Gloves Off Read online

  d

  r

  i

  p

  s

  onto my face.

  BERNADETTE (15)

  My daughter collapses

  Face half pulp,

  Covered in blood,

  She crumples when I open the front door.

  Blood in her hair

  On the collar of her shirt

  Smeared on her hands.

  Her cheeks are dark with mud and bleeding still,

  Her tights are ripped,

  Knees grazed.

  The imprint of someone’s shoe on her face.

  I scream for Joe.

  Then swallow the fear, reach out,

  Did they – I can’t say it –

  She shakes,

  And begins to cry.

  Her eye is swollen closed

  Her mouth thick,

  Smashed lip

  Making it hard to speak

  “Mum,” I think she says

  And I hold her.

  EMERGENCY

  dad calls ray,

  i hear it from

  what feels like

  a thousand miles away.

  mum bathes my face

  and holds my hand

  and wants to know

  if anything is broken.

  everything, i almost say.

  but the breath has been knocked out of me

  and words don’t work anyway.

  dad and ray are pulling on their coats.

  smudged shapes, they loom into the room,

  “who was it?”

  they demand.

  and someone whispers,

  Aidan Vaine.

  A & E

  aunty clare sits with me and holds my hand,

  while a nurse patches up my face,

  and checks i’m still alive.

  apparently my heart is still beating.

  although i feel

  fairly finished, actually.

  WHAT DID YOU DO TO AIDAN VAINE?

  dad doesn’t answer.

  so i say it again,

  dad, what happened?

  and why’d you have to take ray?

  “because he’s a thug,” dad says,

  “they both are. him and ray.”

  it hurts my sides to laugh.

  dad’s mouth twitches,

  then he takes my hand

  and i wish i never had to let go.

  “we warned him off, that’s all,

  he won’t be coming after you now,

  should have done it months ago.”

  i don’t tell him i wanted to get him myself

  and that next time,

  i’ll be ready.

  EVERYTHING STOPS

  for Christmas

  and i wish the holiday would go on for ever.

  after the slow, indoor days,

  when we don’t leave the house,

  punctuated only by

  presents and telly,

  chocolate and board games,

  late nights

  and lie-ins –

  i’ll be back at school.

  my bruises are green and purple, orange

  and black and brown,

  my face is a canvas

  painted with someone’s hate.

  i talk to rosie –

  we message each other into the night,

  but i miss hearing her voice

  and feeling her laugh

  in the flesh.

  miss her brown eyes

  the way she looks at me

  and seems to see

  something different

  to the things the world would like me to believe

  i am.

  mum’s perfume smashed,

  lost somewhere,

  (i scrabbled for the pieces

  in the dark

  but it was gone)

  so i’ve nothing to give.

  ray passes me an envelope

  when he comes for lunch

  on Christmas day.

  mum smiles and nods, and ray shrugs,

  looks shiftily down at his dinner.

  i suppose this is his apology.

  when no one’s looking

  i sneak the money

  back into mum’s purse.

  a debt i’ve left it late to pay

  for stupid shoes,

  when i thought that i should buy my way

  into a world of people that i hate.

  my parents watch me

  with terrified eyes.

  dad says next time he’ll kill them.

  YOU CAN’T HIDE FOR EVER

  when rosie invites me to hers

  on new year’s eve –

  a party!

  i almost say no –

  because – what if?

  “what if what?”

  mum demands.

  i clarify,

  speaking slow and loud

  not bottling things up like before,

  but letting them spill

  like oil

  a viscous mess

  all over her nice clean carpets.

  what if her friends don’t like me?

  what if she doesn’t mean it?

  is only being polite?

  what if?

  what if?

  what if?

  mum fights back,

  won’t let me speak,

  “don’t be ridiculous,

  rosie’s your friend.

  she wouldn’t have invited you

  if she didn’t want you there.”

  i shrug.

  mum shouts,

  and it’s

  a shock

  like the slam of a door on my fingers.

  “you can’t give up, lily,

  you’ve got to at least try

  not everyone’s bad.

  and

  there’s more to life

  than feeling sorry for yourself.”

