by Angela Mack
The sound of keys rattling in the front door caused me to tense, bracing myself. Big Mike stumbled in, eyes wide, pupils dilated and reeking of booze. He had a whiskey bottle in his hand and was slurping it straight from the bottle. I’d never seen him with whiskey before, he preferred beer, and it struck me that Ollie was right. He was getting worse.
“Where’s mine?” he slurred, slamming the door shut behind him.
“Where’s your what?” I asked, keeping my back to him. I was suddenly very fascinated with spearing the pasta on my fork and bringing it to my mouth.
“Dinner, fuckface. Where’s my dinner?” I shrugged, still not facing him.
“Look at you, you worthless fucks. The three of you playing at happy families. Well, I am the head of this family and I should fucking well have dinner on the table when I get home from work!” His fists clenched by his side, his breathing laboured. I stood up, grabbing mine and Ryan’s bowl and putting them in the sink. Georgie had only eaten about half and judging by the tremors quivering through his body, he wasn’t about to finish it anytime soon. I scraped the leftovers into a discoloured lunch box, leaving it in the fridge for tomorrow. Neither Ryan nor Georgie had moved a muscle.
“Come on, let’s go up to bed,” I gestured to the pair of them, motioning them towards the stairs.
“Don’t fucking ignore me, boy!” Actually, ignoring him was a safer bet. Sometimes not giving him a reaction led to him giving up and leaving me alone. It was like he was doing it on purpose to torment me and it wasn’t any fun if I didn’t fight back. Sometimes his mood was so bad that nothing I did mattered. Nothing would calm him down or diffuse the situation.
I filed in behind Georgie and Ryan as they left the kitchen, being careful to keep between them and Big Mike at all times. As I lifted a foot towards the bottom step of our rickety staircase, I felt a hand grab my hair and yank backwards. I could feel some of the roots being torn from my scalp as I stumbled, clutching my head in my hands as I swivelled to face him. He was smirking at me, provoking me. I scowled at him, pouring every ounce of hatred through my eyes as if I could kill him by sheer willpower. I had never hated another human being so much in my life.
“Josh…?” Georgie called from behind me, voice quiet, unsure.
“Upstairs. Now. Lock the door.” I heard two sets of frantic footsteps climb the stairs and I traced their sounds, all the way to our room, until I heard the three deadbolts slide. They sounded like gunshots in the tense quiet of our kitchen.
“Those shitty little locks won’t stop me and you know it.” He laughed maniacally and I started to wonder if it was only alcohol that was behind his behaviour. Maybe something stronger? Drugs? He looked like a crazed lunatic, his eyes starting to bug out of their sockets.
“Leave. Them. Alone.” I growled, adopting a fighting stance.
“They’re safe. For tonight at least. I prefer someone who can put up a fight,” he grinned. The kitchen light bulb gleamed off of his yellow, chipped teeth, making them appear even more sallow than usual.
“Fuck off. You are never touching them! Not whilst I am here!” My body was convulsing so hard that I didn’t know how I was still standing. The rage was all-consuming, and it took everything I could not to unleash on him. He laughed so hard this time that he had to lean over, hands resting on his knees, whilst he coughed uncontrollably for a solid minute. Good, maybe the fucker had pneumonia, or a lung infection, or something.
“You’re fucking clueless as well as worthless. A fucking moron. No wonder your mother left you here to rot. You’re not worth the fucking hassle!” I would not react. I would not give him the satisfaction. My fight or flight response was confused. I so badly wanted to kick the shit out of him, but my body instantly trembled at the notion, knowing full well that would mean some kind of pain coming my way too. I felt sick with shame; I was pathetic, standing there, doing nothing. Staring up at the fat mammoth in front of me. I also didn’t want to turn my back to him, knowing that was too risky. Especially as he seemed to be boiling for a fight tonight.
After another minute, he forced my hand, growing impatient for me to make a move. He launched the whiskey bottle at my face and I ducked just in time. Ducking bought him a second of advantage, catching me off guard as he barrelled towards me, arms wrapping around my waist. He lifted me high off the ground, slamming my back against the kitchen wall. This was becoming a favourite move of his. He knew I stood a chance if I had my feet on the ground, when I could throw my weight behind every punch, every kick. He kept me pinned to the wall, my feet dangling a few inches above the ground as he brought his hands up, tightening his grip around my neck.
