Skin Deep (20 page)

 ‘He was good to you. And he put up with loads from you. He loved you.’

She opened her arms. ‘Do you see him here? I don’t. He was no different from the rest. A lying bastard who ran out when he got what he wanted.’

‘You drove him away!’

‘I loved him, you stupid little shit!’

I felt like the bottom of the boat had opened beneath my feet and I was falling through it. Drowning in the water beneath. Never . . . she’d never said that before . . . never come close to admitting it . . . I’d never known . . .

She shoved me again, knocking me backwards. ‘And he’s not coming back so you’d better get over it. He doesn’t love me. And he doesn’t love you. All lies. All bloody lies. Did you hear me? He didn’t love you. You’re nothing to him. He was only nice to you to keep me sweet. So yeah, Ryan, I use them! I use them before they use me. Now get out!’ She shoved me again towards the door. ‘Get out! Get out! I can’t stand to look at you!’ She picked up the work table and hurled it down by my feet. The leg snapped off and caught me on the kneecap. ‘Get
out
, you hateful –’

I ran. I couldn’t stand to hear any more. She wouldn’t stop, not in this mood. And what she’d said about Cole . . . had she told him she loved him, and he’d still left? I ran so fast down the towpath, stumbling in the dark, then down the lanes, that I made myself sick. I fell into the verge unable to run any further and vomited bile until I could breathe again.

Not going home. Not back to that. I can’t
.

I lay there with my face pressed to the wet grass, thinking of the day Cole left. That final row before he went, the bad one.

‘Why do you stay?’ I’d asked him when Mum was out of earshot.

‘You really want to know? She’s good in bed, that’s why.’ I looked away. ‘Sorry, kiddo. Shouldn’t have said that to you. It’s just, well, Karen’s sometimes hard to be with.’

I nodded and stared out of the window. He’d be moving on before long. I knew the signs.

Oh well, he’d lasted longer than the rest.

I still cried the day he walked out though, face in the pillow so Mum wouldn’t see if she came in.

I felt in my pocket. My wallet was there and I had enough money to get hammered and that’s what I wanted to do. Anything to get her words and her face out of my head.

I walked into the centre of the village. The shop was still open and I went in and picked up a bottle of vodka. The woman at the till looked me over. ‘How old are you?’

‘Nineteen.’ I slammed the bottle on the counter almost hard enough to break it.

She let me pay. She was scared being alone in the shop with me and locked the door as soon as I left. I didn’t care.

I started to walk back down the lane, but I’d only gone a few steps when someone tackled me from behind. I went crashing into the verge. As I rolled to fight back, I saw a flash of pale face – Steven Carlisle. Great. Just what I needed. He drove his fist into my face and I felt a ring tear into my cheek. I blocked his next blow and twisted under him to get away. As I scrambled up, he got to his feet too and came at me, swinging. I charged him and took him down. We fell back over a low hedge and landed in a front garden. Inside the house, a dog barked.

We wrestled, grabbing at each other’s arms, no words, just silent rage. Hate.

He tried to get a hand on my throat and I brought my knee up sharp between his legs. He let out a strangled yell and fell back.

Behind us, a door opened and the light washed into the front garden. A woman screamed.

‘Stop that, stop that now or I’ll call the police!’ And then calling back into the house, ‘George, come quickly!’

Carlisle staggered up and ran, half doubled over, back the way he’d come. No, he wouldn’t stick around to be picked up by the police. I had no desire to be dragged off to the station by them either . . . or taken home. I leapt up and hurdled the hedge before George, whoever he was, got there. I saw the glint of my vodka bottle on the grass opposite and picked it up as I legged it the opposite way down the lane.

When I was clear, I stopped and took a long swig before I walked on.

There was only one place I could think of to go and I headed there, drinking the vodka down fast.

I was watching TV when I heard the car on the drive.
Dad slammed the front door and marched into the kitchen. Mum cast me a worried glance and went after him. The fridge door opened with a creak. Ice chinked in a glass, followed by the slosh, slosh of liquid being poured to angry, hissed voices.

