Dating Down Page 13

  I’ve never seen anyone have a heart attack, but Bill looks like he’s going to have one as he chokes on his finger roll. “Tammy, have you lost your mind?”

  “No, quite the opposite.” And he says I’m a drama queen! “I bought you new bedding, and towels, plates, mugs, oh yes, and some plants to brighten the place up.” This time I screw up my nose as I take a sip of tea from his horrible mug to emphasise my point.

  “But Social Services will be here tomorrow!”

  “And Harrods will be here at four this afternoon!” I say, handing him a slice of the chocolate cake. “Now stop panicking and eat up. Everything’s under control!”

  You’d think he’d be happy that I bought him new everything, but Bill is in a right mood, so I leave him stomping around upstairs and do what I’ve wanted to do from the moment I started on this uphill struggle of cleaning up his tip of a house: I go into Gary’s room.

  Bill and Jack sleep upstairs. Jack has a room that is half the size of my wardrobe, and Bill has his mum’s room (which explains the pink rose wallpaper and why his desk looks more like a dressing table). I got Bill silver-grey bedding to make it look more like a guy’s room, but I bet he’ll only complain. I wish I hadn’t bothered now.

  My hand is trembling when, ignoring the “Keep Out” stickers, I open the door to Gary’s room and step inside. Of course it’s a tip, and it stinks of stale tobacco smoke. Picking my way through the maze of beer cans, screwed-up cigarette packets, and drawings tipped all over a blue-green carpet, I open up the windows and let the fresh air in.

  It’s funny; Gary’s room isn’t anything how I imagined it to be. I thought it would be like him, but it looks like a kid’s room, because he’s only got a single bed and has model robots and monsters all over his windowsill.

  Sitting in the middle of his bed, I gaze up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck all over the ceiling. If I hadn’t been such a cow, I could be lying next to him now, snuggled into his firm, warm body whilst he tells me about the inspiration behind the oil paintings piled up in the corner (which in my opinion should be in the Tate) and the half-finished mural covering his wall that looks like manga fused with grunge.

  But I’ve blown any chance of him ever loving me; the best I can hope for is being able to like myself, and that’s not going to happen if I sit about moping. I start collecting all his sketches, but my heart’s just not in tidying up, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m hugging his drawings the way I want to be hugging him.

  “Hey.” Bill steps inside, and when he sees me hugging a wad of Gary’s sketches, he sits down on the bed.

  Feeling stupid, I sniff back the tears and place the papers on Gary’s desk and make a start of picking up some of the tins and empty cigarette packets. But Bill takes the bag out of my hand and makes me sit next to him.

  “I’m sorry about having a go at you.” He sighs, scratching the back of his scruffy hair. “But I don’t like being treated like a charity case.”

  “I didn’t mean –” I try to tell him I don’t see him like that. I mean, if anyone’s a charity case, it’s me! I’m the one who needs to do this.

  “Please.” He looks at me, his face quite serious. “I know this isn’t what you’re used to, but there isn’t anything wrong with my home. I grew up here, and I want Jack to grow up here too. So when you want to come in and change everything...”

  “I’m sorry.” And I am because I know how he feels. It’s like the time Mummy threw out the white teddy bear my father gave me. I loved that bear, but she said it was old and tatty. But I didn’t care because that bear reminded me of the day when Daddy took me to the zoo and spent a whole day with me, and not once did he check his share price or dump me with his assistant to take a call. It was just him and me, the zoo, and this lovely, soft white teddy bear. “I’ll go and dig the sheets out of the rubbish. I can still get them clean and washed.”

  “I don’t care about the sheets!” He shakes his head and rubs the bridge of his nose, as if he doesn’t know what to do or how to explain what’s on his mind, before taking a deep breath. “I just don’t want you throwing anything else out, okay?”

  “Okay.” I lick my lips as I remember all the things I’ve ordered. If he’s going to get upset about grubby sheets, he isn’t going to want to chuck out his horrible mugs.

  “What have you done?”

