‘She’s lovely,’ said Adam. ‘Hello, Emma. Aren’t you beautiful? That must be from your mum ’cause you sure didn’t get your good looks from your dad.’
‘You’re my brother, Adam, so what does that say about you?’ I pointed out.
‘Good looks bypassed you and waited for me to be born,’ Adam informed me. ‘She’s gorgeous. She smells all fresh.’ My brother raised his head to grin at me, but only for a second. He couldn’t bear to tear his gaze away from the baby. He carried on speaking, his voice only just above a whisper. ‘Hello, Emma. I’m Adam. I’m your dad’s brother. Hang on . . . Wow! I’m an uncle. Emma, I’m your uncle Adam.’
That made me start. My brother was an uncle. At sixteen years old. Damn. And Adam was so happy – not just his face but his whole body seemed to fizz with joy. The baby opened its eyes. Oh no! I held my breath, waiting for the cacophony to kick off. The baby looked straight at my brother – and smiled. Then it closed its eyes and went straight back to sleep.
‘I’m your uncle Adam and I love you.’ Adam kissed Emma once again on the forehead before holding the baby closer.
Emma had smiled at him. And I’d never heard Adam say he loved anyone. But just like that, he loved the baby. How did that work? And why did it make me feel so . . . so empty?
13
Dante
Adam didn’t want to give Emma back which, to be honest, was fine with me. I had things to do – like desperately trying to find a way out of my predicament.
I went on the Internet and looked up adoption, fostering, Melanie Dyson and paternity tests. It seemed that Dad was right about adoption – it would be bloody difficult, if not impossible, without Melanie’s agreement. Finding information about fostering was even harder. From the info I did manage to find, fostering seemed more likely than adoption, but even that was involved and convoluted. There was website after website about becoming a foster carer, but precious little about putting a child into foster care. All sorts of health workers and social workers had to get involved apparently. More people to witness the mess I’d made. And it seemed that the vast majority of kids were taken into foster care because of their parents, not put into foster care by their parents.
Every page I scanned about fostering made me feel more and more sub-human. This was supposed to be my child, my daughter, and here I was searching for ways to get rid of it. But I wasn’t just thinking of myself, I swear I wasn’t. I mean, what did I have to offer a baby? In spite of what Dad said, it’d be far better off without me.
But first things first. I wouldn’t have a legal leg to stand on until I established once and for all whether or not the baby was really mine. That meant a DNA test. But how did I get one of those done without going on one of those shows where people told the whole nation their private business only to be lectured and harangued by the host before the DNA results were produced. Didn’t fancy that – at all. I Googled DNA tests, not expecting much. To my surprise there were loads of online organizations who carried out DNA tests to establish paternity. I scrutinized the details. It looked straightforward enough. If I coughed up most of my hard-earned money, they’d send me a DNA paternity kit. I had to swab the inside of my mouth for cheek cells – what they called a buccal swab – with what looked like a cotton bud. And I had to do the same with the baby, then send off the swabs. Five days after that, they’d send me the results and I’d know once and for all whether or not I was the baby’s dad. It’s not that I didn’t believe Melanie exactly, but she might’ve made a mistake. She must’ve made a mistake, in spite of what she said. It was possible. I had to know for sure. Nothing else could happen until I knew one way or another. I phoned the number provided by one site which seemed more slick and professional than all the others. Lowering my voice so I’d sound more . . . mature, I gave the woman at the other end of the line my details and the number of my one and only debit card. The fee was more than half of all the money I had in the world but I figured that if the outcome was the one I wanted, it would be a small price to pay.
When I’d finished on my computer, I headed back downstairs. Adam was exactly where I’d left him. As I entered the room, he grinned at me, whispering, ‘She’s still asleep.’
Dad already had an action plan which he was following up and Adam was so accepting. They were both swimming. I was the only one drowning. I flopped down in the chair opposite Adam and watched how he held the baby so naturally, like it was no big deal, like he’d been doing it for years. Like it was the easiest thing in the world.
‘She’s lovely,’ Adam said softly. ‘You’re so lucky.’
