Furious Thing

by Jenny Downham

  ‘You want some chamomile tea?’ Mum said. ‘I could put some honey in it.’

  It crossed my mind to pretend to have all the worst side effects listed on the packaging. If I had a blocked artery in the brain or abnormal liver function, I could go to bed for weeks, maybe even go to hospital and lie in a ward with kindly nurses. I’d have to miss the wedding. I’d be given a letter saying I couldn’t take exams. I’d go to some country retreat for sea air and sit in a wheelchair and be pushed about the place.

  ‘Is it your period?’ Mum said.

  ‘Really?’ John said. ‘You’re having this conversation in front of me?’

  ‘Please,’ I whispered. ‘Please stop talking about me. No, it isn’t my period. Yes, I look awful. I always look awful. I’m going to my room. I’ll see you both later.’

  ‘Good idea,’ he called after me. ‘Do some actual studying while you’re there.’

  Cerys emailed again. Did I know any more about why Kass had dumped her? No, I mailed back, except he’s an idiot and you’re way too good for him. I knew I wasn’t entirely to blame for wrecking their relationship. Kass did most of it by himself, stringing Cerys along while flirting with lovely Manchester girls. But it didn’t stop me feeling guilty. She sent me a crying face emoji and asked if I had any fury to spare. I ignored that. All I had was unusual drowsiness and an overwhelming desire to sleep.

  Ben emailed – where had I gone? Should he just add my name to his media project? They had to be submitted today. I felt guilty about that too. I’d crept into Ben’s room uninvited and taken photos. I’d done precisely zero towards a project and he was offering to share his. I was shamed by his kindness. But still I ignored him.

  When Iris got home from school she came to see me. She’d collected books and toys in a basket and brought them in like a gift.

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I’m giving you my stuffed elephant.’

  ‘What I want, Iris, is a hug – can you give me one of those?’

  She climbed under the duvet beside me, wrapped her skinny arms round my neck and scattered me with kisses. ‘Don’t cry,’ she said. ‘Why are you crying?’

  ‘I’m sad.’

  She wiped my tears with her fingers and laid her hand flat on my forehead as if checking my temperature. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please be happy again.’

  ‘I’ll try.’

  ‘If I hug you harder, will you be happier?’

  I told her yes, because I wanted it to be true, but it wasn’t. I felt weak. And weirdly nervous – like something terrible was about to happen.

  ‘I love you,’ Iris said.

  I nodded. I knew. I loved her back. She was the one good thing.

  She sang me songs and told me stories about her day. It distracted me to hear her. She told me she had a new plan about the wedding. ‘I’m going as a boy,’ she said.

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  She shrugged and stuffed her thumb in her mouth. I wondered if she thought boys had the better deal?

  John came and stood in the doorway and said Iris should leave me alone if I was sick.

  ‘She isn’t sick,’ Iris said, ‘she’s sad.’

  ‘Either way, she might be contagious. Come on, out you get.’

  Iris planted kisses on my face as if she was going away for weeks. ‘I don’t care about contagious,’ she cried as John picked her up and carried her off.

  Mum came to see what all the fuss was about. ‘I have something to ask you,’ she said.

  I leaned up on my elbow to look at her. I thought she was going to ask me something about Kass. Maybe she’d heard from him. Maybe he’d told her what I’d done.

  She knelt by the side of the bed. ‘Will you give me away?’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘My dad would do it if he was here, but of course he isn’t. Would you? Would you walk me down the aisle?’

  I thought she was joking. I was the one who told her to turf John out. I was the one who told her he was cruel.

  ‘Can’t Kass do it?’

  ‘John wants Kass to be best man.’

  ‘And does John know you’re asking me?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘What if I muck it up?’

  ‘You won’t.’

  ‘I might refuse to hand you over.’

  She smiled. ‘You won’t.’

