Kiss (27 page)

‘Well, it
is
a matter of fact. I’ve thought you might be.’

‘Oh God, you haven’t been discussing me with Dad, have you?’

‘No. Well, not your love life.’

‘And you don’t mind?’

‘Of
course
not. You’re my Carl and I love you just the way you are. I mind a little bit for Sylvie.’ She reached out and held my hand. ‘It’s maybe a bonus for me. Gay sons are always lovely to their mums.’

‘What about Dad? Do you think he’ll mind?’

‘Mm. Maybe a bit. He prides himself on being totally PC and non-judgemental but it might take him a while to get his head round it. He’ll probably want you to keep quiet about it while you’re still at school.’

‘Chance would be a fine thing,’ said Carl. ‘They all know. Paul told them. And now they’re all saying stuff.’

‘Awful things,’ I said.

‘I never wanted you to go to the wretched school,’ said Jules. ‘I wish you’d stayed at Milstead with Sylvie.’

‘I wish I had too,’ said Carl. ‘I wish we were back in the infants, doing our finger painting and pouring water out of teapots, playing house together.’

‘You always bagged the best Barbie doll even then,’ I said.

It wasn’t a funny joke but we all laughed a lot because it was easier than crying.

MUM WAS WAITING
up when I got home at last. I’d phoned her from the hospital and told her truthfully that I only needed a single stitch, though poor Carl lost count of the number of stitches he had to endure. He was so brave too, barely flinching.

‘Let me see your hand, Sylvie,’ said Mum, fussing.

‘It’s
fine
, see.’ I waved it at her. I looked around the room. There was no sign of Gerry, but I’d seen his car outside. ‘Gerry’s still here?’

‘Yes, he’s staying the night,’ Mum said, going pink. ‘He’s gone up to bed.’

Her
bed.

‘I thought I could maybe sleep on the sofa down here,’ she said.

‘Oh, Mum. Don’t be silly. I’m not a little kid.’

‘Well, it’s a bit embarrassing. Gerry didn’t plan to stay, but I was in a bit of a state and he wouldn’t leave me. But contrary to what you’re thinking, we haven’t – we’re not—’

‘Mum!’ I put my hands over my ears. ‘Don’t talk about it!’

‘I know. Look, it’s very embarrassing for all of us. And it’s obvious it is a big deal for you Sylvie. You were so
hostile
at supper.’

‘No I wasn’t.’

‘Come
on
! We could barely get a word out of you.’

‘I had other things on my mind. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude,’ I said.

‘So you don’t absolutely hate Gerry?’

‘He’s OK. He seems quite nice.’

‘That’s a bit lukewarm. He thinks you’re lovely.’

‘Then he’s either lying or mad, because I admit I wasn’t
acting
lovely. But it was truly because I was so worried about Carl.’

‘Right. Carl. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’

‘It’s private, Mum.’

‘Does Jules know?’

‘She does now.’

‘That’s good, because she’s been so worried about him. How badly has he hurt his hands? It looked like a lot of blood.’

‘He’s cut all his fingers. They had to tweezer some splinters out. He was so brave. I’d have cried my eyes out.’

‘But he was crying earlier.’

‘You’ve no idea what he’s had to put up with, Mum. I wish I could tell you. I feel so sorry for him.’

She tucked me up into bed, giving me lots of little kisses the way she’d done when I was little. It was very late and I was exhausted, but I still couldn’t get to sleep. My finger throbbed and I tucked it into my armpit for comfort. If
my
hand was hurting then Carl must be in agony.

I thought of all those boys shouting stupid insults at him. I hated Paul. I hoped Carl would start to hate him too. At least he’d be able to stay away from school for the next week or so, while his hands were healing.

I got up very early even though I was still exhausted. I wanted to be in and out of the bath-room without any embarrassing encounters with Gerry. I made myself a quick breakfast, hoping to rush off before seeing anyone, but Miss Miles came in to make her early-morning cup of tea. She usually had a few Kirby grips skewering her thin grey hair into place and wore an old fleece over her limp nightie, but today she’d fluffed out her meagre curls and was wearing a silky kimono dressing gown.

I raised my eyebrows.

