32

We’re a few houses away when Ethan lets out a hoot of delight.

‘Oh, mate,’ he says, clasping Jamie’s shoulders from behind. ‘You have excelled yourself. This is perfect.’

‘Now, that’s what I’m talking about!’ Ryan adds.

‘Oh my God, talk about leaving the best until last!’ Cassie chimes in. ‘It looks like a freakin’ haunted house!’

She and Sienna start jumping up and down like a pair of sugared-up toddlers while the boys slap Jamie on the back and start unloading the last of their supplies on to the pavement.

Jamie turns to face me. ‘Amazing! It looks even worse than I remember,’ he says, his eyes shining. He frowns. ‘You OK?’ he asks.

I nod wordlessly, hot with shame and panic as the others continue to crow over the state of the house. I’ve always known it looks bad, but forced to look at it afresh, through their eyes, I’m horrified by just how accustomed I’ve grown to its appearance over the years. Cassie was right – it looks exactly like a haunted house.

And I have to live there.

The unfairness of it all cuts like a knife.

I never asked to live like this.

This is all Bonnie’s fault.

Just like everything is Bonnie’s fault.

And as usual, there is nothing I can do about it.

A wave of anger surges through my body.

Jamie places an egg in my shaking hand.

‘You wanna do the honours?’ he asks. ‘After all, I wouldn’t have known about this place if it wasn’t for you.’

I look down at the egg in my trembling palm, then back at the house.

Even though I know Bonnie is out with a friend tonight, I can’t help but picture her inside, merrily ‘sorting’ through her never-ending piles of rubbish, totally oblivious to the scene unfolding outside. Just like she’s totally oblivious to anything that affects me. Just like she was totally oblivious yesterday in London. Just like she was totally oblivious when she gave me scabies. Just like she’s totally oblivious every time she hands over her credit card or refuses to part with a receipt or leaves her dirty clothes on the bathroom floor for me to take care of.

Another wave of anger. Bigger and stronger this time.

I throw the egg.

It hits the living-room window with a loud crack, the yolk exploding against the dingy glass.

Jamie lets out a cheer. Within seconds, the air is full of flying eggs and cascading flour. A toilet roll unfurls in a perfect arc. Max and Andrew grab another couple and attack the bushes and climbing ivy. Eggs splatter against the windows and walls. The close range makes them sound like bullets. Bang, bang, bang.

I tear about the garden, furious tears running down my face as I hurl anything I can get my hands on. I put my full force behind every throw, crying out with effort. The noises I’m making don’t sound like they belong to me. They come from somewhere deep within, somewhere I’m not sure I’ve ever truly accessed before.

It takes several seconds to realize the others have stopped shouting. Another two or three to realize why.

Bonnie is standing at the corner of the house wearing a pink satin dressing gown and matching slippers, her face shiny with face oil, a mop in her hands. She holds it like a spear, the mop head facing outwards.

But she’s not meant to be here. She’s supposed to be out. She said she was going out.

‘I said, get off my property!’ Bonnie is yelling, jabbing the air with her mop.

She advances towards us.

‘Are you deaf?’ she shouts. ‘Go away! The lot of you!’

She scans the group, the fury on her face melting into confusion when she gets to me.

‘Ro?’ Bonnie says, lowering the mop.

That’s when I realize I’m not wearing my mask any more.

I’m dimly aware of the others pooling together on my left, their frantic whispers full of scandal, indistinct and overlapping.

My body swells with anger and panic and fear all mushed up together.

Bonnie needs to shut up.

Now.

‘Go back inside,’ I say in a low voice.

Every nerve ending is fizzing, electrified.

‘I will not go back inside,’ Bonnie cries. ‘What the hell is going on?’

I can’t even begin to answer her.

‘Ro, I asked you a question!’

‘Please, Bonnie,’ I whisper.

I’m desperate now, my eyes begging Bonnie to do as I’ve asked.

But Bonnie stays where she is.

Ruining everything.

Like she always does.

‘Oh my God, just go inside!’ I explode.

Bonnie’s eyes widen in shock.

‘Now!’ I scream.

Bonnie flinches before dropping the mop with a clatter and slipping into the shadows.

The group has fallen silent behind me.

‘Who was that?’ Sienna asks. ‘Jesus, she wasn’t your mum, was she?’

I don’t answer.

‘Oh my God, is this your house?’ Sienna cries.

I slowly turn to face them all. They’ve removed their masks, their faces contorted with a cocktail of confusion and shock and delighted disgust.

‘It is, isn’t it?’ Sienna continues, the sides of her mouth sagging with revulsion. ‘You live here.’

I don’t say anything.

‘Oh my God!’ she gasps, bouncing up and down on her toes. ‘You just tricked your own house!’

There’s an uncomfortable ripple of laughter.

Jamie doesn’t join in. He just stares at me, utter bewilderment etched on his blandly good-looking face.

‘Is Senn right?’ he asks. ‘Is this where you live, Ro?’

I feel dizzy. I want to scream, cry, throw up, run away, sink to the ground. Anything but answer his question.

‘Of course it is!’ Sienna cackles, answering for me. ‘Just look at her face!’

Cassie tugs on Sienna’s sleeve. ‘Shut up now, Senn,’ she says quietly.

I’m shaking.

‘Go away,’ I say, my voice shuddering to match, my breathing raggedy and uneven.

No one moves.

‘I said, go away,’ I scream, making the group flinch in unison. ‘Now!’

