The Taming of Lilah May by Vanessa Curtis Page B

was him.’
    I can tell by the silence that Adam’s shocked.
    â€˜Shit, Lilah,’ he says in the end. ‘I’m so sorry. That must have brought it all back again.’
    I’m silent again for a moment. The thing is, nothing ever brings it all back again, because it never went away in the first place.
    I can’t ever stop thinking about Jay.
    And how it was entirely my fault.

    I’m too sad to be angry.

    The police call us the next day.
    They’ve traced Jay’s phone. Some strange bloke had found it in the street and had pressed a dialled number by mistake.
    Mum’s white with disappointment and Dad’s pacing up and down in the kitchen in the manner of one of his lions.
    I’m off school for a day because none of us slept a wink the night before.
    â€˜But I don’t understand,’ says Dad. ‘Why would his phone end up in the street?’
    Mum and I are silent.
    Whatever the reason, it doesn’t sound like something we’d want to know about.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
    Dad comes upstairs for another Taming Lilah session on a Thursday after school.
    I’m already feeling pretty cross, because although Bindi liked her bangles, our friendship is still all cautious and nervy and not like it was before, and I see her whispering with Adam Carter sometimes during break, and I just know that they are discussing me and how annoying I am, and when I see them with their heads bent close together, I go all shivery and get a big pang deep in my stomach.
    So I’m up in my bedroom trying to get lost in schoolwork, but as always there’s this bad feeling right at the middle of everything I do, like the black bit you have to scrape out from the middle of a clean white potato. I just can’t shift it.
    Dad taps on my door and comes in without bothering to wait for my reply.
    He’s wearing a thick black jacket, which is a bit odd, as our house is heated up like a tropical greenhouse due to Mum’s inability to tolerate any cold weather at all.
    â€˜How ARE you?’ he begins. I poke my tongue out at him and we both laugh a little bit, but then I remember the afternoon I’ve just had at school and I begin to bang the back of my head against the wall, not really all that hard, but just enough to show Dad that I’m not at my best.
    â€˜That bad, huh?’ says Dad. He comes over and sits on the foot of the bed.
    â€˜Well,’ he says. ‘When the big boys at the zoo get angry, there are a number of things we try. Firstly there’s exercise, like you did last time. And secondly we use something called “the distraction method”.’
    I give him a mournful look.
    â€˜I’m so not in the mood for being distracted,’ I say. ‘And if you’re about to suggest that we play a board game, then forget it.’
    My family have this gross love of playing games. I hate them. They’re not called ‘bored games’ for nothing. Just the tap-tap of the little plastic pieces around the board is enough to get my anger prickles starting off again.
    â€˜It depends what the distraction is, surely?’ says Dad. He’s got a worrying smirk on his face, like he knows something I don’t.
    But I’m kind of interested now, and I’ve stopped banging my head on the wall.
    â€˜What?’ I say. ‘Could you just tell me, please? I can’t cope with all this mystery stuff.’
    Dad puts his hand inside his odd black puffy jacket and pulls something out.
    â€˜Oh!’ I say. My eyes are wide as frisbees.
    Dad passes it into my trembling hands.
    Two very big brown eyes look up at me, and a small pink tongue comes out and starts to pant.
    â€˜He’s yours,’ says Dad. ‘But there are two conditions. Number one, you don’t ever, ever take out your anger on this puppy. OK?’
    â€˜Of course,’ I say. I’ve melted into a pile of slushin the corner of the duvet. I can’t stop gazing