‘Yes, I’m in my best bib and tucker in case I frighten our special guest,’ she whispered. ‘I met him last night when I went to make my Horlicks. He’s
very
nice, isn’t he?’

‘Mm,’ I said, shrugging.

‘Now, now, Sylvie, don’t play the surly teenager. He seems like a lovely man, and very fond of your mother.’

‘They’ve only just met each other. It’s not like they’re getting
married
,’ I said.

‘Well … in the fullness of time …’ said Miss Miles.

‘Oh, please!’ I hadn’t quite got that far. It was one thing Mum having a boyfriend, but I wasn’t ready for her to get
serious
. ‘I’d hate that,’ I said.

‘Well, if I’m being totally selfish, I wouldn’t be keen either, because I’d have to find a new home and I like it so much more here! It’s been lovely, almost as if I’m part of the family.’ She smiled at me sweetly.

I wondered if I should say she was just like an aunty to me but I couldn’t quite get the words out.

‘Did you ever have your own place, Miss Miles?’

‘My salary wouldn’t stretch to it, dear. I always thought I’d inherit the family house, but that had to be sold for Mother’s nursing care. Ah well.’ She sighed. ‘Something will turn up, as dear Mr Micawber always says.’

Miss Miles treated Charles Dickens characters as if they were part of her family too. Still, I lived with King Carlo and Queen Sylviana …

I tried to conjure them up. I could see them but they stood as still and silent as waxworks. I
simply couldn’t will them to life. I couldn’t bear it if they were all over too.

‘I’m going to see how Carl is before I go to school,’ I said. ‘Can you say goodbye to Mum for me?’

I was astonished to find Carl up already and dressed in his purple school uniform. His bandaged hands looked like comical white gloves.

‘You’re not going to
school
, are you?’ I said. ‘Are you crazy?’

‘That’s exactly what I said,’ said Jules. ‘Oh, Carl, do see sense. There’s no
point
in your going to school – you can’t even write your name.’

‘Yes I can, with a bit of effort,’ said Carl. He flexed his bandaged fingers. ‘See. They still work.’

‘Don’t give me that. You were ages in the bathroom. You can barely brush your own teeth. Mick, tell him he can’t go.’

‘I think Carl’s the one who’s got to decide for himself – and it looks as if he has,’ said Mick.

He put his arm round Carl’s shoulders and looked him straight in the face. ‘You’ve got guts, Carl. I’m proud of you,’ he said, and then he hurried out of the door.

‘Oh God, spare me that macho nonsense,’ said Jules. ‘You’re
not
going into school today, Carl, not in that state. They’ll make mincemeat of you.’

‘Shut up, Mum,’ said Carl as Jake ambled into
the room, his shirt flapping, tie hanging off, shoelaces trailing.

‘Now what?’ said Jake. ‘Hi, Sylvie.’

‘We’re both telling Carl he can’t go to school with his hands so bad,’ said Jules, shoving cornflakes and milk in front of Jake.

‘Yeah, you’re mad, Carl,’ said Jake. He paused. ‘But if you
are
going, do you want me to come with you? In case these guys are waiting in the playground or whatever? I’d love an excuse to duff up a few of those snotty grammar-school twats.’

Carl blinked. ‘Thanks, Jake. But no thanks,’ he said. He poured his own cornflakes and milk. His bandaged hand slipped and the jug tipped.

‘There!’ said Jules, dabbing with a J-cloth. ‘You’re proving my point, Carl. Look, let me do it for you, love.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Mum, I just spilled a drop of milk. It’s no big deal. I’ve only got cut hands. You’re acting like they’ve both been amputated. Stop flapping so,’ said Carl. ‘Look, I’m not hungry. I’m going now. See you tonight. And don’t
worry
.’

He stood up and gave Jules a quick kiss on the cheek. She patted him helplessly. He went to the kitchen door. I got up too.

‘Bye, Sylvie,’ said Jake. ‘Bye, Carl. Hey. Keep cool, little guy.’

‘Cheers, Jake,’ said Carl.

I walked with him to the gate. ‘Can
I
come with you, Carl?’

‘What? Are
you
offering to duff them all up, Sylvie?’ said Carl. ‘Hey, do you think Jake knows
why
the boys at school are picking on me? Do you think Mum told him? Or did he hear us?’

