My Best Friend's Girl

“Luke, if you grew up being told every day that you’re ugly, fat, stupid, you can either grow a second skin and not rely on anyone else for your happiness and self-definition, or you can let it bury you. Guess which I did? I had to. It was a survival instinct.”

  “But you don’t need that survival instinct anymore.”

  “Yeah, you say that, but I met this bloke not too long ago who took against me because I’m not very pretty and I’m not thin. Now if I’d discarded my survival instinct I’d have been a mess at a time when I needed to be strong.”

  “I’m sorry. And you are pretty. You’re gorgeous. And your body is divine. You’re divine.”

  “You don’t have to say that. It’s all right. It doesn’t bother me.” Much. It doesn’t bother me much. I never said that out loud because I never wanted that modifier to be real. And if I said it out loud it became real. It would bother me more, a whole lot more.

  “I grew up in a children’s home,” Luke said.

  That was one of the many reasons why Luke and Tegan got on so well—they had a talent for the random. On the nights when I put her to bed, her chat before and after the story would flit from what she did at school to what ingredients I should put in fairy cream pie should I decide to make it one day to how I should brush my teeth twice a day. Now Luke was doing it.

  “Really?”

  “That’s why I know that living with a survival instinct is a sad way to live.” That’s why you were so keen to help out.

  “Oh.”

  “Both my parents are alive, you know? They just put me in a home. You see, my mum’s English and comes from a very rich family. She met my dad, who’s Spanish, when she was sixteen. Thirty-six years ago that wasn’t the done thing, so when she got pregnant her family threw her out. My dad was only eighteen but they tried to make a go of it. It was too hard though and when I was about two my mum left, went back to her parents. My dad tried, but he was only young himself. I remember he’d take me to the zoo. And we’d go see some of his relatives who lived near us, have these brilliant Spanish meals. It was amazing, you know, all the language, the laughter, the smell of the food. I felt like I belonged somewhere. He’d always pretend to his family that he was doing OK, but a lot of the time we were just getting by. I’d go to school sometimes, other times I’d stay at home and wait for Dad to get out of bed. He wouldn’t get out of bed for days, wouldn’t get washed or dressed. Of course, now I know he was depressed but at that age, I didn’t.

  “When I was seven, social services took me away because I hadn’t been to school for weeks. I’ll never forget that day. I was crying and calling for my dad but he didn’t do anything. He sat there and watched them take me away.”

  A sudden need to protect Luke, the little boy taken from his family, rose in me. I rolled over and slipped my arms around him, held him close, stroked his cheek as he continued his story.

  “When they took me to the home, I was terrified. I’d stopped crying but I couldn’t speak. They found me foster homes, lots of them. Some were good; some were awful—how they let kids stay in those places, I don’t know. But it didn’t matter either way because I always behaved badly so I could get sent back to the home. It’s stupid, but I thought that if I was at the home, my dad would come get me. He’d know where I was.

  “When I got to ten, no one would foster me. No one wanted a troublemaker mixed-race boy of ten. And because of that, I stayed at the home. That’s when I realized my dad wasn’t coming for me. So I calmed down. Became a good boy. Not because I wanted someone to adopt me but because I knew it was the only way to get myself through it. I decided not to rely on anyone, just to focus on doing well. And when I left the home at sixteen, I was in a good way: I’d done well in school. I left there, got a part-time job, and managed to get into a university.

  “I’d also learned a few other lessons in that time. Like, that my mum didn’t want me.” He paused, inhaled a couple of times to control himself. “I found out who she was and that she’d moved to Perth in Australia years earlier. I wrote to her, telling her about myself, and she wrote back saying she’d moved on. She’d put all that stuff—she actually called me ‘stuff’—behind her, and told me not to contact her again.”

  I gasped at her cruelty.

  “I took that pretty hard. I couldn’t work out what was wrong with me. Why she didn’t want me. It took me another two years to get up the courage to call my dad. He agreed to see me, which I took as a good sign. But he wasn’t interested either. He’d remarried, had two young kids and he didn’t need or want me in his life. That was worse, you know, Ryn. I’d spent so much time with him, I could remember the good times we had. And he barely raised an eyebrow when I said I was going to university.”

