TRISTAN

A rail higher than myself. Go, Tristan! Explosions of pain in my arm, on my face. My head spinning. A curtain of stars blinking in front of my eyes. Confusion. Darkness.

“Tristan?”

In the blackness that surrounds me, there is a voice, soft and familiar. It makes me feel safe. I’m fighting through the thicket in my brain that is made of thoughts woven together so tightly that I can’t single one out. But at least I’m safe.

“Tristan. You need to wake up.”

I didn’t know I was sleeping, but now that the voice has said it, it makes sense. Why do I have to wake up though? Sleeping, it’s so effortless. I don’t know why, but I have a feeling that once I wake up easy will be over. I’ll just keep my eyes shut and hope that the voice will go away.

“Come on, kid.”

It’s Mum. Do I have to go to school? This is a tad bit confusing. I’m not going to school anymore. I try to force my eyelids to part. Every photon hits my retinas like a sledgehammer and explodes into a blazing, excruciating firework. I squeeze my eyes shut again, but it’s too late. The blasts resound through all of my body, the echo intensifying in my stomach. I’m gonna be sick.

“Have to throw up, Mum”, I choke out.

I’m being pulled upright, there’s pain everywhere and in addition my stomach is heaving and contracting. The sour fluid that leaves me drips into the plastic bowl that must be somewhere close to my face. I’m so bummed, I can’t even muster the strength to puke properly. A tissue is wiped over my mouth and then I’m lying down again. There must be something wrong with my brain, it feels as if it’s much too small for my skull; I can still feel it swishing around inside from the movement. I try to breathe evenly, to make the motion sickness go away. Am I ill? Maybe it’s not my brain drifting around inside my head. Doesn’t feel like a brain. More like a cotton ball and about as useful as one. I can’t figure out what’s up and I’m not sure why but I have a feeling that this is better than being aware.

“You still there, Tristan?”

“I got to sleep, Mum.”

I know that sleep is the only thing that will make me better.

“Ok. I’m gonna wake you in a few hours again.”

Why on earth would she be so cruel? The stars that are projected onto my inner eyelids are so pretty, why would she want to keep me from watching them? They twinkle and twirl, they dance with each other and one by one they fade out and then there’s darkness again.

“Keep your eyes shut.” There’s the voice again. Mum’s voice. “Are you awake?”

“I am.”

My body feels weird. The side of my head hurts and my left arm is a billion pounds heavy. I can’t lift it. I try to move my fingers but they’re like stuck together. And there’s pain throbbing almost everywhere. I move my right hand over to check on my left. The texture is abrasive and hard and I wonder where my skin has gone. A cast. My left arm is in a cast.

“What’s wrong, Mum?”

“You have a concussion. Your arm is broken… multiple times might I add, half your facial skin is peeled off…” She swallows hard.

“What happened?”

“Don’t you remember anything?”

I feel a door slamming shut inside of me. Remembering is bad. I don’t want to remember. I know that remembering will hurt.

“No.”

“You were out with Mark. Skating at Tesco’s. You had an accident.” Her voice is quivering although I can hear that she’s trying to keep calm.

I don’t remember skating at Tesco’s and I certainly don’t remember an accident. There’s not much sense in asking her for details about what I assume was a fall; she does not speak Skateboarding. I can’t get rid of the nagging feeling that there’s something very bad associated to Mark though.

“Am I going to be alright?”

“Yeah, sure.” I can hear her gasping, as if she wanted to say something.

“How long have I been out?”

“It happened yesterday evening. You’ve been in the hospital overnight and sleeping ever since you came home.” She pauses. “The doctor said you’ve been smoking pot.”

I lay my right arm over my eyes and very carefully open them. There are a billion knives thrusting into my eyes.

“Can you turn off the light, please?”

The mattress tilts as Mum gets up and it feels as if I’m floating the sea in a nutshell. As I hear the clicking of the light switch, I dare to give it another go. Easier. Much easier. The streetlamps cast their glow through the windows and into my room, making Mum’s face seem much younger. Even her frown line that’s like a border between her eyebrows seems much flatter.

“So? Smoking pot?”, she asks.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I mean, that I can’t remember!”

