Casting Shadows

by Sophie McKenzie

  I shivered. Flynn squeezed my hand. ‘Don’t worry, Riv,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing to be nervous about.’

  A moment later the counsellor, Sally, turned up. She was about Mum’s age, wearing jeans and a tunic top. She had short, spiky hair held off her face with a long purple scarf.

  ‘Hi, everyone,’ she drawled, in an American accent just like the one Flynn had imitated the other day. ‘I’m real pleased to see you all. Tonight we’re going to focus on the effects of anger on those around us and as part of the process I would like each of the guests here tonight to tell the person they came here with how their anger has impacted on their lives.’

  I gulped. Was I going to have to speak in front of all these people? Flynn leaned over and whispered in my ear. ‘You can say anything you like, Riv. I know what to do.’

  I frowned, not sure what he meant.

  But Sally was already asking the first person to speak.

  It was one of the mums. Like most of the other parents in the room, she was drawn and tired-looking, with an anxious expression on her face. Her son, who looked about fourteen, sat beside her, slouched in his chair. He didn’t look up as she spoke in a trembling voice, explaining how his temper had led to the break-up of her relationship with her boyfriend, and how she felt torn between loving her son and being scared of him.

  After a little gentle probing from Sally, the woman admitted her son had hit her several times when she tried to stop him going out with mates she didn’t approve of. Then Sally turned to the son, who’d sat sullen and silent the whole time. She asked him how hearing what his mum had to say had made him feel.

  He grunted, ‘Dunno.’ Eventually Sally got him to admit he did feel bad after hitting his mum, though he kept saying he thought it was partly his mum’s fault for winding him up. ‘Because once I’m off on one, there’s nothing that’ll stop me. It’s, like, not my fault. You can’t control it.’

  At this Sally smiled and started talking about responsibility. She explained how everyone had to own their anger. How if you blamed someone else for winding you up what you were really saying was that they were in control of you, instead of you being in control.

  The boy nodded but I didn’t get the impression he’d really understood what Sally was saying. She moved on to the next boy. He was older, more like Flynn’s age, and one of the few here with his dad. But it was the same story. The boy lashing out and physically hurting his family for no really good reason that I could see. Despite being a few years older, he was just as tongue-tied as the first boy.

  As Sally went round the room, I realised they were all the same. An uncomfortable pressure settled on my chest. Flynn didn’t belong here. He had never once hit his family, well, apart from his dad, of course. Nor me. And he understood himself far better than these other guys. For the first time I questioned whether being here could really help him. Still, Flynn had said it did.

  My heart pounded as it got closer and closer to my turn to speak. I hardly heard what the people sitting next to us said; all I could think about was what I was going to say. I glanced at Flynn. He was still holding my hand but he hadn’t made eye contact while different people were telling their stories. Right now he was yawning, staring at the floor. I wondered what he was thinking. How he was feeling.

  ‘River, is it?’ Sally’s voice brought me back to the room. I looked up, my face flushed. Everyone was gazing at me.

  I nodded at Sally. She smiled. ‘Flynn has mentioned you in our sessions before.’

  I looked sideways at him. He raised his eyes and gave me this hard, sexy, ironic look. I gulped, wondering what he had said.

  ‘So, River,’ Sally went on. ‘Perhaps you would like to share with the group a time or a feeling to do with Flynn’s behaviour.’

  ‘Right.’ My mind was blank. I stared at my hand, still in Flynn’s.

  What on earth was I supposed to say?

  14

  ‘I realise this is a difficult situation for you, River,’ Sally said encouragingly. ‘But please know that you are in a safe environment. Nothing you say here will go outside the room.’

  I stared down at the floor.

  ‘I reckon she’s scared of him.’ This came from one of the few other girlfriends in the room. A fat, blonde girl in a ridiculously short skirt. She’d already talked about her boyfriend’s jealousy and how he was always threatening guys if he thought they’d been trying it on with her.

  Sally cleared her throat. ‘Can you tell us how you are feeling, River?’

  I wanted to crawl under my chair and curl up.

