Loving Danny

by Hilary Freeman

  He drove in silence. He was deep in thought and I could tell he was torturing himself, wondering if he could have sung better or whether it was Dylan’s fault, or if The Wonderfulls should have rehearsed more.

  ‘There’ll be other chances, Danny,’ I said softly. ‘I’m sure of it.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  I didn’t want to leave him yet but he insisted on dropping me off at home. ‘It’s not you,’ he promised. ‘I won’t be good company tonight. I want to be on my own. Come round tomorrow afternoon?’

  ‘You were supposed to be coming for lunch, with my parents,’ I reminded him.

  ‘Oh shit. Look, can you tell them I’m really sorry. Make something up – I just don’t feel like it, OK?’

  ‘OK,’ I said, disappointed. ‘I’ll come round after lunch, then.’

  ‘That would be nice.’ He smiled, sadly. I kissed him and for a moment he forgot himself and started to respond. But then he pulled away from me and leaned over to open the car door.

  ‘I love you, Danny,’ I said, hoping it might make him feel better.

  ‘I love you too, Omi.’ His voice was monotone.

  Danny seemed in better spirits the next afternoon. He greeted me with a long, tender kiss, as if to make up for his lack of affection the previous night. ‘I’m OK,’ he assured me. ‘I’ve had a chat with the others and we’re going to record some more demos and send them out. We won’t let the bastards get us down.’

  I had told my parents that he’d missed lunch because he didn’t feel very well and that I was going over later to look after him. They’d accepted my explanation without too much fuss and didn’t question me further. Mum had even let me off dessert and asked, with genuine concern, if Danny needed anything. I’d almost quipped, ‘A record deal,’ but thought better of it.

  We lounged around on Danny’s sofa for a couple of hours, listening to music and watching rubbish television. I was always amazed how much trivia Danny kept in his head. He knew all the characters’ names in the soaps, what the actors had been in before and what was going on in their private lives. But he was also well up on current affairs, able to fill me in on the latest developments in the Middle East and why a particular economic policy was bad news for the country. As for his knowledge of music, it was encyclopaedic. Whenever I said I liked a particular song, he’d say, ‘You might like this, then,’ and he’d go to his CD collection – which covered the wall of his living room – and pick out something by an obscure artist I’d never heard of. He was the same with books. His brain was like a sponge – if he was interested in something he had to know it all, to possess it.

  ‘Do you fancy doing something – going somewhere, maybe?’ I asked when the central heating began to make me feel drowsy.

  ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘We could go into town, do a museum or gallery or something.’

  I nodded. ‘That would be nice.’

  ‘I’d better get changed,’ he said. He was wearing last night’s long-sleeved, grey T-shirt, which now smelled of stale smoke and sweat. I watched as he peeled it over his head, admiring his slim torso and muscular shoulders. But as he pulled off the sleeves, I noticed a large, flesh-coloured plaster on his forearm. It hadn’t been there yesterday.

  ‘What happened to your arm, Danny?’ I was curious and a little concerned.

  ‘Hey?’ His head was still caught on the top. He wriggled out of it.

  ‘The plaster. Did you hurt yourself?’

  He became suddenly modest, draping the T-shirt over himself and avoiding eye contact. ‘Oh, that. It’s nothing. I caught myself on a guitar string last night. Don’t worry about it.’

  But I was worried. I knew Danny well enough by now to know when he was lying. It seemed odd – more than coincidence, certainly – that a guitar string should have cut him on almost the same part of his arm as his old, schoolboy injury. Or, maybe that hadn’t been an accident either. Could he have done it to himself? Were both wounds self-inflicted? Were they drug-related? Was Danny doing more than just smoking the odd spliff? Or had he been in a fight?

  Before I could say anything else, Danny had scurried into the bedroom. When he returned, his top changed, he was smiling. ‘Let’s go, then.’

  ‘All right,’ I said, forcing myself to smile back.

