Girl Saves Boy by Steph Bowe Read Free Book Online

sometimes the same, but they hide them better (most of the time).
    Next to his house there is a caravan. Al’s sister and her boyfriend and their baby son are staying there for a few months. ‘Before they get back on their feet,’ Al’s mother says. There are about five bedrooms in the house, filled up with more brothers and sisters—mostly older than Al, except for his younger sister, Maddie—as well as his parents (who are separated, but live in the same house, his father with his new girlfriend—which is completely normal for Little Al and his family, but seems completely bizarre to me, not that I’d ever say that aloud) and a couple of aunts and his grandma.
    Little Al is comfortable in his family—they are all massively tall—but he isn’t like the rest. He would be the first person in his family to finish high school, and the first to go to uni instead of going for an apprenticeship. His father is a bricklayer, and a couple of his brothers are carpenters and electricians, and most of the women in his family are hairdressers or beauty therapists, except an aunt who is a builder as well. She wears sensible shoes, has a short haircut, and never has a boyfriend, and, although everyone assumes she is gay, nobody talks about it. The Mitchells are nice—loud and friendly, always throwing a barbecue, setting up a bonfire, inviting you round for dinner when they barely know you.
    Little Al’s older brother Mason caught us at the door on his way out. ‘Mate,’ he greeted me, drawing out the ‘a’. ‘How’s it goin’?’
    ‘I’m good, thanks. Yourself?’
    ‘Great, mate, great.’ He turned to Al. ‘I love this little dude.’ He pointed at me.
    Al laughed. ‘Yeah, Mason.’
    We walked through to the kitchen, where Al’s mother was slapping around pots and pans, a cigarette dangling from her mouth. She was large and friendly, with sharp little eyes. Al’s older sister, Miri, was spooning green mush into her baby’s mouth. The little boy (Nathan, I think) spat it out over his bib and chortled happily.
    Al’s mum banged a pot down on the stove. ‘Johnny’s bloody well shot through again,’ she told Al. ‘Some son-in-law he is.’ Then she noticed me. ‘Sacha! Didn’t see you there. How’re things with your dad?’
    ‘Great, Mrs Mitchell.’
    ‘Why don’t you ever call me Sal?’ she laughed. ‘Let your dad know he’s welcome round any time.’ She winked at Al’s older sister. ‘You should meet Sacha’s dad, Miri. He’s a bit of all right. Gay, though. All the good ones are.’
    Little Al laughed.
    ‘Speaking of a bit of all right.’ Miri pointed the baby spoon at Al. ‘Where’s this True Grisham?’
    ‘You can have her round here, you know. You don’t have to hide your relationship from us,’ his mum said. ‘You embarrassed by your mum?’
    ‘Not at all, Mum,’ Al said. ‘I’m not friends with True.’
    She looked him over sceptically then turned to me. ‘Would you like a beer, hon? We won’t tell anybody.’ She winked.
    ‘I’m on medication, but thanks anyway,’ I said.
    ‘Are you staying for tea?’ asked Sal. ‘Mason’s gone for Chinese and I’m cooking up some extra rice.’
    ‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘Dad might need me back at home though…’
    ‘Okay, Mum, we’re gonna go now.’ Al steered me out of the room.
    ‘You look after your dad, Sacha,’ his mum called after us. ‘You two can come for dinner whenever you like.’
    ‘They still think I’m sleeping with True,’ Al said when we were out in the hall.
    I laughed. ‘In your dreams.’
    Little Al paused outside the door to his room. ‘Yeah. Yeah, that’s right.’
    I shook my head and followed him in. As I sat down on his bed, I bent to look underneath for a tennis ball. I found one—painted to represent a neuron for some school project (or, knowing Little Al, just for fun)—and lay back on the bed, tossing it at the ceiling. I could hear his family thundering in other rooms of the house, yelling