Floored

by Sara Barnard

  It’s not for you or I to say what that is; he has to work it out for himself. In the meantime, there’s beer and sunloungers and girls like Cat who touch him in places so many others had before – places that always provoke a reaction, if only for a moment or two, before he goes back to feeling nothing at all. Poor Hugo, with his perfect hair and perfect tan and perfect life. He doesn’t have to worry about his clothes fitting or if he can afford a milkshake. His life is just one milkshake after the other. He has it all, and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

  What he really wants is what Kaitlyn and Dawson have. That bond. To share his life with someone who knows him – not someone who knows his mother or his friends or what school he goes to . . . but who really knows him. Sasha gets that. Hugo, whose mother is never there, probably thinks he has nothing in common with someone whose father is always there, but they both feel distant and disconnected, looking on at the rest of the group, desperate to feel something – anything – that will make them feel like there’s someone else on the tiny patch of the planet they all share that they’re connected to . . . He’ll never admit that though, so instead he complains. Complains that his life is boring, and that he wants something to change.

  But he should be careful what he wishes for.

  HISTORY

  TODAY

  How do you know if you’re bi? Google search

  Am I bi? Google search

  Can you be gay but like a girl? Google search

  How can I figure out if I’m bisexual, or if I am just going through a phase? Google search

  What does bi-curious mean? Google search

  Dominos Salford closing time Google search

  Dawson:

  Where are you?

  Mum:

  Out. Why?

  What time will you be back?

  Why? Do you have someone over?

  In America they stick a sock on the doorknob.

  Do not do that.

  Hilarious. I need to talk to you about something

  Dawson, I know you’re gay.

  It’s too late to come out to me now.

  So if this is about getting some kind of cake, not happening.

  Dawson? You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?

  What if I’m not gay? What if I’m bi?

  I’ll be home at seven. Order food.

  NOT PIZZA.

  Love you xxx

  HISTORY

  TODAY

  Tandoori Palace order online Google search

  NHS Appointments:

  VELVET BROWN – This is a reminder of your appointment at 10:00 tomorrow. Please call the clinic if you can’t attend or text CANCEL up to half an hour before your appointment. If you need further support or information, please call our helpline.

  YEAR FOUR

  Kaitlyn:

  So, we’re really doing this? We’re going on a date?

  Dawson:

  We’re really doing it. In fact, I’m parked three doors down, having a low-key panic attack.

  Kaitlyn:

  Am I that scary?

  Dawson:

  Which answer is least likely to get me murdered?

  Kaitlyn:

  Just come and get me, you loser

  Dawson:

  OK. OK

  One last thing . . .Is it clichéd if I have flowers?

  Kaitlyn:

  Depends what flowers they are. Obvs

  Dawson:

  They’re pink? Not roses or daffodils. They’re the only flower brands I know

  Kaitlyn:

  Flower . . . brands?

  OMG why aren’t you on my doorstep yet?

  Dawson:

  OK. I’m coming now.

  With my pink flowers. BE NICE x

  Kaitlyn:

  xx

  Dawson:

  Home safe xx

  Was that weird? That was weird. Sorry Not the message. The other bit

  The kiss, I mean. Sorry

  Xx

  Kaitlyn:

  Maybe a little bit weird?

  Dawson:

  Oh God. OK. Sorry

  Kaitlyn:

  Stop saying sorry!

  Dawson:

  Sorry

  Shit

  Kaitlyn:

  OMG!

  Dawson:

  I don’t want it to be weird

  You’re my best friend

  Kaitlyn:

  Not BAD weird . . .

  Just . . . weird. The date was great!

  Dawson:

  But the kiss was weird?

  Kaitlyn:

  That’s not what I meant! First kisses are always weird. This was just extra

  For reasons

  Dawson:

  OK. Hang on.

  Kaitlyn:

  Why?

  For what?

  Dawson:

  Come outside x

  Home again. That definitely wasn’t weird. That was definitely good. Wasn’t it?

  Kaitlyn:

  Very good

  Dawson:

  OK. So. Practice. That’s the trick. Lots of practice. Shall we practise tomorrow? I would be up for a practice tomorrow

  Kaitlyn:

  I think that’s a good idea. But I should probably go to sleep now xx

  Dawson:

  Same. I’ve got a lecture at nine

  Kaitlyn:

  Today was really great xx

  And tonight xx

  Dawson:

  It was

  I’m going to need coaching for second base, fyi . . .

  Kaitlyn:

  I . . . think we already did second base?!

  Dawson:

  That was 2nd? Damn, I’m smooth.

  That’s not even a base with guys

  Kaitlyn:

  Or maybe I’m just THAT good at coaching ;)

  Dawson:

  It’s on you when I mess up third then

  Wait what is third? Specifically?

