If only.
I’d fly us out of this shithole at the first opportunity. I’ve thought about it, just up and leaving in the night. But Squeeks gets upset whenever I mention it, still holding on to some hope that things will miraculously get better for us here.
I take the mattress on the floor. It’s thin and stained, but it does the job. I wrap up most nights in two hoodies and a blanket that smells faintly of dog, but it works. I don’t sleep much anyway.
I listen.
For Danny’s voice downstairs. For Mum’s heels clicking on the hallway floorboards. But when Squeeks is asleep, her breathing soft and slow, I pretend the walls are made of stone. I imagine they’re strong enough to keep everything out—the shouting, the deals, the sadness.
We’ve got a shelf, just one, surprisingly still clinging to the wall. On it are a few battered books I stole from a charity shop, some with missing covers and others with missing pages. I read them to Squeeks when the noise from the rest of the house gets too much for her. I skip the parts that don’t make sense and create my own endings. She never notices, just smiles and nods, as if I’m the most intelligent person in the world.
Because in this room, I’m not just a kid. I stopped being a kid a long time ago. I’m the lock on the door. The blanket against the cold. The one thing that separates her from everything evil outside this room. And even if this place is falling apart, even if the world outside doesn’t give two shits about us, this room, our room, is the last bit of good I’ve got left to protect.
The front door doesn’t even open properly, broken from years of being slammed shut. I shoulder it open, careful not to drop the food piled in my hands. My heart still thudding in my chest from the shop, from Chester, from the quiet miracle of someone just giving. Squeeks trails close behind me, clutching the Milky Buttons like treasure.
We barely get two steps inside before I hear him.
“Oi!” Danny’s voice slices through the hallway like a blade. Then he’s there, rising from the shadows by the stairs like he waswaiting, a greasy vest on and several chains dangling around his neck, his eyes bloodshot and twitchy. He reeks of smoke like he’s been marinating in it. Before I can even get Squeeks behind me, his hand is on my throat, dragging me hard against the peeling hallway wall—the food tumbling from my grasp to the floor. Something, maybe the sausage roll, squishes underfoot.
“You deaf, or just stupid?” He snarls, his face inches from mine. “Where is your fucking Mum?”
I flinch but say nothing as his grip tightens around my windpipe, the back of my head knocking hard against the wall. Squeeks makes a slight noise from the doorway, like a scared animal.
“You hear me, rat?” Danny’s face is practically pressing against my own. “She said she’d be back by three. It’s nearly five. So what, she out doin’ extra shifts, yeah? Skanking about to cover your little shopping trip?”
His eyes flick to the food on the floor, “You lot got money now? Did she suck off the manager or somethin’?”
My fists clench, but I don’t move. I can’t afford to bite back, not with Squeeks watching.
“I found it,” my voice cracking under his grip. He’d beat me there and then if he knew a stranger had bought it for us. “Bin out back of the corner shop.”
He leans back, still holding me in place. “That so?”
I nodded, keeping my face blank. I’ve gotten good at that, no twitching, no fear he can feed off—just stillness.
Danny's stare bores into me, then shoves me away. My shoulder clips the corner of the stairs as I stumble, something I'm sure will add to the bruises I’ll already have come morning.
“Tell your mum if she doesn’t show up soon, I’m selling her phone and every last thing in this dump she cares about,” he spits, pointing a finger down at me. “And next time you bring food into this house, you tell me first. Understand?”
I didn’t look at him, just remained quiet on the bottom step. He disappears back into the lounge, muttering, lighting a fag, the football blaring as if none of it happened. I scoop up the scattered food and turn to check on Squeeks. She’s watching me, her eyes wide and sorrowful. I give her a little smile, the kind that says I’m okay, even when I’m not.
“Come on,” I whisper. “Let’s go eat in our room.”
She rushes up the stairs, careful not to creak the wrong floorboard. My eyes shift to the piece of shit now slumped on the couch, and I glare at his back as I follow her.
Closing the door, I lean against it. Letting out a deep sigh, I run a hand over my throat, still feeling the tightness of his fingers that once gripped my skin. Squeeks stayed quiet, just the sound of the muffled football and Danny shouting at players who couldn’t hear him. I never understood why people do that.
Squeeks crawls onto the bed, hugging her pillow close. I set the food down beside her: the half-crushed Twix, a bag of crisps, and the squashed sausage roll, still mostly intact.
“You want half?” I ask, snapping the Twix and holding it out towards her. She nods eagerly, licking her lips.
I glance out the window, the sky bleeding from a warm orange into grey.
Five o’clock, and still no word from Mum. She left this morning in her leopard-print jacket and fishnets, saying, “I’ll be back soon, don’t let Danny touch my fags.”
I try not to show it, but Squeeks catches the way I’m staring out the window instead of eating.
“Is Mummy coming home?” Her voice soft as I return my attention towards her.
