Non Pratt - Trouble

The way he laughs at this mildly-amusing-at-best joke, in front of witnesses, is deeply suspicious.

“What do you want, Rex?” I stop to look at him. This time there’s no eye contact.

“I told her you’d be suspicious.”

“Why’s she sent you?” There’s no need to ask who he means. “Is it to tell me that I’m not the father?”

Rex looks uncomfortable. “Look… it’s just what people have been saying…”

“‘People’?! You mean Katie,” I say a little too loudly. A few people glance over. “Tell Katie the same thing Hannah did: I’m not going anywhere.”

This gets his attention. It hadn’t occurred to him that Hannah would have talked about this. That she and I are a team.

“Come on, Katie and Hannah were really good mates. If anyone knows…” He sees the way I’m looking at him and his words dry up.

“You’re not seriously going to try and use the ‘good mates’ argument after the way Katie treated Hannah?” I seem to have no control over the volume of my words.

“Katie was upset too—”

“Why are you defending her?” I’ve had enough of this. “Really? Have you not seen yourself? Have you not seen the way she treats you? The girl’s poison, Rex.”

“That’s my girlfriend you’re talking about!”

“Stop defending her!” I’m almost shouting in frustration, dimly aware of the clot of people gathered nearby, staring. “Look at how she ditched Hannah. Those two were best friends . Instead of doing her dirty work, try looking out for yourself before she fucks you over too.”

He’s calling after me as I hurry away, but I’m not running from him, I’m running from my loss of control. The knot inside me is made of many things — guilt, anger, misery… and fear. I am frightened that this isn’t where Katie’s questions will end. When she finds she can’t turn me against Hannah, how far will she go to find a way to turn Hannah against me? God knows she won’t have to go far.

Twenty-eight weeks along.

The baby weighs about 875 grams. (Although that doesn’t sound much for how big I look…)

It can open its eyes, suck its thumb and hiccup. (It hiccups a lot.)

It can dream, apparently. Presumably dreaming and waking are pretty much the same thing if all you’ve ever seen is the inside of a womb.

If it was born now it would have a ninety per cent chance of surviving, which sounds pretty good to me. Although don’t come out yet, little one, you hear me? You stay in there and cook until you’re done, yeah?

It hiccupped at me. I will take that as a sign of agreement.

When Dad drops me off at the home I stand at the bottom of the ramp and think about running away — of course I do — but Neville laid his soul at my feet with his confession and now I owe him mine.

May Neville forgive me the way that I can’t.

I sign in and head down to Neville’s room, but when I get there, I’m taken aback by the sight of him, diminished inside his clothes — and he’s wearing slippers, not shoes. Neville has always despised residents who spend their days in slippers and dressing gowns.

“Nice slippers.”

“Sod off.” He glares at his feet. “I might have peed in one of my shoes.”

I smile. “Let me know if you want me to get you a new pair.”

“Trust me, sunshine, your need is greater than mine.”

Laughing, I sit down in the other chair and look at him, noticing the bulge of an inhaler in the top pocket of his shirt. “You all right?”

“I’ll live.” And he coughs. A lot. I hand him the half-filled glass of water from the table, but he goes for the inhaler. “Doctor wants to put me on antibiotics, but I’ve told him where to go.”

“Is that such a good idea?”

“They give me the runs. I’m old, I’m slow. I don’t want to shit in my slippers now, do I? Won’t have anything to keep me feet warm.”

Can’t argue with that.

“What you told me — the other week?” I’m looking at the carpet, studying the pattern between my feet. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“Trusting me not to let the truth change anything. For knowing I’d still come back and visit you the next week.”

“Only you didn’t…” But he’s only teasing.

Neville looks at me, his chest shaking with each breath, but his gaze steady. “Aaron. Whatever it is you’re going to tell me, I will still expect to see you next week. There’s nothing you can tell me that will change that.”

I close my eyes and take a leap of faith. It’s time to tell Neville how I killed my best friend.

I have just been to my first after-school netball match. No, that’s not an April Fool’s (I wish it was — netball is the most boring sport ever , although still better than an evening watching Aaron and Gideon geek out over retro sci-fi films). There’s loads of our year still hanging about at the bottom of the grounds and there’s a steady trickle of players leaving the changing rooms and heading down there. I won’t be going — me and Anj are going back to mine to make (and “taste”) party food for Lola’s birthday tomorrow — but I’m waiting in too obvious a place outside the changing rooms and Tilly from PSHE comes over to chat.

The chat is a formality. Really she just wants to feel the bump. She puts her bag down and bends over to stare at her hand as she presses it on my school shirt. “Weird!”

I don’t tell her that the baby moving around is way less weird than her touching my tummy.

When Anj “Player of the Season” storms out of the changing room, her joy on the court has turned to fury and she zones in on Tilly. “Why is everyone asking me if Gideon and Aaron are seeing each other?”

Tilly looks petrified, which is fair enough because Angry Anj is scary.

“Maybe-because-Katie-Coleman’s-been-telling-people-that-Aaron-left-his-last-school-after-he-was-bullied-for-coming-out?” It comes out as a continuous stream and Tilly holds her breath waiting for Anj’s response.

“Well, they’re just friends.”

“OK,” Tilly squeaks. “I wasn’t the one asking.”

“I know,” Anj says. “Sorry.”

Tilly makes a quick exit, off to find out where the party is. I feel a bit of a loser seeing her scuttling away to hang out with the cool kids when all I’ve got going on is a six-year-old’s party to plan. I guess that’s going to be my life from now on — may as well get used to it.

“That’s Tilly’s bag, isn’t it?” Anj is looking next to my left foot.

“Yes.”

She sighs. It’s not like anyone else is going to take it to her, so we follow the noise, not talking. I’m just piecing together what I think Katie’s up to. Spreading a believable rumour that Aaron’s gay (because let’s face it, that’s a conclusion I didn’t find it hard to jump to back in the day) kinda brings into question the possibility that he really is the father of my baby. Plus, this place is a bit backwards when it comes to coming out. Why else would Gideon still be looking for his first snog? He’s cute. I would. But no one has.

Katie’s voice is raised as we approach the crowd by the benches. She’s always needed to shout the loudest. She — and Marcy from the sounds of it — are teasing Tyrone, asking him if he’s had an AIDS test. It doesn’t take a genius to work out what she’s on about and I feel Anj tense next to me, her jaw tightening, her hand balling into a fist around the strap on Tilly’s bag.

“Seriously. Katie needs to see my mum for an education…” I murmur, but neither of us are laughing as we catch sight of the two girls.