Finding Joe

by Anthony Masters

  “Come on, Jake,” said Joe as they sat by the lake. “What’s the problem? Why don’t you just say – ‘I’ll beat the twins’, and that’s it?”

  “Dad backs them.”

  “Does he?”

  “So does Mum.”

  “Crap!” Joe gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “You know what your dad said to me?”

  Jake shook his head. He didn’t want to hear. Then he asked, “What did he say?”

  “He said you and I are going to set the world on fire.”

  “What’s that meant to mean?”

  “I don’t know.” Joe looked taken aback, but he soon recovered. “I’ll tell you what I think he means.”

  “Well?”

  “Suppose we pace ourselves in the marathon like we pace ourselves here. I mean – we’re going to run over the same ground so we’ll have plenty of practice. We’ll really know every inch of the course. We’ll run the marathon together.”

  For a moment Joe sounded so convincing that Jake felt a rush of optimism. Could miracles happen? Could he win for his own sake? Not because of the twins?

  “Just think what your dad – and mum – would say if you did well.”

  “They’d be gobsmacked.”

  “Too right they would.”

  “You can outpace me.”

  “Can I? Want to take a bet?” said Joe.

  “I don’t stand a chance.” Jake was suddenly full of self-pity.

  “Don’t give up,” Joe snapped at him, suddenly irritable. “It’s becoming a habit.”

  Jake tried to pull himself together, ashamed of sounding so feeble. “Where’re we going?”

  “Round the lake?”

  “OK.”

  They both stood up awkwardly, as if racing each other was slightly embarrassing.

  “Let’s get on with it,” said Joe.

  They stood tensely in the cooling breeze, the summer woods in the distance every shade of green; even the murky lake looked less brackish, sparkling in the afternoon sun.

  “OK,” said Joe. “On your marks. Get set – and by the way I’m not holding anything back – go.”

  Jake made a good start; now that he and Joe were no longer pacing each other, he felt a spurt of adrenalin and resolution.

  Soon Jake was in front, sure that despite what he had said Joe was holding back. The path was easily wide enough for him to overtake.

  Jake raced on, his feet light on springy ground, leaping the puddles that had almost dried, trying not to think about Joe behind him any more, only knowing he must increase his pace and then maintain it, without using up all his energy.

  At first Jake had been all too aware of Joe behind him and could distinctly hear his even breathing, but slowly he forced him out of his mind, determined that he wasn’t going to let his presence worry him or, above all, break his concentration.

  After a while, Jake realized he was halfway round the lake already and his pace still hadn’t slackened. He even risked a glance back, and although he nearly tripped over an old tyre in the process he saw Joe was no longer breathing so evenly. A heady exuberance overtook Jake and even now he could still remember what that had felt like. He had never been so elated, so full of power. What was more, Jake was sure he hadn’t reached his limit. He still had more to give.

  Suddenly he realized that he had made a mistake by looking back, for Joe was much closer now, gasping a little but not showing much sign of strain.

  Could he really increase his pace? He had to. Jake had no choice. Usually, when the twins were on his heels, Jake gave up, despite his parents’ contempt. But Joe was never contemptuous. Joe was backing him. “Don’t let him down,” said Dad’s voice in his mind and for the first time Jake knew what he meant.

  Jake set himself a goal – the patch of bald grass by the lake where they had begun the race – which was maybe fifty metres away. He desperately pushed himself to run faster, lengthening his stride, breathing coming in sharp little gasps, heart hammering. Glancing back, Jake saw that Joe was only half a metre behind him. He’d have to increase his pace again. Was Joe being manipulative, or was Jake actually pushing him? Either way, Jake knew he had to find more speed, more energy, more determination, more of all the so-called qualities he normally didn’t show. Couldn’t show. But that was in the past. In the present, miracles were happening and Jake found himself almost floating over the ground, a cool wind in his hair, limbs moving with a new lightness, his lungs seeming to drink in liquid oxygen, making him heady with the promise of success.

