Proud of me, p.11
Proud of Me, page 11
“Sure, I’m interested in finding siblings out there, one day maybe…”
“It’s just that…” My voice has gone faint again. I cough to clear my throat. “What if you were to meet a sibling right now, today?”
His eyes change as I’m speaking…from open and relaxed to guarded, suspicious.
“What?” he says, confused. “What are you talking about?”
This doesn’t feel right, but I keep going. Once he knows, then it will all be okay. I try to swallow. My throat feels so dry that it’s hard to get the words out, even though saying these words is the whole reason I’m here.
“It’s me. I mean, I think…I’m your brother.”
There’s a silence that seems to go on and on and on.
“Hey, what? Come on, don’t wind me up, Josh.” His voice is loud and irritated now. A couple of people at the next table look over. He notices them staring, and then lowers his voice again. “I didn’t think you were one of those crazies. Look, it’s been good to meet you, but I need to get back to work.” He picks up his bag and stands.
“I mean it, it’s true. At least, I think… I…”
But he’s already walking away. I grab my stuff quickly and walk alongside him as he weaves his way through the tables towards the doors. I keep having to increase my pace as he speeds up, apologizing to the people that I push past in my hurry. He doesn’t even look back at me.
Finally, when we’re on the street, he turns to me. “So, what? You’ve had a DNA test?” I shake my head. “You’ve matched up my donor number and yours?” I shake my head again. “So how do you know?”
“I just know. You know how you said that you always approach everything logically, just like your mum does? Well, I’m like that too. I’m just the same. I saw your picture online and I just knew.”
“You just knew?” he echoes. “Listen to yourself. That doesn’t sound very logical.”
“No, what I mean is, when I saw your picture I knew, because we look the same. Your eyes. Your face. It’s obvious. You must see it.” I can’t let this go now. I can’t.
“Look…” His voice is softer now, his eyes pitying. This is worse. “I can see why you want to think this. I know how appealing the idea of finding someone is. I feel it too. Always wondering, when I see someone in the street who looks familiar, is that person connected to me? But you and me – okay, we’ve both got dark hair, so what? I’m not your brother, Josh. I’m just someone you met on the internet. I should have known when I first saw you. I should have known this was weird. It was obvious straight away you’re not sixteen like you said you were. How old are you? Thirteen? Fourteen?”
“Thirteen,” I whisper. I can’t meet his eyes any more.
“Thirteen.” He shakes his head. “And your parents don’t know about any of this? Jesus. You should have told me the truth.”
“I thought you might not want to meet me if you thought I was that young. I thought I’d miss my chance.”
“Listen, Josh, you didn’t need to lie, I was happy to meet, to talk, I wanted to help you out, but you can’t lay this on me, okay? Go home. If you want to know who you are, go talk to your parents, not me, not someone you just met. I’m sorry.”
I watch him walk off and, within seconds, he’s disappeared among the crowds. I could follow him. I know where he works. I could go there and find him and refuse to leave.
But I don’t. I feel like all my energy has drained away. Like I’ve run a marathon but can’t make it to the finish line. Eli’s right – I shouldn’t have done this. All I want to do now is go home.
I trudge back up the hill in a daze. I jump when someone shouts at me to get out of the way of the tram, but apart from that, I keep my eyes on my feet. The crowds grow even thicker as I get nearer to the station. I almost have to push my way onto the concourse.
During my long wait this morning, I’d already worked out which platform I’d need for my train home, so I know which way to go, but no one’s moving anywhere. Instead, everyone’s standing, looking up at the departure boards. There are people in red uniforms and reflective jackets scattered throughout the crowd, each with a cluster of passengers gathered round them who are asking questions or waving their hands around. I look up at the board.
Instead of a list of times, next to every destination is just one word, in bright orange capitals: DELAYED, DELAYED, DELAYED…
There’s a second knock, louder this time.
“Are you expecting a delivery?” asks Auntie Jackie. “Or an early guest?”
