Dating Down Page 12

  “That’s never Gary.” I pick it up for a closer look. If it wasn’t for his smouldering chocolate eyes, I would have never believed the shy little boy was my Gary. Then I notice him in loads of the other photos, only as time goes on, he gets taller and happier, and by the time he and Bill are posing with their exam results, Gary’s gorgeous, his hair the same colour as his eyes, his tanned skin not hidden by tattoos and bangles.

  “You two must have been friends forever.”

  Bill raises an eyebrow. “Friends? We’re a bit more than that. He’s my foster brother.”

  This time it’s my turn to look surprised. “He told me you were just mates.”

  Pushing the newspapers onto the floor, Bill flops down on the sofa. “After Sunday, I don’t think we’re mates anymore.”

  He looks like he wants to talk. Not sure where else to sit, I sit next to him, careful to keep my legs really close together because my skirt rides up even more as the sofa cushions swallow me up.

  “So, did Gary get himself beaten up helping you out?” he asks after another uncomfortable silence.

  He doesn’t really sound very interested, but I answer him all the same, even though it makes me feel sick to the bone. “Yes. What else did Gary tell you?”

  “Not a lot.” He takes another gulp of his tea, eyes still focusing somewhere on the floor. “He was pretty wasted when he got to the hospital. We had a row just as the Social Services walked in, I told him to get lost, and I haven’t seen him since.”

  I swallow as the guilt comes back to torment me. “This is all my fault.”

  “Rubbish,” he says, a hint of anger entering his voice. “You didn’t leave Jack; you didn’t come to the hospital pissed and have a go at Social Services!”

  “No.” I stop chewing my bottom lip and look at Bill. “But I did lie to the police.”

  Bill blinks and finishes his tea. “You better tell me what happened.”

  It is a lot easier telling him the truth than I thought it would be. Bill just listened. He got me some toilet paper when I started to cry and made me some more tea, and by the time I’d drunk my third cup, I actually started to feel better.

  “Shit,” he says when I finish.

  “You don’t think he’s done anything stupid, do you?”

  Bill shakes his head.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I know Gary. He’s round one of his loser mates getting wasted.”

  “But he was really upset!”

  “And so he should be. He nearly killed Jack!”

  “That wasn’t the only thing he was upset about.” The last thing I want to do is cause Bill any more hurt, but he didn’t see the state Gary got himself into. “He was really upset about some girl who died, and then he got all mad and started going on about his mother and grandmother.”

  “Yeah, he gets like that when he’s really pissed,” says Bill like it’s no big deal. “I love Gary, but he’s a bloody screw-up.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Did he tell you about his old man?”

  “His father? No.”

  “I’m surprised.” Bill sounds like he’s reflecting on old conversations. “That’s how Gary ended up living with us: after his dad put him in hospital for like the third time.”

  It keeps shocking me how Gary can be the centre of my world, and yet I know nothing about him. “I didn’t know.”

  “There’s no reason you should,” Bill replies. “I only told you because you weren’t the only one who laid into him. I did too. I was mad as hell at him for leaving Jack, and I told him he was no better than his dad, which was why he went off on a bender in the first place.”

  “I don’t think that’s the reason he’s gone missing.”

  “No?”

  “No.” Just revisiting that memory of him leaving me ignites the burning pain in my chest. “He was upset about Jack, but he only got really upset when he started telling me about Grace.”

  “What about her?”

  I swallow. This isn’t going to be easy, but I have to try. “Gary was in love with her.” I don’t know why I find myself getting annoyed at Bill, but I do. He’s got to take responsibility for what he did, because stealing your brother’s girlfriend – well, that’s just not right. “You really hurt him. He didn’t have a clue she loved you more until she wanted you with her when she died...” I stop myself from saying any more as Bill’s blue eyes go all watery, and I realise I’ve overstepped the mark. “I’m sorry,” I apologise. “I didn’t mean it to come out like that. You must have cared about her too.”