‘Lucky?’ Was he kidding?
‘Yeah. You get to be loved unconditionally – at least until Emma realizes what a crap-head you are, which will probably happen when she’s a teenager. That’s when most kids realize their parents are crap-heads.’
‘Oh yeah?’ I said dryly. ‘You know a lot about it for a half-pint sixteen-year-old.’
‘I may be shorter, thinner and younger than you, but in everything else I am greater.’
I laughed, and it felt and sounded strange – and good. This day had already lasted for ever and I hadn’t even been on the same planet as a smile since I woke up.
‘Modest as ever, Adam,’ I said.
But the thing was, he was right. Adam was one of those gits who breezed through exams with the minimum of effort. Actually, it wasn’t just exams but life in general. I, on the other hand, had to slog my guts out. Funny, smart and good-looking, everything came so easily to him.
‘One day I’m going to be a famous actor.’ Adam had regaled Dad and me with his plans for his acting career from the time he was twelve. ‘I want to be an actor more than anything else in the world. I live, eat, breathe and dream of being an actor.’
I mean, please! ‘Is that like the way I dream of being a pop star?’ I’d scoffed.
‘No, ’cause yours is just a dream. You sing like a creaking door. Dad’s gene! But my dream will become reality one day,’ Adam replied. ‘Look at me. I’m gorgeous and can act the spots off anyone else at school. In fact, it’s only my modesty that stops me from being perfect!’
I mean, pleeease! ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the ego has landed.’
‘Adam, don’t set your heart on being an actor. It’s very unlikely,’ Dad told him.
Adam had drawn himself up to face Dad directly. ‘So was going to the moon, or inventing penicillin, but it was still done. Unlikely things happen every day. And if I want it enough, I’ll get it – in spite of what you think.’
‘You should have a backup plan, in case it doesn’t happen,’ Dad warned when it became apparent that Adam was actually serious.
Adam just shook his head. ‘A backup plan means somewhere in my head, I think I might fail and that word is not in my vocabulary. Plus I’m too talented to fail.’
Dad and I had exchanged a look at that one.
And as for using the bathroom each morning, forget it! If Dad or I wanted to stand any chance of using it before midday, we had to put on jet packs to get in there before my brother. Once Adam hit the bathroom, that was it. As my brother explained it, he had to cleanse, tone and moisturize to stop his skin looking like a gravel path – his words – only it usually took a good thirty to forty minutes minimum. I mean, no one has that much skin, for God’s sake!
My brother, Adam.
He grinned at me now, turning back to Emma. ‘D’you want to hold her for a while?’
‘Nah, it’s OK. You’re doing fine,’ I replied.
Adam sighed, looking almost . . . sad.
‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.
‘I’d love to be a dad some day,’ said Adam. ‘It’s not going to happen though.’
‘There’s nothing to stop you meeting the right girl some day, settling down and having a whole football team of kids if you want.’
Adam regarded me. ‘Do I look like the kind of guy who’s going to settle down with a good woman?’
‘Stranger things
have happened.’ I shrugged.
‘If I settle down, it won’t be with a good woman and what’s more—’
‘Fine,’ I interrupted. ‘Go for a bad woman then. They’re supposed to be more fun anyway.’
‘It wouldn’t be with a woman at all . . .’ Adam began.
‘Adam, I don’t want to talk about this.’ I turned away.
‘No,’ said Adam thoughtfully. ‘You never do.’
That wasn’t fair. ‘You’re too young to know who or what you really are,’ I told him.
‘How old were you when you figured out who and what you really are?’ asked Adam.
‘Damn it, Adam,’ I snapped.
‘Ah! D’you know you always bite my head off when I ask you something you can’t answer?’
‘I do not,’ I protested. ‘And all I’m saying is, this is a phase you’re going through and you’ll grow out of it.’
‘Did you go through this phase?’
‘Well, no, but I read somewhere or other that a lot of boys do.’
‘Hmmm . . . a phase? So when d’you plan to grow out of yours?’
‘Huh?’
