Boys Don't Cry Page 11

  ‘Nnuuh, nnuuhg . . .’ Emma told me.

  ‘I hear you,’ I replied. ‘But it’s for your own good.’

  We headed downstairs. Collette followed me into the sitting room and watched as I put Emma in her buggy. I checked Emma’s baby bag to make sure I had spare nappies and we were ready to go.

  ‘See you later, Dad,’ I called out.

  He appeared at the top of the stairs, fully dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt, thank goodness. ‘Enjoy your walk.’

  Collette opened the front door and we walked out into the sunshine.

  I’d never pushed a buggy before, and to be honest it felt a bit strange. Different. Unfamiliar.

  ‘D’you want me to push her?’ Collette asked from beside me.

  ‘No, it’s OK. I’ve got it,’ I told her.

  We walked in silence for a while. I honestly couldn’t think of anything to say – something that had never happened between me and Collette before.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Collette finally.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘That you’ve got stuck with a kid you don’t want.’ Collette was only repeating what I’d said the night before, so why did it jar with me?

  ‘I was stupid, that’s all.’

  ‘Did Melanie say when she’s coming back?’

  ‘No. It could be next week or next year. Or never.’

  ‘What’re you going to do?’

  ‘I’m not sure. I’m thinking about my options,’ I said.

  ‘What about university?’

  ‘I’m still hoping to go, but . . .’ I shrugged. I didn’t need to say anything else. Silence.

  ‘What will you do if Melanie doesn’t come back before you’re due to start at uni?’

  I shrugged again. ‘I’m trying to sort it out so that I can still go to uni, but it’ll take a week or two before I know one way or another what my options are.’

  ‘What’re you planning?’

  ‘I don’t want to say yet.’ I forced a smile. ‘I don’t want to jinx it.’

  Pinning all my hopes on a DNA test was clutching at straws the size of quarks but it was all I had. If Emma . . . if she wasn’t my daughter, then I could hand her over to social services with a clear conscience.

  But if it turned out that she was my daughter . . .

  ‘Nnuuu . . . wwunn . . .’ said Emma.

  I peered over the buggy. ‘What’s the matter?’

  Emma was kicking out and waving her hands and didn’t look at all happy.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Collette.

  ‘I think she’s thirsty,’ I replied.

  Well, it was a hot one. The sun was beating down like it was in a bad mood. Emma was grizzling, and quite frankly I couldn’t blame her. It hadn’t been my idea to come out in the first place. We were only halfway to the park and I was already feeling like a wilting lettuce leaf.

  ‘We could all do with something to drink,’ I decided. A few shops further along the high street was a newspaper shop that sold groceries as well. I swung the buggy round and we all headed inside. Heading straight for the fridge, I grabbed a carton of orange juice for Emma, a can of ice-cold ginger beer for me and a strawberry and banana smoothie for Collette ’cause I knew it was her favourite. Then we went over to join the queue of people who’d had exactly the same idea.

  A blonde middle-aged woman in the queue directly ahead of us turned round, to check out who was behind her, I guess. She looked fed-up and bored, but the moment she caught sight of Emma she was all smiles.

  ‘Hello, petal,’ said the woman, bending down to beam in poor Emma’s face. I pulled Emma’s buggy back slightly. I mean! ‘She’s gorgeous.’ The woman smiled at me. ‘And doesn’t she look like you.’

  How I wished people would stop saying that. ‘Hmm . . .’ I replied noncommittally.

  ‘How old is your sister?’ asked the woman.

  ‘Er . . .’

  ‘It’s not his sister, it’s his daughter,’ Collette provided.

  Why on earth did Collette volunteer information the woman hadn’t even asked for?

  The expression on the woman’s face changed dramatically. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open in shock. ‘She’s your daughter?’ she asked, scandalized. She didn’t say it quietly either. More people in the queue turned round. My face began to burn. ‘She’s your daughter?’ the woman repeated, even louder than before just in case there was someone in the country who hadn’t heard her the first time. ‘How old are you?’ she continued, her eyes narrowing.

