Polly Courtney - The Day I Died

Jo smiled and carefully pulled her sock back on. The pain shot up from the circle of exposed pink flesh.

‘Thanks for the game, anyway. Ow.’

‘Any time. It’s nice to have someone who scores.’

Raj looked a bit put out. ‘She didn’t score all the goals.’

‘Hey, you should swap numbers with one of us,’ suggested Matt. ‘We’re here most Saturdays, sometimes weeknights too.’

There was a rustling noise as all five young men reached for their mobile phones.

Jo smiled. ‘Actually, I don’t have a number at the moment.’

They all looked at her as though she’d claimed to be without arms.

‘I’m sort of…between numbers. Between houses…’

‘Between jobs?’ suggested Sanjit.

‘Yeah, as it happens.’

‘What field of work?’ asked Matt as they headed towards the edge of the park.

Shit. Again, she was unprepared. Jo tried to think up a plausible story that wouldn’t command too many follow-up questions. Using the actress line on these guys would be suicidal. Annoyingly, though, her brain was buzzing from the football and she could only think of silly responses like bull fighter and inventor and sky-diving instructor.

‘Instructor…’ she found herself mumbling. Then for some reason she added, ‘of kids.’

‘Isn’t there a name for that?’ quipped Raj. ‘Aren’t they called teachers?’

Jo rolled her eyes as though she heard that joke every time. ‘I’m not a teacher,’ she replied. ‘I kind of help children…do stuff.’

She was desperately trying to think of something else to say when Matt came to her rescue.

‘I know what you mean,’ he said. ‘You’re a support worker, aren’t you? A kind of mentor.’

‘Yes! Exactly.’ Jo nodded fervently, slightly concerned that Matt knew so much about her supposed career. ‘A mentor.’

‘I work at Dunston’s in Oxford,’ Matt explained. ‘I don’t actually work with the kids–I do the marketing and press and that.’

‘Saint Matt,’ muttered Raj under his breath.

Matt casually stuck his foot out and tripped him up. ‘And what is it you do these days?’

‘I’m an entrepreneur,’ Raj replied stiffly. ‘Anyway, see you next week.’

He cut down a side street at the edge of the park and disappeared with an impressively large swagger for someone so small. Matt laughed quietly.

Kieran stopped walking, all of a sudden, and stuck out his hand. ‘Nice to meet you, Jo.’

Jo shook it, surprised by the sudden formality. He seemed like quite a peculiar young man.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Matt. ‘We, er…we live together, don’t we?’

‘I need to buy some flowers,’ Kieran explained.

‘Flowers?’

‘Yes. I like flowers.’

Matt looked perplexed but didn’t push it. ‘OK. Well, see you later then. Jo, which way are you heading?’

Jo picked a direction at random, which by happy coincidence was the way Matt seemed to be going. They left Henry and Sanjit at a bus stop and set off up the road together.

‘So, how d’you all know each other?’ asked Jo, keen to keep the topic of conversation away from herself.

‘I went to school with Sanjit, who knew Kieran from uni. Raj is some sort of distant relative of Sanjit’s, and Henry…well, he just appeared one day and started poncing around. He’s all right. They call him Tim Nice But Dim.’

Jo smiled. For the first time since arriving in Oxfordshire, she was having a conversation with someone her own age–and not having to do too much lying. It might have been partly the exercise, but she felt almost relaxed around Matt.

‘Watch out for Henry,’ he warned. ‘He’s a real charmer. Got a way with the ladies…Or at least, that’s what he reckons.’

‘Mmm, must be those shorts.’ Jo laughed. Talking to Matt reminded her of something. Someone.

‘And Raj probably thinks he’s in there too. He’s the entrepreneur’

‘Oh yes,’ said Jo, straight-faced. ‘I’ve never met an entrepreneur before. Did you say he’s related to Sanjit?’

‘I don’t think they have many genes in common. Sanjit’s the laziest git in the world and Raj has ADHD. But then, Sanjit’s dad owns the patent to some sort of satellite widget that means he’ll never have to work in his life, so I guess that explains it.’

Matt reached into his pocket to pull out a set of keys, and with a sense of disappointment Jo realised they were standing outside his flat. Suddenly, the image crystallised and a scene started playing out in her mind.

She had seen fragments of it before, she realised: first when she’d run into the man outside the post office, then again when she’d gone drinking in Oxford. It could have been a daydream or some weird trick of the mind, but now she felt certain it wasn’t.

She was in somebody’s bedroom. Maybe hers. The details of the room weren’t clear but she knew she was sitting on a bed. A guy with blond hair was standing over her, looking at her, arguing. He was crying. She might have been crying too, Jo couldn’t tell. All she knew was that it was her fault. She was hurting him.

For several days now, Jo had tried to reassemble the scene, enhance the images, hear the words…but it was impossible. The memory wasn’t clear enough. It was like trying to complete a jigsaw puzzle with only half the pieces. She didn’t know who the guy was, or why she was seeing him now, so clearly.

‘Where are you heading?’

Jo forced the blond guy out of her head.

‘Into Abingdon.’

It was the truth. She needed to find a place to stay, and a job. It was all very well messing about with footballs, but the fact remained she was in a pretty desperate situation.

‘You’re going off into the outskirts–you know that?’

‘Um…’ In a moment of rashness, Jo decided to come clean. Well, nearly clean. ‘To be honest, I’m a bit lost. I need to find a B&B for the night. I had a bit of a…a problem with the place where I was supposed to be staying.’

‘So you really are between houses?’

Jo nodded.

‘Tell me that’s not your worldly possessions in there?’ He nodded at the carrier bag, smiling.

‘Ha!’ Jo forced a laugh. ‘No. No, the rest is with…with a friend back in London. This is just, er, some stuff. Toothpaste, knickers, you know…’

‘Oh, right.’ He raised an eyebrow and Jo wished she hadn’t mentioned the knickers. ‘Well, I’m not too hot on B&Bs. If it was social housing you were after, I’d be full of ideas, but…’

Jo’s expression clearly revealed her ignorance.

‘Dunston’s,’ he explained. ‘That’s what we do. Get people off the streets and into housing.’

Jo closed her mouth. ‘Yes, obviously.’

‘Ooh, I know. What are you after, posh and expensive or cheap and cheerful?’

‘Cheap and cheerful,’ Jo replied quickly. She hoped she wasn’t coming across as too much of a loser.

‘Good. That means less of a walk.’

Matt led her up his road and along a perpendicular street where the purpose-built flats turned into tall, rambling Victorian houses that looked significantly more run-down. Jo’s attempts at thanking her guide were brushed aside.

‘I’m not missing much. I’d only be waiting for Kieran to come home and keep me amused with his flower arrangements.’

Jo laughed. ‘He seems quite, er…unique.’

‘He’s special, that’s for sure. Twenty-three, going on twelve.’ Matt slowed to a halt and led her through a set of white gateposts. ‘So, here we are. Don’t expect too much.’

The hostel turned out to be perfectly adequate. Run like a B&B but with none of the dusty ornaments or potpourri, it was basic but clean. The man in charge seemed to know Matt and offered Jo a discounted rate of twenty pounds a night.