Free The Secret Mother by Victoria Delderfield

meaning interesting, unique; distinctive in a good way, not a Chinese freak in a class of white kids. Lisa strapped it up, neat and secure. The ointment and tape, the care and cleanliness were reassuringly clinical.
    “How long should I wear the bandage?”
    “Twenty four hours. If it sticks to your skin, don’t yank it away. Make sure you soak it in warm water and peel it off gently. Wash it and leave it to breathe, okay kid? I’ll give you some Tattoo Goo.”
    “And it will be okay?”
    “You know where I am if there’s a problem – just make sure your parents don’t look me up.” Lisa snapped off the gloves and tossed them in the waste bin.
    Ricki’s hoodie rubbed against her bandage. “You’ve done an awesome job. I’m really pleased, how much do I owe you?” she said, unsticking the red envelope containing her birthday money.”
    Lisa stared at May’s Chinese handwriting. “Listen, kid, I don’t want any trouble, I’ve got my licence to think about.”
    Ricki took out May’s tenners and fanned them across the counter. “They’re not fake or anything, it’s my birthday money. I promise I won’t tell anyone you did it.”
    “Not even your mum?”
    Ricki had a sudden vision of her mum crying her eyes out at the sight of it. “Especially not my mum.”
    “Won’t she wonder what you’ve done with the money?”
    Ricki laughed. “I know how to lie.”
    “Lie to the one who wrote a note like this?” said Lisa, pointing to the envelope.
    “What does it say? I can’t read Chinese.”
    “It says, ‘
To my precious daughter who I wish long life. I am sorry this gift is so poor and I have cost you dearly.’
I think she’ll want to know how you spent her gift. The last thing I need is an irate Chinese ma in my shop, losing me my licence.”
    Ricki pulled back the envelope. “You’ve got it all wrong,” she said. “The woman who gave me the money wasn’t my mother. She’s a friend of the family; she teaches my brainy sister Mandarin on a Saturday.”
    Lisa shook her head. “No, no, it’s definitely from your mum. Look at the way she’s signed it.”
    Ricki stared blankly at the characters. “Why would she call me her daughter?”
    “I’m only telling you what it says.”
    “That she’s my fucking mother?” Ricki yelled. “My mother’s British, alright!”
    “Hey kid, calm down,” said Lowrie.
    “She lives in fucking Altrincham and has just been made redundant and likes sewing and watching
The Weakest Link
. I haven’t even met my real mother. I don’t know her. She left me in fucking China, alright? So there’s no way my real mother is ever going to know about my stupid tattoo or your stupid shop so why don’t you … Just shut up.” Ricki snivelled into the sleeve of her hoodie, feeling like a proper lunatic in front of Lowrie.
    “Now look what you’ve done,” said Lowrie.
    Lisa scowled. “Eighteen my arse.”
    Lowrie pushed the cash across the counter. “Come on, kid, let’s go. And I’ll see you later.”
    They picked their way towards the stairway.
    Ricki tried to stay composed. Man, did her mum have some answering to do. She would make her talk about it all: China, May, all the messy adoption shit. Nikon or no Nikon, flu or no flu, coma or no fucking coma.

The invitation
    Clang-a-lang-a-lang-a-lang-a-lang-
    I am running down a corridor whose walls drip with sap, the sap of poison ivy. It oozes from my skin. The poison is within.
    A-clang-a-lang-a-lang-lang-a-lang-
    Ivy curls around my ankles, tangles me up inside. It will smother me bone by bone if I don’t escape. I can’t find a door. There’s no-one to help, not even Zhi. I’m alone in the dark. I trip and fall and … A noise shakes the walls, roars, sprints through my blood.
    Clang-a-lang-a-lang-a-clang-clang-a-
    The corridor, the shower, my Cousin …
    I was awake, screaming into my pillow. Someone took it away steadily, calmly and rocked me until I quietened. Her face as narrow as a sunflower seed.