‘The little sod,’ Edna growled. ‘Top this up, love.’ She handed me her glass.
They were acting like a pair of lady Irish gangsters, which filled my head with worry.
‘Who told you?’ I said.
‘I wish you had,’ Mum said in a telling-off tone. ‘But it was someone at church. He’s in the police. He’s not there every week, so it was lucky really. There was a prayer for his brother. Poor lad. George was his name. Only thirty-six, and there he was, minding his own business and –’
The back gate clicked, and we all looked round.
The sound of clacky shoes came down the side path, and my cousin Dawn gave a shrieky sound. ‘Birdy.’ She stretched her arms out. ‘Birdy, Birdy, Birdy.’
‘You enjoy your party now.’ Mum patted me on the back. ‘We’ll talk about it later.’
Dawn wrapped her arms around me and squeezed me tight. ‘Nice outfit,’ she said.
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Maroon suits you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Perhaps a little scarf.’ She fiddled with my collar. ‘Maybe not. Anyway, look what I got you.’ She handed me a present. I ripped off the wrapping paper and saw a beautiful burgundy model of a vintage car.
‘Thank you so much.’ I leant in but missed her cheek and kissed her ear.
Eileen’s face nearly burst from holding in laughing, so she took Dawn by the arm to get a beer.
A stream of chattery aunties, muttery uncles, grinning cousins and nosy neighbours came into the garden. One after the other, they handed me parcels. Each time the gate squeaked, I looked up for Kat.
‘There’s three different sandwich spreads Mum’s done for you, Birdy Flynn,’ Eileen shouted.
‘Has she?’ I stopped her to have a look. ‘She has, wow. I didn’t know three existed.’
‘That’s how much she loves you.’ Eileen passed the plates to Aunty Marie. She squeezed my arm.
We both stood like statues while everyone else buzzed about.
‘Everything else all right?’ Eileen asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Anything else wrong?’ she said. She folded and unfolded and refolded the tea towel in her hand, and her cheeks started warming.
‘How much you been drinking?’
‘Oh, sod you then.’
‘Eileen, I’m fine. I’m waiting for a friend, that’s all.’
‘Just enjoy the party,’ she said like the words were hard to get out. ‘Start the dancing off.’ She giggled, knowing there’d be more chance of me walking on Mars.
Uncle Jimmy stood in the middle of the garden, doing his Tommy Cooper impression. All around him were swaying bodies and music and laughing. Baby Mari was eating grass. Patrick was doing his robotic dance.
I went to go indoors, but Aunty Margaret stepped in front of me.
‘Hello, darling,’ she said, handing me a big box.
I had to kneel on the ground to unwrap it. It was Meccano, a bridge-building kit. I stood up and didn’t know what words to use to tell Aunty Margaret it was absolutely beautiful.
Aunty Maeve and Uncle Archie got me a rucksack and a real army torch. Aunty Mary got me a pac-a-mac kagool, because she always liked to be practical.
Uncle Tommy couldn’t make it, but sent his love and an amazing stationery set.
Uncle Timmy and Aunty Peggy staggered across the garden and handed me a white plastic bag. I put my hand in and pulled out a green football shirt.
‘Thank you.’ I kissed Aunty Peggy’s cheek, which smelt of roses, like Mum’s. Uncle Timmy showed me the Ireland badge and firmly shook my hand.
Other presents included Lego, Top Trump cards and a magnifying kit.
Eileen came over with two glasses of Tizer. ‘Bloody Hell, Birdy. Look at all the presents you have.’
‘I know – loads.’
We both stared at the pile.
‘Why you frowning?’ I asked her.
She sunk into thought. ‘Don’t they know you’re –’
‘What?’
‘Twelve.’
‘Oh, I know. It’s funny, isn’t it? And they’re not really presents for girls.’
‘No.’ Eileen paused to think. ‘They’re presents for you. If you like them, that’s all that matters.’
