Free Jake's Long Shadow by Alan Duff

doorway.
    Sharneeta. (And I’m in her bedroom.)

CHAPTER EIGHT
WHAT MEETS THE EYE
    SHE LOOKED AT what he’d got in his hand. And only that. Why’ve you got the photo? she asked the framed picture of herself. Not that he was exactly aching to hold her gaze, even if she were looking.
    What could he say? Looking for Kayla, Alistair mumbled.
    Where, in
my
bedroom, you’re looking for
Kayla
?
    Well, yes. Obviously I didn’t
start
here. Just that I found —
    You found yourself in
my
bedroom. Right? Why would
she
be in
my
bedroom?
    Now she had his eyes, which naturally were embarrassed, excruciatingly so if she wanted to know, but clearly didn’t. Her eyes were hurting, they were showing confusion.
    I was taking a better look at your photo, Sharns. Man, you looked good —
    In my bedroom? Is that fair? Is it fair? What’ve I ever done wrong to you? Have I ever been in your friggin’ stinking mess of a bedroom?
    Easy now, Sharns. Never meant any harm. And how do you know it’s a mess if you haven’t been in it?
    Don’t have to go in it. Just have to walk past and see the state it’s in. Smell it halfway down the passage. Did I ever say anything? Did I?
    She was hurt. Course she was hurt. He felt a real prick. Sorry, Sharns. Like I said, never meant anything. Just curious, I guess. I’d never do this normally.
    So why’s it normal now? What made my bedroom, my privacy, all of a sudden normal this day over other days when it’s not? Least I s’pose it’s not on other days. Is it?
    Sharns, you know I’m not like that —
    Do I? Do I? Well, do you know how I’m feeling right this minute? I’ll tell you, okay? Like I been raped. Again.
    (Again? Rape?) That’s going a bit far, isn’t it?
    That’s what it feels like.
    Except it’s not a bit like it. Rape? Me? You?
    Rape, I said. Now gimme back that photo and get the eff outta here.
    Sharns, let me explain. Please, I’d never do anything against you. I was looking for Kayla —
    Kayla, yeah Kayla.
Kaylaahhhh!
Where
are
youuuu? Why aren’t you right here when I
want
youuuu? That the Kayla you’re talking about?
    Yes, that Kayla. But this wasn’t the Sharns he knew. What was that tone of hers about? I’m sorry, Sharns. Honestly, I’m totally embarrassed about this.
    Mister, you’re an effin’ whiner.
    (What did she just call me?) I’m not. (You are.)
    You’re a whiner and you’re a pervo who sneaks into my bedroom doing God knows what.
    I’m not a pervo.
    Yes you are. And you’re a big baby, walking round the flat, Kayla- Kayla-Kayla , come to me, Ali-stair needs you. Ali wants his bottle.
    What is this shit, man?
    I ain’t a man — I’m a woman. A woman got a right to her privacy, to her own effin’ bedroom without you, someone I thought I could trust, sniffing around. How do I know you ain’t been in my undies drawer?
    Shit. This had gone far enough. He went to push past her but she blocked his way. Please, Sharns. I said sorry.
    If you weren’t in my room like an effin’ burglar I wouldn’t have to be blocking your way. An hour ago I got treated like shit by a stranger. I come home, s’posed to be a shared place of refuge with people I like and I find you in my room.
    And you’re in my face, woman. Had enough of this shit. He pushed past her. Could feel her eyes on him, his loss of dignity made worse by his state of semi-undress. (Women they’re all the damn same. You can’t reason with them.)
    Into the kitchen, realising he was quite shaken up by the exchange. So I took a look around her bedroom. Didn’t touch anything, didn’t
mean
anything, more importantly. Just looked. Okay, the photo. Now that’s a major crime, taking her photo out of her room just so I could take a closer look at how she was when young and with some kind of hope. Maybe I was wanting to find some of that for myself. Maybe I was unknowingly trying to get a better handle on you, strange woman. Jesus Christ, cracking up over just a photo.
    Kayla. Kayla just walked