Boys Don't Cry Read online

  ‘I only heard about it for the first time today too.’ I tried to defend myself.

  ‘You didn’t know Mel was pregnant?’ Dad asked, his voice sharp.

  I shook my head.

  ‘Did you ever take the trouble to find out?’

  My face burned even more at that. My silence was answer enough for both of us.

  ‘Dante, I thought I’d brought you up, not dragged you up. We had the talk about taking precautions and being responsible when you’re in a relationship. Why the hell didn’t you listen?’ To be honest, the disillusionment in his voice cut far deeper than any loud, angry words could’ve done. I’d have to climb to the top of Mount Everest to reach the status of lowlife.

  ‘It never occurred to me that she might be pregnant,’ I protested.

  ‘Don’t you know how babies are made then?’ asked Dad. ‘You kept insisting that we didn’t need to talk about the birds and the bees because it was being covered at school. Did you lie?’

  My whole body was so burning hot now, at any moment I might spontaneously combust.

  ‘It was covered at school,’ I replied.

  ‘Did you skip those lessons?’

  ‘No, Dad.’

  ‘Then why didn’t it occur to you?’

  ‘I thought . . . I thought Mel must be on the pill or something.’ Which sounded totally pathetic, even to my ears. ‘She never told me she was pregnant. She never even mentioned the possibility. And then she left school and that was that.’

  ‘It takes two to make a baby, Dante. It doesn’t matter what you thought or assumed, you should’ve damn well made sure she couldn’t get pregnant by using a condom.’

  The baby in my arms was stirring. I pulled my face away from its head, wanting to make as little contact as possible.

  ‘Dante, hold your daughter properly. She’s not a smelly bag of rubbish.’

  I took a deep breath and stopped pulling away. The room was quiet as Dad and I both tried to grasp what was happening.

  ‘Dad, what am I going to do?’ The words wobbled as they left my mouth. But I was stuck and struck and stuffed and couldn’t for the life of me think of a way out. Inside, I was trembling and I couldn’t figure out how to make it stop. ‘I’m off to uni in a few weeks. How can I look after a baby if I’m off to uni?’

  He stared straight through me.

  ‘Dad?’ I whispered after a long pause.

  I had his attention once more.

  He shook his head. ‘Dante, you have a child now, a daughter. Take a good look at her. Her name is Emma.’

  I glanced at it, then looked away. I could hardly breathe. My throat was hurting so badly, like I’d been punched in it. And my head was pounding. I was holding a baby. A real, live, living, breathing person. That realization terrified me more than anything before.

  ‘I can’t look after it, Dad.’

  ‘You’ve got no choice, son.’

  ‘Maybe I could put it up for adoption or to be fostered?’

  The words had barely left my mouth before I realized I’d made a mistake – by saying them out loud.

  ‘You’d give up your own flesh and blood because she’s . . . inconvenient?’ asked Dad. ‘And adoption means giving up your own daughter for good. Is that what you really want?’

  Yes. I’m seventeen, for God’s sake.

  Of course I didn’t want to be saddled with a kid at seventeen. An acid wave of guilt swept through me, but I couldn’t help it. I didn’t want or need Dad’s opinion of me to sink any lower. Though God knows, my opinion of myself was somewhere at the bottom of the Mariana Trench. But the kid in my arms was like a brick wall between me and the rest of my life. I wanted it removed. I wasn’t going to let this thing in my arms ruin all my plans, ruin my whole future, ruin my entire life.

  ‘Besides, there’s no way you can put your daughter up for adoption without her mother’s consent. And you said you don’t know where Melanie is.’ Dad scowled. ‘And as for fostering, I doubt if you can even do that without Melanie’s say-so. So what’s your plan? To leave your own daughter on some doorstep somewhere?’

  ‘Of course not,’ I denied, shocked.

  Did Dad really think me capable of such a thing? Just when I thought his opinion of me couldn’t sink any lower.

  ‘Dante, if your daughter wasn’t in this room right here, right now . . .’ Dad’s lips compressed into a bloodless line. ‘I don’t know what I would do. I still can’t believe you could be so stupid. You think this only affects you? It doesn’t. We’re all going to have to live with the consequences of your actions.’

