CHAPTER 3
Our house is in a fucking state. Holding on to life by the short hairs, like one stiff wind could blow it down for good.
The front gates gone. Danny kicked it from its hinges in one of his drunken episodes, so now it just lies rusted in the weeds.
The windows, yellowed with grime were mostly covered with sheets, permanently concealing the nightmare which we had become accustomed to.
Inside, the air’s thick. Always smelling like damp, cigarette smoke, and something sharp you can’t quite name.
Old takeaway boxes are stacked like sad little towers in the kitchen.
The fridge clatters, a hollow sound that echoes off empty shelves and a bottle of milk that’s two weeks gone. I should really throw that out.
Danny has the whole back room to himself; a dingy cesspool he resides in most of the time.
He’s got a gun somewhere in there. Always took it out and placed it beside him like a warning if we pushed him too far, or if he just wanted to scare the shit out of us. Which seemed to be more often than not.
People come and go at all hours: shifty blokes in hoodies, cars that idled for too long in the alleyway. Everyone knows Danny runs things in this part of town, but power doesn’t mean safety.
Mum is usually out on the streets. When she is home, she’s ‘busy’ with the door locked and her music on too loud, like that can mask the sound of some fat dude meeting his happy ending.
She used to smile like she meant it, before Dad ran off, but ever since meeting Danny, she hasn't smiled like that anymore. Now, she looks through us, like we’re just shadows of her imagination.
Our room’s the smallest in the house, but it’s the only place that feels even a little bit ours. The walls used to be pink, probably from when some other kid lived here, back when the house still had a chance at being fucking normal.
Now the colour is just a sickly grey, stained in places with old water damage that resembles maps of places we’ll never go. One patch on the ceiling is shaped like a bird, Squeeks calls it her phoenix. To me, it just looks like a dried piss stain, but it makes her smile whenever she looks at it.
The window is cracked in the corner; it's damn cold when winter hits. I've stuffed it with screwed-up paper to try and stop the chill.
The curtain stays closed most of the time. Well, I say curtain, it’s not really, just a blanket we found in a skip, patterned with Care Bears that have long since faded. It lets in just enough light to see the dust floating in the mornings, dancing like it’s got nothing better to do.
I gave Squeeks the bed. It’s an old rickety frame with chipped paint and a mattress that dips in the middle, but she’s small, so I know it’s not going to collapse on her.
I stuffed old clothes under the sheet to stop the springs from poking her.
The pillow’s lumpy, but she hugs it like it’s filled with all the affection she hasn’t received since she was a baby.
She keeps her treasures tucked under it.
Acts like I don’t know what she’s got under there: a battered Barbie doll, a broken watch of Danny's that doesn’t tick, and a drawing she did of me in a superhero cape.
If only.
I’d fly us out of this shithole at the first opportunity. I’ve thought about it, just up and leaving in the night. But Squeeks gets upset whenever I mention it, still holding on to some hope that things will miraculously get better for us here.
I take the mattress on the floor. It’s thin and stained, but it does the job. I wrap up most nights in two hoodies and a blanket that smells faintly of dog, but it works. I don’t sleep much anyway.
I listen.
For Danny’s voice downstairs. For Mum’s heels clicking on the hallway floorboards. But when Squeeks is asleep, her breathing soft and slow, I pretend the walls are made of stone. I imagine they’re strong enough to keep everything out—the shouting, the deals, the sadness.
We’ve got a shelf, just one, surprisingly still clinging to the wall.
On it are a few battered books I stole from a charity shop, some with missing covers and others with missing pages.
I read them to Squeeks when the noise from the rest of the house gets too much for her.
I skip the parts that don’t make sense and create my own endings.
She never notices, just smiles and nods, as if I’m the most intelligent person in the world.
Because in this room, I’m not just a kid.
I stopped being a kid a long time ago. I’m the lock on the door.
The blanket against the cold. The one thing that separates her from everything evil outside this room.
And even if this place is falling apart, even if the world outside doesn’t give two shits about us, this room, our room, is the last bit of good I’ve got left to protect.
The front door doesn’t even open properly, broken from years of being slammed shut.
I shoulder it open, careful not to drop the food piled in my hands.
My heart still thudding in my chest from the shop, from Chester, from the quiet miracle of someone just giving.
Squeeks trails close behind me, clutching the Milky Buttons like treasure.
We barely get two steps inside before I hear him.
“Oi!” Danny’s voice slices through the hallway like a blade.
Then he’s there, rising from the shadows by the stairs like he was waiting, a greasy vest on and several chains dangling around his neck, his eyes bloodshot and twitchy.
He reeks of smoke like he’s been marinating in it.
Before I can even get Squeeks behind me, his hand is on my throat, dragging me hard against the peeling hallway wall—the food tumbling from my grasp to the floor.
Something, maybe the sausage roll, squishes underfoot.
“You deaf, or just stupid?” He snarls, his face inches from mine. “Where is your fucking Mum?”
I flinch but say nothing as his grip tightens around my windpipe, the back of my head knocking hard against the wall. Squeeks makes a slight noise from the doorway, like a scared animal.
“You hear me, rat?” Danny’s face is practically pressing against my own. “She said she’d be back by three. It’s nearly five. So what, she out doin’ extra shifts, yeah? Skanking about to cover your little shopping trip?”
His eyes flick to the food on the floor, “You lot got money now? Did she suck off the manager or somethin’?”
My fists clench, but I don’t move. I can’t afford to bite back, not with Squeeks watching.
