rain continued to pound on the window. For a precious minute or two, Sadie allowed herself to be transfixed by the droplets falling like tears down the windowpane.
Unbidden, the image of little Jamie Brown popped into her head. She suppressed a shudder as she remembered the bruising up his arm and wondered, not for the first time, what sort of hell he had to endure when he was at home. All of a sudden she felt slightly ashamed of herself. The little boy who had taken to following her around the playground at breaktime surely had to endure more than she did: Allen might be mean, but at least he never hit her.
Maybe he was right. Maybe she was selfish. Maybe this whole situation was her fault.
How long Sadie sat there, huddled in her dressing gown, she couldn’t say; but she was snapped out of her daydream by the sound of Allen’s voice: he was calling from the bottom of the stairs, ‘Your tea’s ready, Sadie.’
Sadie blinked. He never made her tea; it was normally up to Jackie or Sadie herself to prepare meals for all of them. She felt like calling down to say she wasn’t hungry, but something told her that would not be a wise thing to do, so she quickly pulled on her pink tracksuit and went downstairs. A plate of spaghetti hoops on toast was waiting for her on the kitchen table, with a glass of water.
Silently she sat down and started to eat. The food was only lukewarm, and she barely had an appetite, but she knew that if she didn’t eat it would only cause aggro, so she soldiered on, aware of Allen’s gaze on her all the time.
‘You don’t say much, do you, Sadie?’ he asked after a while.
Sadie chewed her food and didn’t reply.
‘You like spaghetti?’ Allen tried again.
‘’S’all right,’ Sadie said, her mouth still half full.
‘Me too. Mind if I have a bit of yours?’
Sadie did mind, but she knew she couldn’t say so, so she shrugged and watched as Allen stood up and fetched himself a fork from a drawer. He walked back to the table, put his left hand on Sadie’s left shoulder, and then leaned over the other one and lifted a forkful of food into his mouth. Sadie felt her muscles seizing up and she stared intently at the plate in front of her. Allen’s hand remained lightly on her shoulder. When he had finished his mouthful, he helped himself to a second, gave her a little squeeze and went to wash up his fork.
Sadie started eating more quickly. As she heard Allen put his fork by the sink, somehow she could tell that he was looking at her from behind. The moment she had wolfed down her last mouthful, she scraped back her chair and picked up her dirty plate. Allen was leaning against the sink, a strange smile on his face.
‘Excuse me,’ Sadie muttered. ‘I have to wash up.’
With a nod, Allen cleared out of the way and wandered back into the sitting room.
Sadie washed up quickly, and hurried upstairs.
She felt a chill. It was not particularly cold in the house, but she had got soaked earlier on, so maybe that was why. She felt like having a bath, hot and soapy, to warm her up and wash away the uncomfortable feeling Allen had just left her with. Then she would go to bed – early. Changing back into her dressing gown, she took the towel that was hanging on the end of her bed and went into the bathroom.
Immediately she noticed that the sliding lock that had been there ever since she could remember was not there. All that remained were four screw holes and a patch of unpainted wood where the lock used to be. Sadie stared at the door, puzzled: why would anyone take the lock off the door? Admittedly it had always been a little stiff, but it had never been a problem – although she knew Allen never locked the door behind him when he used the bathroom. Looking around her, her eyes fell on the dirty-washing basket that was always kept by the sink. She dragged it across the floor and propped it against the door – at least that would make it clear that someone was in there. She turned the taps on and the sound of running water filled the room.
When the bubble bath that she had poured into the hot water had transformed itself into huge snowy peaks, Sadie let her dressing gown fall to the floor and climbed in. The hot water stung her skin, but she liked it – it felt as if it was cleansing her all the more thoroughly. Slowly she allowed herself to sink beneath the suds and stretch out, closing her eyes to block out the harsh glare of the plastic strip lighting on the ceiling. She slipped gently further down into the water, allowing her head to become half submerged and her long, dark hair to splay out. She loved the feeling of being under water, and the way all the sounds became muted and muffled; she felt as if she was in her own little world, away from it all. She started drumming her fingernails against the bottom of the bath, and focused on that regular, rhythmic, under-water sound.
But then she heard something else. A voice. It could only be one person’s.
Spluttering, she pushed herself up from under the water and wiped the suds from around her eyes. Her pulse was suddenly racing, her breathing heavy, but she was relieved to see nobody in the bathroom. Perhaps she had imagined it. She sat still in the bath.
Suddenly, the dirty-washing basket in front of the door nudged forward a couple of inches as the door was pushed ajar. It nudged forward again. She could see Allen’s fingers curled round the edge of the door. ‘Let us in,’ he said, his voice echoing slightly against the yellowing tiles of the bathroom. ‘Let us in to use the toilet. I’m desperate.’
Sadie found that her breath was shaking, and all of a sudden something snapped in her as she started to scream. ‘Get out!’ she yelled. ‘Get out! Get away from me!’ Her screams degenerated into a whimper. ‘Get out!’ she repeated, her wet hands covering her wet face.
When she looked up again, Allen’s fingertips were no longer round the door; but she had not heard him walk away, so she could not tell whether or not he was waiting for her on the other side. For an unrealistic moment she considered staying where she was, safe under the water, until her mum came back. But of course that would not be for hours: she had to get out.
Still catching her breath through sobs that escaped involuntarily through her throat, she stood up in the bath and, her hands covering herself to afford her some sort of modesty, stepped over the side. She grabbed her dressing gown and tried to pull it quickly over her wet skin, but her fingers were fumbling and the more she tried to hurry, the slower she seemed to go. Eventually she had herself covered, and she wrapped her towel around her shoulders to give her extra protection. She wanted to be in her bedroom. Now. So she pulled the dirty-washing basket away from the door and, with a deep, shaky breath, stepped out on to the landing.
Allen was there.
He was standing at the other end of the landing, at the top of the stairs. His head was bowed slightly, but his eyes were looking straight at Sadie and his breathing was heavy. His lips seemed stuck in a position that was almost a sneer, but not quite. For an instant he looked away from her, but then he blinked again and his eyes were on her once more. She found herself unable to move.
When he spoke, his voice was even quieter than usual. ‘I thought you said come in.’
Sadie shook her head faintly.
‘I thought you were done in there,’ Allen repeated. ‘I thought you said come in.’
‘I didn’t say anything,’ Sadie whispered hoarsely. She returned his gaze as coolly as she dared.
All of a sudden, Allen lashed out. He banged the flat of his hand hard against the woodchip wall, and Sadie jumped. In an instant his face had transformed. His eyes were flashing and his lip curled into an ugly mockery of the expression Sadie was used to. And then he was shouting – not particularly loudly, but forcefully, and with unbridled contempt. ‘I was calling you for ages. You should have shouted back.’
His hands appeared to be shaking, and Sadie took a frightened step backwards into the doorway of the bathroom.
‘Anyhow,’ he hissed, more quietly now, ‘what makes you think I want to see you in the first place? You’re too fucking cocky, Sadie. You’re lucky I don’t see