That one fact alone explained so much. Too much.
‘All this time, all these years I wondered why you never looked at me or treated me the same as Adam,’ I said.
The answer was simple. Adam was wanted. I wasn’t.
And suddenly so many things began to make sense. Like when I’d told Dad my A level results. I remembered his comment: ‘If I had your chances I’d be a millionaire by now . . .’
‘That’s why nothing I ever did was good enough,’ I realized aloud. ‘You blame me for ruining your life, for stopping you from doing all the things you wanted to do.’
Dad handed Emma to Aunt Jackie before swiftly walking over to me. ‘Now listen to me, Dante. You are wrong,’ he said urgently. ‘Yes, your mum and I probably wouldn’t have got married when we did if she hadn’t been pregnant with you, but I cared very much about you and your mum. I still do.’
‘But Adam was born with love – and I wasn’t,’ I said, my thoughts whirling inside my head like autumn leaves in a hurricane.
Should’ve been made with love . . .
‘Dante, you’re not listening to me. If I’ve ever made you feel like I didn’t love you, then I’m sorry. Because it’s never, never been true. And if I pushed you too hard, it’s because I didn’t want you to make my mistakes.’
‘And I was your biggest mistake . . .’ I tried to turn away but Dad placed his hands on my shoulders to stop me.
‘No, son, you weren’t,’ Dad insisted. ‘Sometimes the things you’re convinced you don’t want turn out to be the things you need the most in this world. You have Emma, so you know exactly what I mean. You and your mum and Adam are the only things in my life I’ve ever cared about. Yeah, I had plans before your mum got pregnant. I was going to finish university, I was going to work in films, maybe as an editor. It didn’t happen. But if I could go back and live my life all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Not one single thing. D’you understand?’
I searched Dad’s face for something, though I had no idea what.
‘D’you believe me, Dante? It’s really important that you believe me,’ said Dad urgently.
‘Mr Bridgeman?’ The surgeon appeared to stand before all of us, saving me from having to reply.
‘How is Adam? Is he OK?’ Dad stepped forward.
I couldn’t breathe. My heart had moved up to my throat and I couldn’t breathe.
Please . . .
‘Adam sustained a number of very serious injuries. His jaw and his nose were broken and his eye socket was shattered but we managed to save his eye. Plus he has two broken ribs and severe bruising over most of his body. But he’s out of theatre now and stable.’
‘Can we see him?’ asked Dad sombrely.
‘Just for a moment. I have to warn you that his face is going to take a long time to heal and he’ll probably have one or two permanent scars. We had to wire his jaw, realign his nasal bones and the surrounding tissue and we had to use metal plates and screws to hold his right cheekbone in place. I just need to prepare you for what you’re about to see.’
I turned to Aunt Jackie and held out my hands for my daughter. Aunt Jackie looked like she might argue, but then thought better of it. She handed Emma over to me. I lifted Emma up so that her head was resting on my shoulder. She barely stirred, still fast asleep. My daughter smelled fresh and clean and new. She smelled of hope. The only thing keeping me in the same postcode as rational at the moment lay asleep in my arms. We followed the surgeon as he led the way. It was way past midnight and I was about ready to drop, but I kept going – one foot in front of the other.
‘Oh my God . . .’ Dad breathed.
Aunt Jackie’s horrified gasp as we approached said it all and didn’t begin to say enough. The surgeon had tried to prepare us for what we were about to see, but this was far, far worse. All I could do was stare. I wanted to turn away, but I couldn’t. Adam’s face was unrecognizable. He had a bandage wrapped around his jaw, under his chin and running round the top of his head. And his face was even more swollen, misshapen and discoloured than before. He looked like his face had been shoved into a mincing machine. The transparent oxygen mask over his mouth and nose did nothing to mask his injuries. He had a drip of colourless solution running into one arm and a bag of blood running into the other.
‘Our immediate concern is his breathing,’ the surgeon informed us. ‘Adam suffered displaced rib fractures, and what with that and his facial injuries, we have to monitor his breathing very carefully. And though we managed to save his right eye, it’s very likely that his vision will be impaired as a result of his injuries. He’s not out of the woods yet.’
