He's After Me

Chapter THIRTEEN



Jem and I are lying on my bed, facing each other, alone in the house for once. Mum’s round Karen’s and Livi’s having a sleepover at a friend’s.

I’m watching his mouth. It’s a lovely mouth, full-lipped, clearly shaped. On one side the upper lip curls slightly. I trace the outline with my finger and he bites it gently.

‘Love me?’ he asks.

‘Yes.’

‘How much?’

‘This much.’ I kiss him and he kisses me back.

After a while I say, ‘Do you love me?’

He looks down at me, his face so close to mine I can almost taste his sweet breath. ‘What do you think?’ he says and draws me into his arms.

I don’t care about Dad and Jude.

I don’t care about Zoe or exams or university or anything any more.

I just care about Jem.

An hour or so later, we are fast asleep in each other’s arms when the front doorbell rings.

‘Who’s that?’ I say, rising up on to my elbows.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ says Jem, trying to pull me back down to him but it rings again. Then the letterbox rattles and a voice calls. ‘Hello? Anyone at home?’

‘It’s my dad!’ I sit bolt upright. ‘Keep quiet. He should go away in a minute.’

But then there’s the sound of a key in the lock. I jump out of bed, horrified, scrabbling for my clothes.

‘Oh shit! He’ll go ballistic!’

‘Hello? Anyone there? Anna? Livi? Maggie?’

I thrust my legs into my jeans and chuck Jem his pants off the floor. ‘Quick! Get dressed!’

‘Anna? Is that you?’

‘Be down in a minute, Dad.’

I finish dressing, run my fingers through my hair and hiss, ‘Stay here till I get rid of him!’ before I run downstairs.

He’s in the kitchen, leaning against the worktop, arms folded.

‘What are you doing here?’ I say ungraciously. He looks at me strangely.

‘Thought I’d try and catch you on the hop,’ he says. ‘Looks like I did.’

My hand goes to my hair, smoothing it down. ‘What do you want?’

‘To see you. You’re hard to get hold of nowadays. Where’s Livi?’

‘At a sleepover.’

‘Your mother?’

‘Out. You should’ve called to let us know you were coming.’

He looks put out. ‘I used to live here,’ he reminds me.

‘Used to,’ I echo and busy myself making coffee. He follows me into the lounge where luckily my books are scattered all over the floor, where I’d left them when Jem came round.

‘Revision?’ he asks.

‘Not yet. Still loads of work to do.’

‘You’re not slacking, are you?’

‘No, I’m not slacking.’

‘Only Jude said you were seeing someone.’

‘Did she now?’

‘James, is it?’

Huh? Oh yes, James who’s at Oxford. James who’s just been shagging your daughter and is now hiding upstairs in her bedroom. I’d forgotten all about that little mix-up. I don’t answer, mainly because I don’t know what to say. I can feel him staring at me, dying to hear all about this elusive James.

‘Still got your heart set on Newcastle?’ he says, giving up.

‘No. I’ve decided to go London now.’

‘Why London?’

‘Why not?’

He clicks his tongue, irritated. I’d never have got away with this level of rudeness if he was still living with us. But he’d forfeited any right to my respect when he’d left us to live with The Bitch in a Suit.

Though, it occurs to me, I still need him to pay my fees. And accommodation. And expenses. The whole lot, hopefully. So I add, ‘I just changed my mind, Dad. People do. You should know that.’

He ignores my little barb. ‘But that was the course you always wanted to do. You said it was the only one like it in the country. What do you want to go to London for? You won’t like it there, Anna love, I’m telling you.’

‘How do you know what I like and what I don’t like?’

He looks hurt and I have to steel myself against him.

‘I’m just concerned about you, that’s all. You’ve been so set on Newcastle all along. We drove all the way up to have a look at the place, remember?’

Of course I remember. Vividly. It was the last time we went anywhere together as a family. It all floods back to me, how I felt at the time. Excited, elated, exuberant. I couldn’t wait to get to Newcastle and live the student life.

‘I remember that a week later you told us you were leaving us to live with Jude.’

Now he looks like I’ve slapped him in the face.

Don’t do this to me, Dad. Don’t make me feel guilty.

