Almost True Read Free

chocolate. I spit on my hands and transfer some melted Mars Bar onto my trackie trousers. Lou puts her arm around me and says, ‘Don’t worry, they are very nice.’
    The door opens. Two old people. They must be theparents of one of her friends. The grey-haired woman is wearing a pale blue jumper and dark blue skirt and she’s smiling – a really weird smile, kind of twisted. There’s something a bit familiar about her, and I try and think which one of Lou’s teacher mates she reminds me of. The old man is hugely tall and has dark bushy eyebrows and there’s a frown on his face. He’s got a tweed jacket on.
    Louise can’t possibly expect me to stay here – can she?
    â€˜Come in, come in,’ says the woman, in a super-posh voice, and she gives Lou a big hug. I’m wondering when Louise will explain who they are. But she obviously thinks she’s done that already. I’ll just have to work it out as I go along.
    She releases Lou, and they all turn to look at me, and I stare at my trainers which are still sandy from the beach.
    â€˜Tyler, welcome,’ says the lady in her Radio Four voice. ‘We’re so very happy to have you here.’
    I mumble something and Lou says, ‘Ty’s had a terribly traumatic day, Helen, I don’t think he’s up to much at the moment.’
    â€˜Of course,’ she says. ‘Come and sit down. I’ll make tea.’
    She shows us into a living room which is – I swear –bigger than our entire flat in London. There’s a huge piano in the corner, and the floor is made of wood and there are soft patterned rugs and a blue velvety sofa and armchairs and blue curtains that look like they are made of silk. It’s so tidy that it feels like a museum, not someone’s home. And I can’t see a television anywhere.
    There’s a big mirror over the mantelpiece and I catch sight of myself in it. My face is pale and grubby, and there’s a huge shit-brown smear on my chin. My hair, heavy with dried sweat, hangs in strings over my eyes. Oh, and my mouth is wide open.
    â€˜I’m Patrick,’ says the old guy, frowning at me like he’s really regretting allowing Lou to bring me within fifty miles of his house. ‘Do you want a drink? Louise?’ I shake my head and manage to close the gaping mouth and she says no, she’d better not, because she’s driving. That means she’s really going to be leaving me here. He pours himself a whisky.
    â€˜So . . . this is Tyler, eh?’ he says to me in his deep gruff voice. ‘Let’s get a look at you, boy.’
    He sounds like a sergeant major in the army. I duck my head, but Louise tugs my hood down.
    He looks me up and down like he’s deciding whether to buy me. I don’t like it. I don’t like him either. I pull the hood up again and slouch back against my chair, arms crossed. I stretch out my legs in front ofme so my trainers are on the cream-coloured rug. Louise frowns at me, then starts talking to Patrick about the house. Do they get many visitors? Will it be possible for me to stay there without anyone realising?
    Helen brings the tea in on a tray. There’s a flowery teapot and little teacups and a milk jug and a sugar bowl and a plate of biscuits that I think come from Marks and Spencer. It’s like having tea at Buckingham Palace. In our flat you’d have got mugs, tea bags and Lidl economy custard creams. But it reminds me of Gran’s best china which she only used on special occasions. I wonder if it’s still in her old flat in London.
    I drink my tea in about a minute and eat two biscuits – I’m starving. I was right, they
are
from Marks and Spencer, Gran used to get them every six months or so as a very special treat, but I bet these people shop there every day. I lick my finger to pick up the last crumbs from my plate. Then I realise that everyone is watching me, and I start