Next to me, Aunt Jackie started to cry. Quiet, heartfelt tears which she tried but failed to control. Dad put an awkward arm around her, trying to offer comfort where there was none. Dad kept gulping, like there was something stuck in his throat.
‘Adam is young and strong and with time and patience, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t make an excellent recovery,’ the surgeon tried to reassure us.
Adam . . .
My beautiful brother, Adam . . .
And somewhere, out there, Josh was having a good laugh about what he’d done.
No matter. Once I found him, his laughter would stop.
39
Dante
Two days later when Dad, Emma and I arrived at the postoperative ward to see my brother, his bed was empty . . . Dad sprinted to the nurses’ station whilst I ran, pushing Emma in her buggy close behind him.
‘Where’s my son? Adam Bridgeman?’ Dad demanded of the two nurses at the station. One was a black guy in his late twenties, early thirties. The other was a middle-aged woman with a wrinkled forehead and red hair swept up in a high ponytail.
‘Oh, Mr Bridgeman, I’m sorry. I meant to catch you before you got to his bed,’ said the redhead. ‘Would you come with me, please?’
‘Where’s my son?’ Dad asked again, his voice a husky whisper.
Adam . . .
My whole body suddenly went cold. So cold that my blood instantly froze inside me.
Don’t think . . .
Don’t assume the worst . . .
The nurse led the way into a small waiting room, ushering us in before shutting the door quietly behind us.
‘Mr Bridgeman, we had to take Adam back to theatre,’ she said. ‘A CT scan revealed a temporal bone fracture with an underlying chronic subdural haematoma. He’s been taken back to theatre to have the haematoma drained.’
Dad collapsed down into the nearest chair. ‘Oh God.’
‘We’re not sure the temporal fracture was a result of the recent attack. Has Adam been complaining of headaches recently?’
‘Well, yes.’ Dad looked thoughtful. ‘And his headaches were beginning to get so bad that I took him to see our GP a few weeks ago. We were still waiting to be sent an appointment for his scan.’
‘Ah,’ said the nurse. ‘Did he suffer any kind of injury or blow to his head that might’ve caused his headaches?’
Dad glanced at me. ‘You said he was playing in a school football match when the ball hit him in the head. But I don’t see how a football—’
‘Dad, it wasn’t a football match,’ I interrupted, horrified. ‘It was a cricket match.’
‘What?’ Dad stared at me. ‘But Adam said he headed the ball when he should’ve ducked . . . Oh my God . . . I thought he was talking about a football. If I’d known he was talking about a cricket ball, he would’ve been straight down the hospital, no matter how much he protested.’
‘I’m sorry, I thought you knew,’ I said. But the truth was I didn’t think much about it at the time, or at any time.
‘Well, that explains a lot,’ said the nurse. ‘But luckily for your son, very luckily, he was in the right place at the right time to get it attended to straightaway.’
‘Why? What happened?’ I asked. ‘Did he pass out or something?’
The nurse smiled at me. ‘The point is, we were on hand to take him straigh
t into theatre. That’s the fact you need to hold on to.’
‘Is he . . . is he going to make it?’ I couldn’t help asking.
‘Don’t say that, Dan. Of course he is,’ Dad replied vehemently.
‘Draining a subdural haematoma is actually quite a straightforward procedure,’ said the nurse. ‘Don’t worry, Adam is in very good hands. If you’d like to wait here, I promise I’ll let you know the moment I have any more news.’
‘Thank you,’ said Dad.
I sat next to Dad, slowly pushing Emma back and forth in her buggy. After about ten minutes, Emma started agitating to get out. I unclipped the safety buckle and sat her on my knee. She was still restless.
‘Dad, would you mind holding her for a second?’ I handed Emma over, then dug into the baby bag hanging on the handles of the buggy. ‘D’you want this, Emma?’ I lifted up her teddy. ‘Or your book?’ I held up her favourite baby board book with well-chewed corners.