  Then, without warning, it was as if something had sucked all the air out of his lungs, Jake felt leaden – yet he had at least twenty metres to go and could hear Joe rasping behind him. The rasping sound seemed increasingly near, as if Joe was breathing down the back of his neck.

  Jake knew he had nothing left, yet he had to make one last spurt. With every muscle aching, legs like iron, lungs threatening to burst, Jake somehow managed to increase his speed. But Joe was beside him now, arms and legs pumping, making a deep gasping sound.

  Second wind came and Jake refused to give in, forcing himself to keep level until they both reached the patch of bare earth where they had started, collapsing, rolling down the bank towards the lake, lying on their backs, side by side, gazing up at the sky and suddenly whooping with joy and exhilaration and ultimate heady satisfaction.

  “You made it,” Joe gasped.

  “We both made it,” Jake panted.

  “It was a draw.”

  “Did you hold back?”

  “Of course I bloody didn’t!” Joe yelled. “What do you think I am? A cheat? A bullshitter?” But he wasn’t exactly angry – only indignant and supportive and congratulatory all at the same time. Then Joe said something Jake would always remember. “You did it for yourself. Always do it for yourself.”

  Jake lay there, while Barry and Paul still slept, the faint smell of whisky mingling with bark and leaves and heat and sweat. He treasured the memory of that race and lying side by side with Joe, totally spent and sharing that great feeling of exhausted achievement.

  It never happened again.

  The next week they went on another training run across the marsh with Joe silent and preoccupied, increasing the pace, leaving Jake behind and simply grumbling at the end that he hadn’t got “stuck in”. In fact to Jake’s horror and disbelief, Joe sounded like Dad. What had happened to make the dramatic change? How had he let him down?

  “I did get stuck in.”

  “That was last week.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You haven’t got what it takes.”

  Joe was now exactly mimicking what Dad had said. To Jake the pain was incredible and, above all, unexpected. A betrayal.

  Again they were sitting by the lake, but this time the evening was much colder, with dark clouds racing across a sullen sky and the hint of spitting rain.

  “What’s happened?” Jake asked, wanting to get through, to get hold of the old Joe.

  “Nothing.”

  Then Jake remembered what his mother had told him about Joe’s father walking out after a row at home. Another row. Joe’s mother Katie worked in a newsagents near the hairdressing salon and Mrs Lomax had known for some time about the problems. Jake recalled the low, intimate drone of his mother’s voice. “He’s such a fine lad, that Joe. Worships his dad, but Katie and Brian have never had much of a marriage. Of course, everything always looked all right on the surface – just like one big happy family, what with Joe being such a success and Debbie being such a lovely, generous girl. Now Brian’s got another woman and that isn’t for the first time. But now it’s serious. Katie found a letter in his pocket when she washed his jeans. I don’t know whether Brian was being careless or was even trying to tell her something – a kind of cry for help maybe. I don’t think he ever wanted to leave home. Just have his cake and eat it, like he always did. Anyway, Katie read the letter and that was it. Brian left at once – and, do you know – he’s never phoned
Joe and they were so close. Really close. Now it’s as if his family never existed. If you want my opinion –”

  Jake hadn’t, and had gone up to his room while Mum talked on – and on – while Dad listened silently.

  “Something’s happened,” repeated Jake, watching Joe stare out at the water, beside him but not with him, sitting cross-legged, his palms flat on the scanty grass.

  “Mind your own business.”

  “Tell me. I only want to help.”

  Suddenly furious, Joe leapt to his feet. He stood watching Jake for a moment and then leapt on him, pinning him to the ground, grinding his knees into his shoulders until they hurt badly.

  “Get off!”

  “Only if you shut up.”

  “It’s your dad.”

  “What?”

  “He walked out.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Everyone knows.”

  Joe bounced up and down on Jake’s shoulders, his knees grinding him brutally into the hard baked ground. “You shut up!” he kept saying over and over again. “You shut up!” Despite the pain, Jake could see Joe’s eyes were full of tears.

