Page 23 of The Beginning and End of Everything
I scrambled to my feet and dove for the door while Ma’s cries blended and mixed with the ruckus shout of my father. He would hurt her, but I couldn’t do a damn thing to save her, and it seemed I only made things worse. That internal battle of a child who could do nothing in an adult situation had been a constant in my life. I asked her once why she stayed with him. Her answer: my Dad was a complicated man. He had demons, but she loved him. In the same breath, she told me that we don’t give up on people.
She needed to, though, because my dad was a lost cause and a horrible person. Let the Devil have him.
A sea of anger and worry swam inside me while I made my way from the camp into town. Before long, I was outside Connor’s bedroom window, banging. He hurried across the room and shoved up the pane of glass, his gaze darting over his shoulder. The second his eyes met mine, they bugged wide. “Bran! Are you okay?”
I threw my leg through the gap, climbing over the ledge and dropping to his carpet. “Yeah, I’m fine.” My words were thick and awkward, even to my own ears.
Frowning, he said, “Your face doesn’t look fine,” on his way out of the room. He rushed back with a mirror and held it up to reveal my father’s handiwork. The left side of my face was swollen like a chipmunk storing nuts, and the bruise was already setting in. Even I was shocked at how bad it appeared. Dad had never hit me that hard before.
“Can I stay here tonight?”
“Sure. I’ll go get you some ice.” Connor retrieved some frozen peas, then made up a bed on the floor for me from a bundle of old blankets.
I was happy that he was right there next to me, but as darkness engulfed us, I realized how utterly alone I felt. Connor was like a brother to me, but he was a good boy from a good family. When I told him I was fine, he believed me, and even if he hadn’t, he couldn’t have done anything to change it.
While he was my best friend, he wasn’t the friend I needed—not at that moment. His breaths finally evened out into a deep sleep, and I silently crept to the window and left.
It was well past midnight by the time I made it to Poppy’s, but when I knocked on her window, she got up immediately. In her half-asleep state, she slid the glass up and let me in. She didn’t say a word, simply crawled back into bed and lifted the duvet, waiting for me to climb in beside her.
As soon as my head hit the pillow, her arms came around me, and that peace I only felt with her washed over me. Poppy gave me a sense of safety that no one else could.
I would never admit it, but she made me feel loved. That simple fact instilled in me the belief that I could take on this shitty world for one more day.
11
Connor
March 2002
Sighing, I plopped onto the empty park swing between Poppy and Hope. The chains creaked and groaned when I pushed back, then stopped.
I was in the purgatory between childhood and adolescence. The time of life where I sometimes didn’t do things I wanted to—like swing—for the simple fact that I felt too old.
Brandon came from the tree line, zipping his pants before he took a seat in the grass. No sooner had his butt hit the ground than Poppy hopped from the swing and went straight to him, sitting down behind him and picking a dandelion. I kicked up a cloud of dust with the toe of my shoe and exhaled.
“He’s such a pikey.” Hope spun in circles, knotting the chain until her toes barely touched the dirt. When she lifted her feet, the swing whirled around like a carnival ride. Her red hair fanned out behind her like a soft flame.
I dug into my pocket for my candy bar, holding the smooshed, melted bar in my palm while watching Poppy stick a field’s worth of yellow weeds in Brandon’s hair. It bothered me that she did things like that with him. That she gave him all those little touches… Jealousy swelled in my chest, and I chucked the stupid candy bar across the playground, then gripped the chain until it dug into my palm.
“What gives, Milkybar?” Hope had already twisted up the swing again.
“Nothing.”
“If you like her, you should just tell her.”
Embarrassment heated my cheeks. “I don’tlikeher.”
“Whatever.” The swing spun again, and when it stopped, Hope jumped down and went to sit beside Poppy. Which, I guessed, was why Brandon shot right to his feet. He said the sound of her voice made him want to bang his head against a rock.
He swatted the flowers from his hair on his way toward the swing set, stopping to pick up my melted Milkybar and cram it into his pocket.
He took the swing that Hope had vacated. The chains creaked under his weight when he gently swayed back and forth. “So, I heard that Suzie Brady’ll show you her girly bits for two quid."
I’d seen plenty of girly bits in nudey magazines, thanks to Brandon. And I’d gone to plenty of confessions for it, too. But taking a peek at a naked girl in real life had a certain…sinful allure to it. "No way?"
There was a good chance Brandon was lying. And I hoped for my soul’s sake that he was.
"Yeah.” His eyes gleamed with mischief. “For a fiver, she'll show you thatandher titties. And she's fifteen, Con. She's gotrealones." Brandon smiled before he fished five quid from one of his pockets, eyebrows waggling. "Fancy a walk over to ole' Suzie's house?" He clicked his tongue.