‘This heterosexual phase you’re currently going through?’
‘Damn it, Adam.’
‘I’m only asking,’ said Adam. ‘Tell you what – when you grow out of yours, I’ll grow out of mine.’
I glared at him. ‘My situation is entirely different – and you know it.’
‘Why? Because there are more of you? There are more brunettes than people with red hair. Does that make redheads abnormal just because they’re not in the majority?’
‘You’re deliberately misunderstanding what I’m trying to say.’
‘No, I understand you perfectly,’ said Adam. ‘I’m just curious about this age of enlightenment you keep going on about. This mysterious age when I turn into you.’
‘I just don’t want to see you get hurt.’
My brother regarded me, a faint smile on his face. ‘I know, Dante. But this is my life, not yours. What’re you so scared of ? What I am isn’t contagious.’
‘Don’t be stupid. I just . . .’ I began, then shook my head. ‘Never mind.’
‘Go on. Say it.’
‘I’m concerned about you – OK?’ I admitted. ‘You need to be more . . .’
‘In the closet?’
‘No. Of course not. Well, not exactly. You just need to pick your moments.’
Adam frowned. ‘The moments to talk about stuff that’s important to me? Or the moments when you’d rather I didn’t?’
He was deliberately twisting my words. ‘I’m not the bad guy here, Adam.’
‘Neither am I,’ my brother informed me.
Silence.
‘I know that,’ I said at last.
‘I’m glad to hear it.’
‘Damn, but you’re hard work,’ I sighed.
‘No swearing in front of your daughter, please. Sewer-mouth!’
I laughed, then stopped abruptly. Hang on a sec . . . Since when was ‘damn’ swearing? But then, I didn’t want Emma to turn into the kind of toddler who went round effing and jeffing.
A toddler . . . Damn it, what was I thinking? This baby would be long gone out of my life before it had the chance to toddle anywhere.
‘Did you love Melanie?’ asked Adam unexpectedly.
There was no pause before I shook my head.
‘That’s a shame,’ said Adam.
‘Why?’
‘Well, someone as special as your daughter should’ve been . . . made with love.’
‘She shouldn’t have been made at all.’
‘Coulda, woulda, shoulda,’ Adam pointed out. ‘She’s here now and she’s not going anywhere.’
‘The jury is still out on that one,’ I said.
‘D’you think that Melanie will come back for her then?’
‘If there’s a God,’ I replied.
My brother opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again without saying a word. We both sat in silence for a while. I don’t know what was on Adam’s mind but his words kept buzzing in my head. I regarded the baby as it lay asleep in his arms – so small, so helpless.
My daughter, Emma . . .
Should’ve been made with love . . .
Yeah, it . . . she should’ve been.
There it was again – that pain like I’d been punched in the throat. I closed my eyes, waiting impatiently until I could open them again without embarrassing myself. And what was the first thing I saw? Adam kissing Emma on the forehead. Again. How I envied my brother. His default state of mind was to trust everyone and accept everything until he had a reason to do otherwise. That’s what made me so anxious about him. He was so naive. Next to him, I felt like the most cynical bastard in the universe.
14
Adam
Poor Dante. I can’t help feeling sorry for him. I know it must be one hell of a shock to suddenly find out you’re a dad and a single parent all on the same day, but he looks like he’s teetering on the edge of a cliff and believes that no matter what he does, he’s going to fall. He can’t see how beautiful his daughter is – which is really surprising considering who her father is.
And his face when I said I was unlikely ever to be a dad! I don’t hide what I am, but my family don’t exactly encourage me to be open about it either. Dad just ignores the fact that I’m gay, like it’s some strange beast in the room and if he pays no attention to it, it will just fade away to nothing. And Dante acts like this is some passing fashion I’m wearing this year but which I’ll discard the moment something new comes along.
For heaven’s sake, I’ve known I was gay since I was thirteen.
And what’s more, I like it. Scratch that, I love it.
I just wish Dad and Dante would chill out about it.
