Blood Ties (2 page)

I didn’t want to do
anything
Rebecca did. But how could I avoid it? Rebecca had done
everything
. Worse. Rebecca had done it all brilliantly.

She died before I was born. A road accident when she was sixteen. There were pictures of her all over the house. Pictures of her winning school prizes for everything. Pictures of her horse-riding and swimming and coming first in piano competitions. And pictures of her looking like a model in pretty dresses with slim legs and her hair swept stylishly off her face.

Rebecca. My sister. I used to look just like her when I was younger.

I don’t any more.

But Rebecca’s still here. Haunting me. Taunting me.

The doorbell rang. My piano teacher – on time as always. I could hear Mum’s heels tapping smartly across the hall. The door opening.

‘Rachel, sweetie. Miss Vykovski’s here.’

I caught sight of my phone, lying innocently on my bed.

Maybe I should look at the message now. Whatever it said, I’d have the piano lesson to distract me.

Heart thumping, I opened the text.

I stared at it, not quite taking it in.

Well, I wasn’t expecting
that.

I reached the high street and slowed to a stroll.

Roy wasn’t the first. I’d had a bodyguard ever since I could remember. Always there, following me wherever I went.

The weird thing was, I had no idea
why
I had a bodyguard.

I stopped to look at the latest MP3 phones in Dixons’ window. I really wanted one. But there was no chance. You see, we weren’t rich. I mean, yes, somehow Mum found the money to pay for Roy. And I went to this private boys’ school with a posh uniform and everything. But we lived in a tiny house with all worn-out furniture. I didn’t even have a mobile.

‘You don’t need one,’ Mum always said. ‘You’ve got a bodyguard.’

Right.

Still no sign of Roy as I sauntered up to Starbucks. I peered through the glass door. There was Jake.
Oh crap
. He was chatting to a group of girls at the counter. My heart sank. What was the matter with him? I mean, don’t get me wrong. Girls are fine. Girls are great, in fact. But recently Jake had got completely obsessed with them. Not girls in magazines or on the internet – everyone’s obsessed with
them
. But real girls. Girls our age.

Trouble was, Jake acted all weird when he was around them, like he was trying to impress them or something.

He came across like a complete idiot.

I hesitated, my hand on the door. The last thing I wanted was for Jake to haul me over and start mouthing off about my climbing over the school wall. He’d exaggerate the whole thing. Make out I was some kind of action hero. And then I’d end up looking as much of a prat as he did.

‘Gotcha.’A huge fist gripped my shoulder. Spun me round. Slammed me against the door. My heart pounded. I looked up.

Roy’s purple, snarling face loomed over me.

He grabbed my arm and dragged me over to the car. It was clearly taking every ounce of self-restraint he had not to punch me.

‘Wait till your mother hears about this. You little . . .’ He swore loudly, calling me pretty much the worst thing you can call someone.

‘She’s not going to want to hear
that
.’ I grinned.

I was guessing that appearing unbothered about being caught would wind Roy up more than if I got angry. Anyway, after the initial shock, I realised I
wasn’t
that bothered. I mean, I was disappointed he’d caught me so quickly. And I
had
been looking forward to seeing a movie. But I was also relieved that I hadn’t had to go inside Starbucks and deal with Jake on the pull.

And I’d got away. Roy knew it as well as I did. If I’d gone straight to the tube instead of dawdling on the high street, Roy would never have found me.

He called Mum from the car. Told her what had happened. She was waiting by the front door when we got back.

‘What the hell is the matter with you?’ she shouted. ‘You could have been hurt or killed.’

I watched Roy disappear into his room. He had, like, a bedsit in our house – with his own kitchen area and bathroom. I hated that. He took up half the downstairs.

‘Theodore?’ Mum dragged me into our tiny living room and slammed the door. ‘What has got into you?’

I focused on her. Mum’s small – the top of her head only comes up to my chest. But don’t let that fool you. She’s fierce, my mum. Got a hardcore temper.

‘Are you listening to me, Theodore?’

I grunted. I hate her calling me Theodore. I mean, okay, it’s my name. It’s just so poncey. But she refuses to go with Theo. Just like she refuses to let me do anything.

‘Theodore.’ Mum held up her thumb and forefinger so they were almost touching. ‘So help me, I am this close to grounding you for the rest of the year.’

