Mortal Ghost by Lee

Author:Lee
Format: epub
Tags: fantasy, fiction, novel, teen, ya

Back in the kitchen he set about packing himself a picnic lunch. He filled his water bottle and added two cans of coke from the fridge. He made a stack of cheese-and-mustard sandwiches, then rummaged in the cupboards for a packet of crisps and some biscuits. Finn enjoyed having someone around who shared his love of eating and was always bringing home ‘just a little something I discovered’ to urge on Jesse. ‘You’re going to make him fat,’ Sarah had protested the last time Finn unloaded the car. ‘And what’s wrong with fat?’ Finn had teased, digging his fingers into the surplus at his waist and brandishing it with a grin.

Jesse drank a glass of milk while he considered what else to take: the roll of heavy-duty duct tape Finn kept in a drawer, also a length of rope. A blindfold? No, let Mick see and sweat. Absentmindedly Jesse ate one, then another of the biscuits from the open packet. He poured a second glass of milk. He wasn’t keen to confront Mick, because he knew what the only feasible deterrent would have to be.

The scene at Siggy’s kept intruding, and Mick’s music. How could someone who plays like that be a rapist? Jesse couldn’t get his mind around it, no matter how hard he tried. Perhaps he was being naïve, but he felt something like despair that art and inequity could coexist. It was like discovering that Hitler had secretly written The Tin Drumor Jack the Ripper, the symphonies of Brahms.

He rinsed out his glass under the tap, then with a last biscuit in hand, stepped out into the garden. The sun was already wicked. Jesse brought a hand up to shade his eyes and watched a butterfly alight on a buddleia shrub with pale lilac blossoms, similar to the one in his family’s garden. He remembered his surprise at how vigorously it regenerated from the hard pruning his grandmother would give it in spring. ‘The earth thrives on strong measures,’ his grandmother had told him only a few weeks before her death. ‘When I was a little girl, farmers used to burn their fields after the harvest. Fire renews the land.’ He could recall her exact words . . . her exactwords. For a while he thought about what Ayen had said about memory.

Then his mind returned to the problem of Mick and Gavin. If there were only another way. He hadn’t fought in a long time; he’d always tried to avoid overt confrontations. Even the hot shame of humiliation was better than losing control. It wasn’t a beating he was afraid of, like other kids who cowered and sucked up and handed over their sweets, their money, their music, their self-respect. And he’d closed his ears to the taunts long ago. (Or had he? a small voice whispered.) Let them think he was scared to death, pissing his pants. Once in the school canteen he’d been cornered by a bunch of kids who’d taken turns spitting into a glass, then added a splash of orange squash and ordered him to drink it down.

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