He sighs heavily. ‘Well, it’s your life. As long as you know what you’re doing.’

‘Do you?’

There’s a cough at the lounge door. Jem is standing there. My heart sinks. What’s he up to? I told him to stay upstairs.

‘Who’s this?’ Dad frowns, first at Jem, then at me.

Jem comes forward. ‘I’m—’

‘James. This is James, Dad.’

Jem raises an eyebrow but rises to the occasion and extends his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

Dad shakes his hand, but the frown remains. ‘James,’ he says. ‘You’re at Oxford, I hear.’

Jem turns to me, puzzled. I give a little nod. ‘That’s right,’ he says.

‘What are you studying?’

‘Medicine. He’s studying Medicine. Aren’t you, James?’

‘Medicine. Yes. I’m studying Medicine.’

I can feel them both appraising each other carefully as we sit down together in the lounge, like a couple of stags, ready to lock horns.

Jem slips on to the sofa beside me, his arm resting possessively on my shoulders, which leaves Dad isolated in the armchair opposite us. Immediately he starts cross-examining Jem about Oxford and Medicine – of which, of course, Jem knows zilch. My heart sinks. He’s so non-committal in his answers, he’s coming across as rude.

I can feel Dad watching us all the time, watching Jem’s hand with its distinctive tattoo stroking my arm, fiddling with my hair, even, at one point, absent-mindedly stroking my breast until, hot with embarrassment, I move to the edge of the seat. As the conversation dwindles, I become more and more tense and when Dad announces that he’s going at last, it’s all I can do not to jump up in relief.

Out in the hall, my father turns to me, his face serious.

‘You do know what you’re doing with him, don’t you?’

‘Of course I do!’

‘Only—’

‘Only what?’ I sound defiant, even to me.

‘He’s older than you and—’

‘A couple of years. You’re twenty years older than Jude, in case you’ve forgotten.’

He nods, contrite. ‘I know. But I’m not sure—’

‘What’s wrong, Dad? Is it the tattoo you don’t like? Or the accent? Or the fact that someone actually wants to be with me?’

‘Don’t be silly. I just care about you, Anna, that’s all. I don’t want you to be hurt.’

‘I’m not a kid any more. And Je— He’s not going to hurt me, Dad. He loves me. And I love him.’

‘I can see that,’ says Dad. ‘That’s the trouble.’

He stares down at me, his eyes full of concern, and suddenly I don’t want to argue with him any more, I just want him to put his arms round me and make it all better like he did when I was a kid. So I wrap my arms around his waist and press my face to his chest and he gives me a hug.

And I try not to cry.

When he’s gone, I go back into the lounge. Jem is sitting with his feet up on the sofa, staring into the fire. I flop down beside him. He’s as tight as a coiled spring.

‘Why did you tell your father my name was James?’ he asks.

‘It was a mistake.’

‘And I’m at Oxford? Studying Medicine. Was that a mistake too?

I groan.

‘Are you ashamed of me?’

‘NO!’

‘Why then?’

‘Because I’m an idiot,’ I wail. ‘Because I say the first thing that comes into my head. Because I was trying to impress his stupid girlfriend, if you must know.’

There’s silence then he snorts derisively. ‘You are an idiot. She doesn’t deserve to be impressed.’

‘I know! I’m sorry! I’m really sorry!’ This is all going so wrong.

He’s silent for a while. Then he says, ‘I don’t think your dad liked me very much.’

I don’t think so either. But at least I manage not to say it out loud.

‘He was surprised to see you, that’s all. What did you come downstairs for? I asked you to stay in the bedroom.’

‘I wanted to see what he was like.’

‘And?’

He shrugs.

Great. My boyfriend and my father hate each other.

‘You should have stayed upstairs,’ I say regretfully. ‘He’s not daft, Jem. He knows we’re sleeping together.’

Jem’s beautiful mouth stretches into a pleased smile.

‘Good,’ he says and pulls me back into his arms.





The empty streets echoed with the rhythm of his pounding feet. He’d learnt how to deal with the rage that burnt within him on that course they’d sent him on last time. Part of the deal. Go on an anger management course and stay out of jail.

It was working. He was able to control his anger now. Most of the time. Keep it on pilot.

Until someone set it off again.