I caught the odd word.

‘Bloody Carlisle kid,’ and ‘more damage,’ and ‘lying swine’.

I turned the TV up to drown them out. When would Dad learn? His stupid action group only brought more grief.

After a while, they came in and sat down. I waited just long enough for it not to seem I was leaving because of them and then I made my exit. Dad could rant in peace with me gone.

I went into the kitchen and let Raggs out of the back door. ‘Go be clean, boy.’ I checked my phone again, but Ryan still hadn’t texted me. Then I rooted in the larder to see if we had any hot chocolate. Raggs still hadn’t come back when I’d finished drinking it so I put down the magazine I was flicking through and went to call him.

‘Raggs! Come on! Bedtime!’

No response. No bark or pattering of paws coming back up the grass. I took the torch off the hook by the door and stomped out to look for him. As I got further down the garden, I heard him whine and speeded up. ‘Raggs, are you OK?’ But it was an excited whine, not a hurt one.

I located him by the paddock gate, hopping up and down on his hind legs. ‘What are you doing?’ He looked up at me and whined again and scrabbled his paws at the gate. ‘Is something there?’ I backed away, but he kept whimpering and scratching at the wood.

I opened the gate and let him through, tracking him with the beam of the torch. He tore down to the loose box where Scrabble and Ollie were shut up for the night. I jogged after him, worried that one of them was ill. But when I got there, he was around the back, at the door of the feed store, where I met Ryan sometimes.

Ryan?

Raggs was excited enough for that.

I opened the door quietly, holding the dog back with my foot, and pulled the light string. The bulb lit and I saw a figure on the floor.

Ryan looked up, his eyes blinking groggily in the sudden light. I winced at the bruising on his face and the cut along his left cheekbone.

‘What’re you doing here?’

‘Sorry.’ His speech was slurred and he propped himself up on his elbow with difficulty. ‘Needed somewhere to crash.’

‘Are you drunk?’ I shut the door, leaving Raggs scratching in frustration outside.

He didn’t answer and lay down again, hugging his knees up to his chest.

I sighed. ‘What happened?’

‘Had a fight with Mum.’

‘Your mum hit you?’ I dropped to my knees beside him.

‘No, no,’ he mumbled. ‘This happened after. No, she went off on me and stuff got said . . .’

‘Who hit you then?’

‘Carlisle.’

‘Steven? What happened?’

‘Went to the shop. He ambushed me. Had a scuffle.’ He looked up at me, his eyes struggling to focus. ‘Can I stay here tonight?’

I sat down properly and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You can’t sleep in here. It’s too cold. You’re freezing now and it’s not eleven yet.’

‘You got any horse blankets?’

‘Don’t be mad! They stink. I’ll get you a blanket from the house if . . .’

I froze as he shuffled up to me and put his head in my lap. He threw his arm over my knees and buried his face against my legs. I wasn’t sure what to do for a minute, but then I started to stroke his hair. I couldn’t help myself. ‘Are you OK?’

He nodded, but kept his face hidden. Was he crying? If he was, he didn’t want me to see. I curled over so I could put my arm round him and he pressed his face tighter against my legs.

‘I’ll bring a few blankets down here. Do you want me to stay with you for a while?’ Leaving him in this state couldn’t be sensible. He nodded again. He was definitely trashed. There was no way he’d have wanted me to risk staying, or admitted it if he did, when he was sober. ‘OK. I’ll go and get them.’

‘You will come back, won’t you?’

I had difficulty making his words out. What the hell had his mum said to make him freak like this? ‘Yes, I’ll come back.’ I carried on stroking his hair until I got too cold and I realised he’d fallen asleep. ‘Ryan, wake up.’ He grunted and held my legs tighter. I prodded him hard on the shoulder. ‘Ryan, move. I need to get those blankets.’

He rolled over, grumbling something unintelligible.

