Bruises on the Fruit

Chapter One

"I will move away from here
You won't be afraid of fear
No thought was put into this
I always knew it would come to this"

Nirvana, 'You Know You're Right'

One

February 19th 1996, somewhere in the North of England

I woke on the morning of my sixteenth birthday expecting the world to have changed. Spoiler alert: it hadn't. Bold, fearless, and wearing a Nirvana t-shirt, under my school shirt, of course, I ventured out of my bedroom. Then I went back in, grabbed my rainbow unicorn and flung it into my bag.

"Happy birthday, love!" said Mum brightly as I entered the kitchen. I realised with horror that the bungalow was covered with balloons and birthday banners. Grimacing, I sat at the kitchen table, where mum presented me with a plate of bacon and eggs. She had arranged them into a smiley face.

"Mum, I'm sixteen, not six." I said. My brother, who really was six, nicked a piece of bacon off my plate. "Sod off, Bobby!" I cried, shielding my plate.

"Suit yourself love," smiled mum. It was near impossible to offend her. "Listen, I've got a special night planned: I thought we could order pizza and watch a film. So you make sure you're not out late, okay?" I rolled my eyes, unsure if watching mum play house with Mr Argyle was my idea of fun. Speaking of Mr Argyle, he materialised at the kitchen doorway.

"Ah, J-j-jasmine! H-happy b-b-birthday!" he said.

"Cheers, Dick!" I replied.

"Er... i-i-i-it's R-richard..." he muttered, smoothing down his argyle jumper.

"Don't you pay any attention, love!" said Mum, throwing her arms around his shoulders and planting a kiss on his lips.

"Eurgh," I retched. "Nobody wants to see that." While I wasn't looking, Bobby nabbed another rasher of my bacon. Sod this. I'm off. I made for the door.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" said Mum, pointing to her cheek.

"First of all," I said, "I'm sixteen now. Second, no thank you!"

"Bye then, love," she called as I left the kitchen. "Remember, don't be late!"

"Yeah, bye mum. Bye Dick!" As I slammed the door I heard him muttering again.

Nisha was already waiting outside. She was gently unwrapping her hijab. She folded it neatly and placed it in her school bag.

"Just got here," she said. "Nice sign." She indicated a sheet of paper on the front door of the bungalow. It had an uncomfortably large photo of two-year-old me wearing only a nappy, alongside the caption 'Look who's 16!' I breathed in my frustration.

"Never mind that," I said. "What happened last night? I want every detail!"

"Oh, you know, not much. We went to the cinema..."

"And..."

"And... we kissed. A lot."

"No!" I gasped. "You kissed Tom Smith? How was it?"

"Oh, well, you know..." I didn't know. I had never kissed anyone. Nisha was far more advanced than me in the boy department. This was difficult to manage since her parents were against anything even remotely resembling sex before marraige. "Listen," she urged, "If my mum asks, I was with you, right?" I nodded.

"What did we see?"

"Trainspotting."

"You told your mum we saw Trainspotting?"