My Side of the Story

by Will Davis

  After about ten minutes of mind-numbing small talk she finally seems to get the message and goes, OK, I'm going to give this house a bit of a clean. You two make sure you don't work too hard. She gives me this impressively unsubtle smile and thankfully exits.

  Al's like, Your Grandma is So Sweet, which is the sort of thing only people whose grandparents died long before they got to know them ever say. Anyway, sure enough the Hoover starts up (we used to have one of those ones that sounds like you're trying to vacuum up the whole world) and so we try to ignore it and read a bit more of the porno. Then I start to get switched so I say I have to use the toilet and dash off to have a lightning fast one. But on the next floor I rapidly wish I'd resisted, 'cos just audible over the sound of the Hoover is this other sound which is blatantly Grandma crying.

  Since this is back in the days when I still had a conscience I feel duty-bound to go and see, and I find her in Mum and Dad's room sitting on the bed and making it all wet while the Hoover's on full blast and leant against the wall.

  I'm like, Are you OK? which is about the dumbest thing you can say because it's so obviously like, No.

  Grandma jumps in surprise (or at least stands up quite quickly, this being an old woman we're talking about) and goes over to turn the Hoover off. Then she quickly starts smoothing down the bedspread like it's her vocation or something.

  She's like, Dear me, I didn't hear you come in!

  I want to say, There's a pretty good reason for that, but instead I'm like, What's the matter?

  She's like, Oh, I'm just being a silly old sod, that's all.

  Then she bursts into tears again and starts going, I miss him so much! Why am I still here? Why did he have to leave me? and so on. This is when I start to feel an iota of sympathy for her, because up until this point she and Grandpa were just this annoying monthly visit where me and The Nun got paraded around the living-room like man-sized dolls and forced to recite what we were doing in school to choruses of Ahs and Oohs.

  I give her a hug and she practically squeezes the life out of me for a few minutes and then sits back on the bed and says, I wish I was dead. I shouldn't be here, Jaz. I should be up there with him. Or wherever he is.

  The idea that she thinks Grandpa might be somewhere other than up there is pretty disconcerting but I try to smile and start coming out with all this bland shit like It's going to be OK and You've still got us blah-blah-blah. But then she starts telling me all this stuff about how Mum hates her and has never forgiven her and how it's never gonna work out her living here and why haven't they found her a nice home or something? I'm like, without a clue here. Why would Mum hate you? I say.

  She's like, It's complicated. Sometimes relationships between older people are very, very . . . complicated.

  While I'm trying to figure out how to process this she starts crying again and in between bouts of rain is like, I'm sorry Jaz, I shouldn't be bothering you with this, you're still young, you've got your whole life ahead of you, etc., which is the daft thing old people always say, like they think you don't know what a problem is.

  Anyway I spend like, an era calming her down. I say she just has to give it time. She nods and says I'm wise beyond my years, which is pretty funny because actually I don't think this is a good idea at all when you're old but I don't really see what else there is I can suggest. When I finally get back to Al she's like, So how was it? I try to explain where I've been but she's like, Yeah right, what do you think I am, born yesterday? I'm like, Seriously! all annoyed and I explain. Eventually Al pretends to believe me. We read some more from this story about this guy and his amazing long willy, and then there's the sound of the keys in the door downstairs (sounds really travel in our house, and they kind of congregate in the attic), which means Mum's home. Given the whole situation Al decides to go so we hide the porno under my rug and she skedaddles.

  Left alone I finally have a good old jerk and wipe it up with some old school report (which I reckon is both poetic and economising). Then I feel hungry so I go to get something to eat but just when I'm about to enter the kitchen I hear Mum and Grandma talking in there so I press myself to the wall and eavesdrop instead.

  Grandma's like, I just need to know that you've forgiven me.

  Mum's like, Forgiven you for what? I have no idea what you're talking about. Is this about Dad?

  There's a long pause and then she goes, Did you take your tablets?

  Grandma's offended. She's like, Don't try and blame this on tablets!