15
Dante
When Dad finally came home, it took him three trips to the car to bring in all the stuff he’d just bought. I swear he came home with three-quarters of the contents of the baby store he’d been to. After ten minutes of unpacking the car, the sitting room was an obstacle course. Leaning against the wall adjacent to the door, a ready-to-assemble cot packed in a box took pride of place; there were enough disposable nappies to soak up all the water in the English Channel, a baby carrier thing that let you carry a baby against your chest arms-free, a bottle of baby bath, baby moisturizer, baby cream for nappy rash and other baby pharmaceuticals, baby cutlery, baby bottles to replace the one Mel had left, a bottle sterilizer, baby bedding, a highchair, a few toys like a soft ball and a teddy bear, a couple of picture books, a dress and other baby clothes, baby booties, baby wipes – baby, baby, baby.
Adam handed a now-waking Emma back to me and flitted around the room like it was Christmas and every new thing was for him. Blinking like a stunned owl, I looked from Emma to all the stuff such a tiny thing needed and back again. And that’s when it hit me just how truly clueless I really was.
‘This lot must’ve cost a fortune,’ I said, still shocked by the amount Dad had bought.
‘I was only going to get a cot, some nappies and a change of clothes,’ said Dad ruefully.
I stared at him.
‘They’re for my granddaughter, OK?’ said Dad. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he was embarrassed. ‘Everything else after this is down to you.’
Down to me . . . ? I’d be broke inside a week. And all these things . . . Dad had bought this stuff like he thought Emma was staying for a while, a long while. She’d be here a day or two, maybe a week at the very longest – just until I got back the results of the DNA test.
Emma wriggled in my arms, reaching out with both arms for the stuff on the carpet. From the strange, impatient noises she was making, she was just as excited as Adam.
‘She wants you to put her down,’ said Dad. ‘She wants to explore.’
‘Is it safe?’
Dad smiled at me. ‘Yeah, just be ready to pick her up if it looks like she’s about to touch some
thing she shouldn’t.’
Frowning, I placed the baby on one of the few bare patches of carpet. Emma took off like a shot. I’ve never seen anyone move that fast on all fours! We all burst out laughing, then looked at each other in surprise. It wasn’t often these days that we shared a laugh. I was the first to stop. I was about as far from being in a laughing mood as it was possible to get.
Emma crawled over to the sofa, then tried to pull herself up. She landed on her bottom twice but she didn’t cry or protest in any way, she just kept trying. Finally she managed to stand, wobbling a bit but staying upright.
‘She can walk?’ I asked, amazed.
‘Not yet. She can stand though, so walking isn’t too far away,’ said Dad.
Emma pulled a packet of baby wipes towards her then sat down with a thump, taking the wipes with her. She examined the packaging like it was truly riveting. Moments passed as we all watched her. She was fascinated by something as trivial as baby wipes.
‘First things first,’ said Dad after a few moments. ‘We need to sort out the cot. Adam, you can help me make it whilst Dante looks after Emma.’
Adam’s eyes widened. He pointed to himself. ‘Me? Dad, these are not the hands of a manual labourer.’
‘Well, I can’t do it by myself.’ Dad frowned.
‘Fine. Then I’ll look after Emma and Dante can help you with the lifting and shifting.’
Dad sighed. ‘Adam, Dante needs to spend time with his daughter. He needs to get used to being with her and she needs to get to know him. That’s why you’re going to help me instead of him.’
‘That’s not fair,’ Adam complained.
‘Sucks to be you,’ said Dad, one eyebrow raised. ‘Now move your backside and help me carry this cot upstairs.’
Adam turned to scowl at me. I smiled. It made a change for him to be the one on the sharp side of Dad’s tongue. I was loving that!
‘Well, let me go and change out of these clothes at least,’ said Adam. ‘I’m not ruining one of my favourite T-shirts.’
Adam was out the door before Dad could stop him. Dad raised his eyes skywards and shook his head. ‘That clean freak in him is your mother’s gene, not mine,’ he said. Then, ‘Dante, don’t let your daughter chew the plastic.’
Boys Don't Cry Page 6