  “Have you seen him since?”

  “Yeah, I go see him whenever I can. It’s got worse over the years, not better. I think he feels guilty that he didn’t get to know his son when he had the chance and now he’s too proud to try.”

  “You’ve got to keep trying though.”

  “Ah, Ryn, you don’t understand—he won’t even tell his children that I’m their half brother. He told them that I’m the son of a man he knew years ago.”

  I gasped again.

  “I’m scared that if I say something to them, he’ll cut me off completely, and I couldn’t bear that. At least now he sees me. Something is better than nothing…” Luke’s voice cracked.

  “Oh, babe…” I said, holding him close. This explained so much about Luke. His arrogance, his constant striving for perfection, why he’d moved so much—Luke never felt wanted. I understood now why he was so angry with me when he thought I’d halfheartedly fostered Tegan—he knew what it was like to have someone do a botch job on bringing up a child.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “Don’t be sorry, I understand.”

  “No, you don’t. I’m so in awe of what you’re doing. Despite everything you’ve told me about how Tegan came about, you’re still looking after her.”

  “Thanks.”

  Luke’s fingers took hold of my face and his translucent orange-hazel eyes stared straight into mine. “I mean it. I want you to believe me. You’re awesome. You’ve stopped Tegan becoming me.”

  “You’re not so bad,” I replied. Luke was a damaged man, I realized. He’d never had a home, never thought he was wanted by anyone. He’d never felt he belonged anywhere, so work and being successful had become his reason for living.

  I pressed a comforting kiss on Luke’s mouth and he kissed me back, hard. His desperation and sadness came through in his kiss and then in the way he gently rolled me onto my back, climbed on top of me and started to make love.

  Afterward, I was tempted to ask him to stay. He shouldn’t be alone when he’d revealed so much of himself, had shown me a part of him very few people had seen. But Tegan…I couldn’t risk her finding us together. Luke took the decision out of my hands by getting up, getting dressed. “I’ll see you,” he mumbled over his shoulder as he walked out the door. That was the type of disposable goodbye you’d say to a stranger you never expected to see again; the type of goodbye I feared I’d thrown at Adele the last time I’d seen her. If Luke left like this, we might lose him. He would feel so vulnerable that in this time alone he might decide to put us at a distance to protect himself.

  From my bedroom window, I watched Luke leave my building. He opened the door to his black car and got in. Instead of reaching for the ignition, he leaned over the steering wheel, cradled his head in his hands and started to cry.

  As I watched his broad shoulders shaking, I was slowly tugged back a few months. Back to the hotel room, holding Tegan as she screamed her heart out because her mother had left her and she was suddenly faced with the stark reality that she had no one else in the world. I’d been overwhelmed then by a need to protect her, to prove that someone did love her by adopting her. That feeling was back. I wanted to protect Luke, to put my arms around him and hush away his tears. I wanted him to know someone did want
him. Someones—Tegan and I—would be lost without him. I picked up my mobile and dialed his number. He picked up after the fourth ring. Snuffling back tears he mumbled, “Hello?”

  “Come back,” I said.

  “But Tegan…” he protested.

  “You can leave before she gets up. Just come back.”

  He came back and fell asleep in my arms. I stayed awake, stroking his face and making sure we didn’t oversleep.

  chapter 26

  Is Luke your boyfriend?”

  I was putting Tegan to bed. I’d bathed her, got her into her PJs then, in a rather controversial moment, she’d gone into the living room/kitchen, said “Na-night, Luke” and put her head forward to receive a kiss. Controversial in that Luke always had to see her off into the land of nod if he was there. After saying goodnight and receiving her kiss, though, she took my hand and led me to her room. Now, as she lay tucked up under her covers, I understood why—she wanted to ask me grown-up questions.