I grabbed Raggs and ran up to the house as fast as I could in the dark, praying Mum and Dad hadn’t noticed I’d been gone so long. Raggs struggled in my arms, wanting to get back to Ryan, but I held him tight.

I called into the sitting room on my way upstairs. ‘I’m just making a drink and then I’m going to bed.’

I grabbed a couple of blankets and a pillow and pulled on a thick sweatshirt. I needed another pillow, but I couldn’t carry it so I gave up and hurried back downstairs. People on TV always drank coffee to sober up so I made some for Ryan and packed some food into a carrier bag with the flask.

‘Night!’ I called loudly as I went back to the stairs.

‘Goodnight,’ they shouted back over the noise of the TV.

I settled Raggs in his basket with a biscuit and slipped out of the back door, pocketing the spare key as I went. Mum might notice if the torch was missing so I had to stumble down the garden in the dark.

‘Are you awake?’ I whispered before I turned the light on.

‘Yeah.’

I pulled the cord and he sat up, slumping over his knees. I dropped the bedding beside him and poured some coffee. ‘Drink this.’

‘Didn’t think you were coming back. You’ve been gone ages.’ He didn’t sound like the usual Ryan – all cross and whiny. I didn’t think he’d have let me see him this upset if he wasn’t so wasted.

‘How much have you had to drink?’ I sat down beside him and got the food out. ‘And are you hungry?’

‘Bottle of vodka. Most of it, all of it, not sure. And I’m starving.’ He picked up a piece of quiche and devoured it.

‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’

‘Had a row. Had a fight. Got smashed. Came here,’ he mumbled between mouthfuls.

I poured more coffee for him. ‘What did your mum say to you?’

He shook his head. ‘Doesn’t matter. She’s ill and she doesn’t understand what she’s doing.’

‘So why are you here and not at home?’

‘Because she won’t be on her own tonight and I’m sick of hearing it and I’ve had enough!’ He stopped and sucked a deep breath in. His hands curled on the straw, knuckles straining. ‘I’ve fucking had enough and I can’t take any more from her tonight.’

I’d never seen Ryan like this before. His face looked scary under the harsh light of the bulb with the bruises making alien shadows. The reality of what it must be like to have to deal with Karen when she was ill struck me hard, but he didn’t want to talk about it so I changed the subject.

‘Did Steven hurt you?’

‘Not really. And he got back what he gave.’

He finished the quiche and started on a ham roll while I spread one of the blankets out on the straw. I hesitated with the second, trying to decide how I could arrange this with only one pillow. That turned out to be a mistake because immediately he finished eating, he lay down on the blanket and pulled the other over him.

‘Can you put the light out? It’s hurting my eyes.’

I pulled the cord and wondered what to do next. Maybe I should sit up and let him sleep. But it was cold. The ponies whickered softly in the box next door and I could smell their sweet hay breath through the slats.

‘Can’t you see to come back?’

‘Just letting my eyes readjust.’ I inched back over until my foot made contact with something. ‘Is that you?’

‘Yeah.’ He reached up, tugged me down and flipped the blanket back to let me in.

Not a good idea, but it looked like I was stuck with it. It’d be fine – plenty of room . . .

I sat down, but as soon as my bum hit the ground, he pulled me towards him. I stiffened.

‘I’m not going to do anything I shouldn’t,’ he snapped, and I wasn’t sure if he was hurt or angry.

I groaned inside. Whatever I did was going to be wrong while he was like this. ‘Um, I was going to sleep over there . . . but if you want me to sleep here . . . er . . .

Silence. Prickly, jagged silence. And then he turned away from me. ‘Sleep where you fucking want.’

‘Are you always this foul when you’re drunk?’

More silence.

He rolled back. ‘No,’ he said in a crushed voice. ‘Sorry.’ He tugged my arm lightly. ‘Please. I-I don’t want to be on my own tonight. I won’t do anything.’

I couldn’t believe he’d said that. Not Mr I’m Fine. It hit me worse than him crying, him admitting that. I slid down next to him because what else could I do?