Page 39 of The Cut

Annie stands outside the Knots’ house under the newly planted oak tree on the grass verge.

The bare patches of earth where they’d dug small holes to play marbles in the spring are starting to grow new green shoots.

She’s perched on the faded road sign, bolted to two low concrete posts, that indicates the way to the council estate of Barton Rise.

This is where they’d had their first kiss.

She’d never done open mouths before; it had felt like two goldfish gasping for air.

Their lives will never be like this again.

After the summer holidays, they’ll all be going their separate ways.

Sixth-form college, or work experience stacking shelves in a shop somewhere.

Ben will most likely sign up for an apprenticeship; there is a local mechanic that will take him on.

Annie wants to spend the summer in London; she’s been accepted on a summer course at Central Saint Martins school of fashion and design, the beginning of a dream.

The dream of getting out of her small town and making something of herself is very much alive.

But what about the two of them? Where do they go from here?

She inhales deeply, strides across the green and rings the doorbell.

There’s no answer at the front door so she crouches down and calls through the letter box.

‘Ben … it’s me. It’s Annie.’ The kitchen door is closed but she can see movement through the fluted glass door. He’s definitely in there. ‘I’m sorry we haven’t spoken since the Wakes. Can I come in?’

‘Annie?’ She turns to see Ben in the open door, bare feet and tracksuit bottoms. His shirt is filthy and his hair is a mess. ‘You better come in.’

The house stinks, like someone died in here.

They don’t have any pets, but the aroma of urine is pungent.

Newspapers are piled up on the hall carpet and letters are spilling over the telephone table.

Annie closes the front door behind her as Ben heads into the kitchen at the back.

As she passes the living room, she notices the stale stench has been masked with the smell of pine disinfectant.

An empty hospital bed is parked in the centre of the room, with yellow sheets and plastic buckets of God knows what underneath.

A commode and a small table loaded with pill bottles and a jug of stagnant water stand next to the bed.

The couch in the corner has a rumpled-up sleeping bag and a pillow in a case that clearly needs a wash.

‘You want a tea?’ Ben calls from the kitchen, his voice flat with exhaustion. Annie places her bag in the corner of the hall and braces herself, trying to muster some courage.

‘Come on, he won’t bite, he’s out for the count anyway.

’ The kettle in the kitchen begins to whistle as Annie tentatively steps into the room.

The kitchen hasn’t been updated since the fifties; lurid yellow and green flower-patterned wallpaper and aquablue cabinets, a Belfast sink in the corner and a stove that has seen better days.

An electric fire is plugged in with a few bars on, despite the fact May has been pretty warm this year, but it’s more for visual comfort than any withering heat it might emit.

A wing chair with an old brown stretch cover has its back to the door.

As she moves into the room, Annie can see a pale-blue, bony hand on the arm of the chair. Ben dunks two tea bags into hot water.

‘It’s OK, he’s asleep, I gave him the morphine.’ 215

As Annie rounds the chair, she can see what remains of Ben’s father.

It’s hard not to show a reaction when faced with such a shocking transformation.

Anthony Knot is hanging on to life by a thread.

His sunken cheeks and hollowed-out eyes, open mouth and head tipped back give the impression of a man in a scream of ecstasy.

His breathing is terrifyingly shallow; yellow fingernails hold on tight to the wooden arm of the chair with the only strength he has left.

For a second, a rheumy eye splits open and he expels the faintest croak of breath that smells like yeast from the black interior of his mouth.

‘It’s Annie, Dad. She’s come to see you.’ Ben pops the tea on the table, along with a plate of biscuits.

She can hardly speak. What can she possibly say? Without thinking, she kisses Mr Knot’s head. His fingers grasp hers lightly for a second, like a baby finding its first grip.

She picks up her tea and takes a sip, staring into Ben’s eyes. ‘Are you getting any help?’

‘District nurse comes in in the morning after I go to school, but that’s just to make sure I’m not stealing his drugs.’ Ben stuffs a biscuit into his mouth.

Annie lowers her voice. ‘He needs to go to the hospice, Ben. You can’t do all this alone.’