I met her eyes. ‘Whatever,’ I said.

‘Theodore.’ Mum shook her head so furiously that her pointy, silver earrings stabbed at her neck. ‘Promise you’ll never run away from Roy again. He’ll resign if you do.’

‘Good.’ I shoved my hands in my pockets.

‘For goodness’ sake.’ Mum crossed the room to the kitchen area in the corner and pulled open the fridge. ‘Roy is here for your protection. Why won’t you grow up and accept that?’

‘If you want me to act like a grown-up then treat me like one,’ I snapped. ‘Tell me what it is I need protecting from?’

Mum groaned. ‘Not this again.’ She took a bottle of wine out of the fridge and uncorked it. ‘I can’t tell you. You just have to accept that you—’

‘No.’ This hot rage filled my head. ‘It’s not fair,’ I shouted. ‘I can’t do any—’

‘Do not raise your voice at me!’ Mum shrieked.

We glared at each other. Then Mum took a wine glass out of the cupboard above her head and set it on the counter. ‘I’m getting a migraine,’ she said. ‘I can feel it.’

‘Right.’ I rolled my eyes. Mum was always getting migraines.

Mum slammed her hand down on the counter next to the wine glass. ‘That’s enough, Theodore. There’s clearly only one punishment that you’re going to take seriously. From now on Roy comes into school with you and waits outside the classroom during every lesson.’

‘No,’ I gasped. No way could I handle Roy following me everywhere I went at school. I’d have even less freedom than I had now.

‘You can’t do that, Mum.’

Mum’s lips narrowed into a line. ‘Watch me,’ she said. ‘I’m going to speak to school tomorrow morning and insist.’

Fury surged up from the depths of my being. Less than an hour ago I’d climbed a huge tree, scaled a glass-strewn wall and risked a massive jump onto the ground. I’d been powerful. Unbeatable. Invincible.

‘No!’ I yelled. I strode right up to Mum so my face was centimetres from hers. ‘NO.’

Mum started. And for a moment, for one tiny moment, I saw fear in her eyes.

The feeling of power I’d had earlier on, climbing the tree, flooded back. ‘I don’t need Roy. I can look after myself,’ I yelled. ‘You’re just imagining there’s a threat.’

‘No,’ Mum gasped. ‘No, Theodore. I’m not.’

I suddenly saw how badly she needed me to believe what she was saying. I drew myself up. I
was
powerful. I could do whatever I liked, whenever, wherever and however I wanted.

I turned and strode out of the room. I ran up to my room, went straight to my desk and took out the fifty quid I’d saved up. I tore off my school jacket and tie and grabbed a jumper from a pile of clothes on the floor. I headed to the door as Mum appeared in the doorway.

She put her arm out. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Leaving.’ I pushed the arm out of my way, then raced down the stairs, my heart pounding.

‘No. Theodore.’ I could hear the panic rising in Mum’s voice. Then she yelled out: ‘ROY.’

He shot out into the hall so quickly that I knew he must have been listening. This made me even more furious. How dare he be here. How dare he interfere in my life.

‘Get out of my way,’ I yelled.

Roy shook his head.

I barged past him. He blocked me with his shoulder. I ducked, tried to dart round his other side.

He grabbed my arm and pushed me back. ‘You sodding little brat.’

Something snapped inside my head, like a firework exploding. Before I could even think, my hand was a fist and my fist was driving forward, hard, into Roy’s face.

Contact. My hand stung. My whole arm jarred with the pain of it. Roy staggered backwards, clutching his jaw. His eyes widened. And then he grabbed me round my throat and pinned me against the wall.

Blood pounded in my ears. All I could see was Roy’s furious face. All I could hear was my own voice, spitting out swearwords.

And then, dimly, I became aware of Mum shouting beside us.

‘Stop it, stop it.’

Roy let go of my throat. He stepped back, panting. Mum moved across and whispered furiously in his ear.

I bent over, my breath all jagged. My hands were shaking. A door slammed. I looked up. Roy had disappeared back into his own room.

Mum stared at me. Again, I could see the fear in her eyes.

I took a step to the front door. The powerful feeling surged through me. Nothing could stop me leaving now. Not Mum. Not Roy.

Nothing.

I reached out for the door handle. Twisted it. Pulled open the door. I looked over my shoulder. ‘Bye, Mum.’

