I’m praying for Arron’s mum, but Nathan’s eyes are glaring into the dark and he’s trying to slam the door shut. But I’ve got my shoulder in and after a few silent seconds he recognises me, and in that moment of surprise I push into the hallway and collapse onto the floor.
Nathan’s cussing his head off in a furious whisper. ‘Christ . . . fu’ing Jesus Christ man, what the fu’ you doin’ here? Tryin’ to get yoursel’ killed? Are you mental or what?’
He’s shaking and sweating and he’s got a weird look on his face – if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was scared. He’s crouched over me, and little bits of spit shower my face.
I force out the words, ‘I need your help. Nathan. Please.’
‘Shut up,’ he says, ‘Keep quiet. In here.’ And he pulls me up and drags me into their lounge, where I trip over a naked Barbie and step onto her pink car, crash into the coffee table and sprawl on to the sofa.
Nathan kicks the Barbie across the room. It’s usually as clean and tidy in here as the hospital where their mum works, and I must have looked a bit surprised because he growls, ‘Mum’s away. She’s taken Jasmine to visit Arron at the Young Offender Institution. It’s best if they stay overnight.’
Jasmine is their littlest sister. She’s only five. I get a sudden picture of her sucking her thumb, hair tied up with a pink bobble, smiling, all confused in a room full of sobbing mums and silent boys.
‘Oh,’ I say. I’d hoped Arron’s mum would be there, to sort out my face and stop Nathan killing me. Now anything could happen.
The sofa feels really lumpy, and I reach underneath the cushions and pull out Mermaid Barbie. Once upon a time, Arron’s little sisters were always nagging me to play with them and when I was feeling kind, I would . . . if the football we were watching was boring or something. No wonder Arron used to laugh and call me a girl.
I turn the doll over and over in my hands, hating her silly smile and false boobs. That’s the problem with people who’ve known you a long time. They remember how soft you were before you learned to be cool. That’s why I liked being Joe. He was never stupid. He was never young. He certainly never played with Barbies.
Nathan’s staring at me. ‘Come here,’ he says. I shrink away and he grabs me by the shoulder and drags me over to the sink – their kitchen and lounge are all one room. He’s taller than me – only just, though – and he’s got huge muscles. There’s no point even trying to fight.
He turns on the cold tap. Shit. He’s going to fill up the sink and drown me . . . or torture me . . . and then there’s the cooker, he could burn me . . . or just chuck me over the edge of the balcony. . .
But then he wrings out a tea towel in the water and says, ‘Clean yourself up, man, you look like crap.’ He starts rooting around in a cupboard until he finds a first aid box, and he fishes out some antiseptic cream and a plaster.
I dab at my face, but it stings too much, and I stumble back to the sofa, holding the wet cloth carefully over my eye. Nathan gets a can of coke out of the fridge and hands it to me. He sits down in the armchair. All we need is Arron, and the telly on for Football Focus, and it’d be just like old times. I take a little sip of the coke, and it’s good to wash away the taste of death in my mouth.
And then he says, ‘So, li’l Ty, you done some growing up, boy.’
‘You’ve got yoursel’ a kinda interesting look there.’ ‘Umm. Yeah.’
‘How’s your mum?’ He scratches his head and looks at the ceiling when he says this, but I’m used to everyone’s big brothers and dads . . . anyone male really, teachers, shopkeepers, whatever . . . fancying my mum.
‘She’s OK. Pregnant.’
‘Pregnant? Jesus. Who’s the lucky guy?’
‘Her boyfriend. He’s dead.’
‘Shit. Bummer. That’s bad.’ He’s staring at the ceiling again.
‘How’s Arron?’ I ask nervously.
‘He’s OK,’ he says. ‘He’s OK. Considering. Hoping the trial will be soon. They tell you anything, the cops?’
‘No.’
He’s looking at me straight on now, eyes narrowed to slits. ‘I told you to keep your mouth shut. You shoulda listened, eh?’
I take a gulp of coke.
‘Yes . . . no . . . but the police would’ve found me anyway. They knew I was Arron’s friend, and loads of people saw me when I stopped the bus.’
‘You never realised you needed to keep your mouth shut about Jukes? You never knew who his old man is? Arron never told you?’
‘No.’ I look back at stupid, innocent, ignorant Ty and I’m not surprised at the sneer I see on Nathan’s face. He’s shaking his head. ‘My gran said I should just tell the truth. For the family of that boy.’
‘Oh yeah. Dat boy. Dat innocent boy.’
‘Yeah.’ We don’t seem to be getting very far. ‘Nathan . . . you gotta help me, man. These people who want to kill me, you know them, don’t you? You could ask them . . . ask them not to. . . I can’t live like this, Nathan, you gotta help me, man, I can’t do it no more . . . I’ll do anything.’
It’s like he hasn’t heard me. He’s staring at the ceiling again. I hear myself babbling like a scared little baby and then he says, ‘How’s your gran, Ty? Is she OK?’
‘Umm . . . she’s . . . she’s . . . what do you know about my gran?’
He’s chewing his thumbnail now and I swear I’ve never seen Nathan look so . . . so . . . nervous? Christ. I get it. So guilty. That’s how he looks.
‘What do you know about my gran?’ I ask again, but this time it comes out slow and angry, and when he shrugs and looks at me, I know. He was involved in beating up my gran. Nearly killing her. Putting her in intensive care. Turning her into someone who’s scared all the time.
I lunge at him, punch my arm across his neck to knock the air out, then slice the mermaid’s sharp tail hard at his eyes.
He swipes me away, yelling out loud – with pain, I hope – and I crash to the ground and next he’s got me spreadeagled on the floor and I’m biting his hand and reaching for his throat and we crash into the telly and it totters over, smashing onto the floor with a bang like a bomb going off.
We’re locked together, panting fury into each other’s faces, sweat and spit, blood and tears. He rolls me over and wrenches my arm up at an impossible angle, pinning my hand to my shoulder blade so I have to bite my tongue to stop myself screaming.
‘Is this what you did to her?’ I gasp. ‘Is this what you did?’
And then there’s something soft, something pink blocking out the light. Cold little hands touch my face and a voice squeaks, ‘Stop! Nathan! Stop. It’s OK! It’s Ty!’