The Art of Being Normal

  ‘That’s it? You go gallivanting off for two whole bloody days and all we get is a sodding note?’

  ‘I thought someone would see it,’ I mutter.

  ‘Do you know where your mam and Spike are right now?’ she asks, jabbing a finger in my chest. ‘Where they’ve been for the past two nights?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Driving around looking for you, that’s where. Tia’s been in tears since yesterday morning, Amber and Carl have been all over the estate searching for you. The police, well they’ve been no help at all.’

  ‘The police? What did you call them for?’

  ‘What did you expect us to do? We had no bloody idea where you were. Your phone was off.’

  ‘I forgot my charger,’ I say, looking at my feet.

  Kerry just glares at me.

  ‘I didn’t think Mam would care,’ I say. ‘I didn’t even think she’d notice.’

  Kerry’s face turns a fresh shade of red.

  ‘Your mam may not be winning any prizes for the world’s best mother any time soon, but I would think very carefully before accusing her of not noticing her own kid is missing.’

  ‘She seems to do a pretty good job of not noticing me when I am around, so what am I supposed to think?’ I retort.

  ‘Raising three kids alone isn’t a walk in the park, you know.’

  ‘It’s not our fault she can’t hold on to a bloke.’

  Kerry slaps me again. Hard. This time it hurts.

  ‘You have no idea, Leo,’ she says, pointing a shaking finger right up in my face. ‘Until you’ve walked in your mam’s shoes, you will have no bloody idea what her life has been like, bringing up the three of you alone, so don’t you even pretend you do.’

  I slump down on the settee, my arms folded. In front of me Kerry fumbles in the pocket of her jeans for a packet of cigarettes. She takes one out and swipes a plastic pink lighter from the coffee table, lighting up with still-trembling hands. She does the whole thing without taking her eyes off me for a second.

  ‘Leo, remember that weekend when your mam came home with a black eye?’

  I frown.

  ‘It was just after all that bother at school,’ she prompts.

  All that bother. Whenever anyone talks about what happened back in February, they always seem to speak in some weird code.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘what about it?’

  ‘What was his name again? The ringleader?’ Kerry asks.

  ‘Alex Bonner,’ I murmur, my voice flat. Just saying his name out loud makes me feel dizzy and sick.

  ‘That’s him, nasty little beggar. Your mam went to have it out with Alex but he wasn’t in. His mam was though, giving a load of lip.’

  ‘What?’

  I know Alex’s mother, everyone does. She’s one of those people on the estate you just can’t miss. Annette, her name is. She looks just like Alex, with the same jet-black hair, hard face, and terminator build.

  ‘Hang on, Annette Bonner gave Mam that black eye?’

  ‘You should have seen Annette. She was in a right state once your mam had finished with her. People had to drag your mam off her in the end.’

  I stare at Kerry. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Mam went up against Annette Bonner for me?

  ‘Why didn’t she tell me?’ I ask.

  ‘God knows. God knows why your mam does a lot of the stuff she does.’

  Silence. I can sense Kerry watching me as she smokes.

  ‘Come on then, where were you?’ she says, taking a deep breath and folding her arms. Like Mam, she’s tiny, built like a sparrow. Which makes it all the more incredible Mam beat up big old Annette Bonner. Jesus.

  ‘Come on, don’t keep me in bloody suspense,’ Kerry says, taking another long drag on her cigarette, the smoke misting the air between us. ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘You really want to know?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘I was in Kent.’

  Kerry’s forehead creases in confusion.

  ‘Kent? But that’s bloody miles away. What the hell’s in Kent?’

  I take out my wallet and slide out the photograph of Dad. She takes it between her fingers, her eyes bulging. She looks down at me.

  ‘Where’d you get this, Leo?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Where did you get this, Leo?’ she repeats.

  ‘Mam’s bedroom. I’ve had it for years.’

  ‘We turned the house upside down looking for this,’ she says softly. ‘Your mam ended up thinking she must have thrown it out by accident.’

  I look up. I always assumed Mam never missed it. She certainly never said anything about it.