  I brushed my worries to the back of my mind – I was getting good at that. I hated myself for feeling suspicious of Danny and anyway, it didn’t make sense. People only hurt themselves or picked fights when they were really troubled or depressed, didn’t they? Last night hadn’t gone well, but Danny didn’t generally seem down, did he? If Danny was doing something destructive, it could only mean that there was something he wasn’t telling me . . . that I wasn’t making him happy. Didn’t he feel close enough to me to confide in me? Wasn’t I enough for him? Might it even be my fault? I couldn’t face that possibility; it was far better for me to ignore my concerns and play dumb. I wasn’t yet ready to open Pandora’s box.

  We caught the bus into town and walked around for a while, looking in the shop windows. Then we went to see a photographic exhibition, which I’d mentioned I fancied catching. I’d never had anyone to go to this type of exhibition with before – my friends thought them boring. But Danny encouraged my love of photography; he said I was talented and should dump law and make a career out of it. I was starting to think that it was a good idea. Danny had a lot of good ideas. They took me down avenues I’d never have visited on my own and made me aware that, if I wanted, I could skirt around the paths that I felt had been laid out for me.

  Chapter 12

  Danny dropped me home late that night. I walked through the front door, smiling to myself, feeling that I was wrapped in the warm glow of happiness. I’d had a lovely time with Danny at the exhibition and we had followed it with a meal out and a hot chocolate back at his place.

  But as I entered the hall I noticed that the kitchen light was on. I peered around the door to find Mum and Dad sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for me.

  ‘Where have you been?’ asked Dad in a nagging voice, which I knew meant trouble.

  ‘You know where I’ve been – I’ve been at Danny’s.’ I was still smiling. ‘We went to an exhibition – I’ve got some postcards – look.’ I rummaged around in my bag. I’d bought some great images, portraits that had been taken using this cool technique called solarisation, which made them look like paintings. I was really excited by it.

  ‘I thought he was ill,’ said Mum, obviously hurt that I had lied.

  I cursed myself silently for forgetting. Mum had seemed genuinely concerned about Danny and now I’d disappointed her and dropped him in it too. ‘He was feeling better,’ I said. I quickly changed the subject. ‘Anyway, why are you up so late – isn’t it past your bedtime?’ I grinned, checking my watch. It was almost one in the morning.

  ‘This is not the time to be cheeky,’ said Dad flatly. ‘We’ve been at a charity supper quiz. I’m sure that doesn’t interest you. But what you might like to know is that Martin Stevens was there.’

  ‘Oh.’ Martin Stevens was, of course, my boss and an acquaintance of Dad’s. ‘How was he?’

  ‘He was absolutely fine and so was his wife. However, he’s under the impression that you haven’t been too well of late.’

  ‘Really?’ I asked.

  I hadn’t expected the attack, wasn’t prepared for it.

  ‘You know exactly what I’m talking about, Naomi, don’t deny it. Martin said you’ve had a few days off here and there, without notice, and that you’ve been coming in late rather too often. He’s also noticed that you’re not performing very well, that your mind doesn’t seem to be on the job. Have you got anything to say to that?’

  ‘No, not really,’ I muttered.

  ‘Well, is it true?’

  ‘I guess, a bit.’

  ‘Why, Naomi? You worked so hard to get that placement and it took no small amount of effort on my part, either. Why are you letting yourself down?’

  ‘It’s bo
ring,’ I said. ‘It’s not what I expected at all. They leave me alone half the day, doing stuff like filing and photocopying. I hate it.’

  ‘What did you expect? You’re hardly likely to be asked to represent people in court now, are you? For heaven’s sake, Naomi, this is an opportunity to learn about how things work, to get some experience for your CV. It’s invaluable for your degree and it could potentially lead to future work as a lawyer in that practice.’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to be a lawyer,’ I said quietly.

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I don’t think I want to work in law after all.’

  Dad got up from the table. ‘What? You are joking, aren’t you? You’ve got a place at one of the best universities in the country to read law next year and now you say you’ve changed your mind?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to pack in law and do photography instead. Danny thinks I’m a natural.’ As I said it I thought, Yes, that’s what I want to do. I’ll become a photographer. Saying the words helped shaped the idea in my mind, made it a real option.

