Boys Don't Cry Page 10

  Adam entered the room, spinning round to leave the moment he caught sight of me. But too late. I was on my feet in a second.

  ‘Adam, what happened to your mouth?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Adam paused before heading back into the kitchen. ‘Morning, Emma.’ He smiled at her, only to wince, his hand flying to his mouth. His top lip was swollen and his bottom lip was split, red and angry-looking.

  ‘“Nothing” doesn’t cut your lip.’ I frowned. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I fell over.’

  ‘And landed on your face?’

  ‘It was an accident,’ said Adam. ‘And I’ll live, so leave it alone. Besides, why should you care?’

  ‘Huh? Of course I care. You’re my brother.’

  ‘When it suits you.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  No answer.

  ‘What is your problem?’ I asked, exasperated.

  ‘You didn’t exactly leap to my defence last night,’ said Adam, his voice edged with resentment.

  ‘I did, actually,’ I replied, knowing instantly what he was talking about. ‘I told Josh not to talk to you like that. That’s my job.’

  My attempt at a joke failed miserably. Adam regarded me, stony-faced.

  ‘Wait a minute, did Josh do that to you?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve already told you, I fell over.’

  I scrutinized my brother but he looked me right in the eye and didn’t look away. If Josh had been responsible for splitting his lip, my brother would tell me.

  Wouldn’t he . . . ?

  ‘What would you do if Josh had done this?’ asked Adam, pointing to his lip.

  ‘I don’t know, but I would do something.’

  ‘Against Josh?’

  ‘Against Wolverine himself,’ I assured him. ‘No one does that to my brother.’

  Adam smiled faintly. ‘Well, you don’t need to take on Wolverine – or Josh. Though I’ll never understand why you hang around with that loser. For a start, he’s got a face like prosciutto ham stretched over a toad.’

  I burst out laughing. ‘D’you mind? He’s my mate.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Why are you friends with him? And that Logan is even worse. Why d’you let Josh get away with saying and doing whatever he wants?’

  ‘Like what?’What was Adam driving at?

  ‘Never mind.’ Adam sighed.

  But I did mind.

  OK, sometimes Josh came out with things that made me . . . cringe, but he didn’t mean them, not really. Besides, when I first started at Mayfield Manor Secondary, I was a weed. Yeah, I admit it. Reluctantly. And like sharks sensing blood in the water, a couple of boys in the year above started focusing their attention on me. Little-big things like knocking my books out of my hands, pulling my bag off my shoulder and using it as a football, stuff like that. Well, it was Josh who stood by my side and stood up to them.

  ‘You don’t want to do that,’ Josh told them. ‘I mean, you really don’t want to do that.’

  And there must’ve been something in the way he said it because they backed down and backed off and never troubled me after that. And from that day Josh and I had started hanging out together. He didn’t like the books I read, the films I watched, the music I listened to, but that was OK ’cause I learned to like his.

  ‘He’s my mate,’ I said again.

  ‘Dante, you only see what you want to see,’ sighed Adam. ‘That’s always been your trouble.’

  ‘Oh yeah? So tell me what it is you think I’m missing.’

  Adam looked at me but didn’t reply. My eyes narrowed.

  ‘Did something happen at the Bar Belle after I left last night?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing happened,’ Adam said faintly, turning away from me.

  He was hiding something. I could always tell when he was hiding something.

  ‘Adam?’

  Adam turned to me and smiled. ‘Stop fussing. You worry too much.’

  Probably true. After Mum died, it seemed like stressing over Adam had passed to me instead, which kind of sucked with a cherry on top.

  ‘So did your friends turn up at the BB?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah – eventually.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Anne-cubed.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Roxanne, Leanne and Diane.’ Adam smiled. ‘So everyone calls them Anne-cubed.’

  ‘A name you created, no doubt?’

  ‘Of course,’ preened Adam.

  Naturally.

  Why were most of Adam’s closest friends girls?

  ‘So what did you do?’ I asked.

  ‘Had a laugh mostly.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘Films and fit actors we all fancy, mostly.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Adam.’