  ‘That was his first car,’ Kerry says, her fingers tracing its outline.

  ‘Drives a brand new Volvo these days. Midnight blue. Very smart,’ I say.

  Kerry’s head snaps up.

  ‘You saw him?’

  ‘Oh yeah. We had a great chat, me and old Jimmy,’ I say with a bitter laugh.

  She just stares at me, her mouth hanging open slightly.

  ‘Didn’t like me turning up on his doorstep very much,’ I say. ‘Didn’t like it at all in fact. You probably knew as much though, didn’t you?’

  Kerry sinks on to the settee beside me, the photograph fluttering to the floor.

  ‘How did he look?’ she asks.

  ‘Like this I suppose, but older,’ I say, leaning forward to pick up the photograph.

  ‘Me and Amber got his eyes,’ I add.

  ‘I know you did,’ Kerry says.

  ‘He’s got a wife and kids of his own now,’ I say. ‘Posh house and that.’

  ‘Has he now?’ she murmurs, her face white. It’s not a proper question though.

  ‘Didn’t want to know, of course. Called me a freak.’

  ‘Oh, Leo.’

  I crumple up the photograph in my hand and let it drop. I don’t cry though. I’m not planning on wasting any more tears on Jonathan Denton.

  ‘What happened, Kerry? Why did he leave?’

  ‘You mean, what did your mam do to make him leave?’ she snaps. ‘I know that’s what you’re thinking, Leo.’

  I look down at my feet. Because she’s right, that’s exactly what I was thinking.

  ‘Me and your mam are well aware that you’ve always had her down as the bad guy and your dad as the hero,’ Kerry continues. ‘We may not have done well at school and passed many exams, but we know that much.’

  She picks up her fag again. It’s burned down to nothing. She tuts to herself and lights another.

  ‘Then tell me the truth,’ I say.

  She raises her eyebrows.

  ‘The truth, eh? You want the truth?’

  I nod.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Kerry.’

  She takes a deep drag on her cigarette and lets her eyes fall shut as she exhales. Her eyelids are waxy and shiny. She opens them again.

  ‘Your mam met Jimmy when she was twenty-one. He was twenty-three and drop-dead gorgeous. All the girls in Cloverdale fancied him, but he chose your mam. Anyway, they’d been going out for six months when she found out she was pregnant with twins. And at first Jimmy was all excited, telling everyone he met. He even proposed, brought her home this flashy ring. Everyone on the estate was green with envy, including me a bit.’

  ‘So then what happened?’

  ‘He started getting distant, staying out late. Your mam just put it down to him being a bit stressed about money being tight. Anyway, one day, about six weeks before she was going to pop, your mam got home from doing the food shopping and found a note on the coffee table.’

  I glance at my note, nestled among the ashtrays and mugs.

  ‘We thought it was a joke at first,’ Kerry continues. ‘But then we went upstairs and all his clothes were gone from the wardrobe and he wasn’t answering his phone. I assumed he’d just got cold feet and would come back, but he never did.
Your mam never heard from him again.’

  ‘But that can’t be right. I remember him. I remember him changing my nappy,’ I say.

  Kerry shakes her head.

  ‘You can’t, Leo. He was gone over a month before you were born.’

  I squeeze my eyes shut and try to conjure up the image in my head, of Dad singing as he bent over me.

  ‘It must be my ex, Chris, that you remember. He helped out quite a bit when you and Amber were little. Or your granddad maybe, before he died.’

  I shake my head firmly.

  ‘No, I’m certain it was him, Kerry, I can picture his face.’

  But already it’s fading, his features growing hazier by the second.

  Kerry puts down her cigarette and takes my hand, looking right into my eyes. Her fingers are rough and freezing cold.

  ‘It wasn’t him, Leo. Trust me, it wasn’t.’

  I stare hard at the carpet, so hard my vision blurs.

  ‘Why didn’t she just tell us?’

  ‘What, tell a couple of little kids their dad buggered off before they were even born? Easier said than done, Leo.’

  ‘Better that than not telling us anything at all.’

