Maybe John was exhausted. It must get very tiring being in charge, needing to be right all the time, having to be on high alert in case anyone tries to undermine you.
Maybe he realized there were some things he simply wasn’t in control of.
Whatever it was, watching him sag in that chair was like watching a man turn back into a child. Something fell away. Like he could cope with anything except being laughed at.
He said the lights were bothering him. He clutched his belly and curled himself up, then almost immediately uncurled. He had a mild look of panic in his eyes as he sat back up. ‘Why do I feel like this?’
Someone got him a drink of water. Someone opened a window. Mum went over and reached down to touch him. She said his skin felt clammy.
‘Is he asthmatic?’ Roger asked.
Monika was looking on with pity. Perhaps she loved him. Perhaps she thought he was faking. Perhaps, like me, it reminded her of Roger collapsed on a chair a few weeks ago. Perhaps this is what powerful men did when they were cornered – they feigned illness? Or perhaps she thought laughter was such a dangerous weapon that John might die?
No one was laughing now.
Someone offered an aspirin, saying maybe he should suck on it, just in case it was a heart attack?
Mum put a hand on his shoulder. ‘John,’ she said. ‘John, you’re frightening me. How do you feel? Can you tell me?’
He mumbled something incomprehensible. And because it reminded me of Granddad all over again and because I hated Mum looking scared, I asked Ben if I could borrow his phone and I called an ambulance.
Epilogue
The world had emptied out. Everyone was on holiday. Exams were over and now there was nothing to do except wait for results day. Ben was in Turkey seeing relatives. Kass was still in India. Cerys was off with her mates doing the rounds of music festivals. I spent my days in the garden with Iris – on a blanket sunbathing, in a deckchair reading, or teaching her to climb the tree.
Mum was too busy caring for John to mind what we were up to. She fed him kale soup or broccoli mash or whatever healing recipe she’d dreamed up. The doctor had recommended a complete change of lifestyle – diet, anger management, exercise. It might help with the panic attacks, she said.
On the night of the wedding, the paramedics had helped John out to the ambulance and unbuttoned his shirt and attached sticky pads to the skin of his chest.
‘Am I dying?’ he’d asked, his eyes full of fear.
I stood there, holding Mum’s hand and hoping beyond anything that he lived. Because Iris and Mum loved him. Because, in that moment, he seemed a broken man and not a powerful magician at all. I asked the dead for it. That’s how much I wanted it.
The ECG showed no imbalance and his oxygen levels were fine. They told him it was probably a panic attack. But he said it was more than that, he felt dizzy and nauseous and there was something wrong with his heart – a strange pressure in it. They made him put his head down and take deep breaths. They told him he was working himself up, that nothing was wrong, but he begged to go to hospital and once he was there, pleaded to be kept in overnight for observation.
Since then, he’d been to a private cardiologist and paid for two more ECGs, blood tests, a chest x-ray, an echocardiogram and a stress test. They’d all come back fine.
‘You need to keep calm,’ the doctor said. ‘Give up smoking and maybe take up yoga or meditation? You’ve been used to being in control, but it’s time to ease up now.’
‘Will he die?’ Iris asked me one day. It was hot among the top branches of the ash tree and the sky buzzed with insects. The neighbour’s plum tree was brewing with wasps. I could hear them ecstatically vibrating over the fence.
‘He won’t die,’ I said.
‘He will one day.’
‘Well, yes – we all will one day.’
‘And is it OK if I still love him?’
‘He’s your dad, Iris. You’re totally allowed to love him.’
‘That’s good,’ she said softly. ‘But I’m not going to marry a man when I grow up. I’ve changed my mind about all that.’
I almost laughed but stopped myself. I looked at her and waited for her to tell me more.
‘There is someone I like though.’ She said this shyly, her eyes cast down, fiddling with the ragged hem of her shorts.
‘Who?’
‘Charlie. She’s at my school.’ She looked up at me, clear-eyed. ‘She’s a girl.’
‘And you like her?’
