Mirror Man by Jacques Kat (ereader for textbooks txt) 📗

them exaggerating her swagger trying to make herself look bigger than she actually was.

‘Oi, you four, stop where you are,’ she yelled.

I looked at the group expecting them all to run off when they spotted her, instead, they started scuffling amongst themselves trying to pass a small bag onto the other. The skinny one of the group ended up with the bag and he was pushed to the floor in the commotion as the other three scattered in different directions. He also happened to be the kid who had kicked me earlier. She grabbed him by his collar and twisted it round in her hand it looked as though she was choking him.

‘What’s this?’ she yelled and grabbed whatever he had in his hand. She reached for her handcuffs and pulled his arms behind his back, cuffed him then dragged him to his feet. He staggered as he got up and they almost went down together in a heap.

‘It’s not mine, ‘e dropped it,’ he said as she inspected the package and pulled out a tobacco tin.

‘You’re coming to the police station with me,’ she said after examining its contents.

‘I told you it’s not mine. It were Rob, Frankie and Mick’s,’ he whined.

‘Well, they’re not here now are they, you little squealer,’ she shouted for the gathering crowd to hear.

She pushed him towards the direction of the police station, then paused, she turned slightly to the side and gave a sort of wave even though she had her hands full. I made the rest of the way home on my own.

Chapter Nine

At home, I disappeared to my bedroom. I removed my jacket and hid it in my laundry pile, wondering if I’d be able to get blood out of the denim. Then I went to the mirror to check my head, gently peeling back the plaster. The cut had stopped bleeding, and with the way my hair fell, you would barely notice it.

I lifted up my T-shirt and checked my chest and stomach. I had a red mark on my side, but no serious damage, and it only hurt if I pressed down on it. I had come away fairly unscathed for my first fight. Though I guess I couldn’t really call it a fight, since I didn’t take part.

I slumped onto my bed, and a mixture of relief and anxiety washed over me. Everybody had warned me this would happen, but I’d refused to believe them. What would I do now? How would I know who was safe to follow and who wasn’t? The beating had shaken my confidence. Could I potentially fall victim to those I followed? Would I have to stop now? So many questions whirled through my head, making my temples thud and ache at the same time.

For now, I would have to stop all my efforts until I could figure out what to do next. Though the thought only filled me with dread and made my stomach knot. The happiness I’d felt this morning had evaporated with a quick blow to the ribs. I’d followed people for as long as I could remember. When I was little, I would be at my mother’s side one minute and gone the next, padding off after some stranger down the street. And now it felt as though I had to stop all I knew. I had wanted to stop, yes, but in my own time. Not because of my own stupid mistake.

I didn’t move from my bed, not even when Grandad knocked on my door asking if I wanted supper, as I hadn’t been down for tea. He told me he’d booked in a couple of services for Friday. I’d told him that was great as enthusiastically I could, and I heard him harrumph and shuffle back down the hall.

I didn’t sleep well, only nodding off here and there, getting less sleep than I was used to. I tried reading the baby books I’d borrowed from the library to drift off again, but they didn’t help much, either, and there were parts I didn’t understand.

To take my mind off the thudding in my head and the twisting in my stomach, I dusted the mirrors in my room, then decided to reorganise my music records. I currently had them in alphabetical order by genre, and by my favourite ones in that genre. I took them all off the shelf, wiped them down, then proceeded to sort them into alphabetical order by the artist’s name.

By the time I was done, the sun was rising, and I could only wonder if what I was looking for in the people I followed wasn’t real. What if it was just something I’d thought up as a way to distract myself from the words Mum said to me all those years ago, for everything I was missing out on? What if Tina was right? What if I was perfect the way I was?

*

After my usual breakfast, I hurried to work, taking the shortcut through the orchard. I kept my head down, not looking at any reflections in shop windows. If I didn’t have a job, I would have quite happily stayed in my room after breakfast with my head under the covers until my world was back to how I liked it. But deep down, I didn’t think things would ever be the same again.

I froze in the middle of the pavement as I turned the corner. The Suit was coming out of Claude’s Antiques, and the same horrible shiver ran from my toes to my scalp.

Crap! I thought. I’d forgotten all about him. I’d have to remember to include this sighting in my journal when I got home too. I hadn’t included The Skinhead. I didn’t want any lasting reminders of that disaster.

I watched The Suit as he tugged on the hem of his jacket before brushing the front of it with the back of his hands and repeating the same motion with his sleeves. He walked away with his shoulders