  ‘Your gran told your mam to tell you and Amber he was dead, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. And anyway, as soon as you could talk you were obsessed with the idea of him. It was easier to let you dream, easier for your mam to be the villain who drove him away.’

  ‘Did she love him?’ I ask.

  She sighs and shakes her head.

  ‘She really did, the fool that she is.’

  I stare at the carpet.

  ‘I always assumed she’d driven him away, like she did all the rest.’

  ‘No, Leo.’

  ‘That’s why she does it though,’ I murmur.

  ‘Does what?’

  I look up. Because it all makes weird, messed-up sense now.

  ‘Pushes them away. So they won’t leave her like Jimmy did.’

  Not Dad. Not any more. Jimmy.

  Kerry lets out a heavy sigh.

  ‘You and your mam have let that man haunt you for too long now. It’s time to move on, Leo, for both of you.’

  40

  I turn my key carefully in the lock and ease the front door open. The hallway is empty. I creep forwards and press my ear up against the kitchen door.

  I can hear my family on the other side; the rustle of newspapers, muffled voices, the occasional clink of glasses and cutlery, Radio 4 playing in the background. A perfect family scene. And I’m about to turn it upside down.

  I back away and head upstairs to my bedroom where I dump my bag on the floor and remove my coat. I hunt around in my desk for the unsent letter to my parents, the one I almost posted under their bedroom door way back in August. I take it out of its envelope and read it through before smoothing it out and carefully gluing it on to the next available page of my scrapbook.

  Mum and Dad look up in surprise as I enter the kitchen.

  ‘You’re back early,’ Dad says. ‘We didn’t expect you until dinner time.’

  ‘You look like shit,’ Livvy observes.

  ‘Livvy!’ Mum scolds. ‘Language.’

  ‘But he does!’ Livvy protests, pointing at me with her yoghurt spoon.

  ‘That’s no excuse.’

  Livvy drops the spoon with a clatter and stands up to leave the table.

  ‘Excuse me, madam, we clear up after ourselves in this household,’ Dad says.

  Livvy rolls her eyes but heads over to the dishwasher with her dirty brunch dishes, loading them noisily before wandering into the living room and switching on the TV. The whole time I just stand there, clutching my scrapbook so hard my fingers start to feel numb.

  Mum peers up at me.

  ‘You do look on the tired side, David,’ she admits. ‘Up chatting all night I expect. Now, do you want some scrambled eggs or something? I think there might even be some smoked salmon left if you’re lucky.’

  I don’t say anything.

  I simply walk over, put my scrapbook down on the table, and walk out again, shutting the kitchen door behind me.

  I go upstairs, curl up on my bed and wait.

  It’s only an hour before I hear the knock at the door, but it feels like days. And even though I’ve been expecting to hear it, it still makes me jump.

  ‘Come in,’ I say, sitting up.

  The door opens and in step Mum and Dad, the scrapbook tucked under Dad’s arm, their faces serious.

  I stare up at them and realise my whole body is quaking all over. I wonder whether there’ll ever be a time when my body does what I want it to.

  Dad clears his throat.

  ‘David,’ he says, ‘before we say anything more, we want you to know one important thing. And that’s that your mum and I love you very much. We always have and we always will. But we also need a bit of time to digest this, OK?’

  I nod.

  ‘Now, are you certain this is what you want, David?’ Mum asks, edging forward. ‘You’re not just confused?’

  ‘No, I’m sure, Mum. I’ve been sure for ages now.’

  ‘Yes,’ she says quietly, lowering her eyes.

  As I watch her move across the room, it’s almost like I can see all the plans she had for my future slowly crumbling inside her head.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us earlier?’ she asks, her eyes glistening with tears as she sits down on the bed beside me. Dad reaches across and squeezes her hand.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I was scared I think. I was worried you would disown me or something.’

  Mum starts crying properly then. Of course that sets me off, and then Dad too, which is miraculous in itself because I haven’t seen Dad cry over anything non-football related since his parents died. Noisy crying must be genetic because we’re so loud Livvy comes barging in assuming Granny must have just died. Mum whisks her out of the room, reassuring her Granny is very much alive. She ends up dropping her off at Cressy’s for the afternoon, leaving the three of us to talk without interruption.