“This’ll teach you to not have my fucking dinner ready, you bastard!” He squeezed tighter and tighter, causing my vision to blur around the edges. Hours of watching self-defence YouTube videos the past few years weren’t for nothing though. I pressed my hands together in a prayer position, lifting them sharply between his arms and slamming my wrists and elbows outwards. His hands left my neck immediately, arms flying wide with the force. He lifted his fists to block a punch and so, despite not quite having enough oxygen in my lungs still, I kicked out at his balls as hard as I could. I yelled in triumph as my foot connected with its target and he crumpled to the floor, rolling around in agony. I don’t know whether it was the alcohol, drugs or something else that was causing him to react so slowly, but I was fucking grateful for it. If I knew what was good for me, I’d run up the stairs and leave the fight there. But I was too damn angry and resentful. I lifted my foot and stamped on his goddamn face. His nose erupted and blood sprayed everywhere. I’d never been so fucking happy to see someone’s bodily fluids expelled from their body. I was definitely going to pay for that later, but whilst he lay passed out on the floor, the blood pooling around his face, I could feel nothing but ecstasy.
I’d won! I’d actually motherfucking won! I was the last one standing. I knew it was a fluke. If he’d been sober, I wouldn’t have stood a chance, but I had a slight skip in my step as I made my way up to Ryan and Georgie.
“Open up, it’s me.” I rapped on the door three times and was immediately rewarded with the door unlocking. Ryan was standing in the doorway, a sharp kitchen knife lowered by his side. We kept two in our room; one under my bed and one under Ryan’s. We’d never had to even brandish one at Big Mike so far. Usually our fights ended with me being unconscious whilst the boys barricaded themselves in our room. Once Big Mike proved himself superior, it was like all the fight left him instantly. A balloon deflating. He didn’t bother with Ryan or Georgie. And on the one or two occasions in the past when, like tonight, I was victorious, he would sleep it off and act as if nothing had happened the next day. Although he seemed to be twice as vindictive the next time we fought, and I have never won two times in a row. Never. But you couldn’t be too sure how he’d react and so we kept the knives here for emergencies. I thanked God every day that we hadn’t had to use them. Yet.
Ryan wrapped his arms around me briefly, smiling proudly up at me. Georgie was in Ryan’s bunk, quilt pulled up to his chin, trembling. I took the knife off of Ryan, re-locked the bedroom door and sat cross-legged on the floor in front of it, facing the doorway. There was a chance Big Mike wouldn't be unconscious for long and would come looking for me. I wanted to be prepared.
Ryan switched off the light before climbing into bed with Georgie. I could hear him whispering reassurances to him as I turned the knife over in my hands. I shouldn’t have broken Big Mike’s nose. He was going to be so pissed in the morning. The adrenaline was wearing off and in its place was pure, unadulterated fear. I was glad that my brothers couldn’t see the tears filling my eyes and the shivers racking my body. Fuck, I was weak. The shame built in my throat, the taste of vomit palpable. I should go downstairs and finish him off, plunge the knife into his chest. I don’t know how long I sat there, visualising ending his life. Occasionally there would be a creak or a random sound, causing me to jolt. Was that him? Had he regain
ed consciousness? Did he want revenge? I felt the sweat rolling down the side of my face and soaking my t-shirt. I had to protect Georgie and Ryan at all costs. I had to.
I sat that way all night, crying softly at how disturbingly pitiful I was. I should sacrifice my freedom and kill the bastard, leaving Ryan and Georgie to live their lives free of pain. Free of suffering. But my limbs were frozen, unmoving. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t do it. Pathetic.
