Trouble by Non Pratt Read Free Book Online

standing up to turn on the light.
    “Why?”
    “Because I’m a Good Samaritan.” I try to sound like I’m joking but it comes out a little bitter. I’m not bitter, I just don’t want to talk about it.
    “Suit yourself,” he says, wincing as he stands. I think about helping him, but I’m not sure he’d appreciate it, then I hear him mutter, “Don’t mind me,” and I hurry to offer him a hand, only to be ignored.
    I look at my watch and figure I could leave now. There’s a McDonald’s on the way to the park and I’ve got my book with me. Before I even realize what I’m doing, I’ve got one arm inside my coat and I’m turning to say goodbye.
    “Have a g—” I stop.
    Neville is standing over the waste paper bin unzipping his flies. I bound across the floor and put a hand on his arm.
    “Hey!” Neville shrugs me off, spraying a trail of urine over his bedside table. “Do you mind?” And he swings back over the bin.
    I turn away and stifle a laugh as I hear a wet patter on the contents of the bin. Neville zips up and turns to face me.
    “Poofter.”
    I don’t bother correcting him – what good did it do with Hannah? – I just say goodbye and leave, stopping to warn someone about the contents of Neville’s bin.
    “He likes you, you know,” the manager says, as she hunts around reception for a set of keys to the cleaning cupboard.
    “Really?” I’m not sure Neville likes anyone.
    “He does. He asks about you when you’re with one of the others. Wants to know whether you’ll be popping in on him.”
    I feel a pang of guilt.
    “There you are!” She snatches the keys from under a folder, then turns to me. “Same time next week?”
    Somehow I hear myself offering to take care of it. As I head to the cleaning cupboard to fetch rubber gloves and a bin liner, it occurs to me that I find the prospect of cleaning up Neville’s urine-soaked bin more appealing than a night in the park. Not something to tell my mum.

THURSDAY 22 nd OCTOBER
    HANNAH
    Shit. Not any old shit. The real kind that’s about to hit the fan. I found two tampons at the bottom of my school bag whilst I was looking for my favourite pen this evening. Forget the pen, now I’m standing looking at the kitchen calendar trying to remember when my last period was.
    I can’t remember.
    In films everyone seems to know when their periods are due – they have them marked in red in their diaries or whatever.
    I don’t have a diary.
    I stand there for a moment longer and try to think. The tampons in my school bag came from the machine in the toilets by the science labs. It’s the only one that still works and has “Mr Dhupam is a rabbit shagger” written in marker pen on the side. I had to make an emergency purchase after Year 11 assembly, which was the first one after term started…
    I count forward past Jay’s party, Mum’s birthday, Lola’s dentist appointment. Four weeks – it should have been then, right? – but I count another week then one, two, three, four, five, six days.
    My finger rests on today’s box:
    Mum book club 7 p.m . – Life of Pi
    That can’t be right. About the date, not the book club … although really it should be called film club, since Mum only ever reads the first few chapters before streaming the movie on Robert’s laptop.
    Focus, Hannah.
    I count again. I’m nearly two weeks late – or is my period standing me up? Is it a no-show rather than a late show?
    It can’t be like that. In the movies everyone’s always sick for a few days before they take the test. They think it’s those dodgy prawns or a bad hangover, but no: baby.
    But no: it can’t be like that.
    Really. It can’t.
    Robert’s coming down the hall and I leave the kitchen, dodging past him on my way towards the stairs, then I’m in my room and at the computer. It’s a very shiny new one, a present from Mum and Robert for my birthday in July. They hope it’ll help with school work, but I like to think of it as an extension of my