‘Whatever. I expect he just put two and two together. He’s not
that
dim.’

‘He seems to be acting OK about it.’

‘What, did you think
he
’d start beating you up?’

‘Oh, he’s done
that
all my life. What about Dad? He seems to know too. Oh God, I feel like all the neighbours are suddenly going to pop out of their front doors and start waving rainbow flags at me.’

‘I’m waving mine,’ I said.

‘Sylvie – I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t start,’ I said, patting his bandages very lightly.

‘I’m not sure how much I smashed. Was it absolutely everything?’

‘Pretty nearly.’

‘I’m such an idiot.’

‘You’re being an idiot now, going to school.’

‘I’m scared stiff, Sylvie. But if I don’t go now they’ll all
know
I’m too scared to face them.’

‘You don’t have to go at all. I’m sure Jules wants you to come back to Milstead. Oh, Carl, please, that would be so wonderful. And no one would make a big deal of stuff there. They all know you and think you’re really special.’

‘Look, I’d give anything to be back at
Milstead. I’ve hated it at the grammar. It’s just such a weird atmosphere, all boys together. You
breathe
the testosterone, along with that awful smell of stale beds and smelly feet. The conversation’s equally murky. Everyone wants to score off everyone else and there’s all the joking and the shoving and the crazy rushing around. You can’t get any peace anywhere, and you can’t say stuff you really feel because they say it’s so
gay
to talk about your feelings.’

‘So what on earth’s stopping you coming back to Milstead? You know they’d have you back like a shot.’

‘I don’t want them to think I’m scared of them at Kingsmere.’

‘That’s crazy! You’re just letting your stupid pride stand in your way. Oh, Carl, why do you have to be so stubborn?’

‘Oh well. Maybe they’ll start throwing junk at me and shoving my head down the bog and it’ll be so awful I’ll be out of there like a shot.’

‘Do you think they really might do that?’ I asked.

‘No, I was just joking. Sort of. They can’t do too much in lessons, can they? I’ll charge out as soon as school finishes, don’t worry.’

‘What about lunch times?’

‘Well. That won’t be so great. Maybe I’ll try eating my lunch very very slowly, chewing each mouthful a hundred times, so I get to spend the whole hour in the canteen.’

‘I know! Come and meet me at McDonald’s.
We can both get there and back at lunch time. Go on, Carl, please. Then I won’t worry so.’

‘OK. I’ll see, anyway.’

‘No,
promise
. See you there – one o’clock?’

‘All right, one o’clock. Happy now?’

He blew me a kiss and then started running down the road. I waited until he turned the corner. He didn’t glance back, but he waved his bandaged hand at me, knowing I’d be watching.

I wished he could wear his magic Glassworld boots so that he could outrun everyone. I wondered if we’d ever be able to play Glassworld again. I tried to invent a new chronicle in my head but I couldn’t come up with any idea at all. I tried re-running old adventures but the King and Queen stared at me blankly and wouldn’t speak.

I wondered if the book itself was all right. What if Carl had ripped the pages, intent on destroying everything? I wondered about creeping back indoors and going through the hole in the fence in our garden to see for myself. No, I couldn’t face all that shattered glass just yet.

I trudged off to school instead. Miranda was waiting for me, surprisingly early.

‘Hey, why wouldn’t you answer your mobile?’

She’d texted again and again while I was waiting in the hospital with Carl, but I didn’t know how to reduce the horror of what had happened into several lines of text-talk.

‘I’m sorry, Miranda. I couldn’t. I was at the hospital.’

‘What? Did you hurt yourself? What happened?’

‘It was Carl,’ I said. ‘He was hurt.’

Lucy was standing nearby, moodily flipping through a gossip magazine with Jenny Rawlings, a sad spotty girl who didn’t have any other friends. Lucy looked up at the sound of Carl’s name.

‘Carl’s hurt?’ she said.

‘What? No. No, he’s fine,’ I said quickly.

‘Come over
here
,’ said Miranda, tugging at me.

‘Some people think they’re it, bossing everyone around,’ said Lucy. ‘Yet she’s just a silly
slag
. Imagine, Jenny, showing your boobs off on a mobile phone!’