  “I’m only trying to help.”

  “You couldn’t help anybody!” Joe yelled. “You couldn’t race a tortoise.” Realizing he was sounding rather childish, Joe stepped up the insults. “You couldn’t race the twins. You couldn’t race yourself. Not you. You’re pathetic.”

  Jake felt tears coming into his own eyes, for his friendship with Joe had once been a safe fortress. But suddenly the walls had come tumbling down and here they were, crying together.

  “You’re a wimp,” Joe said, bouncing up and down on his shoulders again. “What are you? A wimp! A snivelling little wimp. I’m not going to put any effort into you. You’re not worth it. I can’t be bothered.” The tears were streaming down Joe’s face but he didn’t bother to wipe them away. Later, Jake wondered if he had even noticed them, even recognized they were there, salty on his cheeks, falling on to Jake. A heron had swooped low over them and he could hear the frogs croaking.

  Jake began sobbing and Joe got off him, aiming a kick that didn’t connect. “I’m going to train the twins,” he announced. “Not you.”

  “You’re what?” Jake sat up in amazement, his sobbing dying away.

  “There’s no point in training you,” he said viciously.

  “But the marathon’s only ten days away.”

  “That’s why they need the training.”

  “For God’s sake, Joe. We were going to run together.”

  “We’re not now.”

  Jake sensed that Joe was deliberately punishing him, but the shock was so great he still couldn’t really believe what had happened. “Say you don’t mean it.” He was like a child pleading with an angry ruthless adult, someone he had thought he had known but hadn’t. Someone who had become a stranger.

  “I mean it.”

  “What have I done?”

  “Failed.” Joe got up grinning. “You’ve failed.”

  Suddenly a great wave of hatred swept Jake. “You bastard,” he said as he scrambled to his feet. They were standing very close together and Jake had his fists clenched while Joe’s arms hung loose. He wouldn’t stand a chance against him, Jake knew that. But he didn’t want to fight. He never fought. “You bastard,” he whispered again.

  Joe grinned.

  “You can’t take it, can you?” Jake said suddenly.

  “Take what?”

  “Just because your father’s walked out, you’re working it off on me.”

  “No way,” Joe scoffed, going red in the face.

  “It’s true.” Jake felt a wave of satisfaction, strangely similar to the elation he had felt when they had finished racing each other last week.

  Joe laughed again, his eyes burning with a bright hard fury. Then he shoved Jake hard in the chest, spun him round, and shoved him again.

  Slowly Jake toppled backwards into the scummy waters of the lake.

  Although he went under, he instinctively shut his mouth and at least didn’t swallow any of the filthy stuff. Jake rolled over, got on to his knees and then staggered to his feet, only to find he was standing in about a metre of stagnant water. He bawled obscenities at Joe’s retreating back and then stopped abruptly, realizing he was providing entertainment for a couple of joggers who were running the opposite way round the lake. Jake swore again. No one came here. Had they been mysteriously sent to witness his humiliation?

  “Cooling off?” one of them asked.

  “Were you pushed or did you jump?”

  They ran on, overtaking Joe, not speaking to him, maybe sensing his anger, although they had been only too ready to laugh at the angry clown in the water.

  Joe didn’t look back.

  Jake lay on the floor of the tree house, the woods darkening around him, reliving the pain, pushing himself on to the final humiliation, previously too galling to be anything else but an agonizing blur, a buried memory.

  Jake was up in his bedroom when Joe arrived. Dad opened the front door and there was a muttered conversation which became more audible when he crept out on to the landing and stood listening, half concealed by a large grandfather clock.

  “You don’t want to see Jake?” Dad sounded surprised.

  “I’d love to see him,” said Joe smoothly, “but Jake and I agreed it was the twins’ turn. After all, they’re running the marathon too, just like us.”

  “Er, I didn’t know –” Dad sounded rather puzzled.