  None of your business, that’s how old I am, I thought belligerently. I glanced at Collette. She was looking down, embarrassed.

  ‘Well?’ the woman persisted.

  ‘Seventeen,’ I said reluctantly.

  Instant facelift. Her eyebrows almost hit her dyed blonde hairline. ‘Seventeen?’

  Oh my God. The echo in this shop was truly astounding. The woman looked Collette up and down like Collette wasn’t much.

  ‘Don’t look at me. It’s not my baby,’ Collette proclaimed. ‘I’m just a friend. It has nothing to do with me.’

  I looked at Collette, taking in the indignation lining her face. Her lips resembled an umbrella in the pouring rain.

  One glance revealed only too clearly that the blonde didn’t believe her. ‘Kids having kids,’ the woman sniffed. ‘And no doubt you’re not working and living off benefits.’

  ‘It’s none of your business what I’m living off.’ That last comment made me snap like a ginger biscuit.

  ‘It is my business when it’s my tax money that’s providing your child benefit and Jobseeker’s Allowance and whatever else it is that wasters like you get from the state.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ She wasn’t really saying what I thought she was saying, was she?

  ‘Seventeen and with a kid.’ The woman shook her head.

  ‘For your information, I don’t get a damned penny off the state,’ I said furiously.

  ‘Dante, just leave it.’ Collette tried to place a placating hand on my arm but I was so bloody angry, I vigorously shrugged her off.

  ‘You don’t know a thing about me, so where d’you get off talking to me like that?’

  ‘Look, I don’t want any trouble in my shop,’ the shopkeeper called out from behind his counter.

  ‘Leave him alone,’ piped up a woman behind me. I spun round to see who was speaking. A brunette with a tired, sagging body to match her tired, sagging face was holding onto the hand of a small boy about six or seven years old. ‘At least he’s in his child’s life. At least he hasn’t done a runner like a lot of men do.’ The brunette put an arm around her boy to pull him closer as she spoke.

  Her words should’ve made me feel better, but they didn’t.

  The blonde woman who was giving me a hard time pursed her lips and favoured me with one last filthy look before she turned away. Others in the queue ahead of her were regarding me with varying degrees of disapproval.

  ‘What?’ I asked, spitting out the word with intense resentment.

  They all made a great show of turning to face the front.

  And all I wanted to do was punch the living daylights out of something. Or someone. And all I wanted to do was hop on the first train, destination: Anywhere, with just the clothes I was wearing and nothing else. And all I wanted to do was sink into a super massive black hole and hide.

  It hit me like a ton of bricks. I was in a lose-lose situation.

  Ironic that when I’d saved up and bought my phone, it’d come with all kinds of information.

  When Dad had bought our family computer, it had been packaged up with all kinds of instructions.

  When Melanie dumped Emma on me, there was nothing. No manual, no briefing, no crash course, nothing.

  I was doing my best, but if Emma stayed with me, every person I met would feel they could comment or condemn or criticize. And if Emma . . . went away, it would be the same deal.

  No matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried, it would never be en
ough.

  24

  Adam

  Some days memories wrap around me and keep me cocooned and warm and safe. And some days memories wrap around me, spiky and sharp as rusty barbed wire. How can the same memories bring two such completely different feelings?

  Today I’m thinking of my mum.

  And it hurts.

  25

  Dante

  In spite of every instinct telling me to go back home, I didn’t. Was I really going to let some ignorant old biddy ruin my day? The verdict was already in on that one. Three streets and not much chat later, we reached the park, which made pushing the buggy a lot easier. On the way there, I’d had to wheel it out into the road at least three or four times because inconsiderate gits had parked their cars more on than off the pavement, making it impossible for a buggy to get past. Before Emma, I wouldn’t have even noticed. Now I wanted to key each car barring my way.

