could eat it. Taylor’s mum would never have got that wrong, she knows what we both like to eat. We’ve really got no money left at all now, not even any coins in Nana’s rainy-day jar. Dad was at the pub. He has a friend there called Tab who pays for all his drinks and I heard Dad say there was no need to pay him back before we leave. Mum was cross about it for some reason, so she put the pizza on Dad’s credit card, which is strictly for emergencies only, and said not to tell. It was like we ate an emergency pizza.

Mum went to bed early, she said she was exhausted. If she’s so tired all the time, I don’t know why she has to take sleeping pills every night, but I was glad she left us alone. Taylor and I watched a film. I’d seen it before so I watched Taylor watching the big TV. I turned all the lights off, like her parents do on movie nights, and her face was all lit up from the glow of the screen, like she was an angel. She didn’t laugh at some of the funny bits, even though I did, she just gave me a sad look and then stared back at the screen. I held her hand because I wanted to and she let me. I squeezed it three times and after a little while she squeezed it three times back, she still wouldn’t look at me though.

When the film was finished we went up to my room. We talked for a while, but not for as long as we normally do, mainly because Taylor kept talking about things that had happened that I wasn’t a part of. She’s been hanging out with a girl called Nicola, they do ballet classes together at the church hall. I don’t do ballet classes, we can’t afford them. Apparently, Nicola is really funny and tells jokes all the time. Taylor says I’m still her best friend, I checked to make sure. I don’t know why she needs other friends, I don’t have any and I’m fine.

Taylor told me she’s really looking forward to Christmas Day. Her whole family will be at her house and Taylor says her mum has bought the biggest turkey she’s ever seen, as big as an ostrich, which is very big. Her nana, who she calls Grandma, is going to stay with them and it made me feel sad about my nana, so I didn’t speak for a while, just listened. I’m good at listening, people say all sorts if you just let them. That’s when she said she didn’t want me to go to Wales and it made me so happy that the thought of me leaving was what made her so sad. I promised her then that I wouldn’t be going anywhere and I meant it, I keep my promises.

Dad came home drunk and made a lot of noise when he came up the stairs. I was embarrassed but also a bit glad, he sleeps very deeply when he’s been to the pub and Mum’s sleeping tablets work so well it’s almost impossible to wake her. Taylor is asleep upstairs too. They all are.

I’m not allowed matches. They are on the same list as scissors, but I have a whole box of them. I’ve had them for a while now. I took them from school the day we learned about Bunsen burners, I learned a lot that day. I lit one match before I came downstairs. A little bit of me wanted Taylor to wake up, so that we could do this together, but she didn’t move so I let her carry on sleeping. I liked the smell of the match burning so much I let it burn the ends of my fingers. I wanted the flame to extinguish itself.

I’ve packed my school rucksack with all the important stuff.

The three most important things are:



1. My favourite books, (including Matilda, Alice in Wonderland and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe).

2. My diaries.

3. My best friend Taylor. I’ll never leave her behind, because we’re like two peas in a pod.





Then

Christmas Eve, 2016


I lie in the bath, wishing that the water was hot enough to burn my body, but I don’t want to hurt the child trying to grow inside me. I imagine how this scene might look in a few weeks’ time, a skin-coloured hill protruding from the bath water, a new land, waiting to be claimed. I rest my right hand on my stomach, gently, as though it might hurt me back, as though it isn’t a part of me. I don’t feel anything. Maybe it is just too soon.

When the water is colder than I can bear, I step out and dry myself. The steam has already run away and I’m shocked when I see my own reflection in the bathroom mirror; red fingerprints are clearly visible around my white neck. The bruises I have on the inside are less recent, but just as easy to see if you know how to look.

I open the bathroom door and hear that Paul is downstairs. Then I smell the fire and it almost makes me gag. I tread carefully over a carpet of lies, trying not to disturb them. Once I’m in the bedroom I pull on a polo-neck jumper and some comfy jogging bottoms before rushing downstairs to the front room.

‘There you are,’ says Paul. ‘Drink?’

‘Is it safe?’

‘The drink?’

‘The fire. Doesn’t it need to be swept before we use it?’

‘It’s fine, I thought it would be cosy, given it’s Christmas Eve.’

The room is lit by the Christmas tree and the flames. He’s trying to do a nice thing, but he’s got it so wrong. I don’t need to say anything, he reads the thoughts on my face.

‘Shit, I’m sorry, it probably makes you think of . . . I’m sorry, I’m an idiot.’

‘No, it’s fine, it’ll just take a bit of getting used to, that’s all.’