  HA!

  i laugh in her face.

  says you!

  i mock

  you’ve got no right to have a go at me,

  mum,

  when you’re a bloody joke.

  we’re both silent then,

  and whatever i’ve said,

  i didn’t mean

  and can’t take back.

  still, i know it wasn’t right.

  BERNADETTE (16)

  It hurts to send her out –

  But if she stays inside,

  For how long might she want

  To stay in here and

  Hide?

  PRETTY

  even though my face

  is all made up,

  you can still see

  that somebody came after me.

  nothing can hide

  the fact

  that i’m

  the punchbag.

  it’s too late to run away,

  and i pull a face at the mirror,

  don’t wait around for its reply.

  “you look lovely, love,”

  mum says.

  how can she be so nice to me

  when i’ve been so mean?

  dad takes me round to rosie’s –

  we catch one bus

  and another.

  he wants me to be safe, he says,

  as if i’m just a baby,

  who can’t go out alone,

  but i’m glad of him

  beside me.

  rosie wears glitter on her face

  and her brown skin

  is smooth

  and velvet.

  how does she glow like that?

  does she eat sun for breakfast?

  swallow moonshine for dessert?

  she takes my hand,

  waves at my dad,

  pulls me inside.

  i hold on

  and don’t want to let go.

  her house is big

  the street posher than mine,

  tidy,

  the gardens firing light.

  an
d rosie sparkles too –

  she shines

  sequined and bright

  in party clothes

  that i didn’t know she owned.

  “oh wow, lily,”

  she says, taking me in,

  “you look great.”

  i blush

  look down,

  at my jeans

  and plain black top,

  long cardigan,

  still covering up.

  she peers closer, frowning a bit,

  “but what happened to your face?”

  i choose not to say,

  laugh and mutter about an argument,

  and then there’s no more time to waste,

  she’s introducing me to her friends

  who smile and offer me a drink, a snack, a seat,

  ask questions about my life

  and listen when i speak.

  “so you’re lil!”

  a smiley girl says,

  “rosie talks about you all the time!”

  and i blink

  and swallow

  and make myself

  believe it’s true.

  there is beer

  and wine,

  someone has vodka

  and rosie has made punch –

  i’ve never seen her drunk,

  she’s loud, and wild,

  big laugh, white teeth, wide smile, cherry lips,

  her curves shout “look at me!” –

  i watch

  how she carries herself like a queen –

  certain of her right to be seen.

  grime banging through the speakers,

  then hip-hop,

  old school –

  “mama said knock you out,” they chant

  and they dance,

  a blur of feet, arms, legs and hands,

  fast, on the beat, popping,

  bodies rocking.

  i watch,

  remembering, and trying not to remember.

  at first i’m awkward

  don’t know how to move,

  but then the beat takes over,

  i tap my foot,

  feel it punching in my bones.

  rosie’s arms are in the air

  and she’s up in my face

  rapping along,

  Damn!

  not one of the kids

  from school

  compares.

  someone looks outside

  and spots snowflakes falling

  so we rush and

  dance into the flurry,

  it sticks in our hair,

  we catch it on our lips

  and count in the new year that way.

  i didn’t know

  this happened

  in real life.

  PART THREE

  AND I GET UP AGAIN

  when i’m strong

  and fast

  and hard

  i will select the thing

  for its weight,

  for the heft

  and strike.

  i stare at all the stuff

  dad keeps at the back of the shed

  the lines of tools,

  sharp and blunt –

  weapons.

  i will walk along these streets

  and lie in wait

  near the school.

  and when i see them

  i will inflict

  all the pain i’ve ever felt.

  it will hurt them.

  and i won’t care.

  reaching out i lift

  an axe.

  it drags on my arm

  pulls me

  low and slow.

  dropping it, i walk away

  feeling sick

  at the thought of

  all the blood i could spill.