  ‘Are you feeling scared?’ Sally’s voice grew softer, more sympathetic. ‘Because you know this is a safe space and Flynn can’t—’

  ‘I’m not scared of him.’ I looked round the room. ‘Really,’ I said. ‘I’m not scared, it’s just hard to remember something. Flynn’s never hurt me. He’s only ever hurt other people – and mostly only when they’ve provoked him.’

  I could feel Flynn looking at me. I kept my eyes on Sally. She was frowning.

  ‘You mean he’s never hurt you physically?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Sally smiled. ‘Okay, then how about you tell us about a situation you’ve been in where Flynn’s response has . . .’ she paused, ‘. . . made you feel uncomfortable.’

  My chest tightened. ‘Well . . . when he hit his dad that was horrible. But though his dad didn’t really do much at the time, it was still provocation . . . because of what he’d done to Flynn before . . . so I understood.’ I stopped, not wanting to go into the details of Flynn’s relationship with his da. Sally nodded at me. I was sure she knew what I was referring to.

  ‘What about another occasion when you were there and Flynn lost his temper?’ Sally asked.

  My mind flirted over the many times when I’d seen Flynn get angry. I took a deep breath.

  ‘There was this one time when he found out about his sister’s boyfriend.’ I hesitated, embarrassed suddenly to share my feelings with this group of strangers. I looked at Sally, hoping she would interrupt and take over the conversation, but she didn’t. Everyone waited for me to speak. Flynn squeezed my hand. I still hadn’t looked at him.

  ‘Well . . .’ My voice was all shaky. ‘What happened was that I found out Flynn’s sister was with this guy, Gary, but she asked me not to tell anyone so I didn’t. Then, one day, Flynn found out and he lost it and pushed Gary against the wall and threatened him.’ I paused, remembering how terrified I’d felt at the time. ‘I was really scared that Flynn would hit him and that there’d be a fight. There wasn’t but when Flynn realised I already knew about Gary and Siobhan he got angry with me too. He shouted and said horrible things. Then he stormed out.’

  ‘And how did that make you feel?’ Sally asked.

  I let out a long, slow breath. ‘Scared, mostly. And upset. And guilty, because I thought maybe I should have told Flynn. But it would have been breaking a promise to Siobhan if I had, so . . .’

  I looked down.

  ‘How does it make you feel to hear all that, Flynn?’ As Sally spoke, Flynn took his hand away from mine. Out of the corner of my eye I could see him sitting back and crossing his arms. ‘It makes me feel bad that River was frightened,’ he said. ‘But I was scared too that this guy I’d never met was going to hurt my sister.’

  Sally nodded. ‘Why would you assume he was going to hurt her?’

  Flynn shrugged.

  ‘’S fair enough,’ said one of the other boys. ‘Guy’s gonna do your sister, he’s asking for a punch in the—’

  ‘Thank you, Jason.’ Sally sniffed. ‘But I’d like Flynn to think about what I’m asking here.’ She turned back to Flynn. ‘Do you think your reaction was appropriate?’

  I looked at Flynn for the first time. He was glaring at Sally, his arms still folded, his jaw clenched. When he spoke it was slowly and hesitantly, as if he was having to push every word out.

  ‘I think I overreacted about Gary. I should have stopped and t
alked and found out about him first, though he was in my home and I wasn’t expecting him and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with assuming someone’s going to jump you if you don’t know them. That’s just how life is.’

  There was a murmur of approval round the circle of boys. Sally’s lips tightened slightly. ‘And what about River?’

  Flynn looked at me. He sighed. ‘I still think I was right to be angry that River hadn’t told me she knew about Siobhan and—’

  ‘I promised Siobhan,’ I blurted out, forgetting everyone else in the room. Flynn and I had never really talked about what had happened that day We never really talked about anything like that. ‘You couldn’t expect me to break a promise.’

  Flynn kept his eyes on mine. ‘I didn’t,’ he said. ‘I don’t. I just think you shouldn’t have made the promise in the first place.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘If I could come in here,’ Sally said briskly. ‘Rather than get bogged down in the ethics of the situation, let’s focus on how else you could have handled it. Flynn, what else could you have said or done to express your anger that River had kept information from you?’

  There was a short pause.