‘Please, Theodore.’ Her eyes filled with tears.

When I was younger this would’ve really got to me. Back then all I wanted was to look after her. To do what my dad would’ve done if he’d been alive. But now . . . now I was sick of her trying to manipulate me.

I turned back to the front door. I had a bit of money. Enough to find somewhere to sleep tonight. I’d go into town. Get a job.

I took a step outside.

‘Please.’

Something in Mum’s voice made me look round again. Tears were streaming down her face. For the first time since I’d got home doubt crept into my mind. And guilt.

I didn’t want to hurt her. If I was honest, I didn’t want to go away either.

All I wanted was the truth.

I took a deep breath. ‘Just tell me why I need a bodyguard.’

There was a long pause. Right up until that moment I thought she was making it up. That me needing a bodyguard was based on some stupid imaginary fear of hers that came out of the same place as her endless migraines.

Then she nodded.

‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Come inside and sit down. I’ll tell you everything I can.’

GODDESS STILL SAFE IN HEAVEN. RICHARD.

I had to read the text twice before I took it in. I’d been so sure it was going to be some toxic message from Jemima that it took a full minute before I realised it wasn’t. I checked the caller I.D. – a number I didn’t recognise. So, no one on my contact list.

I breathed a sigh of relief. Just some random message. A wrong number. Nothing that made any sense.

I almost skipped down to my piano lesson.

The lesson itself wasn’t too bad. My fingers wouldn’t move like they’re supposed to, and the more they wouldn’t move, the more embarrassed I got. Still, Miss Vykovski was really nice and we ended up having a laugh. So I was in a good mood when Mum called me for supper. Mum likes it when we eat together, though Dad doesn’t often get home in time. He manages a cosmetic surgery clinic in central London. I reckon that’s why Mum married him, to be honest, so he could get her free treatments.

‘Richard!’ Mum yelled up the stairs as I scurried past her to the dining room. ‘Richard. It’s on the table!’

I stopped, a spoonful of salad leaves midway between the bowl and my plate.
Richard
. My dad had the same name as on the text. It hadn’t occurred to me the message could be from him.
No
, that didn’t make sense – we’d been speaking just seconds before I received it. Anyway, why would my dad send me some weird text about goddesses in heaven? The name had to be a coincidence. Plus, surely he’d sign off
Dad
. Which also proved the message couldn’t be from him – his number is logged on my mobile under
Dad.
So, if he’d called me, that name would have shown up.

Still.

‘Hey, Dad,’ I said as he sat down. ‘I just got this weird text.’

‘Mmmn,’ Dad said, helping himself to a slice of chicken breast. ‘Nothing X-rated, I hope.’

‘Just weird,’ I said. ‘It—’

‘How was piano, sweetie?’ Mum bustled in, a bowl of potato salad in her hand.

‘Fine.’ I reached for the potatoes.

Mum gave a little cough. ‘Are you
sure
you want to do that, sweetie?’

I stared up at her blankly.

‘Carbs weigh very heavy on the stomach overnight,’ she smiled. ‘I’m just saying.’

My mind flashed back to Jemima’s comment about my double-satellite-dish bum. I swallowed, torn between knowing Mum was right and really, really wanting the food.

‘Oh, let her eat a sodding potato.’ Dad rolled his eyes at me and grinned.

‘I’m not stopping her,’ Mum snapped. She set the bowl down on the table. ‘I’m just pointing out the consequences.’

The consequences: being fat. Being ugly.

This was about Rebecca too. That was what Mum was really saying.
Rebecca didn’t eat too much potato salad. Ever. She had a marvellous figure, sweetie
.

I gritted my teeth and hauled as many potatoes as I could onto my plate.

‘So tell me about that text, Ro?’ I could hear the kindness in Dad’s voice. It just made me feel worse.

I shook my head and stuffed a potato into my mouth.

Dad sighed, then started chatting to Mum about his day. Dad does that a lot – acts like a big cushion protecting me from Mum. I kept my head down, shovelling in one potato after another. After a couple of minutes I stopped. Now I’d made myself even fatter. I felt so miserable that, for a second, I seriously thought about going upstairs and making myself sick. Some of the girls at school have done that. Cassie Jones swears by it.
Eat what you like then just chuck it up before it makes you fat
.

She calls it:
Having your cake and hurling it
.