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‘Another word, and you’ll be sent out. Understood?’
Dereck snickers, and I want to tell Spotswallower she’s a bitch, but I don’t. I’m hot with anger.
It isn’t until I find a condom with mayonnaise in it stuck to my locker that I lose it.
I tear it off and throw it blindly, hoping it hits someone. And then I storm to the cafeteria, order a bowl of custard, and dump it on Archer’s head.
A collective gasp runs through the room before it goes deadly silent.
Archer shoots out of his seat, his chest rising and falling heavily. He looks absolutely furious, but the novelty of his rage is tampered comically by the thick custard oozing down his face.
‘WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR?’ he seethes.
Chase laughs, a true belly laugh.
I may have overreacted, and the entire cafeteria may be staring at me, and Archer may hate me, but in this moment, I have never felt more elated and powerful.
I go home.
???
My mum works 12-hour shifts at a nursing home, so it’s just me and my dad.
He’s bent over the engine of his maroon Stagg, his crutches resting against the side of it. When I step through the garden, he looks up, and his eyes crinkle at the corners.
‘Hey, kiddo.’
A pang goes through me. He’s always happy to see me, even if it means skipping school. He doesn’t question it. I think, more than anyone, my dad knows some things aren’t always what they appear to be, and the best thing you can do for someone is divert their attention from whatever causes them pain.
I always thought he was lazy, that he cared more about his cars than his family. He used to clean and cook in time for my mum’s return, but she never thanked him. In fact, she picked out things she didn’t like, like the way he moved all her letters and how the meat was undercooked, so he stopped trying, and he spends the majority of his time out here. I don’t blame him. It’s quiet and peaceful, and our house gets most of the afternoon sun, but sometimes I wonder if he just wants his own space in the house.
Why doesn’t he seize the opportunity when she’s away? Maybe her toxicity has seeped into the air and the pores and he doesn’t want to choke.
‘Hey.’ My smile is pinched at the corners. I can’t help it. I can’t stop thinking about my mum and that strange man outside the pub.
‘You couldn’t do me a brew, could you?’
‘Sure.’
I make us both one.
‘Thanks, Frankie. You’re a good kid.’ I wait until he sits on a plastic chair before I hand him the mug. He takes a sip. ‘That’s bloody lovely, that.’
I pull up a chair across from him. ‘Got to let the teabag soak for five minutes. That’s the trick.’
We sit in silence as we sip our tea. It’s nice out. It’s warm, although it’s not quite summer yet. I don’t want to fixate on texting Kai today, not when I can sit here in tranquil silence and listen to the bees buzz from flower to flower. I hear the call of a blue tit, and I smile.
It’s been so long since I’ve surrounded myself with nature, I forget my front garden is a habitat. It saddens me that my mum gets in a gardener every summer to neaten the weeds and tear up the wildflowers. We used to have a sprawling blossom tree in the center, but she hated it, so she got it removed.
I literally screamed at her and packed my bag and left.
I was seven.
I got halfway down the street before I realised what I was doing and I ran back.
‘What are you working on?’ I ask my dad, nodding to the Stagg.
His eyes light up. He’s passionate about cars the same way I’m passionate about wildlife. He used to be a mechanic in his prime; he’s built cars from nothing and he’s so good at bodywork he fixed a massive hole in the side of a Mondeo once and I thought I’d dreamt the damage. He loves motorbikes, but since his hip has worn, he hasn’t been able to ride one. He used to tell me stories about how he bought a car from an auction and in the same day he swapped it for a superbike and how he skidded off a Triumph at 70mph.
