Chapter 2
I fumble with my keys and try to stiffle a cough. I can't. I cough a loud wet sound that makes my whole body shake. I drop my keys.
"Damn it..." I curse feebly.
"I thought I heard you," Mum wrenches open the door, "There you are! Come in, stupid child, what took you so long!?" Not giving me a chance to answer, she grabs my arm and practically drags me inside, where I stand, breathless, coughing, staring at my shoes as I did before I met Jam...
"Jam..." I think aloud.
Mum sighs and once again grabs my arm and once again almost drags me upstairs, where I bump into Tommy.
"How was the footy, Dan?" He asks, grinning as innocently as a wonky-toothed twelve-year-old can. Not very well, is the answer.
"Rubbish." I snap, pushing past him and into the bathroom. He peeps round the door frame.
"What was the score?"
"Didn't you watch it on telly?" I ask, exasperated.
"No. I thought you would tell me, seeing as you went to Wembley and actually saw it with your own two eyes!"
"Not really." I say as not-bothered as I can manage, and pretend to be amazed by the ingredients in bubble-bath. One catches my eye: Cinnamon. My mind flashes back to the cookies left abandoned on the wall, covered in snow by now - rock-hard. My memory scoots forward a bit to the part where he leaves me his jumper... I hug it close again.
Maybe he has turned into a Jam-sicle.
"What do you mean, 'Not really'?" Tommy flails his arms around, like getting an answer from his sister is as hard as getting chocolate in this house. It is. I am closing up to the world and Mum is a sports fanantic. Answers and chocolate. The Impossible. He follows me into my room, where I pull off Jam's hoodie and toss it on my bed.
"I fell asleep at half-time...?" I lie. I did fall asleep, but just at the beginning, where I was woken up around half-time by a massive Mexican Wave. I couldn't help it. I just hate sports. Especially
football.
"You what?!" Tommy stares at me as if I've grown two
heads.
"What? It's not against the law, you
know."
"But...but...!" Tommy splutters. He loves football -
hearing that I actually fell asleep is the worst news ever.
I, honestly, can't say the same. I mean, hearing I had lung
cancer was pretty horrible news. Obviously, Tommy forgot.
Half
to remind him, half to clear the awful frog in my throat - the one that's been
threatening me for the last three months, I cough.
I am completly
ignored.
"Please, just, go away."
"But..."
"Enough with the 'buts'!" Tommy remains
silent.
"Please." I whisper weakly. Tommy stares with
saucer-eyes as I cough again, the wet sound that's only happened once or twice
before.
"Dan?" He whimpers, his blue Chelsea scarf falling to
the ground. I lower myself into bed, fully clothed, and pull the duvet over me,
covering my head.
"Dan?" He squeaked with more
force.
"Yeah...?" I mumble, bothered and pessimisic since
Tommy's realised how I'm acually feeling right now.
"Don't
die..." Is hardly audible when he shoots out of the
door.
"Bye..." I mouth - no one is here to hear it, are they? My
eyes start to feel heavy, and just as they close, my phone does it's weird
vibration dance to the tune of 'I Gotta Feeling' by the Black Eyed Peas. I pluck
it from my pocket and squint at the brightness of the screen. It's Dave. I
wasn't expecting that.
I answer
groggily.
"Hello?"
"Dani!" Dave
rejoices.
"Well, yeah. Did you mean to call?" My finger hovers over the red
'hang-up' button.
"Of course I did! I thought I might... come
and meet you!"
"I'm already home, Dave. It doesn't take too
long to get back home, I practically live right next to the
station."
"But I..."
"Enough with the 'buts'!" I
repeat forthe secondtime in ten minutes.
"OK then,
bye."
"Bye, Dave." But he'd already hung up.
I
sigh. Typical.
I throw my phone across the room where it hits
the wall and smashes. I feel a sudden swell of smugness. But then regret. Mum'll
go mad. massive yawn interupts my thought-babble. It takes me a while to register it was me. I do a cat stretch and feel amazingly proud and honoured to have met Mr Jam No-Last-Name.