  “Why do you ask that?” I replied, laying aside the novel we were reading. She was tucked up under her rainbow duvet, her clean hair hidden under a pink, silk headscarf. Like most black women, I wore a scarf at night to protect my hair from the ravages of sleep, and when Tegan saw mine she had wanted one too. She wouldn’t believe me when I told her she didn’t need one, and when I’d realized to deter her I’d need to go into a long discussion about the structure of different types of hair, I decided a scarf was the easiest option.

  “Because Regina Matheson said that if a man and a woman see each other all the time they’re boyfriend and girlfriend.”

  “Does she, now,” I replied. There was no way of getting out of it now. I had to tell Tegan the truth. But how? The other reason I’d been delaying, had let six weeks pass without telling her, was that I didn’t know how to explain it to her. “Would you mind if Luke was my boyfriend?” I asked.

  “No!” she screeched, hiding her face behind her hands.

  “OK…but if you did, you would tell me, wouldn’t you?”

  She took her hands away from her face and giggled in an almost musical way. “Do you kiss him?” she asked. “Like on TV?”

  “Sometimes,” I replied cautiously, unsure if I should be having this kind of conversation with a child.

  “Do you like kissing him?”

  I really shouldn’t be having this discussion with a five-year-old. “I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t like it.” I moved to switch off the light. “Goodnight now, Tiga.”

  “Is he still my friend?” she asked. I stopped midmove and sat back.

  “Of course Luke’s still your friend,” I stated. “He’ll always be your friend.”

  “Are you still my new mummy?”

  “Yes, sweetie.”

  “But you’re not my real mummy, are you?”

  “Why do you ask me that?” I replied, terrified of what she might say next. Would she accuse me of trying to replace her mother? Would she tell me that I was failing in my new role? Or would she ask why her mum wasn’t coming back?

  “Because Regina Matheson said you can’t be my real mummy because we aren’t the same color.”

  “Did she.”

  “Yes. You’re black, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And I’m white, aren’t I?”

  “Yes.”

  “Regina Matheson said you couldn’t be my real mummy.”

  Deep inside, in the space below my rib cage and above my stomach, a rage started to burn. I wanted to meet this Regina Matheson. To crouch down, gaze into her face and order her not to fill Tegan’s head with such terrors. Things were bad enough without her telling Tegan that she didn’t belong with anyone.

  “And she said I don’t have a real family because I don’t have a daddy.”

  The rage exploded into flames. This girl was unbelievable. What other half-truths had she filled Tegan’s head with?

  “Well, you know what, I bet Regina Matheson doesn’t know if her mummy wants her all the time,” I said. I’d heard this somewhere and was going to bastardize it for my own purposes.

  Tegan’s eyes widened in wonder.

  “Her mummy is stuck with her. No matter what she does, her parents have to keep her, but I chose to have you with me. And I don’t have to keep you but I want to. I want to keep you all the time and no matter what happens I’ll always want to keep you with me. Do you understand?”

  Tegan nodded.

  “Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Regina’s mother loves her very much, but she didn’t choose her. She got what she was given, while I picked you.”

  “Are you glad you picked me?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  “I’m not only glad, I’m ECSTATIC!” I screeched and fell on Tegan, tickling her. Her little body bucked under my tickles and the lovely sound of her laughter filled the bedroom. “Oh dear, I think Tiga needs more tickling!” I dived for her again. She kicked her legs and shook her head, laughing with all her body.

  I sat back and let her breathe. She giggled some more while I smoothed the covers back over her body.

  “My mummy tickled me,” Tegan said.

  “I know,” I said, trying to smile. My throat constricted suddenly and my eyes began to sting, like they did whenever I thought of Adele.

  “What does heaven look like?” Tegan asked, her eyes heavier and her voice sleepier than they had been a minute ago.

  I slowly shook my head. “I don’t know,” I replied.