  I told her I’d think about it. She thanked me and blew me a kiss before leaving. I turned to the blank wall and pulled the duvet over my head. I tried not to think about Kass in his best man outfit looking amazing and me in whatever I wore (a tuxedo? An old man’s three-piece suit?) as father-of-the-bride, looking broken. I’d told Kass to bring a new girlfriend and not talk to me all night. Why had I said that? I missed him so much it hurt my bones. My only comfort was to remember the way he’d kissed me – the passion in it. And the way his curls turned darker as I ran my fingers through them. And the way he’d got down to just his boxers in front of me. Surely, that meant something? Surely, that was love?

  That night, I slept in his jacket. I zipped it over my pyjamas and breathed in the scent of him.

  33

  Two days later, Kass sent me a different kind of email.

  I do a lot of the crap my dad does. That hot and cold thing, especially. I do it to friends as well as to girls and now I’ve seen it, I’m going to do something about it. I’m sorry I hurt you, Lexi. I deserve your fury.

  ‘I’m not furious,’ I whispered.

  I drafted several replies. In one, I said I was sorry too and that I’d over-reacted. In another, I said that maybe we should get together before the wedding to talk things through? In every version I said I missed him, that I hated this rift between us, that I loved him.

  In one draft I wrote, Please tell me you love me back.

  And that’s when I knew I couldn’t send any of them. That’s when I made a rule. I made it on Iris’s life, so that I could never break it. The rule was – stop begging for love.

  I loved Kass disastrously.

  From the beginning.

  And he knew. And he played me.

  He might not have meant to. He might not have known he was doing it. He was John’s son, after all, and things were bound to rub off. But there was no way I was going to let Mum’s weakness rub off on me.

  My rule didn’t stop me hoping Kass would send more emails. It didn’t stop me checking my inbox every few minutes or stalking him on Facebook. It didn’t stop me getting Iris to call him on Mum’s mobile, so I could hear his voice. I burned with longing as I listened to him say he couldn’t come to the phone right now and to please leave a message. It felt like he was talking directly to me.

  ‘Your heart’s gone loud,’ Iris said.

  ‘Hang up,’ I told her. ‘And don’t ever let me do that again, however much I beg you.’

  She looked at me sadly. ‘Maybe you should stop wearing his jacket?’

  I felt deserted, like an empty station or a dried-up cup. I ate meals, but only because I got hassle if I didn’t. I sat at the table with everyone and I was polite and nodded in the right places. I took my medication twice a day. But I wasn’t there, not really.

  Cerys mailed: Kass got in touch. Loads of bullshit reasons for going silent on me for weeks and then dumping me by text! He needs to ‘find himself’ apparently. I told him to look up his own arse!!

  It seemed she’d found fury without my help. I wrote back and congratulated her, and she replied and said it was entirely down to me. I’ve stuck a quote from you above my desk and I keep looking at it. It was the thing I’d said about looking in a room when you’re told not to. She’d taken it metaphorically and found it very inspiring. I owe you, she wrote. You’re my role model.

  I told her she could pay me back by helping me write a father-of-the-bride speech because I was clueless. She said as a preliminary idea, how about, All men are bastards?

  Iris lost patience with me. She stopped stroking my head and telling me she
loved me and instead, whenever she found me in bed, she ripped the duvet off and told me I should get up and study or do something badass because I was boring.

  ‘I don’t mind being boring,’ I said, clawing the duvet back.

  ‘I mind.’ She stood there, arms folded, tapping her foot. ‘I guess it’s me who has to be badass now.’

  ‘No, Iris. I don’t want you getting into trouble.’

  ‘We’ll see about that.’ She stomped off, slamming my door as she went. She came back five minutes later wearing denim dungarees with a striped T-shirt underneath. ‘This is my bridesmaid outfit,’ she said. ‘I’m going as a pirate.’

  ‘You’re going in a frothy pink dress. We both are.’

  She pulled a face and went off to show her dungarees to Mum and John. I heard his voice from my bed. It started with laughter and then moved on to, ‘Don’t be silly, Iris. Go away with your ridiculousness.’

  I couldn’t hear exactly what she replied, but I did hear a swear word, followed by her feet pounding down the hallway and John calling. ‘Come back here, right now.’

  She was laughing as she leaped into bed with me and crawled under the duvet.