  Dad exploded. ‘You nincompoop!’ It was such a funny word that I had to try hard not to laugh. Dad was always so worried about not swearing that he kept a collection of the most old-fashioned expressions in his head. He was the only person I knew who still said ‘crikey’ and ‘good grief and ‘gosh’. ‘Nincompoop’ was his favourite when he thought someone was acting like an idiot. ‘You fool!’ he continued. ‘After all your years of hard work you’re now planning on throwing it all away. I’m very disappointed, Naomi. Very disappointed. You’re just being . . . stupid!’ His round face was red and puffy with anger, his cheeks swelling like a cooked tomato that was about to explode.

  ‘I’m not being stupid!’ I shouted. ‘I’m just doing what I want for a change.’

  ‘Are you?’ interrupted Mum, in a calm, soft voice. She had kept quiet until now. She got up from the table and walked over to my side.

  ‘Of course. What do you mean?’

  ‘Are you doing what you really want or what Danny wants you to do?’

  ‘They’re the same thing,’ I said. ‘Danny knows me. He understands me.’

  ‘But you never said you wanted to do photography before. You always had your heart set on becoming a lawyer.’

  ‘I’ve always enjoyed photography, you know I have.’

  ‘Yes, as a hobby, not a career. It just strikes me that it’s Danny who’s encouraged this. He’s a nice, intelligent boy and we like him very much, but he has some crazy ideas.’

  ‘What’s crazy about photography?’

  ‘That’s not what I mean. We’re not wealthy like Danny’s family. We can’t support you forever. We want you to have a career that will give you a happy, comfortable life. I don’t think you’ve thought this through, Naomi. Have you?’

  She was right. I hadn’t. But I wasn’t going to let her know that.

  ‘Yes, I have. It’s what I want to do and if you won’t support me, that’s fine. Danny will be there for me.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Dad spluttered. ‘You’re eighteen years old, he’s – what – twenty? You might both feel differently in a few years. Do you really think life is that easy?’

  That hurt. I’d believed that Mum and Dad knew how serious I was about Danny. Now it transpired that they thought it was just a silly, teenage fling.

  ‘But I love him,’ I said. ‘And he loves me. We’re soulmates.’

  ‘Oh, Naomi,’ said Mum. She came towards me and tried to hug me, but I left my arms hanging by my sides. ‘I know you love him. But love doesn’t pay the bills.’

  ‘We’ll work something out,’ I said.

  Mum tried another tack. ‘Naomi, do you think that you would have changed your mind about law if it hadn’t been for Danny?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Maybe.’

  She was hesitant. ‘You know we like Danny . . . it’s just that you seem to have been very influenced by him.’

  ‘Influenced?’

  ‘Yes. Ever since you started going out with him you’ve done nothing but talk about him and his band. You haven’t seen any of your other friends – you hardly speak to Debbie any more. Now we find out you’ve missed work too. And today, you lied for him. He’s a very strong character. Where have you gone, Naomi?’

  ‘This is me,’ I said, pointing to my chest. ‘This is the real me. Maybe I just didn’t realise it before.’

  Mum shook her head in exasperation. ‘We’re not trying to upset you, we’re just worried about you. We don’t want you to make any foolish mistakes.’

  ‘I thought you liked him. You said you liked him!’

  ‘We do, Naomi. But he doesn’t seem the most responsible or stable person.’

  She had touched a raw nerve, questioned the very things that had begun to worry me about Danny. Rather than admit that – to Mum or to myself – I reacted with anger. ‘What?! I’m eighteen, I don’t want stability or responsibility. You’re so middle-aged.’

  ‘Don’t be rude to your mother,’ said Dad protectively. ‘We’ve got more life experience than you and we can see that you’re risking making a mistake. Maybe you should take some time out for yourself . . . perhaps you should stop seeing Danny for a while, eh?’

  ‘No!’ I cried. I looked at Mum, pleading with my eyes. Surely she must understand. ‘You can’t ask me to do that. I love him.’

  ‘I think it’s for the best,’ she said flatly, her eyes downcast. ‘Just for a little bit, while you have a think about things.’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She wasn’t my rational, kind, understanding mother – she must be an alien replicant. She knew how happy Danny made me. How could she ask me to break up with him?

  ‘I can’t do it!’ I shouted. ‘I won’t do it.’

  ‘Can’t do what?’ None of us had noticed that Emily had wandered into the room. She was wearing her nightie and looked bleary-eyed.

