Runaways by Joe Layburn

Author:Joe Layburn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MBI
Published: 2011-07-14T16:00:00+00:00

JACK

You have to understand, I hate happy families. I get angry just seeing them walk down the street. I’m there shivering with a blanket wrapped around me, and some cute little five-year-old with golden curls squeals, “Mummy, Daddy, what’s wrong with that boy? Why is he sitting there like that? Why is he so dirty?”

Then the parents get embarrassed. They hold on to their little angel extra tight. Maybe the mum, who’s all made-up and rich-looking, starts to blush and stammer, “Just keep walking, darling. I’ll explain later.”

Then off they go, hand in hand. I wonder what they say later when they’re back in their safe, warm houses with the cream-coloured carpets and cupboards crammed with food.

“It’s all very sad, darling, but you see, he hasn’t got a nice home and parents who love him.”

Maybe they just change the subject and forget I even exist. Like I say, I hate happy families.

It’s the dads I glare at most when they pass by. I know why they get to me. I talked about it with Mrs Ali, my counsellor. That’s when I was still at home in Leeds and going to secondary school. She said I had to come to terms with the fact that my own dad, who walked out, wasn’t perfect, and neither was my step-father. Most of what Mrs Ali said was rubbish, but she was spot on about that. My dads were “not the best role models”.

What they did teach me was how to use my fists. Both of them were handy like that. To be fair to my real dad, it was mostly just slaps and smacks I got from him. But Davey, my step-dad, used to punch me when he got mad. This ugly, squashed nose of mine is all thanks to Davey. Every time I see my reflection in a shop or restaurant window, I think of him.

So where was my mum? Why didn’t she step in? Well, it turned out she loved Davey more than me. I told her straight, “If he ever touches me again, I’m off.”

She replied, “Don’t make me choose between you, Jackie. You’re my baby, but he’s my fella and I need him.”

Of course, Davey paid for her hair and her holidays and her drinks till she fell off her barstool every night. How could I compete with that?

Next time he hit me, I left.

It was when I reached London that I started hearing voices - lots of them. I thought I was going bonkers. It was like my head was a scanner and it was tuning in to all these different radio stations. These kids - and they were all kids -sounded like they belonged to the biggest, happiest family of all time. But I didn’t need anybody. I wanted to be left alone.

At night, when I was trying to get to sleep under a railway arch or in a subway, I’d hear them chattering, joking, sharing, comforting. I didn’t want to listen in, but I couldn’t help it.

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