Frying pan

I’ve been trying, I have, straight up, but it’s pretty dead this time of year and not much about in the way of weekend jobs. Been reading a bit tho, catching up with the all the stuff I missed last term. It helps take my mind off Danny, but the nights are the worst – Marz out till the early hours and me eating myself wondering where she is. Then having to creep around all day in case I wake her up – things’ll never change She says she needs her beauty sleep. Yeah, too right. So. I’ve been keeping off the ‘net and con-cen-trating on being good. Marz must’ve been feeling guilty about disappearing that time cos she’s actually started to bring food home now and again. Which means I haven’t had to go out since I gave up on the job-hunting.

Of course I’d forgotten all about Pete, hadn’t I? So when I heard these footsteps behind me on the way back from the corner shop the thought it might be him again never even ruffled my fur.

‘Hiya Jazz,’ he says, linking his arm in mine. I nearly jumped outta my pink boots, yanked my arm away, shook him off like he was a seagull shit that’d splatted down on my shoulder – which really did happen once. There was about half a cup of it and it stank of fish.

‘Hey girly,’ he says, ‘don’t be like that, ole Pete means no harm, honest.’

‘Leave me alone,’ I said, ‘I’ve got enough on my plate without you bothering me.’ He started to go on then, but I wasn’t listening. I was thinking how I’d better not let him know where I lived, so when we got to the door I just carried on straight past without a sideways flicker. A couple of streets on I stopped outside a small block of flats.

‘OK,’ I told him, ‘this is it. I can’t ask you in, my mum’ll be sleeping – she works nights.’ It came out just as I'd intended, all sarcastic-like.

He looked sad at that, then his mouth went all tight and he said goodbye and moved away a step or two, watching me with those little rat’s eyes of his. So I had to pretend to look for my key, then press the bloody bell so’s he didn’t get suspicious. This voice answered, all broken up by rotten electronics.

‘Who’s that?’

‘It’s Jazz,’ I said, fingers and toes all crossed. ‘I’ve lost my key.’ I’d have crossed my legs too only Pete would’ve seen. And bloody miracle of miracles there was this buzzing noise and the door was busy unlocking itself and I’m turning to Pete with a little wave and slipping inside. But he just stays there, watching, so I have to make for the stairs and go on up, not knowing where the hell I’m going, or even whose bell I’d rung.

So there’s me hanging around the landing wondering how I’ll know when Pete's gone, and not wanting to go down the stairs a little way in case he’s still there and sees me through the glass, when a door opens a little way along the passage and someone steps out, stands there looking at me.

‘I’m along here,’ he says, quite unnecessarily as I can see where he is.

‘Come in and I’ll make us some tea.’

And I’m standing there with my mouth open like a goldfish cos it’s the young policeman from the other week and I want to run but bloody Pete’s probably still outside. So I walk the few steps along to the door and he stands to one side and I just go in.