  ‘What? I’m going to be an actor so I need to keep up-to-date with all things theatrical,’ said Adam. ‘And don’t swear in front of your daughter.’

  A quick glance at Emma established that she wasn’t paying attention to our conversation, but I’d have to watch that in future.

  ‘Weren’t there any guys in your group last night?’ I asked.

  ‘Nah. Dylan and Zach didn’t turn up, which was fine by me. It was just me and three girls hanging on my every word.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ I scoffed.

  ‘It’s true. It was my chance to shine,’ grinned Adam.

  Oh my God.

  ‘Why can’t you be more like . . . ?’

  ‘You?’

  ‘Other guys,’ I said.

  ‘I’m a leader, not a follower,’ Adam informed me loftily. ‘Unlike some I could mention.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning I’m not afraid to be different.’

  ‘Different is going to get your arse kicked.’

  ‘Not with you to look out for me,’ smiled Adam. ‘And watch your language – sewer-mouth.’

  If Emma hadn’t been present, he would’ve been treated to a full-blown, five-act, sewer-mouth extravaganza.

  ‘Have you decided what you’re going to do about your place at university?’ Adam asked before tucking into his yoghurt mixed with oatmeal and grapes (very good for the skin apparently).

  ‘No,’ I admitted. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Waiting for divine inspiration?’

  ‘No. Waiting for the postman,’ I replied.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘Never mind.’ I wasn’t prepared to tell Adam or Dad about taking a DNA test. Not yet. They wouldn’t understand. They’d think I was trying to get out of something.

  Dad rolled into the kitchen, scratching his bum and yawning, his boxers slung low on his hips. Thank God I’d already had my breakfast.

  ‘Dad, d’you mind?’ I asked, putting my hand in front of Emma’s eyes.

  ‘Setting up your granddaughter for years of therapy there, Dad,’ said Adam.

  ‘Oh. I’ll be right back,’ said Dad. He was already turning when he finally took in Adam’s face. ‘What the hell happened to you?’

  ‘I tripped and fell,’ said Adam.

  Dad frowned. ‘Don’t your bloody eyes work?’

  ‘Dad, d’you mind not swearing in front of Emma, please?’ I said. ‘I don’t want her to inherit your potty-mouth.’

  ‘Cheeky bugger.’

  ‘Dad!’

  ‘OK, OK. Sorry, Emma. And Adam, be more careful.’ Dad muttered to himself all the way back up the stairs. Adam and I exchanged a smile. Emma pulled down my hand and giggled.

  Dad returned wearing the dark green dressing gown I’d bought him for his birthday about three years ago. I’d seen him in it precisely twice, the day I gave it to him and today. ‘Happy now?’ he asked as he entered the kitchen.

  ‘I’m sure Emma is.’ I spoke for her.

  ‘Hello, angel.’ Dad headed straight over to Emma and lifted her out of her highchair. He raised her high above his head, beaming up at her. ‘How is my precious?’

  �
�You sound like Gollum,’ laughed Adam.

  ‘Your uncle is a cheeky sod. Oh, yes he is. Oh, yes he is,’ said Dad.

  ‘Dad, not in front of Emma, please,’ I sighed.

  ‘Sorry. Your grandad is very sorry, Emma. Damn! Grandad! I still can’t get used to how that word makes me feel so bloody old.’

  ‘Dad!’ Adam and I said in unison.

  ‘Oh yeah, sorry,’ said Dad ruefully. ‘Emma, you’re such a good baby, aren’t you? Aren’t you a good baby?’

  ‘Good baby? You do remember that I was up most of last night with her, don’t you?’ I said sourly.

  Dad turned to me. ‘Dante, count yourself lucky that she’s not a newborn. Newborn babies wake up about every two hours throughout the night, wanting to be fed. At least, you guys did. You see these wrinkles around my eyes? They’re thanks to you two.’

  ‘You’ve got those because you don’t moisturize,’ said Adam.

  ‘I’d rather have the wrinkles,’ said Dad. ‘So how have Emma’s teeth been this morning?’