‘No beds.’ Ben’s eyes drift to the window, avoiding hers. ‘I sleep in the living room. He wets the bed two or three times in the night … needs changing. No one else is going to do it.’ Ben is on his feet now, at the sink, washing out the mugs.

‘Oh Ben, I wish you’d told me. My mum would’ve—’

‘I don’t want to burden anyone.’ He cuts her off, watching her closely through the reflection in the glass.

Annie pauses for a second, then suddenly stands.

Ben turns, thinking that he’s blown it. But instead, she steps towards him, 216 gently moves him out of the way and starts to run the tap.

She waits for it to get warm then puts in the plug.

Under the sink there is a box of washing powder.

She pours in a measure and then, without saying a word, heads into the living room, strips the bed and returns with the sheets. She is on a mission.

By the time they’ve finished, it is getting dark outside.

The sheets are hanging out to dry and Anthony Knot is tucked up in fresh linen, washed and changed for the night.

The floors have been vacuumed, surfaces scrubbed, and the place is as spick and span as it could possibly be in the few hours they’ve worked together.

‘We make a good team.’ Annie smiles at him with admiration.

‘We do, don’t we?’ Ben slumps into his dad’s chair and starts to pull on his socks and trainers.

‘What are you doing?’ Annie stands, sweating with exhaustion.

‘Driving you home.’ He grabs a set of keys from the table.

‘I can call my dad.’ Annie puts her hand on his to stop him. ‘He’ll pick me up.’

‘It’s no bother.’ Ben is already pulling his coat on.

‘You’re not supposed to be …’ Annie stops herself. There are a lot of things that a kid of Ben’s age isn’t supposed to be doing. Nursing his dying father, for one. Illegally driving a clapped-out Ford Fiesta is nobody’s business. Annie smiles at him. ‘OK, you can take me home – on one condition.’

Ben steps close to her. ‘What condition?’

‘Please stop bullying Mark Cherry … for me. Do it for me.’ Their faces are close. ‘Deal?’

Maybe he is fully conscious of the effect the bullying has on his victim.

Then again, maybe the Ben here in this room is different from the swaggering Top Dog in the school playground who needs to secure his position.

This Ben is soft and caring, but the boy out in the world wears a whole other mask. 217

He nods his head gently, but his voice is strangely detached. ‘Deal.’

Annie moves in close to Ben and plants her lips softly on his cheek. Ben turns his face, so they are mouth to mouth, and pulls her in tightly for a deeper kiss. It lingers and Ben presses their bodies together. Annie breaks first but Ben clings to her as if starved of love. He wants to go further.

She presses him gently away with her hand against his shoulder. ‘Ben …’ She glances towards his father. ‘Not here.’

‘Want to come upstairs?’ Ben holds on to her hand, pulling her in.

‘I need to get home.’ Annie turns and searches for her school bag. Slinging it over her shoulder, she heads out into the hall.

Ben follows. ‘You always do this …’

‘Do what?’ Annie places her hand on the door latch.

Ben’s hand reaches out and his palm presses against the door. ‘Get me all excited and then run away.’

‘I’m sorry, it’s just … your dad.’

Ben’s voice lowers, trembling with rage. ‘You’re always sorry … Maybe Lynette’s right, you’re just a tease.’

Annie pulls on the door, but Ben holds it fast.

‘Ben. Let go … please. I’m going home.’

She pulls harder and Ben taunts her with the door. ‘You play this game with Patel or is it just me you like to get all hot and bothered?’

He finally lets the door swing open and Annie stumbles backwards, falling on to the floor. Ben snorts to himself, leans back against the wall and just watches her pull her skirt down and clamber to her feet.

She moves quickly out on to the driveway, turning back, her face flushed with embarrassment. ‘I guess I’ll … see you at the leavers’ party?’ 218

The door hits the wood with such force that the glass almost shatters in the frame. Ben’s shadow turns and heads back to his father.

As Annie moves away, she can hear shouts from the kitchen. He’s taking it out on him, breaking crockery and flipping furniture. All their hard work undone.

It was her fault. At least, that’s what she told herself. She knew the effect she had on him. Passion was a wonderful quality in a boy, but inside Ben was a heat that could burn too hot.