‘I’m alive!’ I scream over and over until I cough up blood. But really, the words come out as Help me…
Today is a looking-after day, I’ve decided. Over the years, I’ve become very good at taking care of my little space. It’s the only home I have, after all. Sometimes I ask for things like soap and polish and ornaments to make it more cheerful. My mother always kept a well-run house. ‘Ship-shape and Bristol fashion,’ she’d say, though no one ever knew what that meant. She’d tell us off for charging about inside with our muddy boots on or not tidying up at the end of the day. My father would mumble an agreement but then, when she wasn’t looking, he’d pick me up and swing me round. ‘Let’s go rock-pooling instead, Lenni,’ he’d say. ‘Clearing up is boring.’ We’d giggle and escape by the back door, leaving my mother to get on with the housework. I’d do anything to help her tidy up now; anything for my dad to take me rock-pooling.
‘I wish you’d stay a while,’ I say, all excited, clapping my hands when I get a surprise visit later on.
‘I’ve got the weight of the world on my shoulders,’ I’m told, and I breathe in the scent of sweat, worry and antiseptic, reminding me of the time I was in hospital. ‘Will you rub them for me?’
And so I do, digging my pencil-like fingers into the knots of muscle, causing a symphony of moans.
‘Will you ever let me go back home?’ I say, kneading hard. Last time I asked this, I didn’t get a visit for days and ran out of food. I wish I hadn’t mentioned it again because the nice noises turn into a red face, impatient growls and shallow breaths. ‘Sorry, sorry,’ I say, and the breathing soon steadies as I work my way down.
Anyway, I’m not even sure I have a home, if it ever existed. All that’s left is a mysterious family occupying a strange dreamscape in my mind, making me jolt awake at night tangled in a sweaty sheet. It’s hard to know what’s real any more, though I still have the scar on my left knee from when I fell out of Jason’s tree house. And the ring I wear on my right hand was a Christmas present from my uncle and aunt, and my little toe still bends awkwardly from when Claire took me riding and the pony trod on it. Sometimes I get a whiff of Goose the dog after he’s been charging along the beach, splashing in rock pools and running through the waves. His fur stinks of seaweed and the mouldy old cupboard under the stairs. I hang on to these things, checking in with them every day. But this is my real life now, as though everything before was just pretend.
Chapter Thirty-Two
The teens had made their own beach camp up near the rocks away from the adults. Two of Marcus’s friends were attempting to surf – hardly a match for the crowd Rain had hung out with at Bondi last Christmas when her father succumbed to her mother’s pressure and coughed up for the trip.
Rain scuffed the sand, wondering how it felt to go through life drilling into someone’s conscience for cash. But then she thought about the number of times she’d hammered Maggie for money, demanding designer labels and high-end beauty products to keep up with her rich school friends, many of whom had unlimited credit cards, and reckoned it was the same thing. It was only because of what had happened that she was thinking too much, trying to block it out.
She stretched out her legs. Her whole body hurt, and not just because of all the alcohol she’d drunk last night. She watched Marcus bobbing about in the water, unable to decide if he looked like a drowning newborn foal or a dying octopus. She reckoned, as she weighed everything up, narrowing her eyes behind the cover of her huge Chanel sunglasses, some people needed teaching a lesson. He was as good a place as any to start.
‘So, you’re actually happy living here?’ she asked Marcus a minute later. He was standing dripping wet above her, making her flinch as if she expected him to shake like a dog. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone after last night, him included, though she reckoned she ought to act normal. The other girl hanging out with them – Poppy or Pip or something – glanced up from her magazine.
‘Yeah, ’course I am,’ he replied. His face was cherry-red and his body pure white.
‘But it’s sooo boring.’ Rain lay back on her elbows on the stripy beach towel, tilting her face to the sky. She was wearing her tiny pink and gold bikini and the sun was warm on her skin. Her stomach was flat today, almost concave from losing last night’s meal before they’d gone to the club, and skipping breakfast earlier had made a difference. Her belly button bar glinted in the sunlight. Purging was the only control she had, and she wasn’t about to give that up for anyone. It felt even more important now.
It was a clear day, with the sky so blue that Rain could almost have believed it was the Med. But the closest civilisation to the farmhouse was the village with its crappy pub and tiny shop selling packet tea and tabloid newspapers. Why, then, was she even considering what it was like for Marcus and his mates to have grown up here, to hang out at the beach in summer and chill by the pub fire playing cards in winter? And what the hell was that feeling inside, she wondered, as though she’d got something pressing down on her heart?
‘We like living here,’ Poppy-Pip said. ‘Our friends are only a bike ride away.’ The girl had on a lilac one-piece with shorts that looked as though she’d borrowed them from her grandmother.
‘That’s so fucking Famous Five.’ Rain lay flat on the sand but couldn’t get comfortable, so she sat up again. ‘Let’s go for a swim,’ she said to Marcus, feeling something stirring inside. She got to her feet, making sure he got an eyeful of her long, tanned legs. She knew Poppy-Pip wouldn’t join them as her nose was stuck between the pages of a history book. ‘Will you teach me how to surf?’ She adjusted her bikini top, hoping the waves would wash everything away.
Marcus dragged his eyes away from her and grabbed his battered board, lugging it down to the shore. Rain wasn’t far behind, but instead of diving straight into the water like Marcus, his chest all puffed out, she took it step by slow, painful step, allowing the chilly breakers to tumble around her ankles, her knees and her thighs before raising her arms high and shrieking that it was too cold. She knew Marcus was watching her every move.
‘Come on!’ he called out. He hauled himself onto the board, paddling out to where the other surfers waited for the perfect wave. Rain didn’t really understand the need to go to all that effort only to be dumped under a load of crashing water and end up with a ton of sand in her hair. But it was a means to an end and, apart from anything, she needed something to text the girls. Something to take her mind off everything.
‘Marcus, will you help me?’ She pouted, hugging her arms around her chest as he paddled extra hard before allowing himself to be carried to her side on the swell. ‘It’s so freaking cold!’ She jumped high to avoid being soaked by a huge wave. Her skin was covered in goose bumps. When she saw him staring at her bikini top again, she forced a laugh through chattering teeth, even though happy was the opposite of how she felt.
‘Climb on behind me,’ he said, clearing his throat when his voice squeaked. He reached his arms around her tiny waist and hauled her up, but another wave came crashing over them, knocking them both off the board sideways. When they emerged, he grabbed on to her again. Rain squealed as he stood behind her trying to get her on again She wasn’t making it easy.
‘One, two, three, jump!’ he called above the noise of the surf, lifting her by the hips as she slid onto the board on her front.
‘It’s so wobbly. I’m going to fall off again!’