  “Oh, I cared about her, all right,” says Bill stiffly. “Grace was my mum.”

  There’s this horrible long silence as we both look at our tea and wonder what to say next. The way Gary cried, I assumed Grace was his girlfriend and she’d cheated on him with Bill. I never considered she was the woman who’d given him a home.

  “What else did Gary say?” Bill asks in a small voice.

  For some reason, I can’t look at him. I just feel so awful for jumping to all the wrong conclusions. “He said everyone he has ever loved has left him, and he thought Grace was different, but she wasn’t.”

  “Because he wasn’t with her when she died?”

  “I guess.” This time I find the courage to look at him.

  “She died of cancer.” He sounds like he’s in a kind of daze when he finally speaks. “When it got hold of her, we agreed Gary should stay at home and look after her. He was a right mess, and he needed to be with her. I figured he couldn’t do anything stupid...”

  I don’t know what to say. No one I’ve ever loved has died. Even my grandparents, who are positively ancient, are still alive and kicking, thank god.

  “He had more time with her than I did,” Bill continues. “She was my mum. She should have been telling me how to be a father to Jack, not pandering to Gary.”

  “I’m sorry.” His grief is making me cry.

  “I should bloody hate him,” says Bill, meeting my concerned gaze. “I should bloody hate him after everything he’s put us through. Selfish bastard!”

  I want to say something to try and make him feel better, but I can’t. Words aren’t going to bring back his mum, are they?

  “All she wanted was for me to keep us together,” he says, finishing his tea and sinking even further into the settee. “That’s why she wanted to speak to me on my own. It was the only thing she asked me to do, keep us all together, and I couldn’t even do that.”

  “I think you’re being a little harsh on yourself.”

  “Do you?” He’s about as low as it is humanly possible to get as he surveys the room. “I can barely look after myself. Social Services are coming round in three days to see if I’m a fit parent, but they’ve already made up their minds – Jack will be in care or with my Aunt Viv by the end of the week.”

  I look around at the dust, the laundry, the newspapers, the empty beer cans and pizza boxes. And then I look at the pictures, the pretty flowery curtains, the vase, the lampshade, cartoons Gary must have drawn when he was looking after Jack, toys and comics that Bill bought even though he hasn’t got any money, and I realise this little house is more of a home than mine will ever be.

  Bill may think he’s doing a lousy job looking after his brother, but he isn’t. He’s just too tired to see it. And that’s when I realise how I can help – how I can help all three of them. Jumping to my feet, I take the empty mug out of Bill’s hand. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

  He stares up at me like I’m mad. “What?”

  “This place,” I tell him. “Three days is plenty of time to get everything nice and tidy, and when they come round and see –”

  “It won’t change anything!” Bill yells. “Don’t you think I would have done it if there was even the slightest chance it would stop them taking my brother away?”

  I swallow and try to keep my voice composed as he unleashes his anger and frustration. “It won’t do any harm.”
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  “It won’t do any bloody good either!”

  “I just think if we –”

  “And how would you know?” he demands, not even letting me finish. “How could you possibly know anything? Gary’s fucked off. Without Gary, I can’t pay for this place, and you, you’re so bloody rich you don’t even notice losing a sapphire necklace! You know nothing!”

  He’s right. I don’t know what it’s like not to have any money, but I do know what makes a good parent, and neither of mine qualify.

  “The only thing my mother cares about is publicity,” I tell him. “She thinks I’m too fat, so she sent me off to fat camp and won’t ever be pictured with me because she’s so embarrassed to have me as a daughter.”

  I stop talking to see if he’s listening to me. He is, so I continue. “My father is obsessed about his share price, and if I want to see him, I have to give his assistant at least three weeks’ notice. They don’t care about me; neither of them do! That’s why I wanted to be like Carrie, have friends and the perfect boyfriend who adored me, because I have no one. So you’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to be poor, but I do know what makes a family, and if I had a brother who needed me, there’s no way I’d let anyone take him away.”