  I swallow at how easily he picks up on my guilt. “I bought quite a lot.”

  “From Harrods?”

  I nod. “I just wanted everything to be perfect. If you don’t like any of it, we can send it back.”

  “How can I not like stuff from Harrods?” He smiles. “The queen does her shopping there!”

  Relaxing, I pick up another of Gary’s drawings that is poking out from under the bed. It’s another fantasy scene, this time of a woman with two swords fighting a nine-headed snake.

  “I’ve been living with Gary so long, I kind of forget how good he is.” Bill takes it from me, and his face relaxes. “He can copy anything and you’d never be able to tell it from the real thing, which always got us both regular detentions.”

  “Why?”

  “Probably because I got him making fake hall passes.” He laughs, and so do I.

  “That’s really sad!”

  “No, what’s sad is the fact he’s pissing his life away.” And to emphasise his point, Bill pulls out an empty vodka bottle from Gary’s bedside table.

  I don’t know why he’s making such a big deal; everyone goes out to get drunk. My mother’s drunk most nights. When I got back to the tennis club last night Rachael was so drunk she was asked to leave.

  “He stays in here drinking for days,” Bill continues, chucking the vodka bottle and a load of other tins into the carrier bag. “Never draws anymore, doesn’t do anything anymore.”

  I don’t know what to say, so I don’t say anything. I bag up some more bottles and tins and empty the overflowing ashtrays.

  “He’s going to lose everything if he ain’t careful.” Bill stares at a photo of Gary posing with a silver trophy of a graphics tablet and pen, another award, this time for designing the front cover of some magazine. “And there’s absolutely nothing I can do except pick up the pieces.”

  We begin to clean up Gary’s room, and for once Bill is glad I did some shopping at Harrods, because we need more rubbish bags. We work really hard. Bill doesn’t talk much, but when he does, it’s usually to share with me some funny story about when he and Gary were at school, so the rest of the time we listen to the radio and I sing along to the tunes, which makes him smile.

  I take the rubbish out, and when I get back inside, I’m really annoyed because Bill’s got Gary’s wardrobe open and is systematically searching through this jacket pockets and piles of T-shirts.

  “What are you doing?” I know we’ve got to tidy, but Gary’s entitled to some privacy. It is his room.

  “Making sure he’s not got anything stashed he shouldn’t have.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Bill extracts another small bottle of vodka from inside a big black trench coat. “I tell you, if I find any dope, he’s dead!”

  “Don’t say that,” I snap. “For all we know he is dead!”

  Bill ignores me and, turning around, stares with wide eyes at a patch of wall. I turn around to see what he’s looking at, but there’s nothing there, nothing at all, just a rectangular expanse of blue wallpaper.

  “Did you move that?” he demands.

  “What?” I’m still mad at him for going through Gary’s stuff like he’s some kind of criminal.

  “Gary’s Star Wars poster. It was next to the door. Did you move it?”

  “No.”

  “Shit!”

  And then, without offering any other kind of explanation, he bolts from the room and runs up the stairs. And he thinks I’m the weird one! I tell you, if I live to be one hundred, I’m never going to understand guys. With a heavy sigh, I head upstairs to see what all the fuss is about.
>
  Thursday 3:50 p.m.

  Gary

  When I got to the hospital, it took me bloody ages to find Jack’s ward because they’d moved him since I’d been there last, and then it took me even longer to find a nurse, but I eventually tracked one down in a small office, filling in forms.

  “Could you give this to Jack Saunders?” I place the cardboard tube containing my Star Wars poster by her arm.

  “If you wait ten minutes, you can give it to him yourself.” Smiling, she hands it back to me. “Visiting hours start at four.”

  “I’ve got a lot on.” I haven’t. I’ve been killing time all week, and I’ve got another two hours to kill before Vernon finishes work and I can go back to watching crap TV on his couch.

  “You’re Jack’s brother, aren’t you?” she says, tucking her pen behind her ear. “The one who draws?”