“No.” I shake my head, confused. “Neil’s coming first with the food, but that’s not for ages yet, and everything else is here. I can’t think of anyone who’s supposed to arrive before lunch.”
“Well then, maybe it’s Josh, perhaps he’s forgotten his key,” she says, trying to sound reassuring. “I’ll get it, you go and freshen up a bit.”
I hope she’s right. If it is Josh, then I won’t have to worry about him any more. Then maybe this bad feeling in my stomach will go away.
I always kind of know when Josh is in trouble. Don’t ask me how. Like that time last year when he fractured his wrist at football practice. All evening, I had the same bad feeling I’ve got now – I knew something had happened, I just didn’t know what it was, not until Josh was back home, cradling his arm and wincing and pretending to Mum and Ima that it was nothing.
I look at myself in the bathroom mirror. Staring back is a girl with wild hair, swollen eyes, a blotchy face and red nose. What would anyone – girl or boy – see in me anyway? I look a mess. I bite my lip to stop myself crying again, to stop myself replaying in my mind for the thousandth time what happened with Carli on Tuesday. Only after splashing cold water on my face and running it over my wrists do I start to feel better. But I can’t stay in the bathroom all day, however rotten I feel. I’m ready to face Josh now and to get him to tell me what he’s really been up to this morning.
I wonder how Ima and Mum are getting on in London. They’re probably at the gallery by now. I hope Mum’s having the most amazing day. I want tonight to be so special too, not just for her, but for Ima as well. I can’t rely on Josh, not after he’s already messed us about this morning. It feels like so much more depends on me now.
When I come out of the bathroom, it’s not Josh, it’s Archie.
He and Auntie Jackie are standing in the kitchen with their backs to the door, chatting easily together. She’s pretending to be amazed by how tall he’s got since she last saw him and he’s gushing over her scarf. Whenever she comes to stay, Archie’s usually around too. He’s the only one of my friends that she knows really well.
“Archie’s come to help set up for the party – isn’t that great?” says Jackie, turning when she hears me come in.
Her face clouds over. “Archie, do you know where Josh is?” Casual, but with an undertone of worry.
“Sorry, no,” says Archie. “Isn’t he here?”
Jackie and I shake our heads.
“Well, thank goodness I came! You’ll need the extra help,” exclaims Archie.
“I think we’d have managed,” I find myself saying. “Josh wouldn’t have been much use anyway.”
We all stand in awkward silence.
“Right, well… Tell you what, why don’t you two start on the garden? I’ll just hoover quickly inside. Where do your mums keep all the cleaning stuff, Becky?”
“Under the stairs,” I reply.
“Okay then.” And she’s gone, leaving Archie and me alone in the kitchen. He’s holding an enormous bunch of flowers.
“Oh, those are gorgeous, Archie, they must have cost loads. What are they for?”
“I saw them and I thought, those would be just perfect to match my outfit. And the florist, who by the way was super cute, threw together this little bouquet just for me, and well – here they are!”
I stare at him for a moment.
“Becky, you idiot. They’re for the party, and to say happy birthday to your mum, and they’re also to kind of say sorry-and-can-we-be-friends-again? to you. Got it now?”
This is how it always goes when Archie and I fight. He’s always the one to crack first and say sorry, whichever one of us started it. Somehow, he always knows exactly when I’m ready to stop being stubborn or sulky and need him to come and help me find a way back to being normal again. I feel a huge wave of relief sweep over me. At least one thing is going to turn out all right.
“No, no, stop, don’t hug me now. Let me put the flowers down first,” he protests, holding the bunch far above his head where I can’t reach them. I ignore his squeals and grab him round the waist in a huge hug. “Stop it, you’ll squash them, you’ll squash me,” he carries on complaining, but it’s only for effect, he’s laughing too.
In the garden, Archie stands on a chair, stringing lights between the trees and along the fence. I’m on the ground, directing, urging him to move them higher or lower, until they’re perfect. We drape rainbow bunting between the branches, tangling ourselves up in the process, and scatter picnic rugs and garden chairs on the grass. I take photos of how the garden looks now, knowing that by the time Mum and Ima see it, it will be full of people and noise, and there will probably already be dirty plates and half-empty glasses everywhere. But now, it looks magical. Like time has paused, waiting just for them.
