Being Me Read Free Page A

too and I’ve just put on mascara. Properly this time, before you start.’
    ‘I’ll be alright.’
    ‘I’m going to leave my phone on under my pillow. Ring me any time and I’ll pick up, I promise.’
    I can hear an argument downstairs. Dad must be back. ‘Mikay, I’m going now. But...thanks.’
    ‘Stay strong, sister. Who loves ya, baby?’
    ‘You do, Mikay. I love you loads back.’
    I put my phone down. I don’t know whether to believe Mikaela when she says both her parents were members of the revolutionary black music and protest group called the Black Panthers, but she talks good, fighting talk.
    The shouting downstairs is getting worse. Something gets thrown against a wall. It makes a thud. I drag myself off my bed and go downstairs. At the foot of the stairs I stop and listen to the word tennis:
    ‘This is your idea of getting ready?’
    Dad.
    ‘Why should I have to entertain your work friends?’
    Mum.
    ‘You don’t get it do you?’
    Dad.
    I sit on the steps and listen it out.
    ‘How can my saying, “what a lovely sausage roll you serve, Mr Chateauhoffer” get you a big contract?’
    ‘That big contract could save our bacon, girl. We’re sinking, Zowie, we’re going under. The house, the holidays, the jewellery, all gone if something doesn’t arrive soon.’
    ‘I never liked this house anyway.’
    ‘You want to live in a field? Wake up, Zow. Are you even listening?’
    ‘Say your car’s broken down.’
    ‘You stupid...’
    I step in. ‘Dad, Mum, say hello to your beautiful daughter!’
    They turn, shocked. As if it has only just occurred to them that yes, they have a daughter and yes, she does actually live with them, and yes, she has ears.
    ‘Not now, darling.’
    They both say this, and at exactly the same time.
    Dad’s holding an ornament. It’s a black swan and he’s got it by the neck, about to chuck it at Mum, who is by a door ready to duck behind it. Dad is dressed up in a blue velvet suit. He’s had a haircut. Mum is barefoot. On the carpet is the wooden flower bowl and the flowers that were in it are scattered all over the floor. When Dad threw the last flower bowl the glass shattered everywhere, so Mia replaced it with a wooden one.
    ‘Your mother and I were having a little conversation,’ says Dad, like they’ve been discussing the weather. He puts the swan back on the mantelpiece.
    There’s a beat during which they figure out I am not going to leave the room until they’ve sorted out whatever it is they are arguing about. Dad cracks first.

    ‘She always does this to me,’ he says, exasperated. ‘I tell her way in advance, she agrees, and then last minute she’s not ready or she’s ... drugged up.’
    ‘You told me it was next week.’
    ‘This week.’
    ‘Next week.’
    ‘Dad, why don’t you check the date?’ I say.
    ‘It’s in my phone,’ says Dad, ‘It’s...’
    Dad is scrolling through his phone. He stops on some page. ‘Oh,’ he says.
    ‘So you messed it up, Dad?’ I say.
    ‘In my phone it’s next week, but it got changed and... What does it matter what week it is, your mum’s not doing anything tonight is she?’
    ‘Talk to Mum, not me. Nicely.’
    ‘What do you mean, “nicely”?’
    ‘Say please. And like the dress she chooses.’
    Mum is loving this.
    Dad swallows hard. ‘You were right, Zowie,’ he says, totally grovelling. ‘I told you next week and I was wrong, it’s this week. Please. Will you come?’
    ‘Pretty please?’
    ‘Pretty please.’
    ‘I’ll consider it.’
    Mum swans upstairs.
    Dad fumes.
    ‘She’s going, Dad. She’s just torturing you for a little while, but she’s going.’
    ‘Are you sure?’ Dad asks me.
    I nod. I pick the scattered flowers up and put them back in the bowl. ‘Have you eaten?’
    ‘No,’ says Dad, distractedly.
    ‘Go and eat something then.’
    Dad goes into the kitchen.
    Later, after they both leave, I find Mum’s vodka. It’s vile. Everything is pretty much a blank after