By five o’clock everyone was dancing, so I went inside, where Uncle Timmy was starting one of his rebel songs. His voice was loud and strong and he was singing in Irish, pronouncing each word perfect with the whole of his lips. After a slow smooth start, he built up to a ferocious wild tornado that would rip a flimsy roof off. His singing gave you goosebumps even if you were warm. His eyes were closed, his head faced up to Heaven and the whole room watched with all of their attention. As he slowed to his finish I thought he might cry, but when the applause exploded he looked like the happiest man alive.
‘Jesus, Timmy, you can sing,’ someone shouted, and everyone clapped and every face beamed.
I wished Kat was there to see the thrill of it with me.
In the kitchen, behind me, Uncle Jimmy was giving out the kisses. He was saying to someone he had enough runner beans to last until Christmas.
‘Ah, there you are,’ Aunty Marie said to me as she came down the stairs.
I let her pass.
‘God bless.’ She kissed me on the cheek.
‘Thank you for my present, Aunty Marie.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ she said, ‘and I’ll send Uncle Tommy your kiss.’
I nodded, because I didn’t have a choice.
Mum, Edna, Aunty Peggy and Aunty Margaret were at the kitchen table. They were playing cards, with a little bottle of whiskey in the middle, and I was worried they were hatching a plan.
Aunty Marie gave a last wave goodbye to them before she opened our front door. But then she paused. She didn’t walk out. ‘Come in, love,’ she said, and she stood aside because Kat was standing on our doorstep.
I waved at Kat to come in. She took small steps, and with her eyes she asked me if each step was all right. Keep going, my eyes said to her, like a nan watching over a toddling grandchild.
I introduced her to everyone at the kitchen table. I noticed Mum had removed the whiskey bottle and Edna’s face was covered in disapproval. I poured us each a lemonade and, through the kitchen window, I showed Kat who was who in the garden dancing. Mum told Kat which of my uncles she should avoid. Edna sat in a sulky mood, and before Peggy started her embarrassing questions, I asked Kat if she’d like to see my room.
‘Has anything happened to Martin?’ I asked Kat as I closed my bedroom door.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’ve been keeping away from everyone.’
‘Well, you can hide here,’ I said, and she smiled.
I moved two piles of Daily Telegraphs to make a space on my bed, and showed Kat where to sit down.
‘Do you read that?’ she asked, and pulled a face that said I shouldn’t.
‘Yeah, why?’
Kat picked up a copy from the top of the pile.
‘It’s where I was going to send my letters to,’ I said.
The paper she held up had a picture of the Pope in his Popemobile on the front. She opened it up and started reading through each article. I copied her. We both read quietly for a moment. She seemed to understand all the words because she didn’t ask for my dictionary once.
‘Was Martin’s dad really a bodyguard for the Pope?’ I said, as she turned the pages in silence.
She laughed.
‘Martin told me he was.’
Kat shook her head. ‘His dad, our dad, is always doing that – winding him up. And Martin always believes him and tells everyone, and then feels like an idiot.’ She held out the Daily Telegraph letters page and spread it across my desk. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘We could do a joint letter.’ Her eyes waited for me to answer. ‘About Mrs Cope.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Why not? Look, we’ll do it professional, copy the way these do it.’ She pointed t
o the letters starting Dear Sir.
‘You and me?’
‘Yeah, we can say that she shouldn’t get her MBE. We would like to draw it to your attention, la-de-da-de-da,’ she said, and I laughed.
‘OK.’ I handed Kat my best pad of paper. ‘Sit on my stool,’ I said, and Kat sat down.
She started writing the Daily Telegraph address out.
The Daily Telegraph
135–141 Fleet Street
London
EC4
Her handwriting was like flowing bits of art.
‘Has she?’ The words just spilt out.
‘What?’ Kat looked up.
‘Has she . . .’ My cheeks burnt up. ‘Has she done it to anyone else?’
‘Don’t know.’
Kat shrugged and went back to writing. Then she wrote down the date, left a space for our address and thought about what to write next.
Sunday 25 July 1982
Dear Sir
‘Is it just girls?’ I said.
‘What do you mean?’ Kat looked at me.