‘I’d rather marry her than anyone else.’
‘That sounds a sensible plan.’
She smiled. I smiled back. She held out her hand and I took it.
She said, ‘I didn’t want Cerys to take me away when you trashed the wedding. I wanted to help.’
‘We’ve talked about this, Iris. You’re not a monster.’
‘How come you’re allowed?’
‘I’m not saying you can’t be angry. You’re allowed to be mad as hell. But it’s not our job to look after Mum. She’s supposed to look after us.’
‘What if Daddy’s mean to her?’
‘Walk away. Meryam or the others are going to help Mum from now on.’
‘Where do I walk to?’
I patted the tree. ‘Here. You’ve nearly got a handle on climbing it. A couple more lessons and you’ll be sorted.’
I imagined Iris and her friend Charlie up here, cosied together with sweets and cans of fizz. Maybe they’d bring planks up like Kass and me used to. And binoculars for spying and blankets for hours of comfort.
Iris said, ‘Will you show me how to do the wall next – your special way of going along the branch and jumping down the other side?’
‘Into the cemetery?’
‘You said it’s amazing in there. You said there’s hours of freedom. You said there’s loads of adventures.’
I told her of course I’d show her the old paths, the places Kass and I used to go when we wanted to get away. Would Iris need them in the way we had?
Your dad’s like an old bull elephant, I told Kass in my first message to him when I got my new phone.
Kass messaged straight back: He’d hate that! Elephants are matriarchal.
He messaged me every day after that. He sent WhatsApp and Instagram messages. He told me about Kerala and how he was in a room overlooking a mountain. See, here is the mountain. He told me how one day he was followed by a snake and two boys chased it off with a stick. See, here are the boys. He met a man who played guitar and Kass was swapping English lessons for learning chords, because all girls love a boy who plays guitar. Was that a flirt? Did he mean me?
I sent him pictures of the garden, of the opposite pairs of light-green leaflets on the ash tree moving in the direction of sunlight. Remember this, Kass?
He sent a picture of himself sitting on the stone wall of a harbour. Behind him was a stretch of blue ocean dotted with fishing boats. He sent a picture of chickens sunbathing around his feet in the dry dust. He was always alone in the pictures, or with some form of wildlife. He’d shaved his head and looked younger, his ears sticking out.
I described the different ice creams me and Iris bought every day, our trip on the bus to the rowing lake and how I rowed Iris three times round the island. Once I sent a photo of John sleeping on his back on the sofa with his belly hanging down under his T-shirt. He looked old and his hair was greasy.
‘Is that seriously my father?’ Kass messaged back. ‘What have you done to him?’
LAUGHED AT HIM, I texted back. LOL.
I felt lighter than I had for months, as if a spell had been broken. But I was also scared that everything would go back to how it was. Roger had declared John unsuitable partnership material and said he could choose being demoted, being transferred or walking away. He walked away and we all pretended it was for health reasons. But seeing John weak didn’t mean he’d stay that way.
Over July, Kass’s messages came less frequently. I had a rule only to respond
and never initiate with Kass. It was to keep my heart safe. Me and Iris had taken cushions up the tree and were sitting reading when I got the picture of Kass outside a little wooden house. There were fishing baskets and piles of rope by the door. But the clue was the pair of girl’s sandals on the ground next to him. She would have taken the photo and the smile in his eyes was for her.
Wouldn’t you enjoy that, Kass? I thought. A little wooden house and a blue-sky day and a girl who wears slim white beaded moccasins.
I showed it to Iris and told her he’d met someone and would probably marry her and never come home.
She shook her head. ‘He’ll be back.’
I closed my eyes and imagined him walking across the lawn and gazing up at me through the leaves, his hand shielding his eyes from the glare. ‘Hey,’ he’d say, ‘should I come up?’
And I’d have to say, ‘Sorry, Kass. No room for a third. These branches are taken.’
Iris flipped a page in her book. ‘Delete the picture,’ she said.
I opened one eye. ‘But what will happen then?’
