Seven Days (21 page)
Authors: Eve Ainsworth
“Dad used to bring me here,” she says flatly. “We used to make camps underneath. It was good then, you know? When I was really little. Happy. I just can’t seem to remember those times now. Sometimes coming here brings it back to me a little bit.”
“But you don’t want to jump, do you,” I say. It’s not a question. I just pray I’ve read this right. I sit down again now, right beside her. Her feet are just inches away from my legs. I can smell her perfume. Sweet, heady.
You can’t go now. I’m here, right here. Stay with me!
“I wanted to. But then I got here and I remembered again… Oh, I don’t know. I’m so pathetic I can’t even do this properly.” She starts to sob softly. “Am I such a bad person?”
“No. But you did a bad thing.”
She nods.
“You don’t even hate me, do you?” I say.
“No.” She turns to face me. “You just annoy the hell out of me, you remind me so much of her – of my mum. Just putting up with the abuse day after day, rolling over like a dog. It made me look down on you, I guess. I was wrong.”
“But why the fat comments? Why make it so personal?”
“It was just something to latch on to,” she says. “To be honest it could’ve been anything. It was just a thing to use against you. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I snapped. It was awful, to think I nearly…” she gasps.
“But you didn’t,” I say.
I look up at her. Most of the make-up washed away, no Marnie, no power. This is the real Kez.
“I did an awful thing,” she cries.
“It’s OK,” I say.
“I’m a monster.”
“No. You’re not.”
“I’m like him.”
“You’re Kez. You’re whoever you want to be.”
“Do you think my mum will ever leave him?” she asks suddenly.
I think of the bruise on her mum’s face, of the shouting when I first arrived. “I don’t know,” I say, “maybe?”
She laughs softly. “At least you’re honest.”
“We have more in common than you think,” I tell her. “I’m getting used to having a rubbish dad.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. It’s not easy, but I’ve accepted that he’s probably not going to be around. That’s fine. I’ve got a great mum.”
“You’re stronger than I realized,” Kez says.
“Not really. I have wobbles too.” I think of that last phone call to Dad and I still feel a little shiver inside me. “But it’s getting easier.”
“I don’t think I can face going home,” she whispers.
“But where else can you go?” I say. “You can’t keep running. Or hiding.”
“How do you keep going when everyone’s on your case?” she asks. “Seriously? I used to think you were so weak, but now I see it’s me that’s the coward. I can’t face anything.”
“I don’t have the magic answers. I just take each day as it comes.” My fingers are running across the rough metal, sharp, almost cutting into me. It’s so high up here. I squeeze myself right next to Kez, into the gap in the slats. I push my legs through. It feels nicer somehow, more free. Kez looks down, watching. Then very slowly she pulls herself down beside me. She’s crouching, like she’s a bit unsure where to put herself.
“Wouldn’t you prefer it if I wasn’t around?” she asks, her voice sounding so thin.
“Not like this.” I sigh. “I just wanted it to stop. All the hassle, all the name calling – that’s all.”
“It will now,” she whispers. “It has to.”
“What about Marnie?”
“I don’t know about her now. Being with her was fun, she took my mind off so much stuff, but … I don’t know. I’m not sure she was ever my friend.”
I nod. “I guess I can deal with her anyway.”
“I really think Lyn likes you,” she says. “I guess I need to face the fact he was never that into me. I think he fancies something about you.”
“Maybe he just goes for fatties!”
She looks over at me, shocked. But then she sees I’m laughing. A small smile creeps across her face.
“Maybe he does,” she says.
Kez moves down and pushes her legs in the gap beside me so that we are wedged up closer, legs hanging free. There is still a gap between us, a few inches. I think there always will be.
“That’s better,” she says.
I look down at the tracks, watching our legs swinging above the overgrown scrub and rocks below us. Tiny flower buds are shooting up, nestled among the weeds and moss. Long green vines climb up the rusty legs of the bridge, bright and vibrant.
I think it might be OK now.
I think.
Sometimes in the darkness you begin to see so clearly. Because of this I do know that:
a) Bullies are scum.
b) Families should be there when you need them.
c) I was weak. I thought I deserved this.
But I also realize that:
d) Bullies can change.
e) Families get it wrong.
f) Hurting isn’t a weakness. The strength comes from moving on.
I hope one day I can tell Jess just how sorry I really am.
But, until that day comes, I’ll keep moving out of the darkness and back into the light.
Perhaps I have done something right for once.
I’m changing. I’m trying .
A new week is beginning .
A huge thanks to the wonderful team at Scholastic for your support, and to Zoë, Gen and Emily, my wonderful editors.
I would love to thank Stephanie at Curtis Brown for plucking me from her tumbling slush pile and being an amazing agent.
Thanks to Tom for making me smile, reading my very rough drafts and believing in me throughout.
Thanks to my family for their constant love and encouragement, and to my wonderful friends, who know who they are.
And thanks to Mr Anthony, my primary school teacher, who inspired me to write.
As a young girl, Eve spent her time telling stories to the birds at the bottom of the garden. Then she learnt to write and a new world opened up. She hasn’t stopped since.
Following university, she began a career in business, but found herself spending more time gazing out of the window, dreaming of being a writer. Eventually she left her seventh-floor office to begin a career in pastoral support, and later child protection, in a large local secondary school. The teenagers she works with challenge the way she thinks and inspire her on a daily basis.
Seven Days
developed from the idea that every story has two sides. Bullies can also be victims. Eve knew she wanted to write contemporary fiction with a gritty edge. Fiction that young people could relate to. She hopes she has done OK.
Eve lives in West Sussex with her husband, two children and a demented cat, Ziggy. She still tells stories to the birds in the garden – but only when no one is looking.
Scholastic Children’s Books
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First published in the UK by Scholastic Ltd, 2015
This electronic edition published by Scholastic Ltd, 2015
Copyright © Eve Ainsworth, 2015
The right of Eve Ainsworth to be identified as the author
of this work has been asserted by her.
eISBN 978 1407 15412 1
A CIP catalogue record for this work is available from the British Library.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents and dialogues are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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