"Damn it..." I curse feebly.
"I thought I heard you," Mum wrenches open the door, "There you are! Come in, stupid child, what took you so long!?" Not giving me a chance to answer, she grabs my arm and practically drags me inside, where I stand, breathless, coughing, staring at my shoes as I did before I met Jam...
"Jam..." I think aloud.
Mum sighs and once again grabs my arm and once again almost drags me upstairs, where I bump into Tommy.
"How was the footy, Dan?" He asks, grinning as innocently as a wonky-toothed twelve-year-old can. Not very well, is the answer.
"Rubbish." I snap, pushing past him and into the bathroom. He peeps round the door frame.
"What was the score?"
"Didn't you watch it on telly?" I ask, exasperated.
"No. I thought you would tell me, seeing as you went to Wembley and actually saw it with your own two eyes!"
"Not really." I say as not-bothered as I can manage, and pretend to be amazed by the ingredients in bubble-bath. One catches my eye: Cinnamon. My mind flashes back to the cookies left abandoned on the wall, covered in snow by now - rock-hard. My memory scoots forward a bit to the part where he leaves me his jumper... I hug it close again.
Maybe he has turned into a Jam-sicle.
"What do you mean, 'Not really'?" Tommy flails his arms around, like getting an answer from his sister is as hard as getting chocolate in this house. It is. I am closing up to the world and Mum is a sports fanantic. Answers and chocolate. The Impossible. He follows me into my room, where I pull off Jam's hoodie and toss it on my bed.
"I fell asleep at half-time...?" I lie. I did fall asleep, but just at the beginning, where I was woken up around half-time by a massive Mexican Wave. I couldn't help it. I just hate sports. Especially
football.
"You what?!" Tommy stares at me as if I've grown two
heads.
"What? It's not against the law, you
know."
"But...but...!" Tommy splutters. He loves football -
hearing that I actually fell asleep is the worst news ever.
I, honestly, can't say the same. I mean, hearing I had lung
cancer was pretty horrible news. Obviously, Tommy forgot.
Half
to remind him, half to clear the awful frog in my throat - the one that's been
threatening me for the last three months, I cough.
I am completly
ignored.
"Please, just, go away."
"But..."
"Enough with the 'buts'!" Tommy remains
silent.
"Please." I whisper weakly. Tommy stares with
saucer-eyes as I cough again, the wet sound that's only happened once or twice
before.
"Dan?" He whimpers, his blue Chelsea scarf falling to
the ground. I lower myself into bed, fully clothed, and pull the duvet over me,
covering my head.
"Dan?" He squeaked with more
force.
"Yeah...?" I mumble, bothered and pessimisic since
Tommy's realised how I'm acually feeling right now.
"Don't
die..." Is hardly audible when he shoots out of the
door.
"Bye..." I mouth - no one is here to hear it, are they? My
eyes start to feel heavy, and just as they close, my phone does it's weird
vibration dance to the tune of 'I Gotta Feeling' by the Black Eyed Peas. I pluck
it from my pocket and squint at the brightness of the screen. It's Dave. I
wasn't expecting that.
I answer
groggily.
"Hello?"
"Dani!" Dave
rejoices.
"Well, yeah. Did you mean to call?" My finger hovers over the red
'hang-up' button.
"Of course I did! I thought I might... come
and meet you!"
"I'm already home, Dave. It doesn't take too
long to get back home, I practically live right next to the
station."
"But I..."
"Enough with the 'buts'!" I
repeat forthe secondtime in ten minutes.
"OK then,
bye."
"Bye, Dave." But he'd already hung up.
I
sigh. Typical.
I throw my phone across the room where it hits
the wall and smashes. I feel a sudden swell of smugness. But then regret. Mum'll
go mad. massive yawn interupts my thought-babble. It takes me a while to register it was me. I do a cat stretch and feel amazingly proud and honoured to have met Mr Jam No-Last-Name.