Emma reached for her teddy. Putting the book away, I sat down and put Emma back on my lap before handing over her teddy. The only sound in the room after that for quite some time was Emma burbling away to her toy in baby-speak. I absent-mindedly stroked her hair.
‘Dad, d’you think all this will get back to Veronica and the social services?’ I asked the question that’d been gnawing away at me over the last couple of days.
‘You mean about Adam getting beaten up?’ Dad frowned.
‘No, about me being involved in a street fight?’
‘I don’t see how or why. And even if it does, so what? You were ambushed and your brother is the victim here. You weren’t the instigator.’
‘D’you think she’ll see it that way?’
‘Dante, stop worrying about Veronica,’ said Dad, looking me straight in the eye. ‘Emma isn’t going anywhere, I promise you. OK?’
‘OK, Dad.’
We sat watching Emma for a while. I lifted her up and kissed her cheek, before resting my forehead against hers.
‘Dante, I want you to know something.’
When I turned to Dad, I instinctively knew he’d been watching me. ‘Yes, Dad?’
‘I want you to know how proud I am of you,’ said Dad.
Huh? I blinked like a faulty lamp at him.
‘I don’t think I’ve told you that, but I am. I’m proud of how you knuckled down and did so well in your exams. And I’m proud of the way you’ve become a real father to Emma.’
I didn’t know quite what to say. This was a first.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said quietly.
‘And I want you to know something else.’
‘Yes?’
‘I love you, son. Very much.’
Dad was looking straight ahead, not at me, but I didn’t doubt for a second the sincerity of his words. He’d never told me that before, but then I’d never said those words before either. I guess Dad and I were alike after all. I swallowed hard.
‘I . . . I love you too, Dad.’
40
Dante
‘Where is he, Paul?’
‘I don’t know. I swear I don’t know. Let me go.’ Paul struggled to get out of my grasp but he wasn’t going anywhere. Not until I had some answers.
It’d been over a month since Adam had had his second operation and I was sick and tired of waiting for justice to be served on the ones who had put my brother in hospital. Adam had been in hospital for eight days and even though he was now home, he still had to take all his meals through a straw – when he could be persuaded to eat at all. His jaw had to stay wired shut for another two weeks at least. And he was in constant pain. My brother only left his bedroom to go the bathroom and that was only after he made Dad take down the bathroom mirror. He had given up trying to speak, using a notepad to communicate.
And his face . . .
He had a crisscross pattern of scars down the right side of his face and his right eye drooped noticeably, the result of facial nerve paralysis due to his fractured temporal bone. The doctors said that given time and effort on Adam’s part it might improve. But Adam lost the will to make the effort. He didn’t fizz any more. Not even close. And he never smiled. He didn’t even attempt it.
And the ones who did that to him were out here somewhere having a good laugh and joke about their handiwork.
Well, if the police weren’t going to do their job, then I’d do it for them. Starting with this little weasel, Paul. He’d been the easiest to track down. He’d been the easiest to track down. It’d only taken three phone calls to find out where he worked. Dad had stopped working overtime since Adam came out of hospital, so it was easy to ask him to baby-sit with the excuse that I needed to go for a walk for a little while to clear my head. I waited outside the dealership where Paul worked, far enough away to not get spotted but close enough to see him the moment he came out. Then it was just a question of following him until he was in a secluded-enough place for the two of us to have a little ‘chat’. Ironic that it should be the park.
He didn’t know what hit him.
And now he was on the ground, wriggling and slippery as a hooked fish, but I had him and I wasn’t letting go.
‘Paul, I’m not playing. Where’s Josh?’
‘At his house probably.’
‘I’ve been there. His mum said he’s staying with you for a few days. So this is the last time I’m going to ask: where is Josh?’
Paul stared at me like a rabbit stunned by headlights. ‘He . . . he . . .’
I slammed the flat of my hand into the ground right next to his head. And it bloody hurt, but if he thought I was mucking around, he was going to be painfully put right.
‘The next one won’t miss,’ I warned him.
‘He’s at Logan’s. He’s staying at Logan’s house for a few days,’ said Paul, his words tripping over themselves to be heard. ‘I’m just covering for him ’cause Josh’s mum doesn’t like Logan.’
