by J. A. Baker
The room feels smaller as he stands, walls moving towards him, the floor spongy under his feet. He’s tired. No, not tired. That’s not it at all. Jaded. That’s what he is. He is jaded and disaffected. Tonight, he will sleep, and in the morning, everything will seem brighter and life will go on as it always does. He isn’t one for trite motivational idioms, but he does know that the darkest hour is just before dawn. Tomorrow, a shiny new day beckons. He can either embrace it or eschew it. The choice is his and his alone.
5
‘So basically, you’re here because your old man can’t be arsed to be a cut-throat hedge fund manager anymore?’
Alex tries to smile, shrugs and stares off into the distance. He doesn’t know why they’re here. Not really. He only knows the basics, picking up on snippets of what Kate spits out, telling them that their dad has given up, has lost his edge and would rather be a second-rate financial adviser than a top-rate hedge fund manager. Not that he should believe anything that comes out of his mother’s mouth. She is on a downward spiral, rapidly turning into a bitter and twisted woman with no focus and little compassion. They used to be friends, he and his mum. They would sit and chat, swap stories about their day, reeling off anecdotes while they sat at the kitchen table eating biscuits and drinking foaming mugs of hot chocolate. That’s all in the past. He no longer knows her or recognises the person she has become. She thrived on glamour and money and now she has neither of those things, has turned into somebody that people don’t want to be around. Including her own son.
‘There’s a party round Bobby’s house tonight.’ Dane’s eyes dart around the room, his pupils small and bottomless, as if the thoughts inside his head are things he struggles to process. ‘His parents have a huge fuck-off summer house and a massive garden. They left us to it last time we were there.’ He dips his head, turns away from Alex, his thinking already angled elsewhere, his gaze focused on the ground. He reminds Alex of a meerkat, always twisting and turning, watching and waiting for the next big event, something that will turn his head and draw him in.
‘A party in a summer house?’
‘Yeah. Bring your own booze but make sure you stash it under your hoodie. Bobby’s mum and dad turn a blind eye to the drinking but they don’t wanna be seen to be encouraging it either.’ Dane suddenly springs to life again, his attention once more focused on Alex. He hops from one foot to another as if he is stepping over hot coals, unable to stand still for even one second. Alex is mesmerised by this lad, the way his moods oscillate so wildly, how his body follows suit, ranging from static and downbeat one second to dancing about as if on fire the next.
‘So, what you’re telling me is, we’re going round to Bobby’s house to have a party in his shed with his parents who are a pair of old swingers?’ Alex allows himself a small smile. Dane has been a good friend to him since he started at this school. He won’t push it too far. He’s seen how Dane reacts to others around him, seen his dark brooding look, his defensive manner and wonders what he is actually capable of.
‘Fuck off, Alexander Winston-D’Allandrio, you posh twat.’
Alex throws his head back and laughs, gives his pal a playful punch on the arm. ‘Just messing with you, buddy. What time does this thing kick off, then?’
Dane shrugs and juts out his bottom lip, his top teeth slowly nibbling at the inside of his mouth. ‘Eight o’clock. Not that anybody I like is going. Most people in this dump are fucking idiots. I tolerate them. But with access to booze and maybe some skirt, who am I to refuse?’
The outdated sexist phrase makes Alex cringe. He is unused to hearing it but suppresses any outward reaction, thinking of his mother’s expression if she was around, listening to Dane’s outwardly misogynistic outbursts. If there’s one thing he has learned since starting at Ingleton Secondary School, it’s how to keep his head down and not stand out. Posh kids like him don’t belong in a place like this. That said, it’s not half as bad as he expected it to be. He misses his mates from his other school and given the choice would go back there in a heartbeat, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen anytime soon, so he has mastered the art of mingling and keeping his mouth shut, not giving anybody any reason to single him out. Turn up, do his work and leave. That’s his mantra.
