Free Skin Deep by Laura Jarratt Page B

side to side. ‘Yes, perfect covers it.’
    ‘You’re my mum. You have to say that. Try to be objective. Can I have some weights for my birthday?’
    ‘What for?’
    ‘Duh! To build my muscles up.’
    ‘We’ll see.’ She turned back to chopping the peppers.
    They must teach mothers to say that when they’re giving birth. Like it’s the last thing they learn before they push you out into the world. ‘When your kid asks for something you’re not going to let them have, just say “We’ll see” and that’ll shut them up.’
    ‘What about just a few dumb-bells then?’
    ‘Ryan, go away and do something constructive. Read a book.’
    ‘Exercise is constructive.’
    ‘Pass me the onion. There’s some exercise for you.’
    ‘Fine! I’ll buy them out of my wages.’ I stomped over to a chair and flopped down. Yes, it was childish, but she never let me do normal stuff. Cole’d had weights. It was OK for him. He didn’t have to be friggin’ sensitive .
    This was kind of a big deal with me. After Cole walked out, Mum got hammered. She didn’t do that often. ‘All men are bastards, Ryan,’ she’d said, sitting on the end of my bed swigging a bottle of wine. ‘But you’re not going to be. That’s why I’ve brought you up to be different. To be in touch with your feminine side. To appreciate women and their power. To be sensitive.’
    I was a boy though, and I liked it. I’d had my first shave last month. Did she even know that?
    She went on and on. ‘Women are the strong ones. That’s why men feel threatened by us. They’re weak so they want to be in control all the time. To take us over. They wage wars. Murder. Abuse. Because deep down they’re jealous of our power to create. All men can do is destroy.’
    Thanks for that, Mum.
    ‘But you’ll be different.’
    So why did she always go for men like that? She never picked a man like the kind she said she wanted me to be. If they were such bastards, why did she keep choosing them?
    I bet the orange girl wasn’t bothered if I was sensitive. Bet she was just interested in what’s in my pants.
    That was the thing with girls. They loved the whole traveller thing. Everyone else hated us, but when I told girls I lived on a boat, they couldn’t get enough of me. I found that out at the first biker festival Cole took us to. He always covered for me with Mum. If she’d known what I was up to, she’d have gone mental and lectured me for eternity about respect and the sacredness of women, babbled about moon goddesses and all that. But Cole just grinned and asked me if I had enough johnnies.
    I got up and stood over Mum’s shoulder, frowning. ‘What’re we having for dinner?’
    ‘Couscous and tofu and red pepper salsa.’
    I tutted. Loudly.
    ‘Ryan, if you’re not going to do anything useful, you can arrange my beads for me. I want to do some more work tonight. I was meditating earlier with the quartz and I felt inspiration flow into me. I want to channel it before it dissipates. And the moon is full tonight. It’s a powerful time.’
    For fuck’s sake! Why couldn’t I have a normal mother and a normal life?
    The orange girl, Sadie, came to the boatyard again the next day. I knew she would. She arrived just as we’d closed and I was cycling up the lane. She stopped when she saw me coming and stood waiting, hand on hip. She must’ve rolled her skirt up because it barely covered her bum today. Great legs – not too thin, not too fat. Pity about the orangeness, but you couldn’t have everything.
    ‘Your dad’s still in the yard.’
    She leaned on my handlebars. ‘I didn’t come to see my dad.’
    Result! I was in there.
    ‘You want to buy me a milkshake?’
    She didn’t hang about.
    I waited, as if I was thinking about it. ‘Yeah, all right.’ I got off the bike and wheeled it up the lane. She walked ahead, letting me get a good view of her legs and I didn’t waste the opportunity. Her tits weren’t that big. It looked like she had one of