  Kaitlyn:

  Dawson:

  I’m googling it

  Oh

  OK, so maybe not tomorrow

  Kaitlyn:

  Night xx

  Dawson:

  Night xxx

  Kaitlyn:

  What do we do about the others?

  Dawson:

  I don’t want to do any bases with them

  Kaitlyn:

  :P

  Seriously!

  Dawson:

  Well. . . Maybe let’s not say anything until we’ve figured it out? Not that I don’t want people to know. But . . . it’s a lot, you know?

  Kaitlyn:

  Yeah, ikwym. It can just be ours for now?

  Dawson:

  Yes. So, tomorrow then? I’ll come get you after college?

  Kaitlyn:

  Can’t wait xx

  Dawson:

  Night xxx

  Kaitlyn:

  Night xxx

  Dawson:

  xxxx

  PARLIAMENT’S OWN BROKEBACK MOUNTAIN? Tory and Labour MPs cross-party gay affair revealed

  ‘HE USED ME AS A BEARD’ Delaney’s ‘heartbroken’ wife speaks out against disgraced Tory MP

  GAY MP FORCED TO RESIGN Spurned wife leaks expenses scandal, saying, ‘Why should I lie for him any more?’

  ‘Shouldve taken the stairs’

  Kaitlyn:

  http://www.thesun.co.uk/­news/politician-cross-party-affair-shock/

  Holy crap! Did you all read this? That’s Hugo’s dad, right?

  Joe:

  Sasha:

  Poor Hugo

  (Never thought I’d type those words in the same sentence)

  Dawson:

  Same. He’s a dick, but this is shit

  Joe:

  Just skimmed the full article. It’s bad. Really, really bad

  Velvet:

  Imagine how Hugo must be feeling . . . Nobody deserves that

  Sasha:

  SASHA

  The dress was Mum’s. Lots of the best things in my ward
robe were once hers. Unlike my mother, Dad’s someone who likes to hang on to the past, and when she went, he shoved everything she left behind into vacuum bags.

  If we had any money, I’d go to the Polish tailor on the parade where Dad used to take all his suits when he had a job that required them. As it is, the dress is tight round the boobs and a little short at the hem.

  I hope Nan won’t mind . . .

  Over on the bed, I hear my phone buzz.

  What time does the party end again?

  I wish Michela wouldn’t call it a party.

  Starts 3 p.m., not sure when it’ll finish. Two hours, maybe? You don’t have to come if it’s too much hassle, I reply.

  You trying to get rid of me? Course I’m coming. You need your friends with you.

  There’s something about the plural ‘friends’ that makes me suspicious, but then I hear Dad shout from the kitchen. It’s time to get on.

  ‘These arrived—’ he starts to say before he sees me. He stops then, stares, reaching up to scratch stubble he shaved off this morning. ‘Don’t you have anything else you could wear?’

  I shake my head. ‘Nothing smart enough.’

  Dad looks at me again and sighs. ‘I’m surprised it fits.’ Then he shrugs and waves a hand at some flowers sitting in the sink. ‘Those have your name on.’

  Hey Sash. These aren’t traditional, but it sounds to me like neither was your nan. K xxx

  K for Kaitlyn. There’s pale yellow roses, some flowers with indigo petals that I don’t recognize, and the smiling faces of some deep orange gerberas. I stare at the cheerful colours and hold my breath, suffocating my tears.

  ‘They’re from my friend who’s a florist,’ I say to Dad, emotions back in check.

  ‘What friend?’

  ‘Online friend.’

  ‘One of the ones coming today?’ he asks. We had a bit of an argument about that.

  ‘No. One of the others.’

  The guys were all super lovely when I messaged them to say that my nan had died. I don’t even really know why I did it . . . none of them knew her. It just feels like even though I never see them, Kaitlyn, Joe, Dawson and Velvet are the people I want to talk to the most. I like sending Kaitlyn pictures of flowers and asking her what they are, like a floral Shazam. I ask Velvet about outfits I’m experimenting with, and I’m always bugging Dawson about what programmes to watch out for. Like, I know he’s not really doing much acting these days, but he always seems to know what’s going to be good on TV before everyone else does.

  And Joe? He’s been talking to me about his love life. It’s nice to have someone actually want my opinion, and coaching someone else through a new relationship is much more fun than bothering to do it yourself. Although if Joe Lindsay was an option, I might reconsider. But he isn’t. So that’s that.

  It was Joe who’d asked if I wanted any of them to come. Dawson can’t. I think he’s helping out at his dad’s bar – somewhere like Ayia Napa or Ibiza, with sun and sea and lots of drunk people. And Kaitlyn’s on holiday, which isn’t a huge surprise, it being summer. But Joe and Velvet – they’ll be here.