It’s not really a lie. I usually don’t toke, well, not regularly. Mark’s the stoner in the group. He used to be a good skater, but for the past few years he didn’t really have his feet on the ground anymore. Although I can’t remember a thing, I don’t feel as if she’s far off with her accusation. I can extract the feeling of indestructibility and carelessness from my brain and it doesn’t seem to have been too long ago that I’ve actually felt that way.

“Damn it, Tristan. It’s one thing to have a …joint, but smoking and skating, for crying out loud!”

“Mum, please.” Every vein in my head is throbbing and I’m afraid that I’m going to be sick again. “I usually don’t, alright? Can you save the bollocking for when I’m better, please?”

Her eyes shoot darts at me, but she unclenches her fists, rubbing her palms over her thighs.

“You bet I’m gonna save it,” she mumbles between her teeth.

I very carefully prop myself up on my right arm, moving as slowly as possible to minimize the spinning sensation inside my head, and swing my legs out of bed.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I’ve got to go to the loo.”

The bathroom is only across the hall, but I already know that I won’t make it there on my own; I can barely sit upright. My head is throbbing and I feel the floor tilting alternately to the left and right underneath my feet.

“Rory!”

Her outcry pierces my eardrums and pulses further to my brain, making the pain even harder to bear. There’s the slamming of a door and feet brushing against the hallway carpet and then Rory’s voice.

“What?”

“Help Tristan to the bathroom.”

Alright, that’s it. I’m never going to skate again. No chance I’ll risk needing help to go for a pee again. And especially if it’s from my little brother. It’s just too much on top of everything else.

“Oh, does wee little Twistan have to go potty?”

“Rory!” Mum cautions him.

“Rory!” he mimics her voice, quietly, so she won’t hear him and then sits down next to me on the bed. He puts my right arm across his shoulders and pulls me into a standing position. Better hurry now, because I’m definitely going to be sick. I feel like I’m being thrown around the room; I know I’m swaying like a drunk and my left shoulder hits both my bedroom’s and the bathroom’s doorframe and each time the stars in front of my eyes multiply. The last step towards the bog is more a fall than a step and then I’m hugging the toilet, trying to turn my insides out again.

“Holy smokes, bruv. You’re really bad, true?”

“No, I’m just pretending.” My voice is thrown back in a weird pitch, distorted by the porcelain bowl. “Mind stepping out?”

The door thuds shut behind him and I heave my body onto the seat. My head is so heavy that I have to support it with my hands; my fingers discover that half of my long curls on the left side are missing. When I’m done, I pull myself up, holding onto the sink and try to make out something in the twilight. The visible proof for my concussion presents itself as a freshly stitched cut that ranges from my temple over more than half the side of my head. Steps. I suddenly remember that I hit my head on some steps. It all doesn’t make any sense though. I have no idea what happened. Did I do tricks or did I suddenly think I could fly or what? I mean, why did I even skate stoned? I know from experience that it makes me reckless and idiotic; it’s hilarious too, but right now I don’t feel the fun. If I got the weed from Mark, he should’ve stopped me. There are answers right beneath my consciousness, but clearing things up threatens me so much that I push it aside quickly. Going asleep still feels like the better alternative to being aware.

I don’t wash my hands; if I let go of the sink I’ll fall flat on my face. Calling Rory back in isn’t an option either; I might be impaired, but I’m not gonna have him mock me about it. Instead I make my way hand over hand on the bathtub ledge, the doorframe, trying to ignore the tilting of the floor. Once I’m in my room Mum rushes to my side and helps me to bed again. She tucks me in like she used to when I was a little boy. It’s only because I’m so bummed that I let her. Her hand comes up to my face and she softly strokes my cheek.

“You scared the hell out of me, kid.”

“I’m sorry, Mum.” I truly am.

She nods and kisses my forehead and I can smell her familiar perfume.

“Sleep tight. You’ll feel better tomorrow.” I’m not sure she’s saying it only to ease me.

The trip across the hall used up all my energy; I feel like a completely depleted battery. I plunge into unconsciousness, eager to switch off my brain before it can come up with any answers to all the questions I have inside. My dreams are made up of rails and steps, of flying as high as a kite and then crashing into them.