‘I thought she did it because I dress like a boy.’
Kat’s mouth opened, but no words came out.
‘I do though, don’t I?’ I said, but again Kat had no answer. ‘I thought that was why she did it to me. As punishment or something. Lots of teachers tell me I should dress more . . .’
‘Dress more what?’
‘I don’t know. Appropriate? Is that the right word? That’s what they say. And I thought if I dressed like a girl that would make everything all right. But it didn’t. It made it worse. I ended up in hospital.’ I kept talking and Kat twiddled the pen. ‘I ended up worse.’
‘But . . .’ Kat let out a deep, long sigh.
‘And Martin will never be my friend again, or any of the boys. I miss the laughs we used to have.’ I stopped. But Kat was still listening, so I carried on. ‘And Murphy is dead and I still, after ages and ages, I still can’t get her out of my head. I should have helped her. I should have been braver.’
‘Birdy, you are brave. Stop saying that stuff.’
‘I should’ve known what to do.’
‘Birdy,’ Kat said, to slow me down. ‘What did actually happen?’
‘I can’t.’ I shook my head. ‘I can’t bear to say it.’
‘Well.’ Kat paused, then said, ‘I like the clothes you wear.’
‘But it’s wrong.’
‘Says who?’
‘Everyone.’
‘How can clothes be wrong? It’s just clothes,’ Kat said, and I got a feeling in my body that took me by surprise. It sent my head spinning. My room started swinging from side to side. ‘You dress how you want to. I told you that before.’
‘What . . .’ I took a breath. ‘What if it isn’t just clothes?’
‘What’s that mean?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘More than clothes?’
‘I mean, I don’t know what I want, or who I want to be.’
‘Right.’ Kat put the pen down. She turned around to be fully facing me.
‘Oh, it doesn’t matter,’ I said. ‘Let’s do the letter.’
‘No. Keep saying what you were saying.’
‘Well, it’s worse,’ I said, and watched Kat’s face change from confident to puzzled. ‘Do you remember in the shop when the woman called me a him? “Let me serve him,” she said.’
Kat nodded. I couldn’t work out what she was thinking.
‘I liked it,’ I said and waited. Still Kat didn’t panic. ‘I think maybe I’m actually a boy. Not a girl. Or both. Or neither. I don’t know.’ Kat didn’t scream and run out of the room, so I carried on. ‘I like wearing army trousers and boxer shorts,’ I said and I cringed inside. ‘But I like being friends with you and you’re a girl and I like books now and reading and I’m going to start a diary, which only girls do, but I really, really, really don’t want any boobs.’
Kat giggled.
‘What?’
‘Sorry,’ she said and went straight back to her serious face.
‘You can have mine if you want.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’ll cut them off for you when they come.’
‘Great.’
‘It won’t be long.’
‘That would be a bit messy.’
‘I don’t care. I’ll cut them off with a knife.’
‘Birdy, don’t say that stuff.’
‘Do you reckon I’ll have to leave home?’
‘Leave home? Why?’
‘I don’t know. To go searching.’
‘Searching? For what?’ Kat said, and I had no quick answer.
‘To find something or somewhere that you didn’t know existed?’ I said after thinking. ‘The land of make-believe?’
Kat laughed – but with me, not at me, as if she liked my company.
‘Run for the sun, little one, you’re an outlaw once again,’ Kat sang just like Bucks Fizz, and we both creased up with hysterics.
I nearly wet myself but managed to hold it in.
‘Shall we write that letter?’ I said when we’d calmed down.
‘Oh yeah. Let’s get that done.’ Kat budged up and gave me half of my stool so we could both sit at the desk. ‘What do we want to say?’ she said.
‘That she’s a wicked witch.’
‘No, Birdy, it’s not Wizard of Oz.’
‘Right.’ I tried not to giggle.
‘I think we need to mention her by name, and our school.’
‘Really? Are you sure?’
‘Yes. We need to be . . . what’s the word? Specific.’
‘But won’t we get in trouble?’ I asked, and Kat paused to give it some thought.
