0007542240 (N) by Julie Shaw

Author:Julie Shaw [Shaw, Julie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2014-10-02T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Vinnie’s room hadn’t changed. Not one bit. It was exactly the same as when he’d left it three years earlier, as if locked in a time warp, or sealed up because the contents were radioactive.

The door creaked as he opened it wider and stepped in. Literally nothing seemed to be different. Not a clean lick of paint, no different blanket top, nothing. Even his old drawers were still drooping out of their casings just the same the day he’d gathered his few things from them and filled the bag he was to take to approved school.

He sighed as he ran a finger along the dust that had gathered on his beloved bookcase and wondered, not for the first time, if all mothers were as lacking as June when it came to making an effort. He felt strangely disgruntled at the prospect of living again amid so much mess and squalor. Whatever else Redditch had been, it had been clean. But at least all his books were still there. He checked the titles that he’d left behind – a few Agatha Christie novels, a book about James Dean and his second favourite book, Nicholas Nickleby. He’d loved that one, because Nicholas was a bit like him really. Yes, his own dad was still alive and kicking, whereas Nicholas’s wasn’t, but Vinnie still felt it was him who had to look out for his mam and sister, and he certainly had an uncle who never thought he’d amount to anything. Actually, scrub that – he had two or three of them.

He touched the spine. He’d left that one for Josie to read while he was gone and she must have put it back again, bless her.

‘Que sera, sera,’ he said out loud, flinging the case onto the bed. It was now a bit lighter – and, without his mam’s gifts, a lot less fragile – but it still caused a mushroom-cloud of dust.

There wasn’t much in the case bar his books and his clothes, but at least the latter were clean. Putting the novels to one side, he pulled out a T-shirt and some jeans from the few items of clothing he possessed. He changed into them quickly, feeling the chill on his bare skin. Even though it was only September, it was an unwelcome reminder of things to come. There would be no more warm pad to return to on winter evenings; he was back to a place with only one source of heat – the fireplace in the living room downstairs.

Dressed and warm again, he hurriedly placed the books back in the bookcase, smiling wryly as he slid each into the space it had created; time really had stood still in here. His few photos went on top, his remaining clothes into the creaking drawers – another wry smile then; he’d have to go back to relying on his mum to wash his laundry. Fat chance! It more likely meant a weekly visit to the bag wash, if he was to have any chance of keeping his things half-decent.

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