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SKY

I’m a stranger, an intruder, an unfamiliar presence in my own home. Everything is silent, which is a strange thing for our house that usually bursts with life. There’s no one to be seen, except Mum and Adam, hiding behind her legs. No Josh. No Leslie. No Amanda. And apparently, not even Jen made the effort to be here when I finally arrived back home.

“Are you Sky?” Adam asks me, pulling Mum’s skirt half across his face. Being three years old and living in a world that only revolves around yourself with no such thing as a reliable long-term memory can do that to you, I guess. Forget your brother.

“I am.”

I set my bags down on the hallway floor and crouch down so my face is on a level with his. His big brown eyes scrutinize me openly and although it feels as if he’s trying to examine my soul, I hold his gaze. He scans my face for something familiar and I his for any sign of recognition. A chubby hand reaches out for the leather band around my neck that holds a miniature skateboard carved from wood. His eyes light up at the sight, finally finding something he can refer to.

“Leslie made that.” Adam smiles.

“Yeah, he gave it to me for Christmas. It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

I brush my fingers over the deck; the wood is already smooth and shiny from the million times I have done this before. Right that moment Leslie comes down the stairs and throws himself on top of me.

“Sky!”

His knees smash against my balls and his elbows poke my chest and it’s the best possible welcome I can imagine. He hasn’t forgotten me.

“Hey, bruv.” I kiss his cheek and struggle to sit up again and hold him at arm’s length. The pointy bones underneath his skin prove that he’s recovering from a growth spurt, he’s at least two inches taller than last time I saw him.

“How long are you staying?”

“Until October.”

Three whole months at home will hopefully make up for my absence since Christmas.

“Can we go skating sometime?” Leslie asks.

“Sure. I just have to unpack first.”

I’m only inside for like five minutes and I’m already torn between wanting to catch up with my family and needing a break from them, too.

“I can show you your room. If you want me to.” Adam’s voice is small and insecure, but also determined to redirect my attention towards him.

That he thinks it’s necessary to see me to my own room, the room I’ve grown up in, that I’ve lived in basically for my whole life, twenty years, it’s like a blow to the gut.

“That would be really nice of you, Adam.”

I get up on my feet again and grab the straps of my bags. He looks up at Mum, checking if it’s ok to go with me. She strokes his dark blonde hair and nudges him towards the stairs. I turn to go after him, but Mum holds me back. She’s blinking rapidly and presses her head against the side of mine as she hugs me.

“It’s so good to have you home.”

I can feel tears dripping onto my skin, one after one they tap against my flesh, trying to worm their way inside where they can touch me. They creep down my neck and into the collar of my shirt in that cold, unpleasant way until they’re soaked up. The force of her emotions is like a thunderstorm and I’m afraid that lightning will strike me if I don’t run for cover.

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“Ok, Mum.”

I don’t want to hurt her feelings; I wish that I could say something soothing and meaningful, but I can’t think of anything but that I want to get away.

I retreat and follow Adam upstairs, past the family pictures that cover the wall, listening to the familiar squeaking sound of the seventh step, feeling Mum’s eyes drilling holes into the back of my head to read my thoughts. It’s always been like this: Mum filled with so many feelings that they spill over for the silliest reasons and me trying to evade being hit by them, leaving her behind to mop them up by herself.

“That’s your room!”

Adam’s hand is already on the doorknob, stretching his body like a rubber band.

“Thanks, bruv.” I hesitate. “Can you open the door for me?” My hands still hold the straps and although I could nevertheless do it myself, I don’t want to make him feel underestimated. It seems to be of utter importance to make friends with Adam as long as I can. Before my time in Seaford is up again.

“Sure.”

Adam’s face lights up and he sees to the task immediately. One hand isn’t strong enough though and he’s almost dangling from the knob as he tries to turn it using both hands. My body twitches from impatience but I manage to stand still and give him a polite smile instead.

“Wait”, he commands me and runs off towards the bathroom.

My bedroom is only four feet and also a million miles away. There’s a lot of ruckus going on down the hall; I hear the clear, echo-y sound of wood against porcelain followed by an ear-numbing screech of wood against wood. And then Adam reappears pushing his step stool across the hallway, the one he uses when he washes his hands. My body hair stands up in distress; my whole skin feels tight from the piercing noise. I grind my teeth and endure the endless seconds until he’s satisfied with the position of the stool against my bedroom door, until he climbs onto it, until he finally manages to turn the doorknob and my door swings open and finally reveals my room.