‘So, I’ll meet you there then, shall I?’ The thought of going doesn’t fill him with the level of dread he expected it to. It’s an excuse to get out of the house, to avoid the arguments and ice-filled conversations that take place every fucking day in their new home. It’s endless – the constant rounds of acrimony and resentment and blame. His mother doesn’t seem to know when to stop. She loads up her sling and fires missiles indiscriminately as soon as his dad steps foot in the door. It’s not the sort of arguments that involve raised voices, more a case of hissed accusations, sarcastic comments and an atmosphere so thick you can grasp it with both hands and tear it apart.
‘You know where he lives?’ Dane’s voice is a murmur, a deep rumble of vowels and consonants with little emotion or inflection.
‘Yeah. I walked home with him last week. Big white house on the corner of Pendleton Avenue?’ Alex recalls the conversation he and Bobby had. Bobby’s dad runs a chain of restaurants and his mum is a primary school teacher.
My parents could afford to send me to private school if they wanted but Mum said she doesn’t want to. She wants me to stay grounded, to get an idea of what it’s like to mix with people who don’t have loads of money and aren’t aloof.
Alex had bristled at his words, his face burning, the usual need to defend himself rising up from his gut. His old school wasn’t a place full of moneyed people who thought themselves superior; but trying to justify and explain it to anybody who has never been there was pointless. People have an idea in their heads and rarely budge from it. He wasn’t about to waste his time and energy trying to persuade Bobby otherwise. Some things are best left unsaid.
‘Right. Well, you can buy some cider from the off-licence on Brompton Street if you haven’t got any. The owner couldn’t give a shit about age restrictions. All he cares about is the ching-ching of his till.’ Dane glances behind him then stares down at his watch, his features darkening with disdain. ‘Fucking marvellous. Geography next then English with Dommy Rose. Fucking wanker that he is.’
The scowl on Dane’s face reminds Alex of the time their poor old dog chewed a dead fly before spitting it out in disgust. He refrains from laughing and won’t engage in a conversation with him about his Geography lesson or Mr Rose. Not worth the effort of a reprimand for not comprehending Dane’s dislike of the man.
Stuffing his empty sandwich wrapper into a nearby bin, Alex stands and stares at his recently acquired friend, studying the expression on his face, suspicion ever present in his eyes; his narrowed lids, the way his pupils dance about as if keeping watch for possible attackers.
‘Will your sister be there tonight?’ Dane’s voice is distant, his attention already elsewhere, his thoughts moving on to somebody or something else before Alex has even had a chance to reply.
‘Not sure. Has it been mentioned to her?’ But before the words are out of his mouth, he feels sure he already knows the answer to his own question. Of course Joss will be going. She can sniff out a party at fifty paces, like a predator tracking its prey. She will have heard about it before he did. It’s always been this way, his younger sister leading the pack with effortless poise while he trails behind in her wake like a hapless puppy. He’d like to say he doesn’t mind, that it doesn’t affect him, but that would be a lie. He feels it every day, the hurt, the rejection. To everyone around him, he appears confident, easy in his own skin. He has become adept at covering up his real feelings, knowing that saying the right things at the right time is the path of least resistance. Always the peacekeeper, Alex is the polar opposite of Joss who is, without exception, the lively one of their family, the feisty one who turns heads and attracts all the attention. She only has to breathe for people to fall at her feet while she stares
down at her adoring fans, enjoying every single second in the limelight.
Is he bitter about it? Perhaps. Is he jealous? Absolutely not. He has seen how his sister operates over the years, how she weaves her wicked magic. She manipulates every situation to make it all about her. Who would want to be like that? Why would anybody make it their life’s mission to emulate somebody who cares only about themselves?
‘I can ask her if you like?’ Dane says, his lips parting slightly, revealing a row of small, crooked teeth. He smiles briefly then rearranges his features back into their usual sullen countenance, his dark eyes lowered and framed by even darker lashes that sit against his pale skin.
