Nightingale Point. Luan Goldie

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СКАЧАТЬ again for a while.’ Dad looked relieved, happy because injuries meant she had no reason to go out.

      Even now, with the injury long healed, he still won’t let her out, but then he has other reasons for wanting to keep her inside the flat these days. She pulls the curtains open and the room brightens, but even the sun’s glare is not enough to chase the perpetual gloom out.

      Dad inspects his roll-up for life before roughly squeezing it onto a saucer. It’s from her nan’s set, cream with tiny brown corgis around the edge, once used for special occasions but now reduced to holding ash.

      ‘I’m going to the bookies,’ he says. ‘Will be back for dinner. We’ll heat up that corned beef.’

      ‘They’re fighting again,’ she says.

      ‘Who?’

      ‘Next door. Can’t you hear them?’

      They stop for a moment to listen to the searing soap opera from flat forty-two that plays itself out so regularly. It sounds particularly theatrical today. What is the woman shrieking about this time? She always seems to be arguing with her teenage daughter over something. Pamela longs for that kind of relationship, one so freely volatile that you could scream and shout at a parent, rather than stand there and soak up their disappointment.

      ‘They been at it all morning,’ he huffs. ‘Their voices go right through me.’

      Pamela tries to block out the domestic so she can focus on Dad, her own situation. She tries to assess his mood by the way he clears his throat and collects his wallet. She wonders at her chances of success and waits to pick her moment.

      He looks straight at her. ‘Why you dragging those about?’ He nods towards the pair of pink and lilac trainers in her hands.

      The tip of her ponytail tastes chemically; he always buys the cheapest shampoo.

      ‘I won’t go anywhere other than around the field. I promise.’

      ‘You’ve only been home a few days. You expect me to let you start running wild again?’ He holds his anger in so well, but she can see it behind his eyes, ready to pop like glass. ‘No chance. You’re staying in.’

      ‘You know it rained the whole month I was at Mum’s. I haven’t been out running in ages.’

      He shakes his head again.

      ‘I want to go round the field a few times. It’s the middle of the day,’ she tries. ‘You can watch me from here.’

      ‘Told you. I’m going out.’ His keys jangle as he taps his pockets and walks away, her chances dissipating.

      ‘What about swimming? Can I go to the pool?’

      He laughs. ‘Yeah, right, the pool. Why? You arranged to meet someone there, have you?’

      ‘No. Dad, please.’ She follows him into the hallway, not content to let it end there. She knows she’s already in trouble anyway. ‘So you expect me to stay in all day listening to that?’

      The walls leak more cries from the quarrelling neighbours.

      He checks the handle on his bedroom door: locked. ‘You can use the phone. Call one of your mates for a chat.’

      ‘I don’t want to chat. I want to go out. I want to run.’

      He stops by the front door and gently takes her plait in one of his hands. ‘No.’ So calm. So fixed. ‘I don’t trust you out the flat. In fact, I don’t even know if I trust you to be alone in the flat.’ He lets the long plait fall and kisses her on the head.

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘Well, how can I be sure that the minute I go out your little boyfriend won’t come running up?’

      ‘Because I don’t have a boyfriend anymore. Remember?’

      He holds her gaze but what can he say? He knows he ruined it for her; he ruined everything.

      ‘Dad?’

      He turns to face her, keys now in his hands as he opens the front door. ‘Yeah? Come on, Pam, what you wanting now?’

      I hate you. ‘Nothing.’

      The door closes and she listens for the Chubb lock, but hears no footsteps. He’s still outside; maybe he will change his mind and give her permission to start living again. But then, seconds later, there is the distinct clank of the security gate and the crunch of it being locked: the confirmation that she will spend today locked inside her home. Trapped.

CHAPTER FOUR

       Chapter Four ,Tristan

      Tristan had already picked the clothes from the floor, stacked the videotapes and lined up his and Malachi’s trainers by the front door. He now sits on the window ledge, his place of choice, observing the world nine floors below him. He is wearing white shorts today, white T-shirt, white socks, white trainers, and a large cubic zirconia stud in his left ear. It’s a good look. He feels pristine. He wonders if he should hoover but decides against it, as nothing will make the carpet, so full of cigarette burns and bleach stains, look any better.

      Malachi walks in and slumps himself back into the Malachi-shaped dent on the sofa.

      ‘So what’s wrong with Mary’s TV?’ Tristan asks his brother.

      ‘Nothing. One of her grandkids must have unplugged the aerial.’

      Tristan laughs, once again glad that Mary never asked him to fix stuff around her flat. It’s one of the perks of having a brother like Malachi, who is not only the clever one, the tall one and the ‘traditionally handsome’ one, but also the one that can ‘fix stuff’.

      ‘Did she make you watch Ricki Lake with her?’ Tristan laughs. ‘Girlfriend, you need to get a new man, get a man with a job,’ he mimics in an American accent.

      Malachi shakes his head and pulls a pile of books onto his lap.

      ‘Mal, you all right?’

      ‘I’m always all right.’ He holds his book in front of his face.

      ‘You’re proper squinting. You need glasses, man, stop denying it. Specs will complete this whole student look you’ve gone for.’

      Malachi puts the book down and pulls some keys from his pocket. ‘Mary’s spare keys,’ he says as they slide across the table into a pile of papers. ‘Tris, if you drop out that window I can’t save you.’

      ‘You don’t always need to save me,’ Tristan snaps. ‘I’m almost sixteen – old enough to vote and go to war.’

      ‘You need to be eighteen to vote.’

      ‘Whatever. СКАЧАТЬ