“Thank you, Adam. You’re such a big help.”

His eyes glow at my words and the sight of my smile, that has nothing to do with his performance and everything with the way he makes me feel so much more welcome now.

I throw the bags onto my bed and grab his step stool before he can push it all the way back.

“My turn, now,” I say so he’s not discouraged.

“I’ll help you.” He beams up at me, so eager to prove his usefulness again. His hold on the stool makes it a lot more difficult to carry than it would’ve been if I took it alone, but his eagerness is so endearing that I can’t do other than smile at him as we place it underneath the sink.

“That’s mine.” Adam gestures towards a pink children’s toothbrush with glitter on the handle that’s stuck to the sink by suckers.

“Very nice,” I allow.

“Josh says that pink is for girls.” He has no control over his expression whatsoever. It changes from happiness to sadness just like that and I don’t like the insecure look on his face right now.

“You know, very long ago boys used to always wear pink. It’s really a very manly colour. The girls just stole it from us because it’s so pretty.”

Adam giggles, clearly satisfied by my explanation.

“What colour is yours?”

“It’s green, but you know what? I think when I’m getting me a new one; I’ll go for pink, too.”

“Can I come help picking it out?”

“Sure. Maybe we’ll find one with glitter, too.” Or hopefully not.

It takes one heartbeat and Adam is smiling again.

“Want to ride piggyback to my room?” I bend down and his little arms are choking me before I’m even properly crouched down. “I’ll need some time to settle in then, though. Can we go buy the toothbrush tomorrow?”

“Ok.”

I can’t see his face, but his voice sounds content. I bounce towards my room which makes Adam squeal from joy and as I set him down, he’s off towards the room he shares with Josh and Leslie in no time.

When you’re three, life is the easiest thing. You eat, you sleep, you play. You do what you’ve got to do. When something new comes along, like a brother you can’t even remember, so what? You just accept it. He’s there and you don’t worry that he might leave again. The future is a non-existent concept. Each day is whole and plausible because there is no tomorrow to question it. There’s nothing to struggle, nothing you want to fight against. If I had a time machine, I’d go right back, so I could be like Adam again, naïve and unaware, not a victim of the expectations towards me.

I close my door behind me and finally, there’s silence, there’s solitude. I rest my back against it and eye my room, unchanged since my last visit home. Tidier and cleaner, but basically the same. Stacks of magazines have been pushed to the side in an attempt to hover the floor. My clothes have magically found their way into my dresser again. My CDs have jumped back into the rack, tired from their acrobatic workout supporting each other on the floor. The blinds are up and the dusty light that pours in, tints everything in different shades of pastel. Little particles twirl through the air, dance in the rays of sunlight, as I move across the carpet. I’m home. Back with my family. Back in Seaford. Back where everybody knows my family and keeps close attention.

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TRISTAN

It’s been three days now and I actually feel better today. The floor has stopped tilting to alternating sides and the headache is quite bearable. I swing my legs out of the bed and wait for the motion sickness to subside before I get up to my feet. Oh, yeah. Much better. Well, at least physically. For three whole days I did nothing but torment myself by playing The Whole Thing With Carrie over and over in my head and breathing past the pain in my chest. I can’t think about her and I can’t think about the other stuff anymore either. So instead, I start imagining the moves I would have to perform to do a Tre Flip, because that’s a really difficult trick for me and it keeps my mind occupied when it wanders somewhere I don’t want it to go. By the time I’ve performed the imaginary trick my pulse is steady, and I’m focused again.

Moving slowly works out fine and I make it all the way across the hall and down the stairs on my own and without feeling sick, although my brains are still swishing a bit. There’s bustle in the living room and I turn the corner to the sight of Rory wearing chessboard black and white pants, a white chef jacket and the most ridiculous hat I’ve ever seen. He obviously has no idea how stupid he looks, turning around in front of Mum, who is simply delighted at his sight.

“Carnival already?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe. A little support won’t hurt.

“Ain’t he stunning?” Mum beams at me.