‘Mate, I’m not even sure she knows who you are.’ The words leave Alex’s mouth before he has a chance to stop them. He studies his friend’s face for any changes that might signify a sudden spurt of anger taking hold, travelling at breakneck speed from his brain to his fists. He is surprised to see Dane’s expression remain neutral, his face its usual pallid colour. The complexion of old putty.
‘Well, whatever. Mention it to her if you like. I’m easy.’
Alex doesn’t laugh at Dane’s words, doesn’t even smile. He’s seen it all before, can recognise the signs of yet another lad who has a crush on Joss. There have been so many over the past few years he has lost count. It is both sad and laughable. Even if she does go to the party, she will barely register Dane’s presence.
The day passes in a haze of movements and actions, one lesson rolling into another, words and phrases that are meant to fire his imagination and further his knowledge, sailing over his head, leaving no lasting impression. He is impervious to everything today, his mind focused on getting home, seeing how his mother is functioning, trying to gauge the mood in the house as he slinks through the door. It’s so difficult to tell lately, with her unpredictable emotions and bouts of misery and hopelessness. Some days are better than others and some days are just atrocious, his parents giving one another dour, hostile glances across the dinner table, then having protracted arguments when they think he and his sister are out of earshot. It’s all about money. Money and status.
His dad isn’t bothered about any of it anymore and his mum is. That’s all it comes down to. It has to be. And it’s so stupid. So pointless, but she can’t seem to stop it. It’s killing her living like this, having to be a normal person in a normal house. Alex sighs and stares out of the window.
Living like this.
She uses that phrase a lot. They’re not paupers, for Christ’s sake, but neither are they rich. Not the sort of rich they were used to. And it doesn’t matter to him. He couldn’t care less about the money. He misses his friends but more than anything he misses the peace and quiet they had with their other life. No fights, no crazy arguments. No harsh words spat out when they both think the children aren’t listening.
What is it with adults and their need to constantly vent their spleen about issues that aren’t that important? Actually, it’s not his dad. He is continually backed into a corner by his mum and is forced to defend himself, his words always calm and logical while she harangues and hisses at him, her rage a relentless force.
A rush of heat spreads over Alex’s skin as the bell rings and everybody rises from their seats. Part of him would rather not go tonight and another part of him wants to be out of the house, away from the atmosphere, far away from the tension between his parents and that sickening sensation that it brings, twisting beneath his skin and churning about in his belly. It might be good to meet some new people, establish himself properly instead of constantly standing out as the newcomer in town. He’s not sure whether or not to sneak some of his dad’s beers out of the house or take his chances at the shop. Either way, he can’t turn up empty-handed. A drink will help him unwind, give him some confidence. Confidence people assume comes naturally to him when nothing could be further from the truth. Joss got his share of the exuberance gene and he has spent most of his life masking his insecurities with a false joviality that is both exhausting and tiresome.
‘Change of plan.’ The tug on his arm sends him reeling, pulling him backwards.
Dane is standing next to him almost smiling, his grin fixed as if it is an unnatural state, something he has to practise to fit in with those around him. He leans into Alex conspiratorially, whispers in his ear. ‘Got hold of my phone at lunchtime and sent a text to the old man. He said he’ll give us some of his beers to take tonight provided we say nothing to my mum.’
Alex shrugs, manages a wry smile. ‘Sounds perfect.’
‘So if you come to mine first, we’ll pick up the booze and then head over to Bobby’s together, yeah?’
They part, Alex watching as Dane disappears into the throng of teenagers, a moving collective of bodies that bends and sways through the school gates, spilling out onto the sprawl of asphalt beyond.