  ‘I’m not sitting here congratulating myself, Dad,’ I told him.

  Silence.

  ‘I really don’t see that you have many choices here, Dante,’ said Dad slowly.

  I instantly knew what he was driving at. ‘Dad, I have no money, no job, no way of looking after it. I’ve only just got my A level results, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Dante, stop and take a deep breath and listen very carefully. You have a child. Whether you give her up or keep her, your world has now changed and it’s going to stay that way. Nothing you do or say is going to alter the fact that you have a daughter. You need to wrap your mind around that fact and accept it, just like I’m having to.’

  ‘What on earth can I give a baby?’

  ‘The same thing I gave you – and your brother. A roof over your head, food on the table and . . . and being there. That counts for one hell of a lot.’

  But I hardly heard him. Why wasn’t he listening to me? I had to sort out my own life first. Until I’d done that, how could I be responsible for anyone else’s?

  ‘So will you look after the baby whilst I go to uni then?’ I asked.

  Dad started to laugh, a harsh parody of the real thing. ‘I have a full-time job, Dante. How exactly am I supposed to work and look after your daughter at the same time?’

  ‘How am I supposed to go to uni and look after a baby at the same time?’ I protested, throwing his words back at him.

  ‘You can’t . . .’ said Dad. His brown eyes darkened as they regarded me.

  ‘I . . . I . . . ’ I looked at the child in my arms, now sleeping peacefully. The words Dad had left unsaid clanged in my head like a giant bell. ‘If someone can’t cope, I’m sure it’s OK for the kid to be taken away and placed with foster parents – just for a little while.’ I still wasn’t ready to give up on that option.

  Dad regarded me. ‘So you want to do the same as Mel and dump your daughter? On strangers?’

  ‘I’m a stranger to her,’ I pointed out.

  ‘But you don’t have to be, Dante. You’ve got a decision to make – probably the most important decision of your life.’

  ‘But what about uni?’

  ‘What about Emma?’ Dad replied.

  ‘But I don’t have a clue how to look after it.’ Dad still wasn’t listening.

  ‘You’ll just have to learn,’ said Dad. ‘You want to play grown-up games? Well, this right here is what comes along with it.’

  Oh God . . .

  Dad contemplated me and the baby in my arms. ‘Dan, d’you remember when you were eight and kept asking me and your mum for a dog?’

  Here it came. The life lesson. The analogy. The ‘this case is the same as that one’ – when it so obviously wasn’t.

  ‘Yes, Dad. I remember,’ I sighed.

  And I did remember – unfortunately. I’d begged and begged Mum and Dad for a dog. Any kind of dog, I wasn’t fussed.

  Yes, I would look after it.

  Yes, I would walk it every day.

  Yes, I would feed it and brush it and take care of it.

  No, I wouldn’t ever neglect it. Never ever.

  So Dad made a decision. He didn’t ask for my opinion. He didn’t talk to me about it first. He came home with a goldfish. A goldfish! How was a goldfish even close to being anything like a dog? How was I supposed to bond with a fish?

  ‘You kept on and on at us till our heads were ringing
,’ Dad continued. ‘And what deal did we finally reach?’

  ‘We didn’t reach a deal,’ I muttered.

  ‘Yes, we did,’ Dad argued. ‘I told you that if you could look after the goldfish for three months, just three months, then we’d get you a dog for your next birthday.’

  ‘How has that got anything to do with this?’ I asked. The petulance in my voice made me sound like Adam, but I couldn’t help it.

  ‘How long did the goldfish live, Dante?’

  ‘I don’t see—’

  ‘How long?’ Dad interrupted.

  ‘Two weeks,’ I replied reluctantly.

  ‘Eight days,’ Dad corrected.

  Getting a dog was never mentioned again.

  ‘Dan, you have a daughter now. Her name is Emma. And you need to get to grips with that fact – fast. She’s not a goldfish that you can neglect and then flush down the loo when it doesn’t work out. She’s not a dog you can take back to a pet shop or to a dog shelter when you’ve had enough. She’s a human being that you made. You don’t get to walk away, not this time, not without even trying to make it work first. Life doesn’t work that way – not even at seventeen.’