  “Yeah.” My stomach starts break dancing as I imagine how many other things Jack’s been telling her.

  “He never stops talking about you,” she tells me. “And he’s pretty upset you’ve not been round to see him.”

  “Well, like I said, I’ve been busy.” I put the tube back down on her cluttered desk and turn to leave. It was a mistake coming. I should have mailed the bloody poster or, better still, just stuck it up in Jack’s room, but I wanted to know how he was. Staying away is the easy bit. The hard bit is the not knowing. That’s what’s been doing my head in.

  “Gary,” says the nurse, and because she’s used my name, it acts like some kind of spell and glues me to the spot. “I know you and your other brother have fallen out, but that shouldn’t stop you from visiting Jack.”

  I keep my back to her so she can’t see what an emotional mess I am.

  “Go and see Jack,” she says, linking arms with me and beginning to steer me forward, down the long, depressing grey corridor that stinks of antiseptic. “You’ll feel better if you do.”

  I don’t really put up much of a fight because I haven’t got the strength, and let’s face it, I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to see Jack. And then when I see him, I’m bloody glad I did, because the other three kids he’s sharing a room with are playing together, and he’s curled up in bed in his Star Wars pyjamas watching TV all alone.

  “Gary!” Jack rushes me and nearly knocks me off my feet.

  “Cup of tea?” the nurse enquires in a cheery voice, ignoring my red eyes.

  “Thanks.” I wrap my arms around Jack and give him a hug, and because he won’t let go, I have to pick him up to put him back in bed.

  The hospital is one of these old Victorian buildings, high ceilings, cold white walls, and cold grey lino floor. There are four beds in the room, all far too big for the kids sleeping in them, and in an attempt to make it look less like a prison, I notice someone’s stuffed some building blocks and toy cars in a cardboard box by the TV.

  “Why aren’t you playing with them?” The other boys, who look about Jack’s age, are playing with the cars. They stop staring the moment I turn round to look at them.

  He shrugs and pushes himself under my arm so I’m forced to give him a hug whether I want to or not.

  “You still feeling sick?”

  “Nope.” He looks up and grins. “I missed you.”

  I swallow what feels like a football in my throat, and while I’m waiting for the surge of guilt to pass, I trace the tartan squares on the blanket with my fingertip. It isn’t easy. I’m a mess, and if I allow myself to indulge with being a big brother to Jack, I’m never going to have the strength to do the right thing and leave.

  “Here you go,” I say, handing him my – I mean his – poster.

  “What is it?”

  “Your Star Wars poster.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Thanks.” Still refusing to let go of my arm, he leaves the poster on the covers, and for a moment we just sit back and watch the telly in silence.

  It’s just like old times, when he used to come into my room to watch the cartoons on Saturday-morning TV. Bill was never keen on cartoons; he always wanted to watch the football. Me, I prefer the cartoons.

  “Where you been?” Jack asks after a while.

  “Vernon’s.”

  “Why?”

  “I need my own space.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do.”

  “Why?”

  I take a deep breath. There are a million reasons I had to go, but only one he’d understand. “Because it’s my fault you’re in hospital.”

  “You didn’t make me sick.”

  “I know.” I sit upright and mute the telly so we can have a talk, man to man. “But I wasn’t supposed to leave you on your own. That was a bad thing to do. That’s why Bill’s cross with me: because I didn’t look after you properly.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know.” And I don’t, I mean I really don’t. He’s my brother. I was there when he was born. I’d die to keep him safe, and yet I left him and nearly killed him because I wanted a drink. “Anyway,” I say, clearing my throat. “It doesn’t matter what I did wrong, because you’ve got Bill to look after you.”

  Jack considers this for a moment and turns to look up at me. “So who’s going to look after you?”

  “I don’t need looking after – I’m a grown-up.”

  I am so engrossed trying to explain things to Jack, I never see Bill standing in the doorway with my mug of tea.

  “Grown-up,” Bill scoffs, plonking the tea on the bedside table. “You could have fooled me!”