  John crashed in. ‘Get out from under there.’

  Iris wriggled deeper, clutching onto my legs.

  John yanked the duvet from us both. He squatted down on the carpet and held her face between both his palms. ‘Do not swear at me. You get it? It’s not funny. What’s got into you?’

  Her fierce little face was flushed and alive. ‘I’m badass.’

  ‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘Go to your room.’ He picked her up under her armpits and pulled. She made herself a dead weight, slumping, difficult to hold.

  ‘Iris,’ I whispered, ‘it’s not worth it.’ But if she heard me, she never said. She was too busy laughing and clinging to the doorframe as John dragged her out.

  ‘You, young lady, are in big trouble,’ he said.

  ‘You, old man, are in bigger trouble.’

  He took her to her bedroom. I heard some of the lecture – his voice droning on. He wouldn’t tolerate being laughed at – it was undermining and disrespectful. She shouldn’t go around swearing either. Did she want to end up like me? Did she want a bad reputation?

  Eventually I heard her apologizing.

  ‘Sorry, Daddy. I’ll be good again, I promise.’

  A week before the wedding, Kass sent a new email.

  Lex, it said, I’m not going to be best man. In fact, I’m not coming to the wedding at all. I know my dad’ll go mental and I know you’ll get flak and I’m sorry. I’m sending this from the airport because I’m taking your excellent advice and doing the opposite of everything my dad wants me to do. I’m off travelling (India first). I’ve cleared it with university staff and my mum and I’ve emailed my dad to let him know. If it’s any consolation – I’ll miss you loads. And I promise to keep in touch. Get a phone!! Love always.

  Sometimes, when a terrible thing happens you don’t see it at first. I was concentrating so hard on ‘miss you loads’, and ‘love always’ that it didn’t click that Kass would be on the other side of the world and I might not see him for months.

  It was only when John started hollering from upstairs that I knew he’d got an email too and we were all in for it now. He came bounding down from his study and into my room. He didn’t even knock. He looked white-hot, enraged. ‘Did you know about this? Did you put him up to it?’ He slapped a hand on my desk and my pencils and rulers jumped.

  Mum came rushing in from the kitchen. ‘What’s the matter?’

  John waved his phone at her. ‘Kass has buggered off to India.’

  Mum looked horrified. ‘Does he say why?’

  ‘Oh, I think we all know why, don’t we?’ He glared at me. ‘I think we all know whose fault this is.’

  ‘How is it my fault?’ I said. ‘I only just found out.’

  ‘You run off to Manchester and the next thing we know, my son’s left university and gone travelling.’

  Mum stroked his arm, his shoulder, the back of his neck, told him it wasn’t the end of the world and perhaps the architecture course hadn’t been right for Kass?

  John pulled himself stiffly away from her. ‘Being an architect is all Kass ever wanted. Did I insist he went to university? Did you see me forcing him to fill in his UCAS form?’

  ‘Perhaps he wanted to please you? Perhaps it wasn’t quite what he wanted for himself?’

  ‘Jesus, woman!’ He wheeled round to face her. ‘When did you become the world’s expert on my son?’

  Maybe John would cancel the wedding now, I thought. Maybe he’d go to the airport and catch a plane to India. We could warn Kass and he’d move, and John would follow. Round and round the world they’d go like a game of cat and mouse. How peaceful it would be. How soothing. We could pretend we made them up.

  ‘I paid his student accommodation in advance,’ John said. ‘Am I getting a refund? Or has he pocketed that? Am I funding this insane expedition?’

  He shouted so loud his face went red. He looked as if he might explode. It brought Iris running. She stood in the doorway, both hands on the frame. ‘What’s happening?’

  John swung round to her. ‘Did you know?’

  She looked terrified. ‘Know what?’

  ‘That Kass left university?’

  She shot me a look, shot another at Mum. She looked like a young animal caught in the middle of a motorway.

  ‘Christ,’ he said. ‘Can’t anyone say anything useful?’

  He stomped out of the room and away. Mum raced after him. ‘John,’ she said. ‘John, we can sort this.’