  “I wondered if they’d like to do a spot of training. I was just going up to the marsh myself and –”

  Dad laughed uneasily. “You know what those twins are like. They only put in the training when they feel like it. Right now they’re watching the cricket.”

  “OK –” Joe sounded slightly thrown and Jake was delighted to hear him being discomforted.

  Dad went into the sitting-room, leaving Joe standing in the hall.

  Jake edged to the banisters and leant over. “They won’t want to go with you,” he said scornfully.

  “No?”

  “No way.”

  “We’ll see,” Joe said quietly.

  The sitting-room door opened again and Dad came out. “They’re on,” he said.

  Joe glared up at Jake in triumph.

  “They say the cricket’s not going anywhere.”

  “But the marathon is.” Joe sounded cool and confident.

  This is like a terrible game, Jake thought. Points are being won and lost all over the place and I’ve just lost. Then he wondered what had really made things go wrong between him and Joe. Was it just because he had tried to help him? Or was it because he knew something about him Joe didn’t want him to know? It was so strange and hurtful. Now Jake was beginning to wonder if he had ever really known Joe. Suddenly he seemed a cardboard cutout figure, superficially the good-natured dare-devil, urging them all on, from primary school to secondary, from cradle to grave.

  The phrase caught him unawares and he deliberately pushed it aside, determinedly keeping his mind on Joe’s apparent change of personality.

  His success now seemed only skin-deep. The talented all-rounder who always got everything right had become a schemer, a bully, a manipulator, almost overnight. Which was the real Joe? Had he always been a bastard? Was he a saint or a sinner, as Mum would have said. She was always using phrases like that.

  Dad looked up to see Jake standing by the banisters. “What are you doing up there?” he demanded.

  “Er –”

  “Do you want to go too, Jake? Take in a training run with the twins?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Why not?” Joe urged him on.

  “I’m knackered.”

  “Typical,” sighed Dad. “I had such good reports of you last week. Isn’t that right, Joe?”

  He nodded patronizingly. “He was certainly putting a lot more in.”

  Now a conspiracy had begun between Joe and Dad. A conspiracy that was l
ike a noose.

  Tom and Sam charged out of the sitting-room, dark-haired, strongly built, the opposite of Dad and Jake who were tall and skinny.

  “Maybe he’s outgrown his strength.” Joe grinned.

  The twins, scenting a victim, jumped up and down, yelling, “Come and run, Jake. Come and run, Jake. Come and –”

  “Shut up, you two,” Dad had shouted. “Throw them in the lake if they don’t do good.”

  Joe grinned up the stairs at Jake, all too conscious of the irony of Dad’s comment.

  “Sure you won’t come?”

  “No, thanks.”

  “OK,” said Joe. “Be like that.”

  When they had gone, Dad came up to Jake’s room to find him lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t know what’s got into you, son.”

  “Don’t you?”

  “Joe’s gone to all this trouble –”

  “Bugger Joe.”

  “Don’t you speak that way about him.”

  “Why not?”

  “He’s a decent bloke.”

  “You make him sound like a saint.”

  “A saint with a few problems,” Dad said sharply, fast losing his temper.

  “We’ve all got problems.”

  “Your father didn’t walk out on you,” Dad pointed out sanctimoniously.

  “Pity you didn’t,” Jake yelled, losing his own temper, wanting to hurt, just like Joe, and succeeding for he could see the pain in his father’s eyes.

  “Anyway – he’s worth two of you.”

  Now it was Jake’s turn to feel the pain. “Piss off then.”

  “Don’t you speak to me like that.” Dad turned on his heel and then wheeled round again before he reached the door. “You’ll stay up here and have no tea.”

  “I’ll do what I like and stuff you,” Jake insisted childishly.

  Dad slammed the bedroom door.

  Later, Mum came up, looking concerned. “Your father’s upset.”

  “So am I.”

  “Why wouldn’t you go with Joe and the twins?”