  ‘Well, she’s not crying any more but she’s still drooling all over me,’ I said, remembering how soggy my T-shirt was by the time I’d carried Emma downstairs for her breakfast.

  ‘No female would drool over you for any other reason,’ said Adam.

  My brother really thought he was funny.

  The metallic click of the letterbox heralded the arrival of the postman. I headed for the front door before anyone else could move.

  It had arrived.

  My DNA kit had arrived.

  23

  Dante

  Dumping the other two letters on the hall table, I called out, ‘I’ll be right back,’ before racing upstairs. I needed to be alone whilst I figured out what needed to be done. Tearing open the packet, I carefully placed its contents on my bed. There were three different-coloured collection envelopes; one blue, one pink and one yellow. Blue for the dad, pink for the mum and yellow for the baby. How very stereotypical. Luckily for me this test didn’t require a swab from Melanie to establish paternity. Each collection envelope had details on it that needed to be completed before the swab was put into it. As well as the collection envelopes, there were two pages of instructions, a reply envelope and three plastic packets each containing two cotton swabs. According to the instructions, I wasn’t allowed to drink coffee or tea for at least four hours before taking my cheek swab and I had to wait at least two hours after Emma had eaten before I could swab her cheek. I could still taste the cup of coffee I’d just finished so now I’d have to wait. Damn it.

  Each swab was wrapped in sterile plastic packaging which should only be opened just before being used, and the instructions dictated in capital letters that I couldn’t touch the swab end at any time. They’d provided two swabs per person, and each swab had to be allowed to air dry for at least half an hour before being placed in the appropriate collection envelope. I could choose to have the results either posted or emailed back to me. I thought long and hard about that. Email was faster, but we all shared the one computer and I sure as hell didn’t want Adam or my dad getting the results before me. I didn’t want them to even know what I was doing, not yet. So snail-mail it was then.

  Now that the test was here, I just wanted to get on with it. Instead I’d have to cool my heels until just before lunch time. Then I’d have to wait between four to seven days for the results. I thought back to the early hours of the morning, pacing up and down, up and down and trying to rock Emma to sleep. Not even my nights were my own any more. The funny thing was though, when she was awake, I couldn’t stop watching her, looking at her.

  My daughter, Emma . . .

  My daughter, Emma?

  ‘I just need to know the truth,’ I whispered into the silence in my room.

  That’s all I wanted, the truth.

  So how come I still felt so guilty about doubting that Emma was mine?

  After tidying up the stuff on my bed and hiding it away in my bottom drawer, I retrieved my mobile which I’d left off and recharging all night. It was a reflex to switch it on and stuff it in my pocket but the moment I put in my pass code and SIM code, the thing started beeping. Seven missed calls from a number of my friends and twice that number of missed texts. The word had really got around. I pushed the phone into my trouser pocket before heading back downstairs. I’d only just reached the bottom of the stairs when the doorbell rang. I opened the door. It was Collette. Well, she hadn’t wasted much time.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  I stood aside to let her pass, shutting the front door once she’d walked past me. We stood facing each other, awkward embarrassment flapping like some captured bird between us. She leaned forward. A brief kiss followed, more to get it out of the way than for any other reason.

  ‘Dante, how’re you? You OK?’ asked Collette.

  ‘Fine.’ I shrugged, though it had to be obvious that I wasn’t.

  ‘How’s . . . er . . . ?’

  ‘Emma? She’s fine. She’s in the kitchen.’

  I led the way, feeling really uncomfortable. Yesterday, I’d been so pissed with Logan that there hadn’t been room for anything else. But now, I felt hot with something beyond embarrassment, something a little too close to mortification. Collette was my girlfriend. We’d exchanged loads of kisses and the odd grope or two or twenty, but nothing more. And here I was with a kid.

  ‘Hi, Adam. Hello, Mr Bridgeman,’ said Collette as we entered the kitchen.

  ‘Oh, hi, Collette. Excuse my dressing gown,’ said Dad, looking daggers at me.

  Adam nodded in Collette’s direction before continuing with his breakfast. Collette looked at Emma but didn’t say anything.

