to him for two and a half years.
The Pencil Charm
Jake’s sitting on the pitched red roof outside his bedroom window for the fourth day in a row. It’s steep and his mum doesn’t like him being out here, particularly when it’s hot. The beating sun does sometimes make him feel dizzy, but it’s the best place to stay out of his dad’s way. Terry’s less fit than he used to be, so can’t get out here anymore.
Anyway, he’s been out here hundreds of times over the last year and has perfected the art of climbing in and out of the window without even a wobble, just like Joey in Dawson’s Creek. Besides, his dad is out of work after punching someone down at the yard and being fired, so he’s at home a lot more. His jobs never last long, and their spare room is full of DVDs, CDs, electrical goods, and gym equipment he sells down the market or on eBay. He’s always wheeling and dealing, and Jake’s mum joked last month he’s like that TV character Del Boy from Only Fools and Horses. The comment earned her a black eye, because Jake’s dad prides himself on his good looks and took offence at being compared to the actor who plays Del Boy.
Jake’s own ribs are still healing from a few weeks ago when Terry came home drunk from the pub and accused Jake of not being his son. He was yelling and screaming that Jake was an impostor, and his mum must have cheated.
He doesn’t remember the actual punches, or what it felt like to be curled up on the kitchen floor with his dad standing over him. He only knows that once it was over, his whole body ached, a mass of sore parts and bruises. In the bathroom afterwards – the only room in the house with a lock on the door, because his dad likes privacy to shower – he spat blood into the sink and held his side. It was hard to breathe, a sharp pain stabbing at him every time he inhaled. But he’s used to it now, and broken ribs heal with time.
His mum stayed in bed for two days, but he had to get up for school to see out the end of term. He didn’t mind, because it was a relief to be away from home. Even though he doesn’t get on with many of the kids in his classes, he stays on for as many extracurricular activities as possible, to extend the school day. He knows parents are supposed to love and protect their kids, but that’s not his experience. Maybe his mum used to try and stand in his dad’s way when he was little to stop him being hit, but he’s not sure if that’s a real memory or just wishful thinking. Nowadays, she seems to have simply accepted their life as it is. She has never done anything to change it, never taken action that he knows of to rescue them. There’ve been no hastily packed bags, hidden tins of cash, or bus journeys to refuge shelters. Jake and his mum are like two strangers locked in a prison together, passing the time and trying to avoid eye contact. He doesn’t expect anything from her. He’s simply waiting until he’s big and strong enough to stop his dad. Surely if Terry sees he can stand up for himself, and for his mum, he won’t bother them. He’ll find someone else to take his anger out on. Jake just needs to survive until then. A couple of years ago, he’d hoped that becoming a teenager would mean the arrival of muscles. It hadn’t, but he still has hope that he might shoot up at some point. It’s hard to get strong and grow when some days he doesn’t eat though.
He sighs, wishing he were anywhere but here. There are birds singing in the leafy trees nearby, and in the distance he can hear the buzz of a lawnmower, so he pictures a patch of bright green grass in his head. It helps pass the time. Grey smoke floats up from the garden a few houses over, and he imagines a party of people crowded around a BBQ. He can almost taste the meaty sausage, and his mouth fills with saliva. He hasn’t eaten anything since last night, and his stomach is growling and clenching in spasms. If he’s lucky, Terry will go out for a bit and he can sneak to the kitchen. There’s no predicting the pattern of his comings and goings, so it can be difficult. And the last time his mum tried to give him some food, Terry broke her finger. ‘I hope you’ve learnt your lesson,’ he said, glaring as she cowered against the kitchen counter cupping her hand. ‘If your son wants food, he can come down and get it himself.’ After that Jake decided he’d rather go hungry than see his mum get hurt or get an extra bruise himself.
Now, he picks at the knee of his black shorts as a distraction. They’re tattered, fraying at the edges and at least two sizes too small for him, tight around his thighs and hips. His T-shirt is a brand that went out of fashion when he was twelve. Unlike his school mates, he doesn’t wear the latest trainers or sports gear. It’s why he doesn’t go out with anyone at weekends, or in the evenings. He’s too embarrassed about his clothes, and what people might say about them. What they might think of him and his family.
The only person he trusts, who never judges him, is Ray. Leila’s grandad. When he’s with the older man, he knows he won’t get sympathetic glances or be asked awkward questions. Ray knows Jake’s situation is difficult, although not the full extent of what happens behind closed doors. He doesn’t try to stick his nose in, although he mentioned once there are services that can help Jake and his mum. Jake shut down when Ray said that, and left quickly, so Ray hasn’t brought it up again. Recently though, Ray has offered Jake the opportunity to do occasional chores, giving him little brown envelopes of coins, feeding him hot meals after every task he completes. Jake keeps the money at Ray’s house so his dad can’t take it and spend it on alcohol.
Ray’s house is only three properties along, and Jake can easily see into his back garden because of the bend in the road. Jake often hears what’s going on in Ray’s house, particularly as he tends to leave his windows open. Most of the time, it’s not much – the muted sound of a presenter talking on TV, a jazz tune on the radio, Ray telling a cold caller that no thank you, he doesn’t need what they’re selling – but today is different. There are two voices approaching the back of the house from inside, getting louder as they reach the garden. Ray and a large pink man with scruffy blond hair step onto the shorn grass, walking over to the green plastic circular table and matching chairs. Jake recognises Leila’s dad, Henry, although they only met once in passing.
Ray’s carrying a round cake with a white base, hot pink icing and matching candles, while Henry balances a tray with porcelain cups, silver spoons, a teapot, jugs and sugar, which he places on the table. It’s the same set Ray uses when Jake sneaks around for tea.
His heart lifts. He’s been waiting weeks for this, ever since Ray mentioned their visit. He hopes he got it right. He would have given it to her himself, but his dad gave him a black eye yesterday. He’s too ashamed to show the purpling bruise and bloodshot retina to anyone. There would be too many questions. Usually his dad is more careful to hit him in places where bruises can be hidden. In the end he decided to just post the gift through the door late last night in an envelope with a simple L on the front.
Jake sits forward to get a better look as Leila comes into view. She’s grown a little since last year. Her long silvery blonde hair is as lovely as ever. She’s wearing it in a high ponytail, with her fringe pinned back in a mini-quiff. There are red and purple streaks of hair mascara in it right through to the ends. Her jeans have lines down the side of the legs and she’s wearing a black T-shirt that ends a few inches above her waistband, exposing her stomach.
‘Happy Birthday, Leila!’ Ray smiles, holding a big knife aloft before pointing it at the cake. ‘How does it feel to be thirteen? Officially a teenager?’
‘Yeah, y’know. It’s okay.’ She shrugs, dropping down into the seat next to her dad.
‘Leila, manners!’ Henry says.
She
