Fault (Define Book 3) Page 2

  “Sorry about that, Grace. I’m trying to do a hundred things at once!” The woman behind the reception desk smiled, whilst listening to someone on the other end of the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder and typing at the same time. “How long?” I didn’t have to hear the other person to know this was a call just like the one that had ended with me there. “Okay, but can we put an agencies-only call on this? I’m not dealing with her parents again. If they find out she’s here, she’s going to have to go somewhere else.” Part of me was intrigued by the glimpse this gave me into the trauma of someone else’s life. “Right, tell her to come after twelve and I’ll sort her out. Yeah, I know, you owe me. One day I’m going to call you on these, you know?” Her wry laugh told me that she knew the other person was never going to be able to return the favours.

  Before she had even replaced the handset, she focused in on me. “So, Grace, you need to fill in this form, please, and then we can get you sorted with a room. I’m Alice, by the way. I’m the duty manager until seven tonight. There’s always one of us here.”

  It didn’t take long to complete the few sections that were relevant to me. My only parent was in prison somewhere, I had left school earlier that month, I didn’t have a social worker, I’d never taken drugs, and I didn’t have any serious medical conditions.

  “Okay, no issues here,” she said after quickly scanning the form. “What about an emergency contact number, just in case? It doesn’t have to be family, a friend will do.”

  If only. My so-called best friends had drifted away from me following Jake’s death, unable to cope with the fact that I was unable to cope. When I couldn’t afford to join in the plans for a post-exams summer holiday in Magaluf, the fate of our friendship was sealed.

  “I’ll give you the number of the family my brother is staying with. They know how to contact my mum as well.” I scrolled through my phone to find Beth’s number and wrote it down, aware of the irony.

  “Great. Come with me and I’ll show you to your room.” I followed Alice along the hallway, trying to take everything in. “This is the kitchen. We provide cereals, milk, bread, etc. You’re expected to sort out your main meals yourself. Did you get a supermarket voucher? We can issue you with another in forty-eight hours. Just ask at the desk. Oh, and you’re expected to clean up after yourself too.” Looking at the plates and bowls stacked in the sink, I could tell that Alice was not the toughest of rule enforcers. “You can keep a kettle in your room, but all food prep has to be done in here. Right, this is the lounge. Oi, you know the rules! Keep the feet off the furniture, Olly!” There was a group of lads a little younger than me, absorbed by a racing game on screen. The hurried way one of them, clearly Olly, sat up straight with his feet on the floor, looking like butter wouldn’t melt, reminded me of Josh, all dirt-blond hair and charming smiles.

  “How many, umm, people stay here?”

  “We have sixteen rooms, so… sixteen.”

  “How long do most people stay?” I asked as we made our way up the stairs.

  “It depends. This is only a short-term hostel. The council or social services put kids here until they can find something more permanent, or the emergency is over. Nobody stays more than a week, really. Once we’re sorted, I’ll start contacting places where you can stay until you’re eighteen. That’s not long now, is it?” She paused outside a door.

  “Three weeks.”

  “Well, once you hit eighteen, you’ll have to transfer to adult services. You’ll be entitled to housing benefits but you won’t be able to stay in these hostels. Don’t worry, we’ll help you get sorted.” Don’t worry? “Right, this is your room. This other key opens the front door. You can come and go as you want during the day but we have a ten thirty curfew, including weekends. You’ll have to buzz the manager if you’re late in.” Her tone indicated that the response would be less than welcoming.

  Alice opened the door to a small off-white rectangle. It had a bed, an open wardrobe unit and three small shelves. An ancient TV sat on a wall bracket. The curtains and bedding were pale green, their pattern of circles almost completely washed out. “You’re responsible for keeping your room clean, and there’s a washer-dryer in the kitchen. Please keep the volume of music or the TV to a respectful level. The girls’ bathroom is two doors down. Again, you’re responsible for cleaning up after yourself. Any questions?”