  We go through my scrapbook, page by page. I show Mum and Dad the videos I’ve been watching on YouTube, the forums I’ve visited, the websites I’ve pored over. I tell them about the specialist clinic in London, the one where Leo goes. I monitor their faces out of the corner of my eye as they stare at the computer screen, their eyes wide, and I can almost see the cogs in their heads whirring at a speed of one hundred revolutions per second as they try to process everything they’re seeing and hearing. Some of the more explicit stuff makes them frown and wince and I can tell Mum is fighting back more tears. But they keep watching, reading, listening. All the time I have to keep reminding myself I’ve had pretty much my whole life to slowly get used to the idea, while they’ve only had a few hours.

  Dad goes off to make tea. He comes back with a tray packed with biscuits (the nice ones we usually only get out when we have guests), cheese and pickle sandwiches and massive mugs of tea. We sit on my floor and have a sort of picnic, sitting in a triangle, our knees touching.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, as we slurp tea, my throat exhausted, my tear ducts sore.

  Mum frowns. ‘What do you mean, David?’

  ‘For not being normal. I know it would be easier for everyone if I was.’

  She and Dad exchange looks.

  ‘I’m not going to lie to you,’ she says. ‘Of course I’d prefer it if things were more straightforward. I love you and I don’t want to have to see you have a hard time unnecessarily. And the road ahead, if this is what you really want to do …’

  ‘It is,’ I say firmly.

  ‘Well then, the road ahead is going to be tough. It’s going to be long and painful and frustrating and you’re going to encounter people who don’t understand it. I’m not even sure I understand it right now.’

  ‘I know. But I’m ready, I promise I am.’

  ‘What I’m trying to articulate, David,’ she says, ‘is that we love you and we’re going to su
pport you.’

  ‘Besides,’ Dad says, ‘who wants to be normal anyway? Fancy that on your gravestone. “Here lies so-and-so. They were entirely normal”.’

  I smile. But I can tell he’s putting on a brave face with all the fake jolliness. It reminds me of when his mum died and he was all lively and together at the wake, making jokes and filling up everyone’s drinks, and later I overheard him crying alone in the bathroom.

  The phone rings. Mum and Dad both claim it must be for them, leaving me alone among the remnants of our picnic.

  When Livvy gets home from Cressy’s, we all eat dinner round the table and Mum and Dad act like nothing has changed, when really, three out of four of us know that everything has.

  I go to bed early. Mum tucks me in, something she hasn’t done in years. She’s been crying some more, I can tell because her face is covered in fresh blotches.

  ‘Can I show you something?’ I ask as she turns to leave.

  ‘Of course,’ she says, although she looks a little fearful.

  I pick up my phone and scroll through the camera roll until I find the shot of Leo and me from the other night in Tripton. Despite his protests, Leo is grinning at the camera, his eyes sparkling. Next to him I’m beaming away, rosy-cheeked, high on alcohol and life. I pass the phone over to Mum and hold my breath. She stares at the screen for ages.

  ‘When was this taken?’ she asks, not taking her eyes off it.

  ‘Not long ago,’ I reply, biting my lip.

  I try to read her expression, but I can’t quite work it out.

  ‘You look really happy,’ she says finally.

  ‘Thank you,’ I whisper.

  She peers closer at the photograph and her expression changes a little. She looks up at me, a different kind of frown on her face from the one she’s been wearing for the majority of the day.

  ‘Was this taken in a pub?’ she asks.

  ‘Course not,’ I lie. ‘You know I don’t drink.’

  41

  The next day I go back to school.

  David ignores my protests and meets me at the bus stop. The moment I step through the school gates, kids are staring at me, their mouths hanging open like goldfish. I now know for sure what zoo animals must feel like. At lunch time Essie screeches at any kid who looks our way to ‘get a life’, which I don’t think really helps. I appreciate the thought though.