  Mum's like, What the hell's got into you? Can't you see I've had a hard day? Look at the state of you! This is the last thing I need when I come home.

  Grandma's like, That's right, just tell the old woman to keep quiet and die quickly.

  Mum's like, How dare you?! You have no right to say that! Would you stop and listen to yourself? I brought you here to live with us when I could have just shoved you in a home - what more do you want from me?

  There's a long pause with tumbleweed blowing through it. Then Grandma's like, I just want you to stop resenting me.

  Another desert pause and I can hear two sounds: Grandma's sobs and Mum's breathing. Then Mum goes, It's a bit late for that, isn't it? and then I hear her clippity heels coming my way so I quickly slide behind the door because if she caught me listening at this point she'd probably disown me on the spot.

  I go into the kitchen and Grandma is sitting at the table with this heavy face. She's sees me and gives me this smile which is like, totally bitter about life.

  Well. That's that, she goes.

  After this scene from EastEnders Grandma starts to ignore Mum. It just gets worse and worse. She never says a word to her apart from stuff like How was your day? or other questions which can be answered by just grunting. This is pretty horrible really, but I don't know how else to describe it: Grandma just starts to fade, and before you know it she's not much more than a piece of furniture which moves now and then all by itself. Every so often Mum has a go at her, but most of the time she complains about her behind her back, which makes you feel really sorry for Grandma since it's not like she can't hear the way sound travels in our house (even if she is old).

  So by the time Grandma has her stroke, there's a pretty good reason for Mum to feel guilty. Try translating that guilt into house-cleaning and you'll see we had our work cut out for us.

  By the way, there's also like, more to the porno thing. Mum finds it three weeks later 'cos it stayed hidden underneath my rug for all this time and she comes across it collecting up washing. Luckily she was in one of her I'm-of-the- understanding-variety-of-mum phases, and if you can believe it she looked at it and said Uh-huh in this knowing way and opened my desk drawer and put it inside. At some point the next day she changed her mind or the phase must have ended or something, because when I looked for it after school it simply wasn't there. The other theory is that Dad got hold of it.

  5

  Major fast-forwarding now. I'm skipping ahead to the next time I see The Guy because it's way more interesting than any of the other stuff that happens right after Grandma's stroke. It's also when I see Mr Fabulous Fellows in the flesh too, and it all takes place in the same club. Only difference is Al's not there this time since her parents found out about us going out the other night and, like, latched her window shut. Amazingly enough Mum's stopped bothering about me - it's a new tack she's trying (I overhear her talking to one of her judge friends about it on the phone). The idea is I'll stop 'rebelling' if there nothing for me to rebel against. She turns out to be so wrong.

  So I'm in Starlight, on my own, feeling a bit of a muggins to be honest since no one wants to talk to me except the geries and no one's even dancing yet so I can't do that either. I wouldn't have come except that it's Saturday night and I'd rather spend it anywhere other than listening to Mum shouting at Dad or watching crass TV with Bilbo and The Nun. But it's turning out to be pretty shit and I'm just about to start communing with my depression when He walks in, also alone, and I think to mys
elf, Right, OK, here we go.

  A quick word on the sex thing, by the way, since you'll probably need to know sooner or later considering what's coming. At this point I've not done it up the arse yet. I know it's like, what gays are famous for but it just hasn't happened with any of the guys I've been with. OK, I'll admit that there've only been three, and the first two were just fumbles in the dark (the first time a guy came in my hand it was pretty awkward, actually - I mean, it's like my fingers are dripping with his cum and I don't know where to put them). But hey, I'm ready to be taught.

  So I walk up to him and do the whole Hey, how're you? thing. He looks blank for a second and I'm terrified he's not going to remember me, even though it was only a week ago. But he does. His face lights up adorably - he has these really cute cheeks that sort of puff in and out when he smiles. He seems to have forgotten about the whole offending-me thing though because the first thing he says is, If it isn't the young buck!

  I'm like, Like whatever.