  ‘I could have just told her I felt angry,’ Flynn said. ‘I could . . . I should . . . have said: “River, I understand that you made a promise to Siobhan but I’m your boyfriend and I don’t want us to have secrets from each other.” I wish I’d said that instead of shouting, because I hate River being upset and scared.’

  Another pause. Flynn and I looked at each other. His eyes were bright and open, as vulnerable as I’d ever seen.

  ‘And how would you feel if Flynn had said that, River?’ Sally asked.

  ‘Better,’ I said, not taking my eyes off him. ‘Yeah, I would have understood that.’

  The rest of the session passed smoothly I didn’t say anything else. I’m not sure Flynn would have done either but Sally drew him into a couple of the discussions that took place later on. I wasn’t really certain, but it seemed to me that she was trying to get Flynn to help the other boys understand what she was saying. As if they were more likely to listen to him or something. It was flattering, I guess, and Flynn certainly didn’t seem to mind. In fact, I was amazed by how patient he was throughout the session. Most of the other boys got riled at some point or just ignored what was said to them. But once we’d had our turn, Flynn stopped looking bored and listened attentively. When he did speak what he said was so perceptive and reasonable that it took my breath away.

  Gemma picked us up and we travelled home in silence. Neither of us wanted to talk about the session in front of her and, like Dad, Gemma was good at sensing that kind of stuff and not pushing it.

  When we got back Leo was in the kitchen, bending over some homework. Flynn threw him an irritated look and said he was going for a walk. He’d started to do that quite a lot, after his counselling sessions. I’d rather he’d talk to me but I understood he needed a bit of time on his own. And he was never gone for long.

  I sat down at the table with a cup of tea, and asked Leo what he was working on.

  ‘Spanish.’ Leo glanced up from his textbook. ‘Did you know there’s no direct translation for the word “embarrassed”? There’s “verguenza” for “shame”, or maybe “avergonzado” if you mean, more, “abashed”, maybe. But nothing that properly means “embarrassed”. D’you think that’s because Spanish people don’t feel embarrassed like we do?’

  ‘Dunno . . . maybe. It’s interesting.’ I took a sip of tea, grinning to myself at Leo’s earnestness. His blond hair was all ruffled and there was a gigantic ink smudge on his cheek. He looked like some absent-minded professor.

  ‘This guy in my Spanish conversation class, today . . .’ Leo went on. He had bent over his exercise book and was writing in tiny, careful lines. ‘. . . he was showing off in our “show and tell” session, talking about when he went to some big international football match, and he wanted to say he was embarrassed about England losing to some rubbish team but he didn’t know the word, so he tried to blag it by making one up, which works sometimes with big words in Spanish ’cos they’re often like the English ones. So he said “estaba embarazada” which actually means “I was pregnant”.’ He chuckled.

  I watched him write across the page. Normally I never noticed how Leo looked. But right now, sitting there all unself-conscious and caught up in his work, he looked, well . . . he looked cute. If only he didn’t get so uptight about things, I was sure he’d find life so much easier. Maybe the first step was coming to terms with being gay . . .

  ‘How are you?’ I said softly. ‘Have you talked to your dad?’

  Leo stopped writing and looked up. His face reddened as he registered what I meant. ‘No.’ He seemed to shrink a little as if all the easy confidence he’d been infused with when I’d come into the room was seeping out of his body.

  ‘I’m sorry. I just thought maybe it was hard for you at school and stuff.’

  Leo shrugged. ‘It’s okay.’ He looked away.

  I started to get up from the table.

  ‘I haven’t told anyone else what I told you about me,’ he said.

  I sat back down, feeling uncomfortable. ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Right.’

  Leo looked like he was struggling to say something else. He shook his head. I groaned inwardly. Why was it always this heavy with him? I fidgeted in my seat, wanting to get away, but worrying it might seem rude . . . that maybe he wanted a chance to say more about how he felt about being gay Then Leo leaned forward, across the table.

  ‘You’ve got something in your hair,’ he said, reaching his hand out towards me.

