Free The Concrete Grove by Gary McMahon Page B

door of the Grove Court flats. She stood outside the building, clutching her book bag, and looked up at the balcony of the flat she and her mother shared. The window looked smeared, as if someone had rubbed dirt across the glass. The concrete balcony jutted out from the façade like an afterthought, its crooked rail looking as loose and dangerous as ever.
    She thought about the Needle, and what had happened to her there. She had no real memory of the events, just a vague image of hummingbirds and something small and lithe and dusty darting towards her from the shadows. Then she’d blacked out and found herself lying on a grass verge a mile away, on the border of the estate, with that man – was his name Tom? – leaning over her, his face knitted with concern.
    She pulled the strap of her book bag over her shoulder and pushed on through the door, into the building. At the bottom of the stairs she felt an involuntary internal shudder pass through her as she glanced up the concrete stairwell. Hailey didn’t like enclosed spaces, and the stairs always smelled of stale piss and sweat. Kids often sat around on the steps at night, drinking beer and smoking spliffs, urinating up the walls and shouting into the empty spaces.
    She began to climb the stairs, clinging to the handrail and moving as quickly as she could without fear of stumbling. By the time she reached the next floor, she was breathing heavily. Her stomach rolled, once, as if she were carrying something fluid in there, and she belched. Tasting egg in her mouth, she opened the fire door and moved slowly across the landing, heading for the door to their flat.
    Outside the door she took out her key and adjusted the bag on her shoulder. Her stomach felt bloated, gaseous. She rubbed the area above her belly button, experiencing mild discomfort. Then she slipped the key into the lock, jiggled it, and turned. The door latch popped and she kicked the door open a couple of inches, jamming her foot between door and frame to stop it from closing again – the lock mechanism was automatic, and she didn’t want to have to fiddle with the key again.
    “Mum.” She walked into the hallway, pushing the door shut behind her. The latch clicked into place. She threw her keys onto the telephone table, let her book bag fall to the floor, and shrugged off her jacket. Her arms felt cold; she hugged herself, rubbing at them, wondering if she was coming down with something. There was some kind of bug going around at school, and she could easily have picked it up from one of the other kids.
    “Mum! You in? I’m home… what’s for dinner?” She walked along the short hallway, turning the corner into the living room, and was surprised to see her mother sitting on the floor and cradling her head in her hands. The side of her neck was red, livid, and the lights were out. The sky outside the window was growing dark, signalling the early approach of evening.
    Then she noticed that most of the furniture was gone.
    “I’m sorry, honey. They took it all.” Her mother’s voice was muffled, as if she were afraid to make herself properly heard. “All of it.”
    Hailey remained where she was, standing in the doorway. “Did they take the TV? My TV?” She clenched her hands, making little fists, and began to press them into the flesh of her thighs. Her stomach churned, the innards rolling like an internal tide, back and forth, in and out, stirring along with her mood.
    “Yes. I’m sorry. They took anything they could sell. I didn’t have the money. I couldn’t get it. I tried.” She removed her hands from her face and looked up. Her cheeks were pale against the red rawness of her throat, and her eyes were dark. “I really did try. I even rang around a few old friends of your father’s, turned on the sob story… but the fuckers didn’t even want to know.” She stood, sliding her spine up the wall as she straightened her legs. “Not one of those sorry bastards would even offer us a few