d
r
i
p
s
onto my face.
BERNADETTE (15)
My daughter collapses
Face half pulp,
Covered in blood,
She crumples when I open the front door.
Blood in her hair
On the collar of her shirt
Smeared on her hands.
Her cheeks are dark with mud and bleeding still,
Her tights are ripped,
Knees grazed.
The imprint of someone’s shoe on her face.
I scream for Joe.
Then swallow the fear, reach out,
Did they – I can’t say it –
She shakes,
And begins to cry.
Her eye is swollen closed
Her mouth thick,
Smashed lip
Making it hard to speak
“Mum,” I think she says
And I hold her.
EMERGENCY
dad calls ray,
i hear it from
what feels like
a thousand miles away.
mum bathes my face
and holds my hand
and wants to know
if anything is broken.
everything, i almost say.
but the breath has been knocked out of me
and words don’t work anyway.
dad and ray are pulling on their coats.
smudged shapes, they loom into the room,
“who was it?”
they demand.
and someone whispers,
Aidan Vaine.
A & E
aunty clare sits with me and holds my hand,
while a nurse patches up my face,
and checks i’m still alive.
apparently my heart is still beating.
although i feel
fairly finished, actually.
WHAT DID YOU DO TO AIDAN VAINE?
dad doesn’t answer.
so i say it again,
dad, what happened?
and why’d you have to take ray?
“because he’s a thug,” dad says,
“they both are. him and ray.”
it hurts my sides to laugh.
dad’s mouth twitches,
then he takes my hand
and i wish i never had to let go.
“we warned him off, that’s all,
he won’t be coming after you now,
should have done it months ago.”
i don’t tell him i wanted to get him myself
and that next time,
i’ll be ready.
EVERYTHING STOPS
for Christmas
and i wish the holiday would go on for ever.
after the slow, indoor days,
when we don’t leave the house,
punctuated only by
presents and telly,
chocolate and board games,
late nights
and lie-ins –
i’ll be back at school.
my bruises are green and purple, orange
and black and brown,
my face is a canvas
painted with someone’s hate.
i talk to rosie –
we message each other into the night,
but i miss hearing her voice
and feeling her laugh
in the flesh.
miss her brown eyes
the way she looks at me
and seems to see
something different
to the things the world would like me to believe
i am.
mum’s perfume smashed,
lost somewhere,
(i scrabbled for the pieces
in the dark
but it was gone)
so i’ve nothing to give.
ray passes me an envelope
when he comes for lunch
on Christmas day.
mum smiles and nods, and ray shrugs,
looks shiftily down at his dinner.
i suppose this is his apology.
when no one’s looking
i sneak the money
back into mum’s purse.
a debt i’ve left it late to pay
for stupid shoes,
when i thought that i should buy my way
into a world of people that i hate.
my parents watch me
with terrified eyes.
dad says next time he’ll kill them.
YOU CAN’T HIDE FOR EVER
when rosie invites me to hers
on new year’s eve –
a party!
i almost say no –
because – what if?
“what if what?”
mum demands.
i clarify,
speaking slow and loud
not bottling things up like before,
but letting them spill
like oil
a viscous mess
all over her nice clean carpets.
what if her friends don’t like me?
what if she doesn’t mean it?
is only being polite?
what if?
what if?
what if?
mum fights back,
won’t let me speak,
“don’t be ridiculous,
rosie’s your friend.
she wouldn’t have invited you
if she didn’t want you there.”
i shrug.
mum shouts,
and it’s
a shock
like the slam of a door on my fingers.
“you can’t give up, lily,
you’ve got to at least try
not everyone’s bad.
and
there’s more to life
than feeling sorry for yourself.”
HA!
i laugh in her face.
says you!
i mock
you’ve got no right to have a go at me,
mum,
when you’re a bloody joke.
we’re both silent then,
and whatever i’ve said,
i didn’t mean
and can’t take back.
still, i know it wasn’t right.
BERNADETTE (16)
It hurts to send her out –
But if she stays inside,
For how long might she want
To stay in here and
Hide?
PRETTY
even though my face
is all made up,
you can still see
that somebody came after me.
nothing can hide
the fact
that i’m
the punchbag.
it’s too late to run away,
and i pull a face at the mirror,
don’t wait around for its reply.
“you look lovely, love,”
mum says.
how can she be so nice to me
when i’ve been so mean?
dad takes me round to rosie’s –
we catch one bus
and another.
he wants me to be safe, he says,
as if i’m just a baby,
who can’t go out alone,
but i’m glad of him
beside me.
rosie wears glitter on her face
and her brown skin
is smooth
and velvet.
how does she glow like that?
does she eat sun for breakfast?
swallow moonshine for dessert?
she takes my hand,
waves at my dad,
pulls me inside.
i hold on
and don’t want to let go.
her house is big
the street posher than mine,
tidy,
the gardens firing light.
an
d rosie sparkles too –
she shines
sequined and bright
in party clothes
that i didn’t know she owned.
“oh wow, lily,”
she says, taking me in,
“you look great.”
i blush
look down,
at my jeans
and plain black top,
long cardigan,
still covering up.
she peers closer, frowning a bit,
“but what happened to your face?”
i choose not to say,
laugh and mutter about an argument,
and then there’s no more time to waste,
she’s introducing me to her friends
who smile and offer me a drink, a snack, a seat,
ask questions about my life
and listen when i speak.
