For part one, click here.
6th September
Dad came to see me today and he was on his own. He tried to act all pally, giving me a pat on the back and ruffling my hair. He shoved an ‘HMV’ bag in my hand.
He winked at me and said that he knew I liked Rita Ora. He watched me as I took the wretched thing out of the bag, drooling all over the cover.
Not only do I not care about my Dad, I hate him. And he doesn’t know me any more. Not that he ever did.
He asked what all the detention lark was about. Like he really cares. And he called me son. I couldn’t believe it. He’s never called me son before. I told him it’s a bit late to start acting like a father. He went bright red in the face and clenched his fists like he was going to punch me. I wouldn’t care if he had. I’d have punched him right back. He left then.
7th September
I love Sundays. I never get up before twelve. I heard some shouting. I thought I was dreaming, but the door was open and Mum was standing over me. She told me it was ‘that boy’ on the phone.
I knew she meant Danny. She’d already had a go at me for joining the gang. She said it was her worst nightmare, that she’d had such high hopes for her only child. Silly cow. I hate her too.
I met up with Danny this afternoon. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets and he kept grinning. I should have known, especially when I looked into his eyes. He pulled out a bag full of small white things.
Paul giggled and asked him if they were sweets. I thought the same, but I’m glad I didn’t say anything.
Danny couldn’t stop laughing. It was a horrible noise. Like he’d gone mad. I knew what they were then. I could taste the salt of the bacon butty I’d had for lunch as it leapt back into my throat. I was sure Danny was spinning round and round, but it was me. You don’t touch drugs. Mum taught me that and everyone knows anyway.
Danny said it was all happening tonight at Gringo’s club. We had to be there at eight. If we didn’t show up, he was coming after us.
He walked up to each one of us, his grey face in ours and his black eyes snaking round the sockets. He held out his other hand. He had a knife. It was only small, but he grabbed our right hands one by one and sliced down the middle of the palms. Then he was gone.
We all laughed. We said we didn’t care about drugs. I don’t care about anything, but I can’t do drugs.
I didn’t go. I sat watching ‘Eastenders’ with Mum. I wanted to cry the whole time. But I can’t. Only sissies cry and I’m not a sissy.
Part three next week
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Esther Chilton 
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