  Bill I could have dealt with – just about – but not her.

  “Hi, Gary,” she says.

  I make the mistake of looking into her eyes, and I’m a wreck again. I don’t know what it is about Tammy. From the very first time I saw her, there was this connection, and it’s still there. It’s as strong as it ever was, stronger even.

  “How are you?” Wearing blue jeans and a white strappy top which shows off her bare shoulders I want to kiss, she steps forward. Without realising it, I pull Jack to myself, as if a sick six-year-old can protect me from myself.

  “Just great!” My pain erupts into anger, and I turn on her. “How are you and Bill doing?”

  She takes a step back like I’ve slapped her, and I hate myself even more, because no matter how hard I try, I still want her.

  “Don’t be such a wanker, Gary!” Bill snaps, plonking himself down in the armchair. “Do you really think I’d hit on your girl?”

  Of course I don’t think that! Bill’s a rock-solid mate, but the truth is I’d be jealous of anyone she spent time with because I want her so much.

  “You look like crap,” Bill says in the same angry tones after the silence becomes too awkward.

  “Thanks.” I do look like crap, but I don’t like him telling me. Careful not to look at her again, I get to my feet. “I’ll see you around.”

  “Going already?” Bill looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, which is probably why he’s behaving like such an arsehole.

  “I got things to do.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “What’s there to talk about?” We pretty much said everything we had to say to each other last week.

  “Like when you’re coming back home.”

  “I’m not.”

  “But you’ve got to.”

  “I don’t have to do anything.” I go to Jack, who’s started to cry again, but Bill gets to him first.

  “Just fuck off.” Bill snarls, gathering Jack up in his arms.

  “I said I was sorry.” I try to apologise, but he’s having none of it. Bill, he’s a right stubborn son of a bitch.

  “You’re always sorry, Gary.”

  “That’s not fair!” If only he knew how bloody miserable I am sleeping on Vernon’s sofa so him and Jack would be all right, he’d be kissing the ground I walk on.

  “Then why won’t you come home?” Jack sobs, great bubbles of snot bursting out of his nose. “Is it bec
ause you like Vernon more than us?”

  “You’re never staying with that pothead Vernon,” Bill exclaims. “Christ, Gary, what’s got into you?”

  It’s all getting to be too much, especially as more people start gathering around to see what all the shouting is about. Perhaps if I could sleep, I might handle this better. But I can’t sleep because all the bad things I’ve done keep coming back to haunt me, and I’ve got no money for beer to stop the nightmares, and I can’t get any more money because I can’t face going to work, and I don’t know what I’m going to do. I don’t know anything anymore. I just know I have to leave.

  “I don’t want you to go.” Jack wraps himself around my leg, still crying.

  Fighting back the tears myself, I try and pull him off me again, but he just won’t let go. “I don’t want to go either. But I have to.”

  “Why?” Jack sobs.

  “’Cos he don’t give a shit about anyone except himself!” Bill picks up Jack and takes him back to bed.

  My immediate reaction is to fight back, but that’s what my dad did – use his fists – and I’m not going to be like him again. I wish I could explain it to them so they’d understand, but how can I explain something it has taken me eighteen years to realise? I take a deep breath, and I go.

  “Gary, wait!” Jack comes running after me.

  I can’t help it. I turn round to see what he wants.

  “I don’t want to be your mate anymore,” he sniffs. Shoving my poster into my hand, he runs back to Bill.

  Pushing past the walls of nurses and other visitors who like nothing more than to see someone having a meltdown, I run down the stairs and head outside with every intention of getting as far away from everyone as I can. But I only get as far as the bench outside casualty, and then I do something I never thought I’d do: I stuff my poster in the bin. I don’t want it. What use is a bloody Star Wars poster, even if it is over thirty years old and an original, when your whole life is falling apart?

  “Bill didn’t mean any of that.”

  I look up, and there she is, standing a few feet away, pretty as you like, like she’s waiting for an invite to join me. She isn’t going to get one – not ever.