Page 28 of Everything That Kills Me
“Nothing,” Zeph said. “I said nothing to him. We talked about physics, about the stars. That’s all. You’re all being totally unreasonable. He called his uncle and went home. If Jack had been interested in going out with you, he’d have come back into the house with me but he didn’t.”
Shit.So much for not saying anything. Alice was sobbing even harder and Elisa looked as if she wanted to slap his face.
“Outside. Now,” his father told him.
Zeph followed him down the garden. His dad only turned when they were behind the shed, out of sight of the house.
“Alice isn’t thinking straight,” Zeph said. “You know what she’s like. She’s done this before. She gets fixated—”
“Shut up,” his father said through clenched teeth. “Do you think I’m stupid?”
Zeph shook his head. His heart was thudding now. There was something he was missing.
“You manoeuvred Alice into inviting him.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Don’t argue with me.”
Zeph didn’t think he’d seen his father this angry. “I didn’t want a party. I didn’t invite anyone. Not one single person. I didn’t even want to come out of my room. You phoned and made it clear I had to, otherwise I’d have stayed in there all night.”
“You went out into the field with him.”
“I didn’t. He followed me, but what’s wrong with that? He’s a friend.”
“You don’t have any friends.”
“I do now. I thought that was what you wanted.”
“He didn’t go home when you said, did he? He was in your room.”
“No, he wasn’t. Call and ask him.”
“He’ll say what you told him to say. Stop this now before it goes any further or I’ll throw you out of the house.”
There it was. His father knew. Zeph wanted to deny there was anything going on. There wasn’t. Only in Zeph’s head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He stared straight at his father and maintained eye contact.
The blow to his face came so quickly, Zeph had no time to avoid it. He staggered into the back of the shed and hit his head. The coppery tang of blood filled his mouth and he realised he’d bitten his tongue.
“Yes, you do. I’ve seen you with Stefanie. You’re to have no further contact with her or the piece of filth she lives with.”
“It’s Martin, not Stefanie,” Zeph said quietly. “Him not her.”
“No, it’s not. I’ve returned that two hundred pounds she put in your account. I’ve suspended your bank account. You’ll getaccess again when I can trust you. I don’t want her filling your head with nonsense. If you want to continue to live here, you follow my rules.”
His father strode back to the house and Zeph sagged. The feeling of injustice squeezed his lungs so hard that for a moment he couldn’t breathe. He dropped down and curled up in the dry earth and leaves, pressing his arm against his mouth to muffle his howls.
Eight
The pace of Jack’s training was relentless. He was to learn from every experience, every interaction, every misstep. Trips abroad with Thomas were preceded by lessons on the culture of the country. When tea was served in Kazakhstan, cups were mostly filled halfway. If the cup was filled, it meant your host wanted you to leave. In Saudi, it was best not to drive yourself because any accident will be your fault regardless of whether it is or not. Don’t show the soles of your feet in Egypt. No direct eye contact in Japan, Iran or Korea. Don’t stand too close to a stranger in Norway.
Paintball games taught him how to move under fire. He had lessons in parkour until Thomas stopped them, worried he’d kill himself with his recklessness. Jack still practised when he could. Safely jumping from one building to another might one day save his life. He practised bouldering in the Peak District, climbed mountains in France, tackled ice cliffs in Canada. He learned how to drive aggressively, even though he wasn’t old enough to be behind the wheel in the UK.
He learned how to shoot using conventional circular targets, then human silhouettes, then mannequins. Jack was good at long distance sniping. Steady and accurate. The distances were increased and he still hit the target. He impressed his instructor and Thomas.
Arm-to-arm combat brought challenges, but he was fast and smart. Martial arts of many types were muddled with street fighting. Whatever he needed to do to survive, he had to learn how to do, but not break the arms and legs of his instructors, not dislocate their joints, not break their elbows. He was quick with a knife, but as Thomas pointed out, not actually driving it into a person made a difference.