Archie has helped make it look so much better, I must admit, than if it had just been me and Josh.
Auntie Jackie has finished the hoovering and started making the punch. We’re not allowed the real thing, the alcoholic version, but she mixes up juices and flavours it with mint just for us and brings us each out a glass with ice to try, along with a sandwich. It must be well past lunchtime already, but we’ve been too busy to notice. It’s hot outside and the sky above the garden is a deep shade of blue, a perfect late-spring day.
Archie and I are lying on one of the rugs, his head on my lap. Even though I know there’s still so much to do, I feel totally relaxed, like I could drift off to sleep.
“So, Beckster,” Archie says lazily, his eyes closing. “What was that all about?”
I pause for a moment – should I tell him about what happened with Carli? Auntie Jackie was so brilliant. But what if Archie says the wrong things and makes me feel worse again?
Come on, though, this is Archie. I’ll have to tell him sooner or later. And he’s always on my side. Thinking about it, he’s the perfect person to tell. I can’t even really remember why we fought anyway.
“Oh,” I say. “You won’t believe this. Promise you won’t scream when I tell you. I, well, I kissed Carli.”
His eyes snap open again. “You did what? You kissed her? Oh my god. What happened? Becky, I can’t believe you held out on me. Don’t I always tell you everything? What was it like?”
“I didn’t think about it, it just happened.” I sigh. “But she didn’t kiss me back, and then it was awful. So embarrassing.” Saying it out loud, like it’s a story that happened to someone else, takes some of the awfulness away, but just thinking about it still makes me wince. I have to stop myself from hiding my face in my hands.
He sits up and faces me. Serious, intense. “So does this mean you’re gay? It does! You’re gay and I didn’t even know. I’m the one who should be mad at you, Becky. I should be storming off in a huff, but you’re lucky, I’m too gossip-hungry to leave now. Oh my god, this is brilliant, I want to know everything. I’m bursting with questions.”
“Me too. I’ve been looking at people all week – do I fancy him? Do I fancy her? Is she cuter than him? I don’t know. It doesn’t seem to work like that for me. I don’t fancy anyone. Well, except Carli, that is. And that’s a total disaster.”
“So that’s why you two haven’t been speaking,” he says thoughtfully. “Was she awful? What’s she doing turning up to Pride group and everything, all full of smiles, after what she did to you? Poor Becks.”
“No, no, it wasn’t like that at all. She was really nice, honestly. That almost made it worse. She’s said she still wants to be friends…” Archie makes a face. “I know, but in a nice way. But I just can’t. Every time I see her, I feel bad and then I’m horrible to her which only makes me feel worse, but I can’t stop wanting to see her. It’s like having a bruise and wanting to poke at it all the time to see if it still hurts. Except she’s not like a bruise…”
He leans his head on my shoulder. It’s not the most comfortable position, as he’s so much taller than me, but it feels good to be so close to someone.
“How could I not know? How rubbish must my gaydar be if I couldn’t even spot you right next to me!”
“Not everything’s about you! And seeing as I didn’t even know myself, I feel pretty stupid too – like, my best friend’s gay, my mums are gay. It’s not like years ago when no one talked about it. It shouldn’t exactly be a shock…”
“But it is, right?” he says gently.
“Yeah, it is. I’m just not ready to go telling everyone, to make a big deal out of it. Why’s it anyone else’s business? Maybe I’m just not going to be into the whole labels thing.”
“That’s a cop-out!”
“What?”
“A cop-out. Look, if someone else puts a label on you and uses that to define you or put you in a box or to treat you like dirt, then of course that’s bad. But when people say that they’re not into labels, it’s probably because they’ve bought the whole idea that being LGBTQ or whatever is bad, so they don’t want to be associated with it. But labels can be good if you reclaim them, then you can share who you are with other people and be stronger together.”