  What did I do to deserve this? Why is life so unfair? What is going to happen to me in three weeks?

  “No, I don’t think so. Thank you.”

  Alice closed the door behind her and I sat on the narrow bed. There wasn’t much point thinking of ways to make the box more homely, as temporary as it was going to be. I thought of my room at home, about the same size, filled with the objects that told the story of my life. But they were trapped there. All I had was the bag of things the police had let me collect from my room before the house was officially designated a crime scene. Five minutes, under the watchful eye of PC Gibson, to choose what I wanted to keep with me, to comfort me, to keep me sane. Photos of Dad and Jake or my ancient laptop? Jonty, the teddy I’d slept with for as long as I could remember, or an extra pair of jeans? Psychologists would have a field day with some of the choices, given half a chance.

  Before I gave into the self-pity that threatened to consume me, I got up and made my way downstairs. The boys in the lounge were certainly not keeping their noise to a ‘respectful’ level, nor were the two girls arguing in the kitchen. I waved to Alice as I made my way out, thankful to be leaving after less than half an hour of being there. I needed to see Josh, to reassure myself that all was not lost.

  “IT’S QUITE HOMELY, and I was surprised by how friendly everyone is. It’s what I imagine the halls at uni to be like, so it will be good practice.” The lies fell easily from my tongue and I saw Josh’s shoulders relax. “Once I have my things in there, it will be like being at home. Well, without you, obviously.”

  “Can I come and visit?”

  “Umm, I don’t know if they allow visitors. I’ll ask and text you later. Are you all sorted for your work experience?” He was spending a week with a local vet. I was glad that he wasn’t going to have to go straight back into school, with all of the inevitable gossip and exaggeration. Exaggeration that frankly wasn’t needed; the facts were sensational enough in their own right.

  “Yeah. Beth ironed my shirt and said she’ll sort me a packed lunch when she makes the others in the morning. Chris is going to drop me off on his way to work.” I tried not to be upset at how easily Josh seemed to have slotted into family life with the Jacksons, or jealous of Beth, caring for him in the way I wanted to.

  “Well, make sure you say thank you. They’re doing so much for you.”

  “Of course I’m saying thank you! I just wish you could stay here.” Me too.

  “I’m only at the end of a phone, Josh, and this won’t be for long. As soon as I’m eighteen, I’ll be able to get housing benefits and we can live together again.” I had to believe that.

  “Why hasn’t Mum rung us yet?” He voiced the question that had dominated my thoughts over the last two days.

  “I don’t know. Maybe she only gets one call and had to use it for a lawyer, like they do on TV.” I hoped he accepted the lie; I knew she had been entitled to tell her family where she was, but for whatever reason, she didn’t want to.

  “Do you think she’ll ring soon?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think she’s okay?” His voice cracked with emotion and reminded me of how young he was.

  “I’m sure she is,” I lied again. “They won’t be horrible to her. She’s only on remand. She’s not a convict.” Not yet anyway. “I’ll go to the police station and see if I can find out more, okay?”

  After spending another hour on the periphery of the Jackson family, I left, both Josh and I blinking back tears as we said our goodbyes. I stopped the scooter at the park on my way back to the hostel, needing to remind myself of some of the
happier memories of my childhood. It was the place Dad had taught me to ride my bike, patiently walking me round and round the paths until I hadn’t realised he had let go. On warm summer evenings, Mum would sometimes pack a picnic for dinner and we’d all troop down, enjoying the way eating outdoors turned a mundane meal into something that felt like we were on holiday. Even thinking about the evening we had spent with Jake’s friends after his funeral was comforting; it had been the only part of the day that felt like it belonged to the person Jake really was.