  Still, he buys me a drink, and we go sit down in the corner and start chatting, and he turns out to be a pretty cool guy. I get his name too - it's Jon. I know: Jaz and Jon, it's not good. In fact it's the stuff of a PA's nightmare, but what can you do? He's a windsurfing instructor and he teaches on this massive pond to rich university students. It's cooler than anything I can tell him, though I have a go. I say that I'm a trainee chef at this big restaurant, Breeze. That's what I always say, 'cos it's where Dad works, and I can talk about it at length if they decide to find it fascinating. Fortunately this guy doesn't, which is totally to his credit 'cos neither do I. There's like, other things . . .

  Pretty soon we're kissing again, and boy am I exploring the inside of his mouth. Maybe that's a gross way of putting it, but what I'm trying to tell you is that this is the business. I am hard down below and light up above.

  Then, with the timing of a fanny fart, Mr Fellows suddenly arrives. It's almost enough to make you believe in God because sometimes it seems as if someone has to be watching over me and picking out the choicest moment to fuck everything up. Well, this time he gets me a diamond. Fellows actually pulls us apart with his hands.

  Jarold Jones! he says in his stern voice. What in heaven's name do you think you're doing?

  I'm like, Oh shit.

  Jon's like, Who the hell are you?

  Mr Fellows is like, Jarold, come with me right now.

  I'm like, Please . . .

  But there's no talking sense with an angry teacher. I don't know what it's got to do with him anyway, since it's not like I'm here during school hours or anything. But somehow it's wrong, and I have that feeling like when you know you're wrong and you have to do what you're told. So I follow Fellows out of the club, leaving Jon looking like a sour lemon, probably thinking Fellows is either my Dad or my lover, both of which are pretty grim prospects.

  Outside Fellows is like, You've got some explaining to do.

  It's like, what's to explain? But he stares at me like this silent volcano just waiting to erupt. I know he's going to give me one of those coma-causing lectures you get when you've done something that's really against the rules.

  So I'm like, Do me a favour and get it over with.

  He immediately goes all stiff upper-lip and taut cheeks. He straightens and twitches in a freaky sort of a way, like Norman Bates or something. I consider bolting, but suddenly it's like I've realised that I'm not really that scared of him actually. I'm kind of more intrigued as to what he's doing in this kind of a place. Well, picking up obviously, but hello? He's like, totally mature.

  Look, he says, I don't want to make trouble for you. But you're too young for that kind of thing. Too young, understand?

  I'm like, What are you, the gospel on age?

  He's like, Don't make this into a big deal. I don't want to have to tell your parents.

  That kind of has me laughing, and maybe it's because of the whole cliched soap-opera situation, but suddenly Fellows starts laughing too. He's got this high-pitched squeaky laugh, which sounds like it doesn't get much airing and suits his personality down to the ground. We're laughing about different stuff though - I'm laughing at the thought of Mum's face when she gets his phone call and Fellows is laughing because he's embarrassed.

  So I'm like, What were you doing in there? Patrolling for schoolkids?

  He's like, properly rumbled at that, and totally stops. He goes all serious, and get what he says next, 'cos I'd give anything to have a signed copy:

  My lifestyle choice is a perfectly valid option.

  Sorry - I've heard some funny things, but coming from a geography teacher this is as good as it gets. He watches me emptying my sides of oxygen for a minute, and then pulls me back upright and slaps me. Big mistake. Teachers don't slap and Pm not one to take it lying down. The words Look I'm sorry have hardly got past his lips before Bam! - Fellows down. My fist hurts from the impact, which I'm sure must be the sign of a good one. Actually for a horrible minute I think he isn't moving, and worry that maybe he hit his head a little too hard and now, in the space of one hot second, I'm a murderer. It's not so bad, I think, since my defence is all sorted, what with Mum being a lawyer and all. But it soon turns out he's not dead, because he starts groaning and crawling around on the pavement.

  I hover over him for a minute like a moron. Then it occurs to me that there's not much more to be said here so I take off.