  JANUARY BLUES

  back

  to school,

  to training hard

  fight night waits, somewhere soon.

  snowballs fly through the

  dark morning

  and something gets me

  on the back of my head,

  something

  sharper than snow,

  letting me know

  it isn’t over.

  it definitely isn’t over.

  i walk away

  through the whirling, churning storm.

  ice in my hair,

  blood,

  on my hands,

  in my thoughts.

  aidan laughs at me from across the room

  although he’s wearing bruises, a black eye,

  he knows that dad and ray

  can’t be with me every day,

  can’t watch me every second,

  and aidan vaine thinks

  he’s going to get me again.

  i stare him down,

  then shut my eyes,

  see the gym, rosie,

  other places, better worlds,

  starlit lives.

  (but i also see myself

  flickering,

  brewing

  waiting,

  growing,

  almost, nearly ready.)

  at break i message rosie:

  wish you were here

  although i’ve never told her

  quite how bad it gets,

  i guess she’s guessed

  because, otherwise, surely there’d be friends.

  people steer clear

  but walking to maths

  mollie is in my way.

  “oh,” she says,

  “erm,

  all right?”

  i shrug

  what does she expect me to say?

  RESOLUTIONS

  repeat after me.

  i am going to be the girl

  who rises up

  out of the mud

  out of the gutter

  out of silence

  out of a void that has been carved for me,

  an absence of destiny.

  i have taken my rage

  and i am eating it,

  i am making something of it,

  a self

  that sings

  a tune,

  that one day everyone will hear.

  there is revolution in me:

  a great rushing thing

  that drags me forward,

  and i like the way it sweeps me up,

  a tide,

  a surge of blood,

  that pulses with intent.

  i am going to be the girl

  who rises up

  out of the mud

  out of the gutter

  out of silence

  out of a void that has been carved for me,

  i am a girl

  i own my destiny.

  READY OR NOT

  jane says,

  she’s planning

  who’ll fight who.

  it’s time

  to put us on the map,

  she says,

  and to show the world

  who we really are.

  i turn away

  because i don’t like hitting

  rosie

  and i’m scared that’s what

  she’s going to make me do.

  i choke on my complaints.

  jane doesn’t do excuses

  i know there’ll be no special treatment.

  “our boxing show –

  we’ll run it every year,” she says,

  “well, i want to,” jane adds, “if i can –

  you’ve worked hard, all of you,

  there’s not so many chances out there for girls,

  we want to put this place on the map, right, lil?

  why shouldn’t we be noticed? you all deserve it, too.”

  yeah,

  but, i’m not good enough yet.

  “we’ll see,” jane says.

  we do circuits

  all evening

  and by the end of it

  i’m dying.

  “train,” says jane,

  and we train some more,
>
  as if that is the only answer.

  i message rosie

  tell her what i’m thinking,

  that i’d best pull out,

  sack this off

  while i can.

  “don’t you dare,” she tells me,

  calling up in outrage,

  and there’s no doubt

  she means it.

  i don’t want to fight you.

  there’s a pause

  another

  “okaaaay,” she says,

  “well, yeah,

  but everybody loses something sometimes,

  babe.”

  but i lose

  every single day.

  those words stay

  on the tip of my tongue

  almost out there

  but still not brave enough

  to let her in.

  “it’s not the winning or the losing, though, lil,

  it’s the taking part,”

  rosie says,

  and then we laugh

  and hang up.

  AIDAN

  looks at me

  like he’s won.

  he has no idea.

  mollie sidles up to me at lunch one day,

  “hey,” she says,

  “you okay?”

  i nod,

  stuff my lunch

  back inside my bag,

  wonder what this is about.

  “look,” she says

  her eyes flitting,

  and i know that she’s checking,

  trying to make sure no one’s watching her

  fraternizing with the loser.

  “i’m just worried –

  it’s aidan – well, you should watch out.

  you called the police, right?

  and told them he beat you up?

  they warned him,

  whatshisname,

  your uncle ray, your dad,

  they roughed him up –

  maybe that wasn’t such a great idea,

  maybe you know, you should apologize?

  just to clear the air?”

  is this a joke?

  i say,

  and mollie

  steps away,

  holding up her hands.

  “sorry i spoke,”

  she mutters,

  “suit yourself,

  you freak.”

  OUT

  she’s always there

  that’s the thing