Girl A by Dan Scottow (easy books to read in english .TXT) 📕

‘Get out of my office.’

Instead, Vicky took a few steps towards Beth’s desk, and sat on the edge, in the exact spot where Margot had perched only moments earlier.

She glanced around conspiratorially.

‘I know who you are,’ she whispered.

‘You don’t know anything.’

‘Oh I do. A lot more than you realise. And let me tell you, I was a little drunk the other night at Chloe’s birthday drinks, and I wasn’t thinking straight. But if you ever threaten me again, I’ll make sure you regret it.’

Beth swallowed hard but didn’t look away from Vicky’s face.

‘Vicky, I really don’t think you want to be threatening a senior member of staff. Not when you’re still on probation.’

‘I’m not scared of you.’

‘You should be.’

‘Why? What exactly are you going to do?’

Beth said nothing. Vicky waited, pursing her lips.

‘No, didn’t think so.’ She stood up, pushing Beth’s stationery caddy off the edge of the desk. It clattered to the floor, and an array of paper clips and pens spilled across the carpet.

‘Oops,’ Vicky breathed, as she casually strolled out, leaving the door open.

Beth’s heart pounded. She crouched and began clearing up the mess. She glanced up to find Vicky watching her, smiling.

Beth wondered what Vicky had meant when she said she knew more than Beth realised.

She was now convinced that Vicky was involved. Had she been watching her on Saturday night with Mikey? Whatever her part, it was clear Beth’s warning hadn’t worked.

It seemed to have made things worse.

39 1997, Sandbach, Cheshire, England.

Kitty heard the front door slam, indicating that her father was home from the pub. The TV clicked on and the sound of muffled laughter came through the ceiling into her room. She knew it was only a matter of time until he would start on her. He always did when he’d been drinking.

She decided to get out.

She quietly opened her bedroom door and stood listening, holding her breath. She heard no movement from downstairs. Her mother was out gallivanting. Probably with some new man. Things were worse when her mother wasn’t around to stick up for her.

Kitty stepped cautiously out to the landing, faded denim jacket under one arm. Still afraid to breathe, she placed a foot onto the stairs.

As she descended, the neon-blue glow from the telly hit the wall in the hallway below. Through the living room doorway, she saw the back of her father’s head poking over the top of his chair, facing the television in front of him.

Now and then he would cough or belch. A smouldering cigarette lay in a glass ashtray on a small table beside him.

She tiptoed down the stairs, but as she reached the bottom, a loud creak escaped from beneath her.

She froze. Too late.

Her father spun around in his chair; his face contorted into a sneer.

‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ he slurred.

Kitty ignored him, faster now down the hallway towards the front door.

‘Oi! Don’t you dare walk away from me when I’m talking to you, you little whore!’

Kitty stopped, closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

You need to calm down, she told herself. Don’t rise to it. She began to count slowly in her head.

She heard the springs squeak as her father heaved his gargantuan mass up from his chair. She turned around, afraid to have her back to him. He lumbered towards her unsteadily.

‘Just like your mother… drop your knickers for anyone!’

He lurched forwards, grabbing at her denim jacket. She held on tightly as he tried to wrestle it from her hands. Her father pulled harder, tearing a lapel from the collar.

He laughed, tossing it down onto the floor.

The familiar anger that Kitty had felt towards him for many years welled up inside her like a monsoon.

‘I hate you,’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘The feeling is mutual, Kitty.’ He always had an edge to his voice when he used her real name. Like he was enjoying it.

‘Don’t call me that,’ she hissed back.

‘Oh yeah, who are you this week?’ He sniggered.

She ignored him.

‘You can pretend all you want, but you will always be Kitty Briscoe. That’s never going away. What you did. You nasty little cow.’

‘I didn’t do anything!’ she shouted.

‘Bullshit.’ The smell of alcohol, cigarettes and sweat hit Kitty’s nostrils all at once. She detested him with all her being.

‘Why have you always hated me?’ Kitty asked.

‘Do you really need to ask that? You ruined our lives. You and your little queer friend Kieran Taylor.’

‘You’re a liar. It was before that. You never loved me!’

‘No, you’re spot on.’

‘Why?’

He laughed again.

‘Because I never wanted you,’ he spat.

She supposed she had always known, but to have it confirmed was still a blow.

‘Get me a beer!’ her father shouted as he returned to his chair.

‘No,’ Kitty said defiantly.

Her father turned slowly to face her.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said no. Get your own fucking beer.’

Kitty’s father took a step towards her.

‘Now you listen to me, you little bitch, while you’re in my house–’

‘I’m eighteen. I’m leaving for uni soon, so I won’t be in your house anymore. And I’m never coming back. You’re a pig. You disgust me. I pity you. But I pity Mum more.’

Her father’s face reddened. He reached forwards, grabbing a handful of Kitty’s short black hair, screwing it up in his clenched fist, he pulled her head towards him. She could smell his rancid breath.

‘I disgust you?’ His fat cheeks wobbled. ‘Let me tell you–’ But her father didn’t finish his sentence.

Kitty had stretched out her flailing arm, grappling for something, anything she could grasp. Her hand came to rest on a bronze bust of a horse that her mother kept on the hall console table. In that split second, Kitty’s hand, complete with horse, connected with her father’s temple. He stood, mouth wide open like a fish, staring at Kitty as blood trickled down his face.

She didn’t give him a chance to react. She turned and lurched towards the front door. Yanking it open, she fell out into the street. She turned briefly, looking back