  ‘I’ll just go and get changed,’ said Dad, drawing his dressing gown further around himself. He scooted past us, still glaring at me. That’d teach him!

  ‘Aren’t you going to say hello to Emma then?’ asked Adam.

  Funny, but I’d been thinking the same thing myself.

  Collette was momentarily taken aback. ‘Oh yes. Of course. Hi, Emma.’

  Collette walked over to the baby and awkwardly patted her head. Adam raised an eyebrow. Frowning, Emma looked up at Collette. I hurried over and took Emma out of her highchair before she could protest at Collette’s treatment the only way she knew how.

  ‘So this is your daughter?’ said Collette. I could see she was struggling to find something appropriate to say.

  ‘No flies on you,’ said Adam.

  Collette shot him an impatient look. Emma wrapped an arm round my neck and looked Collette up and down like she wasn’t terribly impressed. I had to bite my lip but Adam wasn’t as discreet.

  ‘Dante, your daughter is a smart one,’ said Adam as he stood up and headed for the dishwasher. ‘She must get her brains from her mum.’

  Emma began to chortle.

  Collette frowned. ‘Adam, you’re not funny.’

  ‘Emma thinks I am,’ replied Adam.

  Which made me bite my lip even harder. There was something about Emma’s laughter that was infectious. Though judging by Collette’s stony expression she was immune.

  ‘Dante, she looks like you,’ said Collette.

  ‘No one is that unlucky,’ Adam quipped.

  ‘Dante, can we go for a walk or something?’ said Collette, exasperated. ‘I’d like to talk to you in private.’

  ‘Adam, I don’t suppose you could . . . ?’

  ‘No, I couldn’t baby-sit,’ interrupted Adam.

  ‘We could take Emma with us,’ suggested Collette. ‘Maybe to the park?’

  Take Emma out? In daylight?

  ‘We could take Emma in her buggy,’ said Collette.

  Oh God. Pushing a buggy . . . I took a deep breath. I mean, it wasn’t that I was . . . ashamed of Emma. I wasn’t. It was just . . . People were bound to gawp at me. I glanced out of the kitchen window. It was a beautiful day with a blue sky and not a cloud in sight, so I couldn’t even use the weather as an excuse to stay put.

  �
��Would you like to go for a walk?’ I asked Emma. She smiled at me. I took that as a yes. ‘I’ll be right back,’ I told Collette. ‘Help yourself to a drink from the fridge if you want one.’

  I headed upstairs with Emma and changed her out of her baby-gro and into one of the new dresses Dad had bought her. Her legs kicked out constantly like she was riding a bike in a triathlon. It was only my super-fast reflexes that stopped her kicking seven bells out of my arms. I put some fabric booties on her feet and we were ready to go. I hit the landing just as Dad came out of the bathroom.

  ‘You might’ve told me that Collette was coming round this early,’ he admonished.

  ‘I didn’t know she was,’ I replied.

  ‘Hmmm.’ Dad was only slightly placated. ‘Are you going out then?’

  ‘Yeah, we thought we’d take Emma to the park.’

  ‘Er, not without a hat on her head,’ frowned Dad. ‘It’s baking out there. D’you want the girl to get heatstroke? Where’s the pink cotton bonnet I bought her?’

  ‘In my drawer,’ I replied.

  ‘Well, it’ll do more good on her head,’ said Dad, adding with a sly smile, ‘I remember you had the sweetest little yellow bonnet and you used to cry your eyes out whenever your mum or I took it off you.’

  ‘Ha ha, Dad.’

  ‘I’m sure I’ve got a few photos of you in your sweet little hat if you’d like to show them to Collette.’ Dad’s grin broadened.

  ‘Oh, my splitting sides,’ I said sourly before heading back into my room to get Emma’s hat. Behind me, Dad chuckled.

  Emma now had one of the three drawers in my chest of drawers. All my stuff that used to be in there had been chucked into the bottom of my wardrobe. I put Emma in her cot and rooted around in the drawer until I found her hat. The moment I put it on her head, she raised her hand to try and pull it off.

  ‘I don’t blame you,’ I told her. ‘But we’re going out now and it’ll protect you from the sun.’