‘What if we get accused of lying?’ I carried on.
‘Do you want to do nothing?’
‘No.’
‘Then we have to take a risk.’ She looked daring and fiery, like she’d challenged me to climb a fifty-foot tree.
‘OK,’ I said, but before Kat started writing, my bedroom door was opening.
‘Knock, knock,’ Eileen said before putting her head around. ‘Hello. What you two up to?’
‘Nothing.’ I covered the letter with my arm.
Eileen walked around us and sat on top of the newspapers on my bed.
‘Can you get off my newspapers?’
‘Everyone’s looking for you,’ Eileen said as she budged along a bit.
‘Are they?’
‘Why you hiding?’
‘I’m not. We’re just having a break from the party.’
‘I’ll go downstairs.’ Kat got up to go.
‘No, don’t.’
‘It’s OK. I’ll see you later.’ Kat nodded towards me.
‘Bye,’ Eileen said with a smile.
‘Eileen –’ I said through gritted teeth.
‘Look in there,’ she interrupted and handed me a plastic bag.
I held it.
‘Go on.’ She pointed to it.
I put my hand in and pulled out a record. It was Dexy’s Midnight Runners, ‘Come on Eileen’. I tried to smile.
‘Eileen, you’re obsessed.’
‘Of course I am. When the song “Come on Birdy” is number one, you will be as well.’ She nudged me. ‘Keep going.’
I looked in further and took out an envelope. Inside was an Our Price voucher for ten pounds. It was written: To the best sister in the world.
‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘That’s loads.’
‘Keep going, keep going.’
I reached in again and there was a long, dark green box. I opened it up. Inside it was a gleaming silver pen.
‘Do you like it?’ Eileen said in between hiccups.
‘Oh my God.’ It was like a jewel sitting on a black silky bed. I couldn’t speak.
‘It takes real ink.’
‘Thank you.’ I felt along its cold shiny edge. ‘How come you got me a pen?’
‘I guessed. I’m good at presents.’ She used her sleeve to wip
e dust off my empty bookshelf. ‘You need more things.’
‘Why you being so nice to me?’
‘You’re my sister.’
I looked for a secret message, for something she was after, but her eyes looked at everything but me.
‘Thank God today’s nearly over,’ she said. ‘I mean, you deserved it and everything, but –’
‘I know. It was a brilliant party. I got so much.’ I could feel Eileen studying me.
‘You did. And your school bag back?’
‘Yes, but it was empty. Why are you in my room quizzing me?’
‘Empty?’ She leant forward to see my face. ‘Someone nicked all your stuff?’
‘Well, not that empty.’
‘Right.’ She stood up. ‘Shall we bunk off tomorrow?’
I looked up at her.
‘Shall we? We’ll go up London for the day.’
‘Up London? Are you drunk?’
‘We’ll get you new pencils and paper and stuff.’ She spun around as if she’d got the best idea ever.
‘You’ve got work, Eileen.’
‘Sod them. I’ll take a day off.’
‘You can’t say that to a bank.’ I turned on my stool to follow her around my room. ‘I can’t miss school. I’m always taking Mondays off and Tuesday’s the last day of term.’
‘I don’t like Mondays,’ Eileen sang and laughed and grabbed my desk as she almost fell over.
‘No. I want to go to school.’
‘I’ll treat you to new clothes.’
‘New clothes?’
‘Actual new ones.’ Her words were slurry.
‘I don’t want new clothes. I don’t like clothes. I want to go to school.’
‘Come on. It’ll be an adventure.’
‘How will we get there?’
‘Oh God, by train, Birdy – choo-choo train – and I’ll pay for that as well.’ She smiled and nodded and waited for me.
‘Why aren’t you angry with me any more?’
‘Do you want to go or not?’
‘I’ll ask Mum.’
‘Great idea. What d’you think she’ll say?’ I shrugged, and she did an impression. ‘Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus, you are not taking my youngest daughter up to that centre of filth and loose living and Sodom and rah-rah.’
Birdy Flynn Page 25
