by Louisa Reid
follows me
wherever i go.
why would you care?
“i don’t,” she says, and turns away,
turns again, to face me –
“but aidan, right, you know,
he’s not coming back.”
and a small sort of smile
appears on her face.
“that’s good right, lil?”
BERNADETTE (20)
Sweat.
Heat.
Swelling ankles
Fingers,
Rubbing thighs,
So much of me to disguise –
Breathless,
I cannot begin to summarize
The effort
Needed
To begin.
But –
I can,
I will –
I am.
When Lil goes to school
I take myself
To the local pool.
And there in the water
I float,
And swim.
EVEN IF YOU WIN, IT HURTS
i walk over to rosie’s.
buy flowers from the garage, on the way,
a cheap bunch
cheap gesture,
scarlet petals scatter
and curl,
wilting in the heat
of my hand.
i throw them away.
she opens the door.
i step almost inside.
we face each other,
there
on the step,
deciding.
sorry, i say.
because someone has to speak.
“no,” she shakes her head,
“i think i knew it would go that way,
you got good, lil,
better than me.”
she swallows.
“well done.”
so, you’re okay?
“yeah, i’m fine. you know, GCSEs, all that stuff,
just busy.”
i get the message.
i’m not stupid
and used to this.
but, it hurts –
and pains holds
my heart in its clenched fist.
“lil,” she calls after me,
once i’ve turned to go,
“look, you need to know,
that i’m not perfect.
no one is.”
DON’T LET ANYBODY GET YOU DOWN
i miss the gym,
it’s a funny feeling
but i’ve been itching to move.
sitting long hours
through exams that reach into forever
has made me stiff
and sore.
so,
i pack my bag
and open the door,
pull in a huge breath
just in case
rosie’s there.
people call hello,
and jane comes over
to put her arm around me
and tell me she’s glad
i’m back.
being missed feels good.
i work out at the bag,
and push myself
until i can only hear
my fists and heart
pummelling:
release.
it’s only when i realize
that someone is standing near,
behind me, waiting, patient and still,
bronze and gold, her reflection
shimmering,
it’s only when i realize who it is,
that i stop.
and turn around.
“lil,” she says.
rosie shrugs –
the girls behind her
nod.
“good to see you, so,
listen, I mean,
come on, let’s get out of here, let’s go.”
HOME
“Summer’s nearly here,”
Mum says.
I stop, stare,
Realize –
She’s in the garden,
Hanging washing on the line.
Another ordinary, extraordinary thing.
“Look at that sky,”
Mum says,
And she’s right,
It’s beautiful out here.
A butter sun slides off our skin
My legs and arms
Are warm, pinking in the heat.
“I thought maybe you and me,
Could take a walk,
Round about,
Like when you were small,
Remember?
Our treasure hunts?”
She smiles, and waits for me to answer.
Okay.
And I have a glimpse
Of long-lost different days.
It’s been ten years, I think,
Since
We’ve done this.
My steps match hers
We’re slow,
But I don’t care,
She talks as we walk,
Says she’s got something to say,
And I hold my breath –
“Don’t, Lil,
Don’t frown,
It’s good news,
All right?”
I breathe.
“Me and your dad,”
I suck my breath tight again,
She squeezes my hand,
“We talked,
He’s right, I think,
There’s lots of ways
To change your life—”
What? You mean, that operation?
I can barely speak,
You’re not doing it after all?
“No, look, Lil,
I’m not sure, maybe
I will, I’m thinking –
It’s hard, I need
The help you know.
Sometimes
You can’t change
Everything on your
Own.”
It’s true.
I get it, and want to say,
That I’ll help her, if she likes,
To find another way,
But I bite my tongue and listen
For a change.
“So,
I applied for a job,
Nothing much,
But I got it!
Can you believe that?”
I STARE at her, mouth open.
You what?
“Childminder,”
she says, cheeks pinking with pride,
“Taking care of a baby,
just the one.
The family are nice
They live round the
corner,
The money will help –
And I can still do my
sewing
In the evening
If I’ve any energy left.”
She laughs.
I look at my mother
For what feels like the first time,
And I see her –
Underneath
All the pain she’s been wearing,
Underneath
All the fear –
She’s been there the whole time.
And I think
Of how
There’s beauty
Everywhere.
I should have seen
Hers before.
PART FOUR
ROUND TWO
September again,
And Mum’s right.
There can be
A start as fresh
As a clean sheet on my bed,
As a sun-framed morning,
And the bright green,
Of trees that still grow here
Despite the traffic and the noise
And the cracks
In the road
Out of which peeps
The stub of a flower
Bright and
Gold.
I make my way
Through wide open doors,
Into the noise
And chaos of another world.
But everyone else is new, too,
And so,
I square my shoulders
Standing tall,
And ready,
I smile
At strangers
And say, hello.
There’s a flurry of footsteps
Rushing close behind,
Chasing to catch me –
And I turn as
Rosie steps up, breathless, and laughing
To walk there, at my side.
The bell rings
And it’s time –
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The hugest of thank yous to Bella Pearson, editor and publisher extraordinaire; thank you so much, Bella, for believing in this book and getting it out into the world. It is a privilege to be a Guppy author.
Many thanks to my agent Hilary Delamere at The Agency whose expertise and guidance have been a godsend. Thanks to Jessica Hare, too, for her support. Huge thanks to Ness Wood, Hannah Featherstone, Catherine Alport, Sam Webster and all at Team Guppy for their hard work and wonderfulness.
To my family (but especially my mum and Emily and Margy), and to Juliette – the best, best friend anyone could have – thanks for everything you all do to help me.
Thanks to the north-west SCBWI crit group for their invaluable encouragement, camaraderie and notes. Thanks to Sarah M-J who always boosts my confidence; Milene for creating my website and being such a staunch supporter; Alexia Casale for reading an early draft and generously giving brilliant advice and friendship, and lovely Amanda Jennings for being a fantastic help when I needed it. Thanks also to Teri Terry for your continued support and kindness.
A massive thank you to Lisa Williamson for the blurb.
To my esteemed colleagues at Loreto Grammar, Altrincham (especially the English department, unparalleled in laughter), and to Jane Beever for being so kind: you are a marvellous bunch. A shout out to the fantastic girls I’m lucky to teach.
Thank you to all the readers, bloggers and librarians who make writing YA so rewarding and who have supported my writing so far.
Thank you to my dad, David Barry – who loved poetry, but who knows what he would have said about this . . .
And thank you to Alistair, Eve and Scarlett – you’re amazing.