  ‘Plenty of other guys walk away in similar circumstances,’ I pointed out.

  ‘You’re not “other guys”,’ said Dad. ‘You’re my son and I know I’ve brought you up better than that. You don’t run away like some kind of coward when you’re faced with a problem, especially one of your own making.’

  ‘So what am I supposed to do?’

  ‘You take a deep breath, you grow up and you man up. You have a daughter now . . .’

  Dad and I regarded each other. Not a word was spoken. But I knew what he was saying. In a contest between going to university and looking after some baby that was supposed to be mine, as far as Dad was concerned, there was no contest. I closed my eyes. It didn’t help.

  ‘Dante?’

  ‘Dad, I know what you want me to do,’ I snapped. ‘But then what? Serve burgers or sweep the streets for the rest of my life?’ Or sit behind a desk all day juggling insurance claims and bored out of my skull like my dad?

  ‘If that’s what it takes, yes,’ Dad replied. ‘You do whatever is legal and necessary to make money. Even if Melanie came back right this minute and took Emma away, you’d still be financially responsible for your daughter for the next eighteen years. You think about that. And there’s no shame in taking any job you can get to support your family.’

  Family? Dad and Adam were my family. I didn’t want or need anyone else. This baby would never belong, would never be wanted by me.

  If Dad wasn’t here I would’ve put the thing in my arms down on the ground and punched the walls until my hands bled.

  ‘Dante, look at your daughter,’ said Dad.

  ‘What?’

  Dad stood up and walked over to me. He adjusted my hold of the baby until it was lying in the crook of my arm, its eyes closed, its face turned up towards mine. It was the first time I’d had to look at it, properly look at it. Its face was round, with plump cheeks and a tiny pink mouth. Such a lot of noise could come from that mouth. Its black hair framed its head like a swimming hat. And it had the longest eyelashes that swept down its cheeks as it slept. It was warm and still in my arms, as exhausted from all that crying as I was. I don’t know what Dad was expecting. Did he think I’d look down at it and decide that flipping burgers for the rest of my life was a small price to pay for having this thing in my life? Did he think I’d hold it in my arms and suddenly realize just how much I loved it? Well, I didn’t. I felt nothing.

  And that, more than anything else, scared the hell out of me the most.

  11

  Adam

  Oh. My. God! Was I hearing this right?

  Dante has a kid?

  Uh-oh. Someone’s heading my way.

  Time to make myself scarce. Temporarily, of course.

  12

  Dante

  Dad ran a weary hand over his head. ‘God, what a mess,’ he said more to himself than to me. ‘And I’m already late for work. I told them I’d be in by noon at the latest.’ He headed for the door.

  ‘Dad . . .’ I struggled to speak but couldn’t say another word. I wanted to shout out to him to stay, to help me, to fix this. I didn’t want him to leave. At that moment, I might have been the sole living creature on planet Jupiter. I’d felt that way ever since Emma had come into my life.

  Emma . . .

  And now Dad had abandoned me to my stupidity. And God knows I didn’t deserve any better, but I needed someone, somewhere, to help me.

  ‘Hi, Ian, it’s me – Tyler. I’m sorry, but something has come up. I won’t be able to make it back to work this afternoon after all . . . No, no, Adam is fine. Well, he’s been sent to hospital for further tests but he’s no worse. No . . . I mean, yes, but I’ll explain when I see you, OK? No, nothing like that . . . Yeah, see you tomorrow.’ The phone in the hall beeped as it was put back on its stand on the table only seconds before Dad re-entered the room.

  ‘Thanks.’ The word was little more than a whisper, but it was heartfelt.

  ‘Oh, Dante,’ Dad sighed. ‘You’re supposed to be smarter than . . .’

  Pause. I frowned, not following him. ‘Than . . . ?’

  ‘Smarter than . . . that, Dante. You’re supposed to know that actions have consequences. You’re supposed to be smarter than to end up with a kid at your age.’

  But I wasn’t smarter, so what was the point of going on about it?