She smiled. ‘You’ll have to wait and see.’
‘I got you a present,’ Ben said. He’d only been back five hours and had called asking to meet. We walked to the park and sat by the lake with cups of takeaway tea.
The present was in a small paper bag and I was embarrassed it would be jewellery. Kass had given me his jacket once, and just last week I’d put it in a carrier bag and taped it up. I planned to take it back to Sophie’s soon. It would be interesting to see her again.
I wasn’t ready for jewellery from Ben. To distract us from the gift, I pointed out that the lake was covered in green weed and the ducks had to paddle around in the middle to get clear of it. ‘It wasn’t there last time I came,’ I said.
‘I guess it’s the warm weather,’ Ben said. ‘It’s almost as hot here as it was in Turkey.’
He’d spent the last four weeks swimming and playing tennis and lazing about on a beach. At night he’d wander with his mum and aunts to the local café and they’d eat and play cards and Ben would sneak sips of raki and they’d talk until late and then he’d climb the hill back to his aunt’s place and lie with the windows open listening to cicadas.
‘The best thing,’ he said, ‘was the endless time. I’ve never been on such a long holiday. I took hours of footage. That’s got to be a good sign, right?’ He turned to me, excited. ‘I know I’ve got two years of A levels to get through first, but I’m definitely applying to film school.’
I asked him what A levels he’d chosen, and he blushed. In his excitement he’d forgotten that he’d done brilliantly in his exams and I hadn’t. He was going to stay on at school for sixth form and I wasn’t. It was as simple as that.
I took a sip of tea. He took a sip of his.
‘Are you going to open that present, or what?’ he said.
I peeled off the Sellotape, unrolled the bag and opened it up. Inside was a fridge magnet of a woman with wings and a massive smile on her face. I pulled it out and held it in my palm. Her hair streamed behind her. She looked beautiful and murderous all at once. In blue writing across the bottom it said, women fly when men aren’t watching.
‘Reminded me of you,’ Ben said.
‘You think I can fly?’
He laughed. ‘I thought you could stick it on the fridge instead of the rules John’s had up there for weeks.’
I secretly watched him take another sip of tea and tried to work out what I felt for him. I’d wanted to kiss him at the wedding, but sitting here in daylight, he seemed gangly and strange-looking with his red hair and olive skin and freckles.
He did have a lovely smile though.
And he was kind.
Why didn’t I fancy him more? Did I find kindness boring? Did that mean I only fancied boys who’d end up breaking my heart?
‘So,’ Ben said, ‘let’s talk about the elephant in the room.’
I laughed. ‘We’re in a park, Ben.’
‘I mean sixth form. I mean you not getting in.’
‘What’s the point?’
‘The point is you got four GCSEs under difficult conditions and that has to count for something.’
‘I needed five. And I only got Media because you attached my name to your movie.’
When I’d opened my envelope on results day, I’d shoved it in a bin and skulked back home hoping no one would remember. But John had set a reminder on his phone months ago and was in the lounge waiting for me.
The best thing about the lecture that followed (I was a disappointment and had let everyone down) was when Mum came in from the shop and hugged me and said she was sure I’d done my best and that sevens in both Drama and Media Studies was very good indeed and a five in both English papers wasn’t to be sniffed at. John said it wasn’t good enough to get in to sixth form though, was it? And Mum said she was sure we could fight for a place. She asked John to phone the school and he said it was nothing to do with him and, in his opinion, I should be sent to a therapeutic facility now I was refusing to take the meds. Mum folded her arms at him. ‘Apart from that being a ridiculous idea, how would you propose paying for it now you’re unemployed?’
When I told Ben, he smiled. ‘Sounds like things are changing at home?’
‘She hasn’t done anything about it yet and he’s still in charge.’
Ben said, ‘She’s right though – you should fight for sixth form. You spent the last few years being told you were crap and the school never did anything. They pride themselves on results and do nothing for kids who are failing. I’ll come with you if you like and we can make a case together.’