‘Logan is at university.’ I scowled. ‘He told me at the restaurant that he was off to uni the following week, so stop lying.’
‘I’m not. I’m not,’ Paul said quickly, his eyes wide with panic as I raised my fist. ‘He didn’t get the necessary grades. He’s still at home. I swear he is. Logan was the one who lied. You’ve got to believe me.’
‘Hhmm . . .’ In spite of everything, I did believe him. I got to my feet, my eyes narrowing as I considered what to do next.
Paul struggled to sit up. ‘I . . . I’m sorry about your brother . . .’
I stamped him back down against the ground just as hard as I could. ‘Don’t you dare talk about my brother,’ I spat at him. ‘Don’t you dare.’
‘I’m s-sorry . . .’ Paul coughed.
I straightened up, asking icily, ‘Are you going to phone Josh to warn him that I’m after him?’
Paul shook his head. ‘But he already knows. That’s why he very rarely stays at his own home or any place for too long.’
My eyes were like slits as I considered Paul, remembering the way he’d knelt on me whilst Josh kicked the crap out of my brother. At that moment, I wanted to hurt him so badly – but I wanted to catch up to Josh more. So Paul would just have to wait his turn. He was further down my list of priorities. What I wanted to know was why they were all still on the streets after what they’d done to Adam? Why hadn’t the police arrested them?
‘Did the police come and see you?’ I asked.
Paul lowered his gaze. ‘Yeah. I had to go to the police station with my mum and dad. I was released pending further enquiries but they warned me that I’ll probably be charged with affray and end up in court. They did the same to Logan.’
Affray? Was that it?
‘And Josh?’
‘The police haven’t caught up with him yet,’ said Paul. ‘But my dad says Josh will be charged with GBH for sure.’
Grievous bodily harm? Not good enough. Not even on the same planet as good enough.
‘He should’ve turned himself in,’ I told Paul. ‘He would’ve been safer th
an he will be when I get hold of him.’ I straightened up. ‘If you do phone Josh to warn him, tell him not to bother running because I’ll hunt him through hell itself if I have to.’ I turned to walk away.
‘It wasn’t Josh . . .’ Paul called out after me.
I turned back with a frown.
‘I mean, Josh . . . Josh hurt your brother, but it wasn’t . . . wasn’t him . . .’
What was he talking about?
‘I mean . . . it wasn’t Josh’s fault,’ said Paul.
I marched back to him. He’d just moved up my priority list. Paul drew back, shrinking into himself when he saw the murderous expression on my face.
‘Whose fault was it then?’ I asked softly. ‘My brother’s?’
‘No. No,’ Paul replied quickly. ‘I just meant that we’d all been drinking and Logan was the one . . . Logan . . .’
‘Spit it out,’ I ordered impatiently.
‘W-when we left the Bar Belle that night, Logan wouldn’t leave Josh alone. He k-kept teasing Josh about being a . . . being the same as Adam. And Josh was just getting madder and madder. I tried to tell Logan to back off, but he wouldn’t stop and then Josh said he’d prove how much he hated queers. And even then Logan wouldn’t stop provoking him. So it was Logan’s and Josh’s idea to wait for you guys to head home and then Josh would prove once and for all that he wasn’t one of . . . he wasn’t a . . .’
‘I get the picture,’ I told him stonily.
‘I didn’t know it would go as far as it did, I swear. I’ve never seen Josh lose it like that, but he never would’ve done it if Logan hadn’t kept provoking him.’
A conversation I’d had with Collette in the park crept into my head. What was it she’d said?
‘You know what Josh is like when Logan is goading him . . . ’
I ran a hand over my head, like I was trying to straighten out my thoughts. Had I got it wrong? Was Logan the one I should really be after? Was he really there in the background pulling everyone’s strings like some malevolent puppet master? I shook my head. I couldn’t afford to let doubts and second thoughts into my head. Not now. I’d spent the last few weeks thinking about what I needed to do. And I’d finally reached a conclusion. This was not the time for uncertainty. Josh first, then Logan.