  Dad headed over to the buggy and pulled the oversized bag off the buggy handles. Sitting on the sofa, he opened the bag and started taking out the contents. Formula milk, a baby bottle, a few disposable nappies, a book with chewed corners, an A5 envelope bulging with papers, an all-in-one baby-gro thing with poppers down the front, a couple of baby wipes in a plastic bag loosely knotted at the top, a feeding cup, a couple of jars of baby food. Dad pulled out a wodge of papers from the envelope, glowering as he sifted through them.

  ‘What are they?’ I asked.

  ‘Medical records, from the look of it.’ He pushed the papers back where he’d found them. ‘They can wait. I need to think.’

  What did he need to think about? I was the one neck deep in crap.

  Dad must’ve read my expression because he answered my unspoken question. ‘Priorities, Dante. We both need to concentrate on the priorities now.’ He gave a sigh. ‘I wish your mum was here. She was always much better than me at being practical.’

  ‘What kind of priorities d’you mean?’ I asked.

  ‘Well, for a start, Emma needs food and somewhere to sleep.’

  I hadn’t even got that far in my thinking. ‘You mean, like a cot?’

  ‘Of course.’

  I looked around the sitting room doubtfully. ‘A cot is going to look a bit out of place in here.’

  Dad nodded. ‘That’s why it will be at the foot of your bed.’

  Was he kidding? ‘What? No . . .’

  ‘Where else is it going to go, Dante?’ Dad glanced down at his watch. ‘I’d better head for the shopping centre now, otherwise I won’t find anywhere to park.’

  ‘It’s sleeping in my room?’ I asked, aghast.

  ‘Of course. That way, if Emma cries in the night you can get up and change her or feed her and rock her till she goes back to sleep.’

  Oh, hell. ‘I’m a guy who needs his eight hours a night – uninterrupted.’

  ‘Welcome to the world of parenting,’ said Dad, a knowing smile on his face. He strode towards the door, turning back to face me as he reached it. ‘Oh, and Dante?’

  ‘Yes, Dad?’

  ‘You can call Emma “it” instead of “she” until she’s collecting her pension, but that’s not going to change a damned thing. Now, are you going to be OK for an hour or so?’

  No.

  ‘Dante?’ Dad came back into the room. ‘I know this is a bit of a shock, son. Hell, it’s a shock for all of us, including Emma. But you can
and will get through this – if you don’t do anything stupid.’

  ‘Like what?’ What did he mean?

  ‘Just . . . hang in there. OK? I’ll be back soon.’ And with that, he left the room. Then . . . ‘Adam, what the hell? When I’m having a private conversation, don’t listen at the bloody door. D’you hear?’

  ‘Yes, Dad,’ came the contrite reply, as fake as silicon boobs.

  My brother was the nosiest. Adam loved to know everyone else’s business. But there was no way to hide what was going on.

  ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can. Dante, take care of your brother and Emma till I return.’

  ‘Yes, Dad.’ I stood up to put the baby back in its buggy, but it immediately started to stir and to grizzle plaintively, even though it was still half-asleep. I gave in and sat back down again. The baby quietened down at once.

  The moment the front door closed, the sitting-room door opened.

  ‘Did I hear right?’ Adam asked, his eyes round and bright as a full moon.

  ‘What did you hear?’

  ‘You’ve got a daughter?’

  I’ve got a daughter . . .

  I shrugged. I still wasn’t ready to admit to that, not without a bit more than just Melanie’s word for it. ‘This is Emma.’

  ‘Whoa . . .’ Adam stared at me, eyes still wide, eyebrows raised, mouth open in the shape of a capital O. His expression was a confused cocktail of disbelief, astonishment and awe. ‘Can I hold her?’ He tiptoed over to me as if his footfall would wake up the baby.

  I stood up again, already stretching out my arms to hand it over. But then I hesitated.

  ‘Er . . . you’d better sit down first,’ I advised.

  Adam sat down immediately, no argument. He stretched out his arms, impatient to hold it. And yet I hesitated.

  ‘I won’t drop her,’ Adam promised. ‘Please, can I hold her?’

  I placed the baby in his arms. It shuffled and stirred, kicking out one leg, but it didn’t wake up. Adam carefully readjusted his grip so the baby lay securely in his arms. He rocked it slowly before kissing its forehead.