‘It’s too late. I’ll do a pathway course somewhere.’
‘But they don’t do Drama.’
‘I have to give up on the idea of Drama.’
‘About that …’
Ben handed me a sheet of A4 folded up. ‘Please don’t be mad.’
Dear Ben
Thanks for your note. As you guessed, I’m unable to discuss Lex’s sixth form application with you. However, I don’t mind sharing that I’d love to have her on the A level Drama programme. She’s a performer of great sensitivity and courage. Why not ask her to contact me and we can arrange for her to come in for a chat?
Best,
Steven Darby
‘You wrote to Mr Darby about me?’
‘See what it says?’ Ben stabbed a finger at the paper – ‘a performer of great sensitivity and courage.’ That’s you, Lex. Isn’t that amazing? I swear that guy thinks you could make a career of it. He’ll do anything to help you.’
‘Everyone at school thinks I’m crazy. The head, the receptionists, most of the kids. I threw a chair through a window, Ben.’
‘Sixth form is a fresh start. You can reinvent yourself.’ He grinned. ‘An actor as courageous as you should find that a doddle.’
He looked delighted and I couldn’t work out how I felt. Was this a bloke telling me how to manage my life, or a friend who believed in me?
‘John won’t like it,’ I said. ‘He’ll think acting’s a waste of time.’
‘You don’t need his permission, Lex.’ Ben nudged me. ‘You can fly, remember?’
Ben came home with me to talk to Mum. He stayed all afternoon and Mum fussed around him like she used to with Kass – offering him snacks and drinks every five minutes. Iris climbed all over him. I wanted to take a photo and send it to Kass: We have a new man in our lives. But I didn’t. Partly because I had to leave Kass alone and partly because I didn’t know what I felt for Ben. I found myself secretly studying him. Friend or boyfriend? Handsome or not? Mum invited him to stay for supper and John became the world expert on further education and interrogated him: Wouldn’t it be more ambitious to do core subjects for A level? Do universities even respect Media Studies? And what exactly do you learn at film school? Surely better to get some proper qualifications under your belt because anyone can press ‘play’ on a camera?
Ben smiled and sai
d it was all in hand and then he asked John some questions. How’s the work search going? How’s your health? How do you feel about Kass giving up architecture? John deflated in front of us and excused himself. It was odd how that kept happening.
Over the next few days, Mum came around to the idea of contacting the school without John’s support. She told them I’d been anxious and under a great deal of pressure. They said if that was the case, I needed a medical statement from the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Services, because only students with exceptional circumstances would be allowed to stay on at sixth form without the required exam results. Mum said she’d see about that and she wasn’t going to let this drop. I hugged her. She reminded me of a mother I used to know.
Every morning, she asked John to help with her plans and every morning he made a face and went off for his morning workout. Round and round the park he went like a hamster. The cardiologist had recommended daily exercise.
Mum asked Doctor Leaman to provide the school with a medical letter saying I’d been incorrectly diagnosed. He refused, so she went to our family GP and got one from her instead. Meryam wrote a supportive statement and Ben emailed more teachers. I don’t know if anyone contacted Kass. I wrote a letter under Cerys’s guidance entitled, ‘Opening the Forbidden Door’, which stated how I’d been ‘living under a harsh regime and thundering with injustice and now I needed the opportunity to heal by practising creative arts, which only the sixth form could provide’.
Ben thought it was my letter that swung it. But I thought it was the meeting me and Mum went to when the head of sixth form asked what I meant about living under a harsh regime and Mum said, ‘My husband is very tough on Lexi.’
‘What do you mean?’ the teacher said gently, handing Mum a tissue.
‘He can be a bit of a bully,’ Mum said.
My word. His name.
Say it loud. Shout it from the rooftops.
The school agreed I could stay on with the understanding that I re-sat maths under their Supported Pathway scheme. I chose Drama, Film and Media Studies for my A levels, and for my extended project qualification I decided to explore fairy tales.
Furious Thing Page 27