  I closed my eyes as Iris crept into my bed and fumbled about with the duvet, dragging it over both our heads. Far away and muffled, I could hear Mum, her voice high and fretful. ‘Who are you calling?’ she was saying. ‘Wait a bit. Don’t say anything you’ll regret. Don’t phone him when you’re angry.’

  ‘Listen to music,’ I told Iris. ‘Go get your iPod.’

  She didn’t move, and I was worried she’d suffocate, so I pulled back the duvet. She shook her head at me, her eyes wide and dark. ‘I’m not leaving unless you make them stop.’

  ‘I’m not doing that.’

  ‘Do your monster.’

  I turned to her, our faces close on the pillow. ‘I’m taking special medicine, so I can’t.’

  ‘Should I do it instead?’

  ‘No, Iris. You’re six.’

  She thought about that. ‘In some countries, six-year-olds do scary things.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like go down a mine or work in a factory or be a soldier.’

  ‘Well, lucky for you, you don’t live in those countries. The only thing you have to do is keep out of the way when it gets like this, OK? Just let them get on with it.’

  She snuggled closer. ‘I thought it would stop because of the wedding.’

  ‘Maybe it will. They’re not married yet, are they?’

  In the lounge, things amped up. John – furious now – was barking at Mum, ‘Oh, you’re loving this, aren’t you? You’re loving my son being in the wrong. You can be the holy martyr who knows what’s best for everyone. Tell you what – how about I phone my ex-wife? Am I allowed to do that? Do I have your permission to ask her what the fuck she thinks she’s doing consenting to this nonsense?’

  ‘It’s getting bad,’ Iris whispered.

  ‘It’ll stop soon.’

  ‘But it’ll stop now if you make it.’

  ‘I can’t, Iris.’

  She blinked at me. ‘I can.’

  I told her no. I told her to come back. But she launched herself out of bed and ran down the hallway. I felt sick. I’m going to throw up all over the carpet, I thought. I felt fury at Kass and sorrow for Mum and fear for Iris. But mostly, I felt weary. I wanted to fold myself into the duvet and disappear. But instead I got out of bed and jogged to the lounge just in time to see Iris posting her bridesmaid dress through the window.

/>   John and Mum stood agog. And then John turned his terrifying beam of fury on Iris.

  Do your monster.

  After the shouting was done and Iris had been sent down to the car park to rescue the dress and Mum had dusted off the worst of the dirt and Iris had said sorry for being outrageous and I’d apologized for inciting copy-cat behaviour, Mum opened some wine and John calmed down. He suggested he should email Kass and ask him to reconsider. He thought he might contact Roger and ask him to be on standby as best man. Mum thought those were excellent ideas. She fetched John’s iPad and sat at his feet on the carpet while he typed. I took Iris by the hand and led her out of the door and down the stairs and into the garden. We sat on the fire escape steps where Kass and I had sat not that long ago, and I said, ‘Do you want to have another go at learning to climb the tree?’

  34

  It’s bad luck for a groom to see his bride on the morning of the wedding, so John spent the night in a hotel and it was just me, Mum and Iris in the flat for breakfast. We had fresh orange juice and croissants and then got our dresses on and did twirls in the lounge and walked up and down by the windows pretending we were in a fashion show. It was almost possible to pretend we were just mucking about and that later we’d fling off our silly costumes, order pizza and watch Netflix.

  It was when I was helping Mum pin up her hair that she took my wrist and said my name and our eyes met in the mirror and she said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For not being a proper mum.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘For not being strong.’

  I looked away, ashamed. Of her, of both of us – I didn’t know. It was awkward, and I wanted her to go back to being excited and girlish.

  ‘Lex,’ she said again. ‘Look at me.’

  ‘What, Mum?’

  ‘Keep the necklace. You’re sixteen now and Granddad would want you to have it.’

  I pulled it out from under my dress and ran a hand along the chain, counting each of the rubies with my fingers. ‘What will John say if he notices it’s gone from the safe?’

  ‘It’s not stealing if it’s yours, is it?’