Deep Water by Mark Ayre (best big ereader TXT) 📕

Incredibly, it looked like a teenage boy's bedroom. Dirty clothes on the floor, untouched homework on the desk, packets of crisps and chocolate on his bedside table; Abbie dreaded to think how long those had been there. In one corner: the bed, a pummelled ball of sheets, and Jacob. The teenager had messy hair and jagged nails; headphones in his ears, connected to an iPad. When Abbie was a kid, she had to make do with an Etch A Sketch. Jacob was watching a film. Abbie couldn't tell what the movie was, but there was plenty of blood.

Ignored by her host, Abbie stood for almost a minute in the centre of the room. Surrounded by mess, she felt like a lonely sailor, marooned on a desert island with nothing but ocean in all directions, as far as the eye could see.

No sooner had this metaphor entered Abbie's head, she felt a horrified lurch in her stomach.

"Damnit," she said. "I'm old."

Jacob looked up. Pulling one of his earphones free, he said, "What?"

"I'm old," Abbie said. "Alice said it was children that age you; apparently not. I'm 29. Feels like five minutes since I was a teenager. I thought I was young. Super young. Yet here I stand, surrounded by mess, and Jacob, I’m disgusted. I couldn't live like this. What's more, I don't understand how you can live like this, even though only fifteen years ago, this was my room. Except worse, because I'm a girl and my parents were poor, so I had more clothes and less space. Also, there was makeup. Did I ever sit in my bed while a guest hovered over me but refuse to remove my headphones? Probably not; I didn't own anything that required headphones. Would I have? I don't know, but I find it rude now. I want to tell you you're a rude kid, and you should respect me because I'm your elder, and there I go again, oh God, I'm ancient." Abbie took a breath. "I told Alice turning thirty, getting older, didn't bother me. I think I might have been lying."

Jacob stared at her as though she might be quite mad—and maybe she was—then said, "Okay," and put the headphone back in his ear.

Shaking her head, Abbie took the perilous journey through mounds of clothes, games, and school books to reach Jacob's bed. When she arrived, she yanked out his headphones and snatched his iPad.

"Hey, what the hell?"

"Except I'm not like most adults," said Abbie, stepping away, still holding the iPad. "You're used to teachers and your dad having a go, but with a near stranger, in your room, you think you're safe. Well," having somehow reached the desk, Abbie placed the iPad on it, "not with me. I'm not going to ask you to listen, then stand around while you ignore me. I have stuff to do. I need to get on, so let's do this.”

Still glaring, Jacob watched as Abbie took his office chair and pulled it from the desk.

"What do you want?" he said.

"Not very specific," said Abbie. "Like any well-rounded person, I'm overflowing with never to be fulfilled wants and desires. That's the thing about getting older; it's the scenic route to regret and bitter disappointment."

"What do you want with me?" Jacob said through gritted teeth.

“Better, and I want to help you. Your dad asked me to have a word. You've been through a lot."

"I'm not a baby," said Jacob.

"Which is unfortunate for you. People argue about how much babies absorb and how their early experiences affect their development and later life. But one thing's for sure: if you were a baby, I wouldn't need to talk to you. Aurora's death would have had no effect—" Abbie noted the grief in Jacob's expression at Aurora's name. "—and Ariana would never have tried to do what she did to you. She might have drowned you in the bath, bitch that she is, which would have destroyed your father, but I still wouldn't need to talk to you. So, I agree, you're not a baby. Hence, you might need to talk."

Jacob seemed stumped. His hands were by his side, gripped into claws where his iPad had been, as though expecting it to reappear any second. He didn't know what to say. An affliction Abbie had never suffered.

"I know," said Abbie. "I talk a lot, and it's awfully annoying. I want you to know I recognise it's a problem… for other people. But I can listen, too." She glanced around her feet. "Can I nudge some of these clothes out the way? Give me room to put this chair; I don't want to hover over you like this."

Jacob looked at the chair, as though involving it in the decision, then back at Abbie.

"Whatever."

Guessing this was as positive an answer as she was likely to get, Abbie started moving clothes aside with a foot, creating space for the chair. Once it was settled, she climbed over the clothing piles she had made and sat down, facing Jacob.

"I don't need a shrink," he said, after a period of silence.

"I don't need a chiropractor," said Abbie. "Doesn't mean I don't like the occasional massage."

Jacob stared. "What?"

“Just because you don't need professional help doesn't mean it's not beneficial to talk problems over with someone who might understand."

"Understand what?" said Jacob. "Nothing happened."

"And that's how you view the situation, is it? I arrived in time; therefore, there's nothing to worry about because nothing happened?"

"Exactly."

"Okay then," said Abbie.

"Really?" said Jacob.

"Really. Why do you think I'm here? Your father asked me to come up because he's worried about you. He wanted me to try to help, if I could, by listening to what you had to say. Well, I'm listening. I have listened. If you tell me your view is that nothing happened, and you're therefore not dwelling, that's fine. No, better than fine. That's brilliant, and that's all your dad wants."

He stared at her. "Thank you."

Abbie nodded. Paused. She could