By silent mutual agreement, they move away slowly, like motorists rubbernecking as they pass a car wreck. Some of them look away, mortified on my behalf. The rest stare at me, still in shock, apart from Sienna, who just looks disgusted, her lips curled into a sneer. Cassie’s face is a little harder to read. As she meets my gaze, her eyes soften and she bites down hard on her lip. I look away. If it’s sympathy Cassie is offering, I don’t want it.

Jamie is the only one not to move. He blinks rapidly as he looks from me to the house and back again, like it’s a riddle he needs to solve.

He takes a step towards me.

‘You too, Jamie!’ I shout, stopping him in his tracks.

He hesitates.

‘I mean it! I want you to go away and never ever come back.’

He swallows hard before turning and jogging after the others.

I stay where I am, rooted to the spot, my head spinning. For a few seconds I can’t move, can’t think, can’t do anything but stay upright.

I force myself to turn back towards the house. A light is shining at number 46.

The master bedroom.

There’s a figure at the window. Watching me.

And then just like that, it’s gone.

That’s when I throw up.

My puke stinks of cider and whatever was in that bottle. Doubled over, I watch as it seeps between the paving slabs.

Coughing, I wipe my face on my sleeve, my eyes stinging with tears, my body throbbing with the shame and fear and shock of it all.

I’ve dedicated years to keeping my life with Bonnie a secret, and in less than ten minutes all that hard work and effort has become worthless. Because there’s no way Sienna and co are going to keep this to themselves. By the end of the party, the whole of Year Ten will know the truth about me. And it won’t stop there. It only takes one of them telling a well-meaning parent and …

I throw up again.

It’s yellow and watery, its stench made worse by the accompanying whiff of eggs.

I try to straighten up but I can’t, crouching on the ground instead. My throat is on fire and my breathing is all over the place. I think I’m having a panic attack. I try to calm down, but I can’t. I’m such a mess I can’t even count to ten.

Water. I need water.

I make it to the outside tap next to the back door. I turn it on and stick my head under the current. The water is icy cold and stings my lips and cheeks.

Once the taste of puke has gone, I struggle back to my feet, fumbling in my pocket for my keys.

I have my fingers on them when the door swings open to reveal Bonnie standing with her hands on her hips. She’s wearing a fresh dressing gown. The one she was wearing, its hem soiled with egg, lies on the floor behind her in a silken puddle.

For me to take care of.

Because that’s what happens in this house.

Bonnie makes a mess and I either clean it up or learn to tolerate it.

And tomorrow it will be me who deals with the mess outside, me who scrubs at the eggs and flour on the front door, me who wobbles atop a stepladder cleaning the windows and dragging lengths of toilet roll from the roof and bushes. Me.

Always me.

‘What the hell was that?’ Bonnie asks as I attempt to squeeze past her.

What? She’s mad at me?

I whirl round to face her.

‘I asked you a question,’ she says. ‘What the hell was that, Ro?’

She looks furious. How dare she look furious?

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I ignore it.

‘Did you bring those people here on purpose?’ she asks. ‘What on earth is wrong with you, Ro?’

‘What’s wrong with me?’ I splutter. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘Me?’ she cries, stabbing her chest with her index finger. ‘I’m the victim here!’

Victim? Her? Don’t make me laugh.

‘You don’t get it, do you?’ I say, hot tears springing from my eyes. ‘This is your fault!’

‘My fault?’ she cries. ‘Our home being trashed is my fault now?’

‘Yes! Our house is a joke, Bonnie, a disgusting, filthy joke. No wonder people want to throw stuff at it. It deserves it! You deserve it!’

Her mouth opens and closes like a goldfish.

‘Do you have any idea how tiring it is?’ I ask. ‘Keeping this place vaguely liveable? Keeping it a secret? Protecting you?’

‘I don’t ask you to do it,’ Bonnie cries, her face bright red. ‘I don’t ask you to do anything.’

I let out an angry howl of frustration. ‘So, I’m supposed to sit back and leave you to it, am I? Bonnie, if it wasn’t for me, this place probably wouldn’t even be standing! If it wasn’t for me, you’d probably be dead by now, buried under all your useless crap!’

‘I’m not having this,’ Bonnie says. ‘Despite what you think, I’m the parent here, Ro, not you.’

‘Then start acting like one!’ I roar.

‘I’m doing my best!’ she shrieks back.

I look around the place – at the stacks of dirty dishes in the sink, the overflowing bin, the piles of crap covering the tables and chairs and floor.

‘This is your best?’ I say. ‘Seriously, Bonnie? This is the best you can do?’

Her mouth trembles and for a split second I think she might cry. She catches herself just in time, rolling back her shoulders and jutting out her chin in defiance.

‘I won’t be spoken to like this,’ she says in a tremulous low voice. ‘Not in my own house.’

‘It’s my house too.’

‘Well, I’m the one who pays for it.’

I snort. ‘Barely, Bonnie.’

She slams her hand down on a pile of newspapers. ‘That’s it, I’ve had enough of this.’

‘You’ve had enough? Well, now you know how I feel every second I’m stuck under this roof with you.’

We stare at each other, our chests heaving, eyes on fire.

She doesn’t get it. She’s never going to get it.

I leave the room, stamping over her abandoned dressing gown.

As I thunder up the stairs, I disturb the piles of paper on both sides of me. They teeter for a few seconds before slipping down the stairs, the worn carpet easing their journey – an avalanche of paper.

I let it fall.