‘Why are you here again?’ Banks asks me, taking the bottle back and squinting at how much I’ve swallowed. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve nothing better to do than sit with a piss-head like me.’
I think. Somewhere up above our heads, normal girls are walking in clean jackets and jeans, with the scent of gum on their breath, or they’re in class writing stories or drawing maps of the world, while I’m here doing nothing at all.
‘If you don’t want me here, I can go.’
‘Not what I said. Jus’ sorting you out.’
I laugh at the idea that he could sort anyone out. He’s definitely drunk now. Not falling-over drunk, but the sort of drunk that means he’s topped his permanent level up just a tad too high. His eyes keep closing in a lazy-summer-afternoon sort of way, except it’s more of a keep-jiggling-the-muscles-to-keep-from-freezing sort of day.
‘So, Mr Psychiatrist. Analyse me,’ I say, looking at his fingers drift through the knotty curls of his hair. ‘I’ll pay you in sausage rolls.’
Banks smiles for a long time. Sometimes his face tends to get left behind and keeps an expression long after it’s had its time. I wonder what he’s staring at. I look out into the tatty bushes and wait.
‘Didn’t say I was a shrink,’ he says. ‘But all right. All these things you do – has anyone ever noticed?’
‘What does that mean?’
‘I mean,’ he says, waking up a bit and looking at me sideways, ‘is it working?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Yeah you do. You want someone to notice you, so you throw sand about like someone in a hole. You just keep throwing it at them till they’re covered in it an’ have to notice you.’
I stare at him. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ I say, but he just carries on looking at me with one eyebrow raised, waiting for something.
‘I mean, Miss Coo,’ he goes on, in a terrible mock German accent, ‘zat you are just vanting ze attention, no?’
‘Why does everyone think psychiatrists are German?’ I laugh, but the lump rises in my throat and my stomach turns over.
‘Thing is,’ he goes on, ‘your parents. They didn’t do anything wrong. Jus’ too busy dealing with stuff.’
‘It was always about Sam,’ I say, and now it seems pathetic. ‘Whatever he did, whatever he did to me, it was always about him.’
Banks sighs. ‘Course it was,’ he says. ‘Wasn’t it for you too? He was like a bomb I bet. You were just in the way.’
I stare at him. It’s not what I want to hear. ‘That’s not fair, though,’ I insist. ‘Not right. It was like I’d disappeared.’
Banks sighs and shakes his head at me. ‘Flaming hell,’ he says, ‘nothing but blood will do, will it? You’re gonna have your pound of flesh.’
‘I don’t know what you mean. Don’t make me feel like I’m stupid.’
He turns away, leaning back on the bench, tipping the stuff down his throat and holding the bottle out to me again.
‘You think you know everything,’ I spit, ‘and look at you!’
He smiles again. ‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘look at me. Learn something.’
I take the bottle and drink some more. I have no idea what it is, but it makes me feel good. Maybe this feeling is why Sam did it, but he didn’t know when to stop. I’ll never end up like him. I’m stronger than that. It’s just when I’m with Banks. Just for now.
After a bit I don’t care about school or the row this morning. I find myself leaning against Banks. His hand is in my hair and his head droops onto his chest like he’s asleep. Outside, the rain starts up in a fierce hiss, and a burst of fresh air blows into the alcove. I shut my eyes. This is nicer than my own bed at home. It’s beautiful in fact. It’s lovely…
When I get in, it’s dark. Mum is setting out a cottage pie on the table and comes to the kitchen door with it cradled in her oven gloves.
‘There you are. I was worried.’
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say ‘Oh, really?’ but it doesn’t come out. I just stand there looking at her. What did I expect her to do? Call the coastguard?
In my head, Banks winks at me and I know that yeah, actually I did. Maybe then I’d have forgiven her.