  I meet Bilbo at the front door so I take him in with me. Mum and Dad are in bed when I get back, which is a godsend, so I go straight to the bathroom mirror. Bottom line, he chooses to talk then I'm talking too, and I've got a big red mark across my cheek to prove it. I'm just regretting that once again I've been whisked away from Prince Charming. At this rate I'm gonna have to start fucking frogs, or maybe Bilbo.

  I send Al a text: I MET SEXY GUY AGN! NMES JON + NRLY GT IT ON WTH HIM! BUT I GT RMBLED BY FELLWS!!! HE WS IN CLUB 2 + SAW ME X-ING HIM! HE HIT ME SO I PUNCHD HIM BCK + RAN AWY! J

  Her text back is, like, the definition of disbelief, and I've got to admit it does all sound a bit hectic for a single night out. It takes ages to get to sleep but when I finally do I have a wet dream and it's really something, at least until I'm woken up at silly o' clock in the morning by a strange smell which turns out to be Bilbo washing his arse right next to my face.

  6

  I guess it's about time to give you the story of my second shitty day which happened earlier on in the week. This takes place the day after Grandma's stroke. It started off with me thinking I might be able to get a couple of days off school out of it, and trying to act all upset, but Mum saw through that right away and started ranting about how I deserve to have a stroke too so I know what it feels like. Meanwhile The Nun's set up this vigil in her room and when you pass by you can sometimes hear her praying, which you'd think would be far more alarming than anything I could ever do or say, but it slips right by Mum unnoticed.

  The day starts off bad because of Al's parents. Without bothering to ask for my permission, which she claims not to need in her own home, Al went right out and told them everything they could possibly not want to know about me. Apparently she was hoping they would offer her some advice on how to persuade me to be openly out or something. Trouble is, when it comes to this sort of thing, Al's parents are about as enlightened as lumps of coal, which you'd think is something she'd know about, being their only child and all.

  So I knock on the door and instead of getting Al I get Mrs Rutland, who's like, the opposite of her daughter and is tall and thin and always dresses like she's expecting the Queen to drop by. She looks positively aghast at the sight of me, and raises both hands like she thinks I'm going to attack her or something.

  I don't know that they know yet, so I'm like, It's OK, it's not contagious like, jokingly.

  Mrs Rutland lets out the fakest laugh known to man. Slowly read out loud the words ha ha ha and you'll have an idea of how it sounds. I start looking around to check that I haven't like, accidentally entered the Twig
let zone or something, and Mrs Rutland goes, You surprised me! which is like, totally obvious. I can kind of see that something's up, but before I can put my finger on it Mr Rutland appears behind her at the door.

  Who is it? he says and then sees me. His face undergoes the exact same changes as hers did - like, Jim Carrey style.

  Hi, Mr Rutland, how's the job? I say, since Al told me he had this job placement thing lined up which was really important. He runs a furniture factory that produces sofas for Habitat in a colour range consisting of various shades of beige.

  Mr Rutland like, totally ignores this. Oh, hello there, Jarold, he goes. I'm going to drive Al to school today.

  I'm like, Huh? since me and Al always catch the bus in and out together. Can I speak to Al please?

  Mr Rutland's like, I think she's in the bathroom right now. I'm sure you'll see her at school. Best be getting on, hmmm?

  I'm like (really gently in case someone died), Is everything OK?

  He lets out an identical copy of Mrs Rutland's laugh. Of course, of course, he goes. Now hadn't you better hurry along before you're late for school?

  Just then Al appears behind them both with her bag. She looks between her parents like she can't believe it and then she mows through them like they're nothing more than feathers in her way.

  She's like, Let's go, to me. I note how she turns and gives them a chilling glare before we leave. Mrs Rutland shouts out after us, Don't be late back!

  I'm like, What the F?

  Al's like, They are such Neanderthals. I told them you were gay and they totally freaked out. Now they want us to stop hanging out after school.

  I'm like, You told them what! You'd better be pulling my leg!