  The door from the garden opened. Leo snatched his hand back as Flynn stomped in. He stared at us sitting at the kitchen table. I looked back at him, my face flushing. Leo stared down at the table. The atmosphere in the room felt suddenly charged, like an electric current was surging through it.

  ‘Hi,’ Flynn said. There was a tightness in his voice.

  I stood up, feeling guilty, though I hadn’t done anything wrong.

  ‘I’m going to have a bath,’ I said. Without looking at either Flynn or Leo I left the kitchen and went up to our apartment. Neither Dad nor Gemma were there. I grabbed a towel and started running a bath.

  As I came out into the living area, Flynn appeared in the doorway of the apartment, his fists clenched by his sides.

  ‘I’m sorry about that stupid counselling session,’ he said in a low, angry voice.

  ‘It was fine,’ I said. ‘Honestly, it wasn’t that big a deal.’

  ‘Well, I hated it,’ Flynn said. ‘I can’t bear everyone hearing our stuff. I can’t bear thinking how weak it makes me look.’

  Weak? I shook my head. ‘I don’t think that.’

  Flynn unclenched his fists. He walked over and took my hand in his. ‘You would tell me if anyone . . . you know . . . if anyone ever tries to . . . with you. I mean, you wouldn’t not tell me, just because you think I’d go after them, would you?’

  I stared into his eyes. ‘Is this about Leo, downstairs?’

  A beat passed. Flynn nodded. ‘Partly I can see how he looks at you. He was doing something just now, wasn’t he?’

  I shook my head, wondering if I should break my promise to Leo and tell Flynn his fears were groundless, that Leo was more likely to fancy him than me. ‘He was just getting something out of my hair.’

  Flynn touched my hair himself, letting the strands run through his fingers. ‘There’s nothing in your hair, Riv He was just trying to get closer to you.’

  I pulled away from him, irritated. ‘No, he wasn’t.’ Again, it was on the tip of my tongue to tell Flynn that Leo thought he was gay. Again, I held back. ‘Leo didn’t do anything. He’s never done anything.’ I walked away, across the room.

  Flynn followed me. ‘Okay, I’m sorry,’ he said, reaching out for my shoulder. ‘Forget Leo.’

  I turned slowly round to face him.

  ‘Forget Leo,’ Flynn
repeated, his eyes soft gold in the electric light, beseeching. ‘Just promise that you’d tell me if anyone has ever come after you. Please?’ He paused. ‘Has anything ever happened that you haven’t told me?’

  I stood in front of him, feeling uncertain. Should I tell him about Slug Tongue and James? For a second I seriously considered it. But then, I thought, what was the point? It was all a long time ago now. Almost seven months. I took a deep breath.

  ‘I’m not saying no one’s ever tried to talk to me when you weren’t there. But no one’s ever gone any further. Because I don’t want anyone else. And I’ve always made that clear. So guys have always backed off. Because I love you. Which I do even more after tonight.’

  Flynn’s eyes softened. He ran a finger down the inside of my bare arm. I shivered at his touch and pulled him close.

  ‘I love you too, Riv,’ he said.

  We stood, looking into each other’s eyes. I marvelled at the huge feelings that rose inside me when we were together. Not the old, out-of-balance emotions I used to have, back in the days before we lived together, when Flynn’s temper was an issue and I wasn’t sure how he really felt about me, but something much more pure and intense – and way more powerful.

  How was it possible to feel this much for someone? It was like we were really one person.

  For a second the thought made me feel terrified. Suppose Flynn took his love away?

  ‘It’s all about you,’ Flynn whispered. ‘Everything in my life. All about you.’

  I smiled. I didn’t need to be scared. Flynn felt just like I did.

  I couldn’t imagine anyone or anything ever breaking us up.

  15

  Another couple of weeks passed and Flynn and I settled into a comfortable routine. We were both busy and, what with our schoolwork and the chores at the commune, we had very little spare time. It was October now and the weather grew cooler as the days shortened. Flynn’s eighteenth birthday took place in the middle of the month. Like me, he didn’t want a big fuss made at college but Gemma and I baked him a cake which everyone shared after dinner. Flynn’s mum sent him a parcel containing gifts from her and his sisters, and I gave him a practical present that I knew he really wanted – some new football boots.