Chapter 19
Isabel
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday dear Isabel, happy birthday to you!” My mum was so cheesy. I was turning eighteen and she was still singing happy birthday to me, making me blow out the candles on the chocolate cake she was holding. Mum, Dad and I had spent the day at the zoo together. I know, I know, not your typical eighteen-year-old birthday party, but I enjoyed spending time with both of them and we hadn’t done it much lately. To be honest, I was feeling guilty about the distance I’d put between us all over the past couple of years. We had been close, especially Mum and I, but I’d isolated myself once Ellie’s bullying had started. I’d chosen to retreat into books rather than go out shopping with Mum, fearful that we’d bump into someone from school and they’d start shouting obscenities at me in front of her. I’d stay locked in my bedroom all day, watching movies and trying to escape into another reality. Now though, I was keen to get our relationship back on track and a day at the zoo, followed by a family dinner cooked by Dad, was exactly what I needed. Dad was a fantastic cook and he’d made my favourite; salmon en croute, dauphinoise potatoes and green beans.
“Here you go sweetie,” Mum beamed at me as she passed a card to me.
“But you already gave me my cards and presents this morning,” I commented as I peered at the card curiously. They'd given me a bunch of new clothes, a lovely pair of earrings and a one-hundred-pound Amazon voucher. They had already spoiled me rotten, as they did every birthday.
“Well this is your main present,” Dad smiled, reaching out to hook his arm around the back of Mum’s shoulders. The pair of them sat across from me at the dining table, smiling so widely that I felt my own face morph into a grin.
I gently tore the envelope, sliding the card out. It was a plain card with a vintage microphone stand on the front; the kind of card you could get in the ‘other’ section of a card shop without a message inside. As I opened it, two tickets fell out.
Nickelback Greatest Hits Tour, Saturday 3rd November
O2 Arena, London
“No way! That’s in two weeks’ time!” I beamed at them and Mum laughed.
“I’m sorry we could only get you two and not three, but considering how many jokes people make about that band, their UK tour sold out bloody quick!”
“And I’m sure Jess or Sophie will understand that you could only take one of them,” Dad smiled encouragingly. Actually, both of them hated my taste in music. Sure, I liked the modern pop hits too, but the likes of Nickelback, Paramore and Blink 182 had stuck with me since going through my grunge phase. I didn’t think either Sophie or Jess would want to go with me, although I knew one of them would reluctantly agree if I begged them enough.
“Actually, I might ask someone else…” I started to voice my idea out loud before properly thinking it through.
“Oh really? Who?” Mum asked. To my embarrassment, I could feel myself blushing and turned away.
“Ah. It’s a boy, right?” Mum smiled knowingly as Dad frowned.
“I didn’t know you were seeing someone?” he questioned, eyebrows drawing together and his tone a little more serious than usual.
“I’m not! We’re er, just friends. But he might enjoy the music more than either Jess or Sophie,” I muttered, my cheeks definitely flaming an even deeper red than before.
“Well, I think it’s a lovely idea. We’d love to meet your friend, wouldn’t we Charlie?” She patted Dad’s chest, leaning towards him whilst trying to smother a laugh.
“Hmmmm,” he replied, not convinced at all.
“Well we’ll see, he might not want to go,” I shrugged.
“Oh, I am sure he will, honey,” she winked at me.
◆◆◆
Why was I sweating so bloody much? It was frickin' October, the frigid wind was lifting my hair and throwing it all over my face, and yet I was yanking my jacket off and throwing it over my arm. My palms were damp for Christ's sake. Thank God I had a thin knitted, loose jumper over my t-shirt 'cos no doubt my sweat patches were out of control right now.
To make matters worse, I'd missed my bus and had to wait for the next one, so now I was doing a weird walk-shuffle-run to try and get to school as close to 9 a.m. as possible. All because I'd been up most of the night, tossing and turning and fretting. Every time I had thought about today, I'd been hit with a wave of nausea. It was a bad idea. He wouldn't want to go. What if he said no? Why did I even care? I should ask Jess. She'd go.
By the time I saw the school gates in the distance, I was out of breath and my face was on fire.
"Izzy! Hey Izzy!" No, no, no. Please, no. I jolted to a stop, glancing over my shoulder. Oh, for fuck sake.
"Hey. You're running late today as well it seems," Josh smiled as he slowed his jog to walk beside me. I garbled something unintelligible and glared a hole into my shoes, praying he wouldn't notice my shiny complexion.