  No Hugo. Obviously. He’s not someone I ever think of as being part of the group, but when Kaitlyn sent that link . . .

  Can you loathe someone and still feel sad for them? Because I kind of do. I composed three different messages to send, and chickened out on all of them. I’ve never known how to talk to Hugo.

  ‘Sasha?’ There’s a hand squeezing my shoulder, and I realize I’m still standing at the sink. ‘Come on, love. We need to get going.’

  The traffic’s slow, and Dad switches between radio stations, looking for something that suits the occasion, until he finally settles on silence. It’s been like that a lot in the last few weeks. He’s not watched anything on telly from start to finish. Not even the weather at the end of the local news, which only lasts three minutes. He used to be obsessive about knowing the forecast.

  I scroll listlessly through stuff on my phone, finding the Facebook message my mum sent.

  Bubba. I do not have your new number. (I’ve had the same number since I got my first phone, but sure.) I am so sorry about your nana. Elaine was a kind woman and I liked her very much. I know it’s not like this with you and I, but you can call me. Always. For anything.

  A sign-off to assuage her guilt. When I was little, she would end every conversation this way, but if I called, she wouldn’t answer, and I’d get confused by a voicemail in a language she’d never cared to teach me – it wasn’t like Albanian was an option in my primary school. If she did pick up, she’d sound annoyed, asking me if it was important. It only made things worse. For me. For Dad. He tries so hard to be everything I need that sometimes he forgets it’s impossible for him to be more than one person. That sometimes I crave a conversation with anyone who isn’t my father.

  For so many years, that person was my nan, and now she’s gone too.

  ‘My sister’s here already then.’ Dad swings our ancient Toyota a couple of spaces away from an enormous gleaming Audi.

  I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say to that. It’s not like Auntie Chris isn’t going to turn up to her own mother’s funeral, is it?

  Only then I wonder whether I would turn up to my mother’s funeral. Presumably only if someone sent me a Facebook message to tell me it was happening . . . The thought hollows me out so much, I feel sick.

  ‘Tony!’ Auntie Chris flings her arms out and pulls Dad in for a hug. Then it’s my turn. ‘Little Sash – it’s been so long . . .’

  She goes to hug me, but I’m holding Kaitlyn’s flowers, and she ends up going for an arm squeeze. I shake hands with her husband, Mike, and exchange awkward waves with my cousins. Winona – Win, as she’s become on all the recent Christmas cards – is fourteen and fashionable. Sean is twenty and halfway through an engineering degree at Oxford. Pembroke College.

  Hard to believe someone from my family gets to do something like that.

  It’s not until we emerge from the path leading towards the front of the building that the place looks familiar. This is where Steven Jeffords was buried.

  The place looks totally different for my nan, like it too has dressed for the occasion. Clouds sit low in the sky, a muted, respectful grey over a crowd of people as black and dense as a colony of ants, all murmuring to each other. I hear my name on someone’s lips and turn to see Nan’s neighbour, who gives me a tucked-in smile of acknowledgement.

  Everyone wants to talk to us. Nan lived in the same house all her life, and there’s no one here who doesn’t remember either Dad or me. I can see Auntie Chris getting a bit frustrated by this, but she left Manchester years ago and only comes back every other Christmas, so I don’t know what she expected.

  It’s all getting a bit much, so quietly, when I think I can get away with it, I slip round the side of the building, flowers and all, and make straight for where I can see two figures, standing some distance away, gazing down at a sad little plaque set into the ground. It’s been a year since I’ve seen them – Instagram doesn’t do Velvet justice, and Joe never posts any pictures of himself, so it’s with a start that I realize he’s grown taller. Broader and stronger.

  Better-looking.

  Bet Velvet’s noticing him now . . .

  I’m standing next to them, looking down at the mark Steven Jeffords left on this world, before they realize I’m there.

  ‘Bloody hell, Sasha!’ Joe starts. ‘Creeping up on people in graveyards is not cool.’

  ‘Sorry.’ I put the flowers down and wipe my hands on my dress, even though they’re not wet. ‘Hello. Thanks for coming, guys.’

  ‘Like we wouldn’t,’ Velvet says, and she steps in to give me the kind of hug I really need. Warm and sweet-smelling. Genuine.

  Joe pats me awkwardly on the back.

  We break apart, and all three of us look down at Steven’s plaque.

  ‘I really hope our friendship isn’t going to be like a macabre inversion of Four Wedding
s and a Funeral,’ Joe says, and both me and Velvet give him quizzical looks. ‘What? Carly really likes romcoms. She’s been making me watch one every weekend since we started going out. To educate me.’