“Very profound.” I sound sarcastic but actually I’m impressed, even if I don’t want Archie to know it.
Archie grins. “Actually, your mum told me that. She’s right though.”
I snort, as if to say, Believe that if you like. “You make being gay sound like being part of some kind of exclusive club.”
“That’s because it is, babes, it is. Oh, this is so exciting! I can’t believe you sat through those Pride group meetings and didn’t say a thing. So have you told your mums? What about Josh? You’re so lucky with your family. Not like me.”
He lapses into silence. I know what he’s thinking about.
Archie wanted Mum to go with him when he came out to his own mum. She wouldn’t, said it was something he had to do by himself, and anyway that it would be better if she wasn’t there, as his mum might think she’d put him up to it or something. But she also said that she was just a text away if he needed her and he could come round here straight after if he wanted to talk.
Archie didn’t tell me every gory detail about what happened – just that there was a lot of shouting and, since then, nothing. It’s like the conversation never happened. I’m grateful that Ima and Mum won’t be like that. Every holiday, when he goes up to stay with his dad, Archie says he’s going to tell him, but I think he’s still too nervous to actually do it.
“Well, I don’t know if I want to tell them. Not yet.” I pull up a couple of blades of grass and start plaiting them together.
“What? Seriously? Why not? They’ll be so cool with it. In fact, I bet they’ll be delighted. Throw you a party or something. I know…” He grasps my hand. “You should tell them tonight. It would be perfect, another birthday surprise for your mum.”
I’m about to tell him the story about how Mum came out to Auntie Jackie, and why surprises aren’t always such a good idea, when Jackie appears through the open French windows.
“It’s looking great out here,” she says, stepping outside from the shadows into the warmth. “And you both look so relaxed, but I’m sorry, I need your help to make it just as gorgeous inside. It’s not that long till Neil will be getting here with the food.” We get to our feet slowly, reluctant to move out of the sun and back into the dimness of the house. “Oh, and what’s the plan for music for this party? I thought we could put it on now. Get ourselves in the mood.”
“Music? That’s Josh. He was doing a playlist.” I check the time – it’s later than I thought. The worried feeling in my stomach, which I’ve been trying to ignore all day, is still there. “Where is he?”
“Still no messages since this morning?” asks Jackie. “That’s odd.” She’s starting to look more worried now.
“I’ll message him again,” I say. “And I’ll go see what I can find in his room. I’m sure I can get the playlist off his tablet.” I sound more relaxed than I feel. “Honestly, he’s in such trouble when he gets back. Come on, Archie.”
Josh’s room is spotless as usual, barely a thing out of place, apart from the crumpled ball of duvet that I left on the floor from when I went in this morning. His tablet’s on his desk and it only takes me a couple of guesses to get the passcode. While I’m looking, Archie runs his fingers along the top of Josh’s books on the shelves.
“Wow, did you know he even has his books in height order? Is your brother for real? Perhaps he’s not really a teenager at all, but a librarian disguised in a teenager’s body?”
It’s easy to find the playlist I’m after. Then I notice there’s a message window open. It’s not that I want to pry into Josh’s secrets, but…I start reading, casually at first and then with increasing urgency.
“Oh my god,” exclaims Archie, peeking in the wardrobe. “I think even his clothes are colour-coded.”
“Archie,” I say urgently, still looking at the screen. “Come and look at this. Now.”
He leans over my shoulder as I point at the screen.
“These messages. They’re all with this one guy, Eli.” I turn round to look at Archie. “Do you know an Eli?”
“Nope.”
“Me neither. And it looks like…” I’m still skimming through, trying to make sense of it. “It looks like he’s meeting this guy today in…”
“Manchester?” says Archie in surprise, finishing my sentence as he reads over my shoulder. “But that’s miles away. And, anyway, who is this Eli? And why didn’t Josh tell you that’s where he was going? Becks, this is weird. Keep scrolling, let’s have a look.”