  “It won’t do any good.” This time when he speaks, he isn’t angry. “They’ve made up their minds.”

  “And what happens if you’re wrong?” I ask him. “If they still take him away, at least you tried your best.”

  I wait for him to react, but he doesn’t. He just sits there staring into space.

  “Damn you!” I go into the kitchen and start bagging up rubbish and trying to chip dried food off plates. If he isn’t going to do anything, then I guess it’s up to me.

  I pile the cups and plates and fill the sink with hot water. How hard can it be to do a bit of housework? It makes me sick.

  My one little lie, my one mistake, is now a tsunami destroying everything in its path. I nearly got raped, got Mummy’s necklace stolen, got the guy who saved me arrested, and now his family is on the verge of being ripped apart. This is all my fault, and I’m not going to be responsible for Jack being taken away and Bill giving up. I’m not. I wipe away the tears with the back of my hand. Somehow I am going to make this house a home again, and I’m going to find Gary and make him see he’s still got a family who loves him.

  “You need washing-up liquid,” says Bill, elbowing me out of the way. “I’ll wash, you dry.”

  “We can do this,” I tell him. “I know we can.”

  He shrugs and starts scrubbing away at the plates. “Have you ever done any housework in your life?”

  “No,” I tell him. “Have you?”

  He almost laughs as he rinses the suds off the plate and hands it to me. “I guess I asked for that.”

  “So what’s going to happen at this inspection?”

  “Social Services send someone round to check the house over and interview me. There’s just one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Gary needs to be here, and I’ve got no idea where he is.”

  Thursday 11:00 a.m.

  Tammy

  “You’re insane,” Carrie tells me as I stop off for a quick coffee after spending over an hour choosing new bedding. “You could be at the spa with us instead of scrubbing floors!”

  “I’m not scrubbing floors.” My new Bluetooth headset is great because I can drink my coffee and listen to Carrie scold me. “Bill’s scrubbing floors. I’m on laundry duty.”

  “You’re in a launderette?”

  I’m not. I’m supposed to be there – that’s where Bill sent me at nine o’clock this morning – but their bedding was so disgusting and the launderette such a dump, I decided to go and buy them new sheets, which is why I’m in Harrods. Thing is, I just couldn’t resist winding Carrie up – I mean, me doing all of this. It’s so outrageous!

  “Of course I’m not in a launderette,” I tell her. “I’m in Harrods. Actually, it’s quite good fun, I’ve never bought bedding before, or plants, or china – I got this really nice set with black and gold swirls, kind of art deco.”

  Carrie laughs. “You sound like you’re playing house.”

  “I guess I am.” I take a sip of coffee and try not to get too depressed when I look at the state of my nails.

  “What’s Gary’s friend like?” asks Carrie.

  “Oh, he’s really quite nice, bit grumpy.”

  “What’s he on the CHIL scale?”

  “I don’t know,” I tell her. “He looks a bit like Jane’s brother with blond hair.”

  “Okay, now I’m beginning to understand why you’re playing at scullery maid.”

  “It’s not like that!” I tell her, getting annoyed. “He’s in a mess and he needs my help.”

  “Whatever.” Carrie giggles. “And tomorrow will be the end of all this, won’t it, because I don’t like all this lying.”

  “Nor do I,” I confess. “But I haven’t got any choice; Gary’s little brother could get taken away.”

  “Okay,” she agrees. “There’s no need to lay a guilt trip on me. Now what’s on your list of chores for this afternoon?”

  “I need to get something in for tea when the Social Services people come tomorrow.”

  “What?”

  “The people from the Social Services; they’re coming around to check if Bill is a fit parent. What should I give them to eat?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Carrie sighs. “When Mum hosts her charity committee, she usually gets some catering firm to do a finger buffet. It always seems to go down well.”

  “Good idea. I’ll speak to you later.” I hang up before she can ask me any more awkward questions, finish my coffee, and head down to the Food Hall.