The moment between opening the front door and stepping into the cloying atmosphere of disgruntlement, annoyance and boredom that exudes from his mother is one Alex savours. He stops awhile, sniffing at the air, looking around at the curling tendrils of the honeysuckle, at the conical lilac blooms that line the driveway. It’s similar to their old house, this new place they call home, on a smaller scale admittedly, but still appealing. Less imposing. No stone pillars, no sleeping lions atop the gateposts. Entering their old home felt like walking into a colosseum. This is a gentler way to live, a softer less defined way to exist. Apart from the arguments, that is. They grow exponentially, his mother’s dissatisfaction at her predicament a constant source of unhappiness and bitterness.
As he steps inside and closes the door, he hears the music that emanates from his sister’s bedroom above, a series of sharps and flats accompanied by a deep thrumming bass beat that echoes through the hallway.
He throws his bag on the floor. It skids across the tiles and lies slumped next to a statue of a naked black woman, a baby clutched to her breast. He steps out of his shoes, a habit he can’t seem to break even though his mother no longer seems to care about the trails of dirt that they trample in. The things that used to irk her, such as untidiness and unmade beds and mud being dragged in, have taken a back seat. Her attentions are focused on their dad’s misdemeanours or moreover his lack of drive and ambition, and his general apathy.
Alex doesn’t see it as apathy, more a slow winding down from a hectic occupation that left no room for family life or anything resembling happiness and contentment. His dad smiles now, has time for meaningful conversations with his children, is a different person altogether. Until Kate rears her head that is. Then everything changes. Then a black cloud sails overhead, lowering the air pressure, depressing everyone in close vicinity, emptying its heavy, rain-filled belly over them and whipping up a great tempest.
She is sitting at the kitchen table as he walks in, her expression sullen, sadness tattooed into the grooves that sit around her eyes.
In the sink lies an empty goblet, remnants of red wine clinging to the side of the crystal, like tiny droplets of blood. He doesn’t say anything about it, is too tired to engage in this particular conversation. ‘I’ve been invited out to a party tonight. I’ll be leaving in a couple of hours.’
She doesn’t respond. He sees her in his peripheral vision, observes how she is watching his movements as he makes a sandwich and pours himself a glass of milk. Ordinarily he would sit at the table, eat, chat, tell her about his day but it all seems too much, too tiresome an endeavour with her sharp quips and put-downs, her relentless tirade about their new house and substandard lifestyle. He can sense her mood, the unbearable weight of it. It’s too much and he hasn’t the stomach for it. Not today.
Instead, he takes a bite and carries the snack upstairs, trying to decide whether to mention tonight’s party to Joss, working out whether or not she will curl her lip at him and sneer as she tells him she already knows about it or whether she will smile at him, show genuine interest and talk about who might be going. There’s no telling with her, no predicti
ng her responses or mood. Like mother like daughter, he thinks as he heads into his bedroom and closes the door.
He won’t ask her. He’s not in the right frame of mind for pointless quarrels that go nowhere. Far easier to do his own thing, not become embroiled in any of Joss’s needless questions or opinions where she dominates the conversation and doesn’t give him a chance to interject with his thoughts and ideas. It’s not as if she even knows Bobby or Dane. And anyway, the thought of her being at the party makes his toes curl. With her flamboyant behaviour, he would rather she stayed at home. Just for once, he will be able to relax, be his own person, not have his own character obliterated by her presence.
Lying back on his bed, he takes another bite of the sandwich and a long glug of the milk, wondering how they came to this, how their lives diverged so badly. Three members of the same family, sitting apart, living apart.
All together and yet very much alone.
6
Somewhere in between the moments of chaos and silence, Nina realises it is a sense of loyalty that is keeping her here. Loyalty and a deep fear of being alone, starting her life all over again with a troubled past and an uncertain future.
She looks around the kitchen – at its gleaming surfaces and precisely placed furniture, at the AGA she used to adore, the picture window that affords her a view of the large garden – and thinks how little it all means to her. The trappings of wealth now act as her prison, reminding her of how far she has come and how far she could fall. How very different her life could be should she choose to leave. A thread of unease is interlaced through her veins, becoming knotted and tangled, knocking her off balance.