"Hey, you OK?" Josh tugged on my shoulder, turning me to face him and grinding us to a halt by the school's entrance.
"It was my birthday at the weekend!" I blurted out. What the hell did I say that for?
"Oh." He dropped his hand from my shoulder and took a step back. "I didn't know." There were a few seconds of awkward silence and if by some miracle my face hadn't resembled a beetroot before, it definitely did now.
"Are you mad?" He looked off behind me, not meeting my eyes.
"Mad?" I repeated, confused.
"'Cos I didn't get you anything for your birthday?" Again, he wouldn't meet my eyes.
"NO! No. God no…"
"You just seemed off, so I thought…" Great. How was I going to dig myself out of this hole?
"No. Sorry. I'm not mad." Pull yourself together, Isabel. I took a deep breath.
"It was my birthday and my mum and dad got me tickets. To a concert."
"Okaaaay." Josh cocked his eyebrow and tilted his head.
"I don't know if you've heard of them or even like them, or would want to go with me anyway…" Josh was staring at me like I was crazy, confused by my babbling. Was I really going to do this?
"Do you want to go?" I gushed. He didn't respond straight away.
"Go? Go where?"
"To the concert. With me. Saturday the 2nd of November. Nickelback." Jeez, I was such a bumbling idiot.
"You want me to go to a concert with you?" He sounded incredulous, as if it was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard, and my heart sank.
"Forget I said anything…" I muttered, turning away and slowly putting one foot in front of the other.
"No, wait! I…" I flicked my eyes up at him as he ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't really listen to music." Well, that was the lamest excuse I'd ever heard of. I huffed, picking up my pace.
"No, Izzy! Wait!" Josh hurled himself in front of me and I almost crashed straight into his chest. "I want to. Yes. Yes, I want to go."
"Really? You really want to go with me?" I tried to stop my heart from doing a little dance, cautious that he'd change his mind. "But I thought you said you didn't listen to music." I crossed my arms.
"I don't. I probably won't have ever heard of whoever is playing. But I'd like to go with you anyway."
"Are you sure? You weren't just trying to find a lame excuse to not go with me?" Josh looked like I'd slapped him and I instantly felt bad for doubting him.
"No. I had genuinely meant it." He ground out, jaw tight. "I don't get to listen to music because we don't have a car, so no radio. We don't have a working TV, just one hooked up to a DVD player, so no music
channels. I don't have a smartphone…" he angrily grabbed a tiny black, ancient phone model out of his pocket and waved it in my face. "...so no Spotify or iTunes or shit like that. So, when I said I didn't listen to music, I was basically saying that my family's so piss poor that I had no way of listening to music!' He shouted the last word at me, brushing past me.
"Josh, wait! Don't go!" Now I was chasing after him and I felt like the world's biggest bitch.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I've just been really nervous about asking you and I barely slept, then I missed my bus and I'm grumpy when I'm tired and I didn't think you'd say yes," I rushed at him, praying he'd forgive me.
"You were nervous? Why?" He frowned at me.
“Well er, we haven’t hung out outside of school and I didn’t know if rock music would be your thing…”
“Hang on. Rock music? Who did you say we were going to see?”
“Nickelback. They’re a rock band. Well, more like pop-rock.”
“So, we’re going to see a band? Like, a gig? Not some chavvy boy band or rapper or something?”
“Are you trying to say you think I’m chavvy and are surprised by my taste in music?” I teased, raising my eyebrows.
“Well...yeah I suppose so,” he laughed, and I playfully slapped him on the arm.
“I went through a grunge phase and the music has kinda stuck with me.”
“Well, now I’m actually pretty excited to be going.” And he did look genuinely happy. As we headed to class, my brain was going into overdrive. Oh my God, I can’t believe Josh Bugg agreed to go on a date with me.
Chapter 20
Joshua
Shit, Izzy was going to be so pissed at me. Or worse, she’d cry. I really, really wanted to go with her on Saturday. I was still in shock she’d asked me in the first place. I was even more surprised that she still wanted me to go after I blew up on her about the whole ‘I’m too poor to listen to music’ thing. Urgh. It made me cringe just thinking about it. I must have sounded like a right prat.