  I love Harrods Food Hall. I know I’m supposed to love the clothes, shoes, and cosmetics shopping more, but I like looking at all the different food. It’s like walking around the world, stepping from restaurant to restaurant. In one aisle you’re in China, the next Turkey. I love Turkey – or, more precisely, Turkish delight. I cruise along the Japan counter with my trolley. I’d buy sushi for lunch, but I don’t think Bill would even try it, so I get one of those sandwich selections, some juice, fruit, and my favourite chocolate cake.

  Near the delicatessen, there are some leaflets for party catering. I can’t see quite what I want, but the woman agrees to put together a custom selection for me – finger rolls, scones and jam, all pretty things that look nice on doilies. I want doilies, gold ones, to match my new plates.

  I put everything on Mummy’s account and, taking lunch with me, I head back home when I realise I haven’t bought anything for Jack. I can’t go to meet him for the first time without taking something (especially when he’s sick), so I fight my way back through the crowds to the toy department. I have to confess at this point, I get a bit carried away.

  Jack likes Star Wars. His room is like some sort of shrine to it: Star Wars bedding (I bought exactly the same), Star Wars curtains, and Gary painted Jedi warriors with light sabres on the walls. I remember seeing some of the action figures in his toy box, so I buy him some Lego, but the box is too big to take to the hospital, and so is the model of the storm trooper. So I get one of those sticker books to take with me, and some scrapbooks to put all Gary’s doodles in, because I can’t bear to throw any of them away.

  By the time I’ve finished in there, I’m exhausted and in need of another coffee, but time is getting on and there’s still so much to do. So I fight my way down four escalators and through the revolving doors, and once I’m out on the packed streets, I try and find myself a cab.

  I tell you, shopping is much harder work than cleaning up a house, especially when you’ve got to survive with only public transport. When I go shopping with Dave, I give him a call fifteen minutes before I’m ready to leave, and somehow he’s always parked right outside the exit, ready to take my bags.

  The cab driver who eventually stops to pick me up doesn’t even open the d
oor, and by the time I struggle into the back of his dirty taxi, my bags of toys and groceries are so heavy I’ve got red, sore marks all over my fingers! But not content with making me walk half a mile down the road to where he’s stopped, he continues to complain about me keeping him waiting on double yellows, then grumbles under his breath when I ask him to carry my bags into the house. And then he expects me to give him a tip!

  Anyway, when I eventually get back to Bill and Gary’s, Bill has somehow managed to transfer all the dirt from the kitchen floor onto himself! If I didn’t know better, I would have said he’d used himself as a scrubbing brush. But the floor, which was a dubious shade of grey, is now a nice sky blue, and even the sink is sparkling in the afternoon sun.

  “What the hell?” As Bill begins to unpack the shopping, he does a double take at the finger roll selection I bought for his lunch. “You spent thirty quid on sandwiches!”

  “So?”

  “I don’t spend thirty quid on food for the week!”

  “You can’t eat soggy chips and ketchup for every meal.” For all his complaining, Bill won’t even wait till I get them out of the presentation box. I slap his fingers and, like some naughty kid, he steps away and lets me put them onto the chipped plates we’ll be using for the very last time.

  “Where’s the biscuits for tomorrow?”

  “I didn’t get biscuits.” I lay everything out on the coffee table, and now the armchairs are clear of washing, books, and toys, I sit down on one. “But I got a nice cake for our lunch.”

  “A twenty-quid cake!”

  “It’s handmade organic chocolate,” I explain. “And it’s Fair Trade too!”

  “Better save it for tomorrow,” Bill moans, helping himself to a salmon-and-cream-cheese sandwich and wrinkling up his nose. “I need all the help I can get.”

  “That’s why I got catering to put together tea for tomorrow.” I help myself to one of the cucumber sandwiches which has the crusts cut off – they’re my favourite. “They’ll deliver it with the bedding at four.”

  “You took the washing to Harrods?”

  “No, I threw it out. It was disgusting!”