  The park felt more like home than the house we’d lived in for the last few years. Mum had never talked about why we had to move after Dad died, but I guessed it was about money; she struggled to keep even part-time jobs for more than a few weeks at a time. It only took one hung-over argument and she’d get sacked, meaning another stint of living with the electric meter running out and beans on toast several nights in a row. I’d lived with Dad-less Mum for so long it was hard to remember the person she had been before he died. Memories had all too easily been tainted with the disappointment of failed promises and bad choices. I’d lost count of the number of times I had been embarrassed by her, only to have my guilt give way to quick forgiveness.

  But she had changed since Jake died. A small part of me had hoped that it might be the catalyst for her to finally sort herself out, to take control of her life, of mine and Josh’s lives. That hope was soon extinguished. She stopped even pretending to look for work, reliant on Jim and his dodgy friends for money and company. Any life she had left in her ended with Jake’s.

  AS MUCH AS I was convincing Josh that life at the hostel was great, every day I spent there made me more desperate to find an alternative. It turned out that nobody stayed there long enough to develop a respect for the rules or each other, however much the staff tried. Every night’s sleep had been broken by slammed doors, screeching girls and the thump of bass. Or my nightmares.

  Determined to find somewhere else, I sat in the hallway and waited until Alice arrived for work. I even made her a cup of tea, in the vain hope that it would make her search more successful. Like at the council office, I listened as options disappeared, my impending birthday a barrier to many. After yet another no, Alice sat back in her chair and looked at me.

  “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, Grace, but I don’t think a place is going to come up. You’re in no-man’s land, not yet an adult but not young enough for them to think you’re worth investing the energy in. How would you feel about staying here until your birthday? We can get you set up with a B&B that will be ready for then.” My heart sank at the mention of a bed and breakfast. I knew the reality of what that meant; a house filled with life’s losers and addicts who couldn’t be accommodated anywhere else. Jake had told me about the one he had stayed in when Jim threw him out. I couldn’t live somewhere like that. I already had more than enough chaos in my life.

  “A B&B? Can’t I get a flat or somewhere on my own?” I didn’t yet want to admit the plan for Josh to move in with me, in case it made them say no.

  “Eventually, maybe. But social housing works on a points system and there are others with more points. And not enough housing to go round.”

  “Points? How do I get points?”

  “Well, for example, if you were pregnant, or a DV victim—you know, domestic violence—you’d have more points.” She made it sound like a computer game that I needed to level up on.

  “What other options are there?”

  “You can go into private rented accommodation but, honestly, most landlords wouldn’t let you sign a tenancy. You’re young, unemployed and going off to university in a September. You’ll probably find that you can only afford a room in a shared house anyway.” Her face softened when she looked at me. “Look, go to the Job Centre and register. If you can get a job, that will give you more choices. And I’ll keep trying. I promise.”

  Having no choice but to trust her, I went back up to my room.

  I needed money. I needed work.

  I got my phone out; still no call from Mum. But at that moment, I needed someone able to provide help, not need it. I scrolled through my contact list until I found Lauren.

  “Heya, babe. How you doing?” Her friendly voice jolted me back to reality. Had she heard what had happened?

  “I’m okay, thanks,” I replied, unsure of what to say. “I’m actually ringing up to see if you have any more shifts available. I need money.”

  “You need money? Sounds ominous. You sure you’re okay?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it on the phone. Have you got anything?”

  “Of course, babe. Emily left to go backpacking round somewhere exotic so I’m short of someone on Thursday nights, with the little ones, and on Saturday mornings, if you’re up to a full day with the tweenies.” I already worked at the drama school on Saturday afternoons, leading the acting workshops. “I was worried when you didn’t turn up last Saturday. It’s not like you not to let me know.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll fill you in when I see you. What time does it start tomorrow?”

  “Six. Until eight. See you there, babe.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Lauren.” I hung up and lay down, allowing the tears to fall. Those few extra hours would make a difference, but were still not going to be enough.

  One option was to sell my scooter, but that would mean losing so much more than my mode of transport. My Vespa was my independence. It was also a link to Dad and Jake. Dad used to show me photos of his pre-Mum days on scooter rallies, his lovingly restored white Vespa in the centre of every frame, and tell me stories I promised never to share with Mum.

