In Too Deep Read Online Free PDF

at my feet to double-check. My thoughts are a few steps behind my eyes. Or is it the other way around?
    ‘But I’d like to make sure you’re OK.’ He takes hold of my wrist.
    ‘I’ll be fine,’ I say, feeling my heart kick up.
    ‘But you’ve told me stuff, Hannah,’ he says. His eyes go dark and narrow.
    All your dirty little secrets
. . .
    ‘None of it was true,’ I say unconvincingly. I squirm, just wanting to go home.
    ‘Secrets like that are too big to keep to yourself, Miss Forrester.’
    Shit.
    I pull my arm, but he’s reluctant to let me go.
    ‘Your coat. When you went to the loo,’ he says apologetically.
    ‘What about my coat?’
What the fuck about my coat!
    My heart thumps, and my mouth goes dry. I shove my free hand in my pocket, wondering if my ID was in there after all. Then I remember. Even through the vodka mess in my head, I remember how Mum insisted on sewing name tapes into everything that went within a five-mile radius of school. Apparently I lost everything if it wasn’t either attached to me or emblazoned with my name. Including this coat. An old duffel I wore the last couple of winters in the sixth form.
    ‘Yeah, but I’m not called that now, am I?’ It’s obvious I’m lying. I sound like a little kid, and I run about as fast as one after I give a shoulder-ripping yank, breaking free from his grip.
    He calls after me, but I don’t turn back. I keep on running, charging down the street, praying I don’t fall over. I hardly dare to look back, veering off towards the main road and the row of closed shops. My arms flap and my head bangs as I cross the roundabout, finally reaching the end of my street.
    I stop for a moment, bending forward, leaning on my knees. My lungs burn and I don’t even care if his hand comes down on my arm, dragging me off somewhere.
    I don’t even care
.
    That’s when I realise I’m crying. Sobbing. Hot tears rolling down my face as I walk the last bit home.
    Taking a deep breath, I go up our garden path, pausing at the front door. I look around, watching to see if he’s followed me. But then my eyes are drawn closer to home, to the front garden of our house, the only home I’ve ever known.
    Mum says I’ve been carried in her belly up this front path, been pushed in a pram up it, walked as a toddler holding her hand, ridden my scooter on it, brought my friends home from school proudly up it, and shyly kissed my first boyfriend, aged fourteen, on it.
    Mum doesn’t know what else I’ve done.
    ‘Oh Christ in heaven, thank
God
,’ comes a voice from behind.
    I spin round. Mum is in the doorway in her pyjamas with the hall light shining brightly behind her. Heat, warmth and familiar smells spill out of my home. It’s starting to rain.
    ‘I’ve been phoning you, but it went to your message service, so I rang Emma and she said you didn’t go to her house. Where have you
been
, Hannah? I was worried to death.’
    Mum looks pale and slightly older than I remember,but she’s still beautiful. I feel wretched and sick. I fight it back down.
    Then I fall into her arms, sobbing, and she takes me inside, shutting the door against all things bad.

Hannah
    It’s true that everything seems better in the morning. Mum used to say that to Jacob and me when we were little and had crazy big worries that chased us into bed at night. Stuff like not having learned our times tables, or losing one of our plimsolls. I smile at the memory, but then I’m thinking of Jacob and not smiling any more. I’m thinking how much I miss him.
    ‘Hannah,’ Mum calls up the stairs. ‘Are you awake?’
    My head hurts from last night. ‘No,’ I say back, though with a little laugh inserted so she thinks I’m in a better mood. I’ve got to keep her off my back until I decide what to do.
    I turn over in bed, pulling the duvet up over my head. But my current worries – the worries that are infinity squared bigger than anything I’ve had before – still find a way in. They wrap