  Once we reached the children’s playground, I put Emma in a baby swing after checking it carefully to make sure there was no way she could slip out. Then I pushed her gently back and forth. She loved it, laughing with pure abandon. I smiled as I listened to her pure joy at a little thing like a baby swing. As Emma’s laugh washed over me, the storm still raging inside began to fade and die. I looked around the playground, noticing all the other kids having fun. It’d been quite some time since I’d even been here. Listening to the laughter and shouting brought back memories of how much I used to love this place. Strange that I should’ve forgotten that.

  It wasn’t that I hadn’t considered having a wife and children of my own some day. To be honest, it was one of those things I considered inevitable, like a mortgage and paying taxes. If only this were ten or fifteen years in the future, then I’d have no trouble doing it. No trouble at all. It wasn’t Emma who was wrong. It was just the timing. Just my lousy timing.

  ‘This feels strange,’ said Collette.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ I agreed.

  We stood together yet apart. I carried on pushing Emma.

  ‘So how was the Bar Belle last night?’ I asked at last.

  ‘To be honest, I left about thirty minutes after you did. I didn’t really feel in the mood to celebrate much,’ said Collette.

  We exchanged a look, full of meaning. I smiled apologetically.

  ‘Was anything said about me while you were there?’

  ‘Not much.’ At my wry smile, Collette laughed. ‘OK, you were . . . mentioned.’

  ‘I bet.’

  ‘One or two were surprised you had a kid and reckoned you were a bit of a dark horse. Logan said at least it showed you weren’t firing blanks, just duds – but then he would say something like that. Lucy thought it had to be a wind-up and Josh . . . never mind.’

  ‘No, tell me. What did Josh say?’

  Collette shifted from foot to foot, unable and unwilling to meet my gaze.

  ‘Collette, what did he say?’

  ‘It was no big deal. He just made some comment about your kid and your brother.’

  ‘What kind of comment?’ It was like trying to get blood out of a stone.

  It was only when Emma mewed in protest that I realized I had stopped pushing her. I resumed at once.

  Collette sighed. ‘He said that living with Emma was probably the closest Adam would ever get to the opposite sex. But don’t worry, Adam told him where to go.’

  ‘Josh said that to Adam?’ I asked sharply.

  ‘Adam was walking past our group and Josh started up. You know what he’s like when Logan’s around goading him. But Adam gave as good as he got.’

  Damn it. That’s what I was afraid of.

  ‘Stop worrying. Adam is more than capable of taking care of himself.’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ I said.

  Adam had a tongue like a razor, so my money was on him to win any argument. But not all arguments were fought with sentences. I needed to have a word with my brother. I really didn’t understand this antipathy between my brother and Josh. They both had a similar sense of humour, the same degree of self-confidence and they both lived their lives at least fifteen minutes ahead of the rest of us. So why all the hostility?

  I remembered a school trip to Paris when we were fourteen. On our way back to our hotel from some museum or other, Mrs Caper, our teacher, told us that there was something really weird about the next street we were going down. It was a well-known fact that for some unexplainable, inexplicable reason, travelling down that particular street made everyone’s toes change colour. Well, of course, everyone wanted to see that. There was a real buzz of excitement in the coach as everyone started pulling off their shoes and socks, me included, and started examining their feet.

  All except Josh.

  ‘Ooh, it’s true. My toes are orange!’ said someone – I think it was Ben.

  ‘You plank!’ Josh nudged me from where I was bent over, still examining my big toe.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Look out the window,’ said Josh.

  Puzzled, I sat up and did that. The next moment, my eyeballs were on stalks and staring. Sex shops galore! The things I saw in those windows were the best education I received throughout the whole Paris trip. I looked around the coach. Everyone except me and Josh – and the teachers – was checking out their toes.

  ‘Mrs Caper only said that so we wouldn’t look out the window and see all the sex shops,’ said Josh, confirming what I’d only just realised.

  ‘My toe is blue! My toe is blue! It really works!’ exclaimed Paul.