  I suppose it was inevitable that, as soon as I turned sixteen, I wanted my own. Jake had just smiled when I told him; he understood. He helped me scour dozens of websites and took me to look at scooter after scooter until we found the one: a pure white Vespa, dripping in chrome. I didn’t care about the oil leak or the loud noise coming from the exhaust; I knew Jake would help me sort those. He negotiated a deal with the owner and followed me all the way home. He even bought me my retro helmet, determined to keep me safe.

  I loved my scooter. Could I sell it?

  As I weighed up my limited options, my phone pinged.

  Noah: Are you free this evening? Big deadline looming!

  I felt the familiar frisson at receiving a text from Noah. A couple of years ago, when he first started asking me to sit, I’d had a huge crush on him. I was sixteen and, at twenty-two, he was my dream boyfriend: tall, dark and handsome, but also funny, intelligent and unthreateningly sexy. The crush waned as boys my own age appeared, but I still looked forward to the few minutes I would spend with Noah before he left to get work done whilst I looked after Max.

  I’d not seen them for a few weeks and I wondered if, like Lauren, he hadn’t heard what had happened. Would he even ask me if he had? But an evening there meant money I couldn’t afford to refuse.

  Me: Yes. What time?

  Noah: 6.30?

  Me: See you then :-)

  I spent the afternoon in the town library after a fruitless visit to the job centre. I now knew that in less than two weeks’ time I would be entitled to just over a hundred pounds a week in benefits, most of which would be paid direct to my landlord, assuming that I managed to find a non–axe murderer willing to rent me a room.

  Using the library’s free Wi-Fi, I checked up on my social media accounts, more out of habit than real interest. There were a few messages from so-called friends, asking if I was okay and scrounging for gossip, but that was it. Everyone else’s lives were continuing as normal, conveyed through heavily filtered Instagram photos and attention-seeking status updates. It struck me then that I was no longer part of that world. I deleted every one of my accounts, knowing that anyone who truly cared had my mobile number. In some way, it was a relief. No longer did I have to compare my life to those around me, to see what I was missing.

  I ARRIVED AT NOAH’S house early, too keen to leave the hostel. He answered
the door with a slice of pizza in hand. His dark hair was its usual mess, as though he had spent much of the day running his hands through it, but his eyes matched his smile.

  “Come on in, Grace. Do you want some?” As if it heard him, my stomach rumbled and he laughed. “Good job I over-ordered then. He’s eating and watching television so we’ll be fine for a few minutes.” Noah handed me a plate and waved in the direction of the open pizza boxes. I was so hungry, not having eaten since breakfast, that I didn’t care what toppings were on them. “What do you want to drink? Coke? Juice? Water?” Noah stood with the fridge door open, waiting for my response.

  “Coke would be great,” I mumbled through a mouthful of congealed cheese. He passed a can over to me before putting the remainder of his slice down.

  “I don’t want to make things weird or anything, but I know what’s happened with your mum.” Of course he did, thanks to the gossip-mongers who thrived in our small Midlands town. “You don’t need to tell me anything but, if you do, that’s cool too. I wasn’t sure about asking you to sit tonight, but I thought you might appreciate a bit of normality.” His smile was sincere, and I was filled with the urge to tell him everything, every minute detail.

  “Thanks. Normal is very much appreciated.” I gave a small smile and opted to keep things to myself. “When’s the deadline?”

  “The column is due tomorrow, and then I've got a pack for a new client due on Monday. He re-discovered the joy of Connect Four today, so expect to play a few rounds of that.”

  I admired Noah’s positivity in the face of what must’ve been a challenging life, very different to what a twenty-something expects his life to be like.

  “Well, you’d better get working, then. I can clear up in here.”

  He took a slice of pizza and left the room, looking in on the lounge as he passed.

  “Grace is here. I’ll be working upstairs, okay?”