“Umm, sure.” It’s not that he’s not good looking; he has brown wavy hair like Mum and strong features that are quite the contrast to his soft, light brown eyes. I guess one could consider him handsome, but it sure isn’t the outfit that enforces the impression.

“How are you today, sweetie?” She steps up and pinches my cheeks.

“Fine… well, up until now.” I push her hands back. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s people digging their fingers into my face. I nod towards Rory. “What’s with the get up?”

“It’s my first day today,” Rory replies, his chest swollen with pride.

Right, I forgot. Rory had finished school this summer and is going to take up a training as a cook. Like …Dad.

“I’m going to get going, Mum.” He shuffles his feet around, comparing his watch with the clock on the wall.

“Your shift starts in an hour!”

“I just don’t want to be late on my first day,” Rory mutters on his way past me, bumping against my cast, making me wince.

He probably didn’t do it on purpose, but I still attempt to connect my foot with his bum, rather feebly - it raises nothing but a laugh from him. Goodness, I’m so pathetic. He chuckles on and on while wedging his feet into his chavvy sneakers and I’m about to give kicking him another go, when the doorbell announces a visitor.

“Hi, Mark. Bye, Mark,” Rory greets him and slides out the door just as Mark’s ragged figure enters.

“Carnival already?” Mark gives me a quizzical look and pushes the one dreadlock that always seems to escape, back underneath the elastic band that holds the mop together.

“Yeah. Kind of.” I grin. “My baby brother is taking his first steps down the path that will one day make him chef of our restaurant.”

“You’re a family of freaks. Working together, living together?” He blows up his cheeks as if he’s about to puke. “Sick, mate. Just sick.”

Mark has fled from his own home as soon as he turned eighteen; as far as I know they only see each other on holidays, well, except for his sister. My heart starts thumping wildly at the thought of her and I can feel my stomach tying itself into a knot. Why does my brain always find a way back to Carrie? I just want to forget it all ever happened.  So again: Pop, scoop, flip, jump, catch.

“What can I say?” I smirk.

“Anyways. I just wanted to check on you before I go, I’ll be in Manchester for the next two weeks or something.”

He’s working in construction, no idea really what that entails; he won’t speak about it, because to him work is just what keeps him from doing whatever he wants. What I do know though, is that he apparently makes quite a lot of money and the getting out of Seaford suits him pretty fine, too. Personally, I’d like him around. Especially right now with everything that’s going on.

“Oh, ok.”

“How are you holding up?” He grabs my shoulder and stares at me intensely.

“Great!” I shoot him a broad grin that feels rather unstable. And again; pop, scoop, flip, jump, catch. I wish I were just half as good in reality.

“So, still in denial?”

“Do me a favour and shut up?” My cheeks are actually hurting from faking.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Mark shakes his head but holds his tongue.

If there’s one thing you can count on with Mark, it’s that he’s not so deeply interested in your life that he’ll pry any further.

“You want to come in?” I ask, although right now I’d actually rather have him leave.

“No, I’m actually already on my way.” He hesitates in the doorframe. “Call me, if you need anything. Alright?”

“Sure.” There’s the fake smile again. I watch him take the three steps down to the sidewalk where he pauses.

“I’ve uploaded the clip, just go through my online profile, you’ll find it.”

Great. Can’t wait to see how I got myself so messed up.

“Take care of yourself, mate.”

“Sure.”

I close the door behind me, only to find Mum standing behind me with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, kid?”

“I’m much better, Mum. Honestly.” It’s true, but I can’t deny that I’m already exhausted, even though I’ve only been downstairs for maybe fifteen minutes. Plus, the throbbing in my temples announces the return of the headache.

“Tristan?”

There’s no need for me to look at her face to know the expression. Pity mixed with sorrow and eagerness to say something helpful.

“Are you really?”

The possible distractions in our kitchen lure me in and I start to shuffle through the fridge in search for something I can prepare myself and that still won’t taste too bad. Cereals. Great.

“I really am.” I turn around to her. “Look, Mum. Smiling. Standing. Eating.” I point to the bowl I’ve just pulled from the cupboard. “Almost fine.”

“But what about Carrie?”

“Shush!” I cut her off. “Not a word!”

