The Edge of Me Read Online Free PDF

but without my knowing.
    On the back, someone’s scribbled a date. Two years ago last summer.
    I have to get inside. I take a couple of deep breaths and get to my feet. A cramping pain like a stitch bites into my side, and I have to bend and breathe deeply waiting for it to go. Minutes pass and I hear the excited chatter of schoolchildren on the street going home, their voices floating through the air at me; a car pulls out from a space nearby.
    When the pain’s gone, I look around me for something to break the window. There’s no other way to get in.
    I pick up a stone, grip it in my hand and start hammering at the window. It’s a lot more difficult than I thought it would be and after a few fruitless attempts, I lower my arm.
    Something makes me look to my left across the fence. Our neighbour is coming up the path to her door.
    ‘Hiya,’ she calls, ‘you all right? You locked out?’
    ‘Um. um. Yes. Yes. I am locked out. Yeah.’
    She blinks and looks me up and down. ‘What time’s your mum back? Do you want to come in and wait?’
    Too much. Too many questions. I’m not in the rightmind to think up excuses and unless someone’s going to do it for me, all I want is to be left alone.
    ‘No. No thanks. It’s OK thanks. I’m OK.’
    She looks at the stone in my right hand and back at me. I drop the stone and it breaks in two. No wonder it didn’t do any damage.
    ‘Right. OK then. Well I’m in all evening if you need me. Just ring the top bell.’
    I nod. ‘OK. Thanks.’
    She smiles at me in a half-hearted way and goes inside. Her door closes with a bang and I hear her opening the inner door and going upstairs.
    I need help. I go out on to the street and look around. To my right across the road is a skip. It’s full of timber, kitchen units and, on closer inspection, bits of plumbing tackle. With difficulty I pull out a tap and its pipes. I put it under my arm and I’m about to carry it back to the house when a woman from across the road comes out and stops me. I know her by sight but we’ve never spoken before. She’s about Mum’s age with dark circles under her eyes and she speaks with a northern accent.
    ‘You moving?’ she says.
    ‘Um. No.’
    ‘You’re not moving?’
    ‘Why do you ask?’
    She shuffles around the skip, placing a proprietorial hand on the side. She’s wearing slippers.
    She looks at the tap in my hand. ‘What are you doing with that?’
    ‘It’s … It’s for a … um … ’
    ‘You should ask before taking stuff, you know.’
    ‘Oh. OK. Sorry.’ I go to return it but she pushes it back at me.
    ‘I thought you were moving,’ she says. ‘Big van there this morning there was. Boxes coming out. You not moving then?’
    ‘Er … no …well … maybe. Were my parents there?’
    She looks at me in an odd way. ‘They was in and out at first, then they went off in a fancy car with those blacked-out windows. Van finished up and went. That’s why I thought you were off.’
    ‘No.’ Speaking is impossible when all I want to do is cry myself stupid. I feel my fingers tighten around the cold brass of the tap.
    ‘OK, then,’ she says, having obviously decided I’m not worth the effort. I nod and walk across the road to the safety of the hedge.
    I bring the tap down on the window which cracks and breaks, scattering glass onto the sitting room floor. I reach in to open the window using the catches. They don’t move. I try again and then remember they’re locked. Crap. I hurriedly pick at the jagged edges and heave myself over the ledge. My palms are torn and bleeding, and when I get in, I have to spend a minute pinching out glass splinters and chips.
    Once in the house, the strangeness overwhelms me. I almost collapse. I sit down on the steps into the kitchen and try to take stock. A van coming, my parents leavingin a fancy car: what’s that all about? My dad’s got an old Datsun he uses for his cab. That’s it. They have no money, no savings. Mum works in a