soft bare inches between her jeans and her top. Someone like Gary Drake or Neal Brose or Duncan Priest. My memory was vague so to pass the time I made her up. I sculpted Sally’s breasts like Debby Crombie’s. I gave her Kate Alfrick’s hair, silking round her naked throat. I gave her a face transplant from Dawn Madden, not forgetting Dawn Madden’s sadistic eyes. Mademoiselle Crommelynck’s slightly upturned nose. Debbie Harry’s raspberry-cream lips.
Sally, the lost Pick’n’Mix girl.
If Dad guessed I was trying to make him feel guilty, that’d give him the excuse to not let me. So after nine o’clock, I switched on the reading lamp and read Watership Down. Up to the bit where Bigwig faces up to General Woundwort. Moths kept tapping on the window. Insects crawled over the glass like skaters on ice. A key turned in the lock and Dad tripped into the room. ‘Ah, Jason, here you are.’
Where else’d I be? I dared myself to not reply to Dad.
He didn’t notice I was sulking. ‘Chariots of Speed’ll have to take a rain-check.’ Dad’s voice was far too loud for the room. ‘Craig Salt turned up halfway through my seminar.’
‘Danny Lawlor told me,’ I said.
‘Craig Salt’s yacht’s over in Poole so he drove over to address the troops. Couldn’t just swan off to the local flea-pit with you, I’m afraid.’
‘Right,’ I said, in Mum’s flattest voice.
‘Danny and you had dinner, right?’
‘Right.’
‘The world of work’s about these kinds of sacrifices. Craig Salt’s taking us managers out to some place somewhere near Charmouth, so you’ll probably be asleep by the time I—’ Dad saw my kite, propped up against the radiator. ‘What’s this you’ve been spending your money on?’
Dad always picks fault with what I buy. If it isn’t tat from Taiwan, I paid far too much for something I’ll only use twice. If he can’t see a problem he’ll make one up, like that time I bought BMX transfers for my bike and he made a massive drama out of getting out insurance forms and altering the ‘Description’ box. It’s so unfair. I don’t criticize how he spends his money.
‘A kite.’
‘So I see…’Dad’d already slid my kite out of its wrapper. ‘What a beaut! Did Danny help you choose it?’
‘Yes.’ I didn’t want to be pleased he was pleased. ‘A bit.’
‘Fancy you buying yourself a kite.’ Dad peered down its spine. ‘Hey, let’s get up at the crack of dawn. We’ll try it out down on the beach! Just you and me, right? Before all the little tourists stake out every square inch, right?’
‘Right, Dad.’
‘Crack of dawn!’
I cleaned my teeth without mercy.
Mum and Dad can be as ratty or sarcastic or angry as they want to me, but if I ever show a flicker of being pissed off then they act like I’ve murdered babies. I hate them for that. But I hate my guts for never standing up to Dad like Julia does. So I hate their guts for making me hate my guts. Kids can never complain about unfairness ’cause everyone knows kids always complain about that. ‘Life isn’t fair, Jason, and the sooner you learn that, the better.’ So there. That’s that sorted. It’s fine for Mum and Dad to scrunch up any promise they make to me and flush it down the bog, and why?
Because life isn’t fair, Jason.
My eyes fell on Dad’s electric shaver box.
I got the shaver out, just because. Snug as an unswitched-on light sabre.
Plug it in, whispered Unborn Twin from the corners of the bathroom. Dare you.
It came to life and buzzed my entire skeleton.
Dad’d kill me for doing this. It’s so obvious that I mustn’t touch his shaver, he’s never even told me not to. But Dad hadn’t even bothered telling me to go to Chariots of Fire on my own. His shaver came closer to the bumfluff on my upper lip…closer…
It bit me!
I unplugged it.
Oh God. Now my bumfluff had a ridiculous patch missing.
Maggot whimpered, What have you done?
In the morning Dad’d see and it’d be all too obvious what I’d done. My one hope was to shave the whole fuzz off. Surely Dad’d notice that, too?
But I had nothing to lose. The shaver tickled. On a scale of 0 to 10, 3.
The shaver hurt a bit, too. On a scale of 0 to 10, 11 4.
I panickily examined the results. My face did look different, but it’d be hard to put your finger on how, exactly.