Milk spills over the edge of the bowl as I pour it in forcefully; there’s no time to lose now, I need to get away from here. I try to put the lid on with one hand but fail to hold the packet with the cast arm properly, so in the end I just dump the still open carton back in the fridge.

“But…” Mum starts again.

“Not a single word!” I snap at her and throw the bag of cereals on the counter and hurry past her, back up the stairs and into my room. It takes me eighteen imaginary Tre Flips until I’ve calmed down enough to shove the flakes into my mouth. They’re already so soaked up with milk that they practically dissolve on my tongue. I was right. Unconsciousness was much better than this.

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SKY

“You really think they’ll have a pink one?”

Adam’s body is filled up with so much excitement that he’s barely able to walk straight. It’s been five days since I promised him to take him toothbrush shopping, five days during which he asked me at least thrice a day when we would go. I couldn’t postpone it any longer now, disappointment started sneaking into his features, so I grabbed him after breakfast and took him to Tesco’s this morning. It’s halfway across town but really the only supermarket I suspect to have a fair number of pink toothbrushes to choose from.

“I don’t know, bruv. We’ll see any second now.” I rip my eyes open, faking excitement and Adam is beside himself.

“There are the toothbrushes!” he squeals and is off to the end of the aisle. Must be great when just buying a toothbrush can get you in a tizz.

I slowly follow him; my fake excitement probably isn’t convincing enough – but there’s no chance though that I’ll run around the store.

“They have plenty, Sky!” Adam shouts.

Awesome.

By the time I get there, he has already pulled every single pink toothbrush from the rack and he holds them out for me to choose from, his face full of expectation, like he just found pandora’s box and waits for me to burst into a song of praise. I do manage a smile, though.

Most of them are for children and I put them back immediately. What’s left are three pink toothbrushes for adults; one quite unflashy, one with glitter and one with firm bristles that will surely ruin my gums in no time. I discard that one, too.

“So, which one, Adam?” I ask, already sighing internally; I don’t believe that he’ll allow me the unflashy one. He holds out the one with glitter for me and smiles widely.

“Now we have the same!” he beams.

“Yeah, brilliant.”

“Have you heard, Tilly? The St. Cloud boy is back.” The voice from the other side of the rack is quiet and secretive.

“Oh, really? How could I have missed that?” The voice can’t hide its disappointment that she didn’t get the news first. I know that voice. It belongs to Mrs. Ashmore, a widow who lives two doors down from my mum and who competes for biggest chatterbox with all the other old ladies in town. I lost count of the times I’ve caught her gossiping in a store, on a street corner, over a garden fence, out of a window. She keeps her eyes on my family like on a prize; living so close to us clearly implies an advantage for her in the contest. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I’ve always had the impression that she strolls past our house way too frequently, probably hoping she’d come across something scandalous.

“Puzzles me. You live just a few houses away. I got it from Christel. Her granddaughter is friends with his sister.”

“Adam, why don’t you go and get us some sweets? We can eat them on our way. Mum doesn't have to know.” I nudge his back to make him leave in the opposite direction. There’s no need for him to hear their gossip.

His face lights up and he’s down the aisle in no time.

“Time to watch out for your girls then, huh?” Mrs. Ashmore lowers her voice.

Time to… what? Is she serious? This is ridiculous! How on earth have I gained that reputation? I’ve never ever even spoken to a girl here in Seaford, let alone went out with one.

“Easy for you to say…” The other’s thoughts trail off. “I guess, you don’t have a reason to keep attention. Tristan and Rory are probably safe. Talking about Tristan, how is he doing?”

I push the trolley down the aisle, away from their malicious prattle. Although this nothing new to me, I still feel disappointed, angry even. My sheer existence seems to be a never drying up well of topics to talk about. Last year, I heard her and a friend seriously debating if I sold drugs at the playground, because I was seen there so often. Yeah. That I maybe just took my siblings there to play would be too innocent an interpretation of the matter. Goodness. Although I love being back with my family, I really hate being back at Seaford, too. It makes me feel trapped and observed, like everyone is just waiting for me to slip, like everyone can’t wait for me to give them another reason to gossip.

