Short Story: It Was Just A Dare...

Short Story: It Was Just A Dare...

‘It was just a dare!’

I keep telling them over and over again but they won't listen.

‘A stupid dare,' I insist.

I shout this time and stand up, banging my fists on the table but I still can't make them hear. I still can't make them understand. I never realised adults could be so dense, so thick, so stupid. Well, not until the day before yesterday anyway...

'A laugh, you know!'

I try again spitting out every syllable like I'm talking to a two year old, which let's face it, I might as well be.

'Something to break the monotony of living in this bloody village!’

I emphasise the swearing for effect. They hate that.

'Sit down please Miss.' I am told in a patronising tone, 'There's no need to shout,'

‘That’ll do Samantha come on, there’s no need for bad language love, sit down, please.’

That was Mum. She's with me now. She looks heartbroken and ashamed but I can tell she's trying to keep her chin up, put her bravest face on and her best foot forward. She's had to do that a lot since Dad left and she always fails. I can see it's a struggle for her all this, a monumental effort. I can read the signs but I don’t care.

I never asked them to phone home and drag her into this. I don’t even want her here snivelling and making a fuss, trying to pretend we're still a proper family when we're not. I can look after myself thank you very much, despite what they say. I've had to.

‘She never swears at home.’

Mum whispers conspiratorially to the police man as she wrings her hands and tries not to cry again.

He nods and smiles vaguely. He looks about a year older than me, this copper, only less street wise. He's all show. I can tell.

‘Of course,’ he whispers back sympathetically, 'I understand.'

He's trying to make out he comes across my type all the time, (yeah, right) and he's trying not to notice now as I cross and uncross my legs in front of him. I can see he's getting hot under the collar though. I can tell I'm getting to him. I bet his mum still does his ironing for him. I bet he still lives at home. I bet I could wrap him round my little finger if I wanted to, no problem. If I could be bothered...

‘Now Mrs Jacobs.’

He swallows, his face getting redder as he tries to avert his eyes from my thighs.

‘Please don’t upset yourself. I’ll just nip out and find out what’s happening.’

He dashes out sweating and dazed, and Mum starts crying again; huge sobs that will make her face all blotchy and puffy. I put my head on the table and start humming and drumming my fingers, determined to drown her out. I have enough of it at home to be honest.

The minutes keep ticking by and I'm getting fed up now. I can feel my temper growing again and don't even try and check it. I've had enough of this now. It’s boring and I'm sick of it. I just want to get home and watch telly. I haven't even had the chance to set the timer for Hollyoaks. I better not miss it. We all know this is just a gigantic waste of time...

None of it was my idea anyway so how can they blame me? It was all Hannah’s but she'd run off before they saw her so I suppose I'll have to cop for it. She said he deserved it though. She said he had it coming to him and that I should sell my story to a magazine or go to the papers. Get a makeover and get paid for interviews and stuff. She said I'd be famous, a celebrity with my photo splashed across the red tops one Saturday morning.

Stupid cow, I wish I’d never listened to her now but when she’s on a mission there’s no stopping her is there? She's worse than me I reckon. Looking back I don't think I would have gone through with it though, if we hadn't been drinking, not if I'm honest. But we had hadn't we? We’d both had a skin full and thought we’d get away with it. Thought we were too clever, too cocky, too cool to get caught...

‘Right then,’ the other one’s back in now. The older one in the suit.

‘Let’s have a proper look in here shall we?'

‘Whatever.’

I mutter picking at my nails as he snatches up my rucksack from the floor. I don't even look at him.

I know this game, I’ve been through it all before you see; good cop bad cop but I still don’t care. I don’t give a shit. He turns my bag upside down and out it all tumbles, spilling on to the table in a muddled heap. Mum gasps and starts to cry louder.

‘Shut up,’ I hiss, ‘who cares. It’s all crap. It doesn’t matter, none of it,’

I try and say it like I mean it but suddenly I realise I don’t, not really, not now, not seeing it all properly for the first time. There's a little knot of guilt forming in the pit of my stomach. I didn't expect that; I never bargained on actually caring.

There’s his new shirt that was hanging on the bedroom door, he’s a footballer you see, his wife's watch and his little girl's teddy, still with her necklace round its neck...

It all starts to come back to me now as I look at his possessions piled up on the table in a muddled heap...

I remember me and Hannah rampaging through the house tearing things, turning on taps, smashing windows…it’s not pretty… I can’t really believe I’ve done it... but I have, I've been a part of it.

I’m scared my face will give me away so I try and shrug my shoulders nonchalantly and stare at my chipped nails but I can’t really pull it off, not now. My heart isn’t in it anymore and I feel hot tears pricking the back of my eyes. I blink furiously and swallow the lump in my throat, determined not to cry. I can't give them the satisfaction can I?

I know I’ve done wrong though. I know that now but I was in love with him you see and I thought he loved me. He said he did. He always told me he did...until the day before yesterday...

We first met at the village fete in the summer holidays. He was there to cut the ribbon and do an opening speech and I had to hand him the scissors. We got talking later and he bought me a beer. He said he couldn’t believe I was only fifteen. He said I looked much older; too sophisticated, too mature for fourteen. 'To worldly for village life,' he said, whatever the hell that meant. He said I could go round to his house when his wife’s car wasn’t there...so I did…

… Then, the day before yesterday, he said he didn’t want a kid hanging around anymore. He told me to keep my mouth shut and stay away. I don’t suppose there’s much point telling this lot that though is there? But give it a few months, then they'll understand, then they'll see. Then they'll have to believe me won't they?