The End is Where We Begin by Maria Goodin (open ebook .txt) 📕

“Come,” said the voice behind me, “let us all be friends together.”

I remember flashing the torch one, two, three times.

“I don’t think he saw,” said Tom beside me, his face white in the glow of the street lamp. “Do it again.”

“No, look he’s coming,” said Max.

A window at the side of Michel’s house opened and we watched as one leg emerged and then the other. He lowered himself carefully onto the pitched roof below, shuffled down the sloped tiles on his bottom, turned over onto his belly and then disappeared from our view, hidden by the garden wall. In a few seconds he would emerge through the side gate.

“I’m gonna live in a house like these when I’m older,” mused Tom, looking around him at the large, detached houses lining the wide, leafy avenue.

“Yeah, right,” Max scoffed. “Good luck with that.”

“What? I can get this if I want to.”

“By doing what?”

“I dunno. Whatever these people do.”

“These people didn’t go to Allenbrook. They’ll have come from some posh school like St John’s. If anyone’s gonna get a house like this it’ll be Jay.”

“Why should he be the only one?”

“’Cause he’ll be the one to get the best qualifications. That’s what his parents are paying for. Plus he’s got the brains.”

“I’m easily as smart as Jay.”

“Yeah, but you go to a shit school, so tough luck for you.”

“So what? I work hard. I’ll go to a shit school and still beat Jay in my exams.”

“No, you won’t,” I muttered, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans. It was too cold to be out tonight and this wasn’t really where I wanted to be.

“I bet you I can do better than you,” insisted Tom.

“Bet me what? You don’t have anything.”

“God, why do you two always have to turn everything into a competition?” groaned Max.

“I’ll bet you fifty quid,” said Tom, sticking out his hand.

“It’ll take you forever to earn that when you’re working in McDonald’s,” I told him.

“Ha ha. Go on. Fifty quid says I do better than you.”

“Whatever.” I shook his hand unenthusiastically. “You better start saving.”

“Hey,” said Michael, jogging up to us, “where are we going?”

“The park,” said Tom.

“I don’t wanna go to the park again,” groaned Max, “it’s boring.”

“Not if we liven things up a bit,” said Michael, reaching inside his jacket and pulling out a bottle.

Tom unzipped his own jacket and also pulled out a bottle. “Great minds think alike,” he grinned.

We lay on the tennis court looking up at the night sky, our heads swimming pleasantly, our bodies warmed by the alcohol. We’d talked about football, music and video games. Michael still had a lot of gaps in his knowledge, but he was catching up fast and he’d slotted into our friendship group so perfectly that it was hard to remember a time when four had been three. It was like there had always been a space there for him, just waiting to be filled.

“How much d’you reckon your house is worth, Blondie?” asked Tom, rolling over to light Michael’s cigarette.

Michael took a long drag. “I dunno,” he shrugged, “not that much. A million maybe.”

The rest of us laughed.

“Not that much!” we spat.

“It’s not that much compared to some of the other houses round our way. Or some of the other kids at school. Some of their families have serious money.”

“Tom wants to be as rich as your dad one day,” explained Max. “He bet Jay fifty quid he’d beat him in his exams.”

“Which he won’t,” I added. Apart from on the running track, I’d never been a competitive person – except for when it came to Tom. He drew it out of me, and so far it had always been to our mutual benefit, forcing us both to push ourselves just that bit harder.

“Well, you’ll probably all do better than me,” Michael sighed, “I’m thick as pig shit.”

I tutted despairingly, hating the way he always put himself down. He wasn’t thick – far from it – he just lacked confidence, getting so flustered and overwhelmed by schoolwork that he seemed to stop functioning properly.

“Aren’t you gonna go work for your dad anyway?” asked Max. “In which case what does it matter how you do in your exams?”

“Yeah, you’re set for life anyway,” said Tom, a little bitterly. “You’ll get a job and an inheritance.”

“I don’t give a crap about the money,” said Michael. “I’d give it all up to not have to work with him.”

“So why don’t you?” said Tom. “He can’t force you.”

Michael didn’t answer. His relationship with his dad seemed complicated, and none of us could quite get our heads around it. We all had the impression that his home life was a source of unhappiness, so it seemed best not to talk about it. We were his friends – there to cheer him up, take his mind off whatever problems he might be having. It was the same when Max’s dog got run over, or when Tom’s dad was hospitalised, or when my grandfather died… A good laugh with your mates was always the fix.

“Did your mum work, Blondie?” asked Max.

“She was a model,” Michael replied.

“No way!” chimed Max and Tom simultaneously.

“Yeah. Not, like, a famous one, but—”

“Was she hot then?” asked Tom.

“Oh my God, Tom, I can’t believe you just asked Michael if his mother was hot!” exclaimed Max.

“His dead mother,” I pointed out, and all of us – including Michael – laughed at the tastelessness of it, while Tom insisted it was a reasonable question.

“Actually, your mum was pretty stunning,” I said, once the laughter had died down, “from the photos I’ve seen.”

“Well, that was well before she got sick,” said Michael. “She didn’t look much like that at the end.”

We all fell silent for a moment. I reached out and pinched Michael’s cigarette from his fingers. I knew I shouldn’t smoke, but occasionally, when the temptation was there…

Max belched loudly, breaking the silence.

“Sorry.”

“God, you’re disgusting,” I groaned.

“What?” he protested, innocently. “Better out