“I found it,” my voice cracking under his grip. He’d beat me there and then if he knew a stranger had bought it for us. “Bin out back of the corner shop.”
He leans back, still holding me in place. “That so?”
I nodded, keeping my face blank. I’ve gotten good at that, no twitching, no fear he can feed off—just stillness.
Danny's stare bores into me, then shoves me away. My shoulder clips the corner of the stairs as I stumble, something I'm sure will add to the bruises I’ll already have come morning.
“Tell your mum if she doesn’t show up soon, I’m selling her phone and every last thing in this dump she cares about,” he spits, pointing a finger down at me. “And next time you bring food into this house, you tell me first. Understand?”
I didn’t look at him, just remained quiet on the bottom step.
He disappears back into the lounge, muttering, lighting a fag, the football blaring as if none of it happened.
I scoop up the scattered food and turn to check on Squeeks.
She’s watching me, her eyes wide and sorrowful.
I give her a little smile, the kind that says I’m okay, even when I’m not.
“Come on,” I whisper. “Let’s go eat in our room.”
She rushes up the stairs, careful not to creak the wrong floorboard. My eyes shift to the piece of shit now slumped on the couch, and I glare at his back as I follow her.
Closing the door, I lean against it. Letting out a deep sigh, I run a hand over my throat, still feeling the tightness of his fingers that once gripped my skin.
Squeeks stayed quiet, just the sound of the muffled football and Danny shouting at players who couldn’t hear him. I never understood why people do that.
Squeeks crawls onto the bed, hugging her pillow close. I set the food down beside her: the half-crushed Twix, a bag of crisps, and the squashed sausage roll, still mostly intact.
“You want half?” I ask, snapping the Twix and holding it out towards her. She nods eagerly, licking her lips.
I glance out the window, the sky bleeding from a warm orange into grey.
Five o’clock, and still no word from Mum. She left this morning in her leopard-print jacket and fishnets, saying, “I’ll be back soon, don’t let Danny touch my fags.”
I try not to show it, but Squeeks catches the way I’m staring out the window instead of eating.
“Is Mummy coming home?” Her voice soft as I return my attention towards her.
“Yeah,” I say. “Probably just got held up. Might’ve met up with a friend for a bit.”
She looked at me, her eyes questioning, with a hidden fear sitting behind them. “Are you gonna go look for her?”
I hesitated. I knew that if I didn’t, Danny would surely drag me out for another forceful talking to.
I didn’t want to leave her, not with him downstairs.
But if Mum’s lying in some alley, high out of her fucking mind, or if she got picked up by some creep who decided not to pay, then I can’t just sit here.
I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve peeled her off the pavement. Why would this time be any different?
“Yeah,” I say finally. “I need to check.” She frowns, her hands curling around the crisp packet, the worry deepening behind her eyes. “I’ll be back before it’s dark.”
Mum liked to work mainly on the other side of the bridge, where it’s filled with posh fuckers who don’t know what struggling is. “Push stuff against the door when I go, yeah?”
She nods, tucking her knees up towards her chest.
“You’re the boss while I’m gone,” I said. “If Danny comes up here causing shit, you scream loud. Scream loud enough to bring the roof down, alright?”
She salutes me with crisp-dusted fingers. “Captain Squeeks, defending the fortress.”
I grin despite myself. She’s brave, braver than me half the time.
I bumped my fist against hers, then slipped out, every step down the stairs silent.
Danny’s still glued to the Telly, eyes glazed, smoke curling around his head like fog.
I’m just a shadow passing through. Out the front door and into the cold.
The streetlights flickered to life as evening descended.
I stuff my hands in my pockets, hunch my shoulders against my chest, and head into the fading light, hoping I find her before the dark overtakes me.
The streets feel different at night, filled with parasitic zombies who hide from the sun.
Streetlight pooled on the pavement in broken, flickering yellow circles.
I walk through them quietly, head down, hood up with just tendrils of my red hair poking out, my hands shoved deep in my pockets as if I might find warmth in there.
I know where to check first. Past the chip shop with the smashed CCTV sign that no one has fixed.
Past the bus stop where the junkies gather, nodding off or scratching at their arms. One of them looks up as I pass, a hollow-eyed woman with no shoes and missing teeth.
“You got a light?” she croaks, reaching out. I shake my head, dodging her grasp.
The corner under the bridge is the first proper spot.
A man was pissing against the wall, struggling to stand straight.
Two girls were smoking and laughing too loudly in heels that they couldn’t walk in, one of them wearing a leopard-print jacket.
I stopped for a second, taking in her movements, hoping it was Mum, but it wasn’t.
She was too tall, and her laugh sounded too alive. So, I moved on.
My feet had entered some kind of autopilot mode. Past the alley behind the kebab shop where Mum once came out with blood on her lip and money clutched in her fist, like that shit was normal.
I checked the park next, if you can call it that. It’s mostly mud and a couple of swings with chains that rattle in the wind. I’d bring Squeeks here sometimes, when things get too much at home or if Danny’s mates started looking at her in a particular way.
A figure was slumped on the bench under a ratty blanket. I moved closer as my breath tightened in my chest. But it wasn’t her. Just a man, mouth wide open and out cold, a bottle cradled like a baby in his lap. The temptation to take the bottle was high, but I kept walking.
Every face I passed, I studied for too long, hoping something familiar would click.
I pulled my hood tighter around my face to keep out the cold.
My trainers were soaked, and I could feel the ache in my legs now, the way it crept into my bones.
But I couldn’t go home. Not yet. Not while there’s still a chance she’s out here somewhere, lost or hurt or just… needing to be found.