I Know Who You Are. Alice Feeney

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СКАЧАТЬ are thrown all over the floor. The duvet smells, I’m not sure what of, but it isn’t nice. We all sit and stare at the TV, then my tummy rumbles so loud I’m sure everyone hears it.

      ‘Do you want some breakfast?’ Maggie asks when the adverts come on.

      ‘Yes.’ Her face changes and I add, ‘Please,’ before it is too late.

      ‘What do you fancy? You can have anything you want.’

      I look over at one of the dirty plates with crusts on. ‘Toast?’

      She pulls a pretend sad face, like a clown. ‘I’m afraid your dad ate the last of the bread.’

      I’m confused at first, then remember that she means the man with the gold tooth.

      ‘Don’t worry that pretty little head of yours, I’m going to make your favourite, back in a jiffy.’

      I don’t know what a jiffy is.

      Maggie leaves the room and I’m glad she doesn’t close the door. I don’t want to be on my own with John. He looks like he is wearing a rug on his chest, but up close I can see it’s just more hair. He seems to have an awful lot of it. He reaches past me, and I lean out of his way. Then I watch while he picks up a packet of cigarettes and lights one, tapping the ash into an empty cup while he laughs at something on TV.

      Maggie comes back with a plate, which is strange, because she said she was going to make my favourite breakfast, which is porridge and honey. My brother used to make it for me at home and I always ate it in my favourite blue bowl, even though it was chipped. My brother said it could still be my favourite bowl, even when it wasn’t perfect any more. He said things that are a little bit broken can still be beautiful.

      ‘There now, get that down you,’ says Maggie. Her cold bare legs touch my feet as she climbs back under the covers.

      ‘What is it?’ I ask, looking down at the plate.

      ‘It’s your favourite, silly! Biscuits with butter. Make sure you eat them all, we need to fatten you up a bit – you’ve gotten far too skinny.’

      I think I look the same as yesterday and the day before that.

      I look from Maggie to the plate and back again, unsure what to do. Then I pick up one of the round shapes, and can see that it has its own name written underneath it, just like my new name is written on my pyjama top. I whisper the letters inside my head: D I G E S T I V E.

      ‘Go on, take a bite,’ Maggie says.

      I don’t want to.

      ‘Eat. It.’

      I take a small bite, chewing slowly. All I can taste is the butter and it makes me feel a bit sick.

      ‘What do you say?’

      ‘Thank you?’

      ‘Thank you, what?’

      ‘Thank you, Maggie?’

      ‘No, not Maggie. From now on, you call me Mum.’

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