Graffiti My Soul Read online

  – Moon shouldn’t have been wedged between us

  – Moon shouldn’t have been caught in the stomach

  – Not cut. Plunged. Sounding like a potato falling into a sack

  – Moon shouldn’t have looked at me like that. That’s all I’ve got to say about it

  – We shouldn’t have frozen. We could have saved Moon otherwise

  – The toilets shouldn’t have been the most silent room in the school. One of us should have done something

  – I shouldn’t have run to the far corner like some coward

  – Pearson shouldn’t have had his hand still on the knife

  – Moon shouldn’t have just stood there. She should have run towards me for help

  – Pearson shouldn’t have taken the knife out

  – Moon shouldn’t be losing this amount of blood. It’s like someone’s dipped her shirt in red ink

  – I shouldn’t have stood in the corner like a dirty peeping tom. I should have tried to do something

  – Pearson shouldn’t still have the knife in his hand, not when Year Head comes in

  – Jason shouldn’t have followed her back in

  – Year Head shouldn’t have screamed. It sent Pearson further into shock

  – Jason shouldn’t have screamed. It woke me up and I saw how far Moon was gone

  – Year Head shouldn’t have tried to give First Aid. It was way too late for that, you can’t just scoop the lost blood back into a person. All it did was ensure she’d have a messed up mind for years to come

  – Jason shouldn’t have been packed off to call for assistance. If he’d have seen more, I might have been able to open up to him

  – Moon shouldn’t have stayed so silent

  – Pearson shouldn’t have lost the use of his mouth

  – I shouldn’t have regained the use of mine. Made sure I got my story straight

  69

  Mike takes me out when Mum isn’t around. Eases me back into the outside world. Going to the Oaks on Epsom Downs, where he gives me a tenner to bet with and I lose the lot. Letting me get away with some very illegal Mercedes-driving on the lanes around Dorking. He takes things slowly. Doesn’t pretend to be a dad. Acts like he might actually be interested in me; that I might be worth knowing. Having Mike around makes me less afraid – about a lot of things.

  ‘Want to try flying a plane? There’s an airfield about an hour away I could take you to, if you like.’

  ‘You’d let me fly a plane?’

  ‘There’s training to do first, fella. You’ve got a couple of years making-do with the simulator before we can let you go charging around. But . . .’

  ‘No worries. I’ll ask Mum when I’m eighteen.’

  ‘You give up too easy, V! We can’t call ourselves an action team unless we get you up in a plane! I’ll take you up this afternoon. So you can get a feel for it.’

  ‘You’d do that?’

  ‘Course! And when you need your form signing, come to me. I’ll still be around.’

  A week later at paintballing, he throws himself in front of me to avoid getting hit by his goon friends. He gets caught on the shoulder, the force sending him headlong into my sternum. He holds the pain in his jaw, his priority being a pat on the shoulder to see if I’m OK, and then a push towards the nearest tree before I make a big deal about it.

  Once we got the hang of the paintguns, we’re heroic on the field. Kings of stealth. Moving in sync like a boyband. He’s all signs and no sound. I’m his mirror. By the time our session’s over, I’ve all these endorphins flooding out of me. Makes me feel like doing a victory lap.

  On the way back to the car, I get tangled whilst trying to pull myself out of the boilersuit. Mike paid the guy so that we could keep ours – I wanted to show Mum what multi-coloured war wounds look like. My protective vest is an over-the-head number. I get it stuck around my ears like a five-year-old. Mike stops me almost ripping my chain off in my hurry.

  ‘St Christopher? That’s a blast from the past.’

  ‘You got one too?’

  ‘Got it when I was confirmed. Never wear it, though. What’s with yours?’

  ‘Just an old present. Reminds me of the time when I got it.’

  ‘Birthday?’

  ‘Nah. Just reminds me of good intentions. Not always best received.’

  ‘Now you’re talking my language! Did you know your mum’s on another food fad? She almost bit my head off when I gave her breakfast in bed.’

  ‘What was it? Bacon?’

  ‘No. Toast.’

  When I’m older, I’ll have a laugh thinking about how I was such an eejit.

  Mike doesn’t bring up the subject of school. He’s not like that. He isn’t nosy. Somehow that makes me want to tell him everything. There’s two weeks left ’til the holidays. Mum says there’s no point in going back before then. But this morning I woke up and find myself txting Jase. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Seeing if he’ll meet me at the shops. Safe, he txts back.

  Everyone needs to pack up their kid gloves. I’m ready.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to the following for all their hard work and belief: Mark Stanton at Jenny Brown Associates, Jamie Byng, Kate Weinberg, Francis Bickmore, and everyone at Canongate. Shout-outs to Shoshanna, Jersey Girl and Suzie F for sound advice on things spiritual and athletic.

  H / The Stiletto / Ruben – for saving my bacon.

  Neely – coolest sister ever.

  Love to family and friends, without whom . . .