  ‘It’s nothing, Emily,’ said Mum. ‘Go back to bed. You’ve got school in the morning.’

  Emily didn’t move. ‘I woke up and heard raised voices,’ she said, looking from Mum to Dad to me and then back to Mum again. ‘Has something happened?’

  ‘No,’ said Mum. ‘It’s all OK.’

  ‘Yes!’ I cried, certain that Emily would understand and take my side. ‘It’s not OK. Mum and Dad want me to stop seeing Danny.’

  Emily walked over to me and placed her hand on my shoulder. ‘What? Why?’

  ‘They think he’s a bad influence.’

  Mum sighed. ‘That’s not exactly what we said, Naomi. We just said things were getting a bit out of hand and that maybe you should take some time to think about it all.’

  I could feel my face growing red, the muscles in my jaw and forehead clenching. I stepped forward, unsure what I would do or say, my arms flailing in frustration.

  ‘I’m sure there’s another way,’ said Emily, stroking my hair. She chewed her lip in thought. She had taken it upon herself to play the mediator. ‘Naomi loves Danny – she’s been so happy since she met him. Can’t you give him another chance and then see?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake,’ said Dad, irritated. ‘This is getting silly. What we have suggested is very sensible – some time apart for Naomi to sort herself out.’

  ‘I can’t do it,’ I repeated.

  ‘It might not be your choice. You live under our roof,’ said Dad firmly. I didn’t like his insinuation.

  ‘I’m eighteen, I’m an adult. If you don’t want me to see Danny, I’ll leave home.’

  Dad laughed. ‘And where exactly will you go?’

  ‘To Danny’s,’ I stated. My hand was already reaching for the mobile phone in my coat pocket. ‘I’m going to go round there now.’

  ‘It’s the middle of the night,’ said Mum. I could tell she was anxious, worried that she and Dad had gone too far.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Nay,’ said Emily. She tried to stroke my hair again, but I push
ed her hand away. Her bottom lip began to quiver. I felt awful. She hated it when anybody argued and here she was, right in the middle of it, trying to appease all three of us and getting nowhere. ‘Why don’t you sleep on it and when everybody’s calmed down we’ll talk about it some more?’ she added, her voice shaky.

  I mulled over Emily’s idea. ‘Will you change your mind about Danny?’ I asked Dad.

  ‘Of course not,’ he said stubbornly.

  ‘Well, in that case, there’s no point.’ I started walking into the hall. I felt strangely exhilarated. ‘I’m not going to change my mind about him either. So I might as well go now.’

  ‘Naomi!’ Mum shouted. ‘Don’t be silly. Come back!’

  ‘Please don’t go, Nay,’ begged Emily, as tears began to roll down her face.

  I was aware that she was following close behind me, but I didn’t turn around – I quickened my pace. As I slammed the front door behind me I heard Mum and Emily still calling, ‘Naomi! Naomi!’

  I phoned Danny from the corner of my road. I prayed he was not yet asleep and would pick up. I hid myself behind a hedge, in case my parents came out looking for me. Going home was not an option – I had left my keys in the hall and I couldn’t face Mum and Dad’s smug looks if I rang the doorbell in defeat. We’d never fallen out like this before and I wanted them to know how important Danny was to me. I was desperately upset, and not quite sure what I was doing, but one thing was certain – they deserved to sweat a little.

  Thankfully, Danny answered the phone immediately.

  ‘Please come and get me,’ I sobbed, before he could say a word.

  ‘What’s happened, Omi? Are you OK? Where are you?’

  ‘I’m at the end of my street. Please come and get me, Danny.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ he said, the tone of his voice coloured by a mixture of reassurance, confusion and concern. ‘Give me five minutes.’

  It seemed to take forever for Danny to arrive. Standing there, waiting alone in the darkness, I felt cold and vulnerable. Every time I heard the sound of a car I stepped out from the shadows, allowing myself to be illuminated by its headlights. None of them was Danny’s. One car slowed down, causing my heart to beat wildly in terror. All I need now, I thought, is to be abducted by some crazed sex attacker. My parents would think I was with Danny and nobody would report me missing for days.