“so you’re lil!”
a smiley girl says,
“rosie talks about you all the time!”
and i blink
and swallow
and make myself
believe it’s true.
there is beer
and wine,
someone has vodka
and rosie has made punch –
i’ve never seen her drunk,
she’s loud, and wild,
big laugh, white teeth, wide smile, cherry lips,
her curves shout “look at me!” –
i watch
how she carries herself like a queen –
certain of her right to be seen.
grime banging through the speakers,
then hip-hop,
old school –
“mama said knock you out,” they chant
and they dance,
a blur of feet, arms, legs and hands,
fast, on the beat, popping,
bodies rocking.
i watch,
remembering, and trying not to remember.
at first i’m awkward
don’t know how to move,
but then the beat takes over,
i tap my foot,
feel it punching in my bones.
rosie’s arms are in the air
and she’s up in my face
rapping along,
Damn!
not one of the kids
from school
compares.
someone looks outside
and spots snowflakes falling
so we rush and
dance into the flurry,
it sticks in our hair,
we catch it on our lips
and count in the new year that way.
i didn’t know
this happened
in real life.
PART THREE
AND I GET UP AGAIN
when i’m strong
and fast
and hard
i will select the thing
for its weight,
for the heft
and strike.
i stare at all the stuff
dad keeps at the back of the shed
the lines of tools,
sharp and blunt –
weapons.
i will walk along these streets
and lie in wait
near the school.
and when i see them
i will inflict
all the pain i’ve ever felt.
it will hurt them.
and i won’t care.
reaching out i lift
an axe.
it drags on my arm
pulls me
low and slow.
dropping it, i walk away
feeling sick
at the thought of
all the blood i could spill.
JANUARY BLUES
back
to school,
to training hard
fight night waits, somewhere soon.
snowballs fly through the
dark morning
and something gets me
on the back of my head,
something
sharper than snow,
letting me know
it isn’t over.
it definitely isn’t over.
i walk away
through the whirling, churning storm.
ice in my hair,
blood,
on my hands,
in my thoughts.
aidan laughs at me from across the room
although he’s wearing bruises, a black eye,
he knows that dad and ray
can’t be with me every day,
can’t watch me every second,
and aidan vaine thinks
he’s going to get me again.
i stare him down,
then shut my eyes,
see the gym, rosie,
other places, better worlds,
starlit lives.
(but i also see myself
flickering,
brewing
waiting,
growing,
almost, nearly ready.)
at break i message rosie:
wish you were here
although i’ve never told her
quite how bad it gets,
i guess she’s guessed
because, otherwise, surely there’d be friends.
people steer clear
but walking to maths
mollie is in my way.
“oh,” she says,
“erm,
all right?”
i shrug
what does she expect me to say?
RESOLUTIONS
repeat after me.
i am going to be the girl
who rises up
out of the mud
out of the gutter
out of silence
out of a void that has been carved for me,
i have taken my rage
and i am eating it,
i am making something of it,
a self
that sings
a tune,
that one day everyone will hear.
there is revolution in me:
a great rushing thing
that drags me forward,
and i like the way it sweeps me up,
a tide,
a surge of blood,
that pulses with intent.
i am going to be the girl
who rises up
out of the mud
out of the gutter
out of silence
out of a void that has been carved for me,
i am a girl
i own my destiny.
READY OR NOT
jane says,
she’s planning
who’ll fight who.
it’s time
to put us on the map,
she says,
and to show the world
who we really are.
i turn away
because i don’t like hitting
rosie
and i’m scared that’s what
she’s going to make me do.
i choke on my complaints.
jane doesn’t do excuses
i know there’ll be no special treatment.
“our boxing show –
we’ll run it every year,” she says,
“well, i want to,” jane adds, “if i can –
you’ve worked hard, all of you,
there’s not so many chances out there for girls,
we want to put this place on the map, right, lil?
why shouldn’t we be noticed? you all deserve it, too.”
yeah,
but, i’m not good enough yet.
“we’ll see,” jane says.
we do circuits
all evening
and by the end of it
i’m dying.
“train,” says jane,
and we train some more,
as if that is the only answer.
i message rosie
tell her what i’m thinking,
that i’d best pull out,
sack this off
while i can.
“don’t you dare,” she tells me,
calling up in outrage,
and there’s no doubt
she means it.
i don’t want to fight you.
there’s a pause
another
“okaaaay,” she says,
“well, yeah,
but everybody loses something sometimes,
babe.”
but i lose
every single day.
those words stay
on the tip of my tongue
almost out there
but still not brave enough
to let her in.
“it’s not the winning or the losing, though, lil,
it’s the taking part,”
rosie says,
and then we laugh
and hang up.
AIDAN
looks at me
like he’s won.
he has no idea.
mollie sidles up to me at lunch one day,
“hey,” she says,
“you okay?”
i nod,
stuff my lunch
back inside my bag,
wonder what this is about.
“look,” she says
her eyes flitting,
and i know that she’s checking,
trying to make sure no one’s watching her
fraternizing with the loser.
“i’m just worried –
it’s aidan – well, you should watch out.
you called the police, right?
and told them he beat you up?
they warned him,
whatshisname,
your uncle ray, your dad,
they roughed him up –
maybe that wasn’t such a great idea,
maybe you know, you should apologize?
just to clear the air?”
is this a joke?
i say,
and mollie
steps away,
holding up her hands.
“sorry i spoke,”
she mutters,
“suit yourself,
you freak.”
OUT
she’s always there
that’s the thing