  “Does it look like that?” She pointed at the picture on the chimney breast opposite her bed. We’d painted it so many eons ago I’d literally stopped looking at it, but now I saw it with fresh eyes. The emerald fields, the green-topped brown trees, the big yellow sun, the white clouds on blue sky, and the red and white swirly sweets for flowers. It was a good picture, even if I did paint it. It’d be lovely if heaven was like that, but I’d never given heaven much thought. Not even after Adele’s death. I knew how I felt about religion—that for the most part I believed there was a God, a higher power—but I always thought that heaven was maybe clouds. No, I didn’t think that. I didn’t know what I thought because I never thought about it. The picture was as good a scene of heaven as any, I suppose.

  “Maybe, sweetheart. But I don’t know.”

  “My mummy would like it if it was.”

  “Yes, she would, but I think she’d like a few clothes shops too.”

  Tegan’s face scrunched up as she nodded and laughed.

  “Right, madam, are you going to sleep? It’s way, way past your bedtime.”

  “OK,” she said sleepily.

  I leaned forward, pressed my lips against her cool forehead. “Goodnight, gorgeous.”

  “Na-night, Mummy Ryn.”

  I wandered into the living room and started as I found Luke sprawled on the sofa watching television. I was so surprised I couldn’t help, “Oh,” escaping my lips.

  “Oh?” he replied cautiously.

  We had an honest friendship—relationship—but no one would take kindly to being told you’d forgotten they existed. And I had. In the talk of Adele, I’d forgotten he was in the flat.

  “I mean, oh, you’ve washed up,” I covered.

  “Wasn’t I meant to?”

  “It’s not that…I’m tired.”

  He flicked off the television, moved his long legs off the sofa onto the floor, got up. “In other words, you want me to go.” Luke stretched out his body, throwing his head back and arms out. His white T-shirt rode up, flashing his muscular stomach.

  “I didn’t say that,” I protested halfheartedly.

  “You didn’t have to, your face says it all.”

  “Yeah, well, my face has been lying for years, so I don’t know why you choose now to believe it.”

  Luke put his head to one side and his hazel eyes narrowed slightly. “How about you go cry in the bedroom, I wait here until you’re calmer and then we start again?”

  “Don’t patronize me,” I spat.

  “Or, y
ou could tear a few more strips off me but let’s do it in the bedroom so T doesn’t hear.”

  “Or you could f-off home.”

  “Or I could f-off home.”

  Nate used to do this. Used to ride out my moods with an incredible amount of stoicism, refusing to rise to any type of bait. Luke stuck his hands in his jeans pockets, his head still on one side as he waited for me to decide what would be the best move.

  “I feel so guilty,” I stated. Talking. That was the best move. Sharing with my boyfriend.

  “For?”

  “For everything. For not being there when Adele needed me. For not taking care of Tegan sooner. For thinking twice about taking Tegan on. For not being with Adele when she died. For being so bad a mother I forgot Tegan that time. For not being able to raise her how her mum would have done.

  “And all the while there’s some silly child at school telling her that I’m not her real mother and I never will be. So obviously she’s going to feel abandoned because not even I’m her real family…Do you think I should complain to the school?”

  “Not right this second, no,” Luke said.

  “If you keep patronizing me…”

  “Sorry,” he said. “OK, look, you shouldn’t worry about her not thinking of you as her mother—she calls you Mummy.”

  “Because her real mum told her to.”

  “But she still does it. And not just to you, by the sound of it. When she calls the office she asks for Mummy Ryn, doesn’t she?” I nodded. “And, for this girl at school to have said this about you not being her mum, she must be calling you Mummy Ryn when you’re not there. She truly thinks of you as her second mother.” I must have looked unconvinced because he added: “There is one way you can fix that.”

  “What, go back in time and give birth to her?”

  Luke rolled his eyes. “Ryn, I know the social worker freaked you out, but I think you should focus on adopting her again. Get T counseling, get the relevant forms, do whatever it takes to make her a Matika.”

  I sighed internally. It was all right for him to say “do whatever it takes” because he didn’t know. Even Luke, who grew up in the care system, didn’t know what “whatever it takes” would entail. He didn’t realize that to adopt Tegan, I would have to contact Nate.