On my way to what I assume will be tearing Adam away from the sweets, I pick up the groceries Mum asked me to get. Two old ladies almost collide with my trolley as I turn into the next aisle. It’s them; Mrs. Ashmore and her friend, staring at me like I just caught them naked.

“Sky!” she cheers with a rectangular smile that does not reach her eyes.

“Mrs. Ashmore, hello.” I try to sound polite, but I know that my face is frozen. I can’t pretend that I haven’t heard them earlier.

“So, home from college?” she asks. As if she didn’t know that.

“Yes.” I tighten my grip on the handle.

“Listen, I have a proposal.” Her false teeth wobble a bit as she speaks, not quite catching on with the gums they are supposed to be sticking to. Yuck. “I need someone to mow my lawn. Usually my grandson does it, but he’s… indisposed. So, I wondered if you’d care for a little extra pocket money.”

Urgh. I can already imagine her bragging to her friends about her compassion for the poor St. Cloud boy. It makes me feel sick. Refusing isn’t really an option though; she’ll instantly add ingratitude to my faults.

“I’d be glad to be of help,” I hear myself saying. “I couldn’t accept any money for it though.” Although I do need it. I’m so skint, I barely have enough money left to buy me a new pack of fags. I just don’t want hers.

“Oh, bollocks.” She waves my objection off. “Will Saturday afternoon work for you?”

“Sure.”

Great. Way to spoil my weekend.

“Brilliant. I’ll see you then.”

I contort my face into a smile that’s just as fake as hers and go after Adam. I find him with his arms laden with sweets in front of the rack.

“Choose one,” I say. “Or we’ll be sick by the time we get home.”

“Ok,” he pouts, but dumps everything but two Wonderbars in the lowest shelf.

On our way home we go by the local secondary school. I only went there for two years myself but passed it every now and then. It’s the average English schoolyard; not that big, with a few trees that fail to cast a shadow on the concrete, but there are plenty of walls to sit on and a few paved steps. The locals usually skate here, show off their tricks or just hang and part of the core group of skaters I’ve seen here before is here today, too. There are usually three guys, but today it’s only the well-muscled, athletic guy with the long face, who does great freestyle tricks. The kind of ragged guy with dreads, who never skates and usually sits on one of the walls smoking is missing, as well as the one with the long, black corkscrew curls that are totally wasted on a boy my mum would say. The one that always smiles as if all the happiness in the world is his. The cute one. I didn’t go by to see him, I swear, but I would’ve liked to catch me a glimpse of that smile that made it so easy to believe that life wasn’t all that bad.

My cell phone vibrating in my trouser pocket distracts me from my thoughts. I set the shopping bags down and press the answer button.

“Yeah?”

“Oi, mate. How are you doing?” Jo’s voice sounds.

“Fine. You?”

I’m a bit curious why she’s calling me. I mean, it’s only been a week since we both went home from college. We hang all the time when we’re there but never actually talked much during holidays. Other than me, Jo has a real life.

“Yeah, me too,” she replies. “Listen. The rents are going on a trip to visit some boring old relatives in Lake District in September, so I’ll have the house for myself for like three weeks and I thought ‘Hey, Sky’s probably incredibly miserable in the middle of nowhere, why not ask him to come?’”

“Sounds great.” It really does. I’ve not even been here a week and I’m already thinking of bolting. I do want to spend time with my family – it’s just that it seems like they don’t. Jen has barely managed more than a few superficial sentences ever since I came home. I’m not sure Amanda is aware of existence. And Josh can’t even look at me. And I really hate Seaford, too, especially right now when I just caught people gossiping about me again. The prospect of going to Manchester and hang with Joanna kind of seems like a silver lining.

“So, it’s a deal?” she asks.

“Umm, yeah. Let me run it past my Mum first. I’ll get back to you, alright?”

Adam is already impatiently shuffling his feet around and suddenly I’m anxious that he might be bursting for a pee.

“Yeah, yeah. Ask Mummy if you’re allowed to come…, you’re such a wanker, Sky.” I’m not offended, because that’s just Jo’s way of showing that she cares about me.

“Screw you, Jo. Talk to you later.”

I hang up and beckon Adam to walk on. September. That’s only like eight weeks to go and I could escape Seaford without having to go back to college. Too good to be true.