  Josh and I laughed ourselves hoarse at that one. Even now, just thinking about it brought a grin to my face. And when I told Adam that night, he figured out the punch line long before I reached it. He guessed it’d been Mrs Caper’s ploy to stop us from looking out of the window. Like I said, fifteen minutes ahead of everyone else.

  ‘Dante, what happens if . . .’ Collette’s voice snapped me back to the present.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘If Melanie doesn’t come back at all?’

  ‘I really don’t know,’ I replied.

  Silence.

  ‘Dante, what’s wrong with me?’ Collette asked quietly.

  Huh? ‘What d’you mean?’

  Collette took a deep breath. ‘How come you had a kid with Melanie, but you’ve never wanted more than a kiss and cuddle from me?’

  I stared at her. Was she serious? Where Collette had had trouble meeting my eyes before, she was looking straight at me now.

  ‘You never said you wanted to take things further,’ I said.

  ‘That’s ’cause you never asked.’

  ‘Would you . . . ?’ A quick glance down at Emma. ‘Would you have wanted to, if I had asked?’

  Collette shrugged. ‘I honestly don’t know. But I was never given the opportunity to make that choice, was I? So what’s wrong with me, Dante?’

  ‘Nothing. I promise.’

  ‘Then how come you wanted Mel, but not me?’

  I sighed. ‘It’s not that simple.’

  ‘Explain it to me then.’

  Oh God. This was beyond uncomfortable.

  I took a moment to frame the right words. ‘Collette, d’you remember Rick’s party a couple of years ago, the day after Boxing Day?’

  Collette nodded.

  ‘Well, that’s when it happened between Mel and me. But we were both drunk and we were both anxious that someone would burst into the room at any moment so it was . . . well, it wasn’t the best of circumstances.’ Cheeks flaming, I really didn’t want to say much more than that. Collette nodded again to show she understood. ‘That was the one and only time,’ I said. ‘And it was nothing to email home about either. But you and me . . . well, I’ve been thinking a lot about the two of us together recently, before Mel turned up with Emma. But you live at home and so do I and I wanted the first time with you to be different to what it was with Mel.’

  ‘Different how?’

  ‘I wanted it to be somewhere where we could both take our time and not have to wor
ry about being interrupted. I thought that maybe at uni when we both had our own rooms . . .’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  I smiled faintly. ‘Like I said, I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. But now there’s Emma . . .’

  ‘Yeah.’ Collette regarded Emma thoughtfully.

  ‘So what are your plans now?’ I asked Collette.

  ‘My plans haven’t changed. I still want to get my degree and make something of my life.’

  ‘And if I can’t join you?’ It was really unfair of me to ask but I needed to know.

  ‘Dante, I like you, I really do, but I’m going to university. I’m going to have a career. I’ve got plans. I want to have a life. All this . . .’ Collette’s gesture was open-handed, but she might as well have pointed directly at Emma. ‘All this is a bit . . . overwhelming.’

  For me too. Didn’t anyone recognize that? But I got the message. This was not what Collette had signed up for.

  ‘I understand,’ I said. And I did. My lousy timing had struck again.

  ‘It’s not fair that you should have to give up on all your dreams for something that wasn’t planned or wanted,’ said Collette, anger lending an edge to her voice.

  It wasn’t that simple. The ‘something’ she was referring to was a ‘someone’. A someone I was currently pushing in a swing. A someone who had kept me up most of the night, but a someone who only had to laugh once to make me smile. A real, living, breathing person – and that made all the difference.

  ‘There must be something we can do.’ Collette shook her head.

  ‘I don’t see what,’ I replied. ‘Emma doesn’t come with an on-off switch that I can use for the next three years while I get my degree.’

  ‘I’m not giving up,’ said Collette.

  But she had to know there was nothing she or I could do.

  We spent another half an hour at the playground. I held Emma upright all the way down the baby slide and we did that a few times. Next, I placed her on the baby seesaw, holding her whilst Collette pushed the other end up and down. And the whole time Collette and I discussed uni, school, friends, politics, even the weather – but not Emma.

  And there was no more talk about the two of us.