All the Invisible Things

by Orlagh Collins

  I reach for his shaking hand. ‘That bad?’

  ‘Not at first,’ he says. ‘But it’s crept up on me, like I can’t get enough, and then I look further and further. I’d watch anything I could, always switching it up because the stuff I’d seen over and over wouldn’t work any more. I’d search for other stuff, stuff I’m not into … even gay stuff, whatever … as long as it … worked.’ I lift my head and examine his face. ‘I’m not gay, Vetty. That’s what I’m saying.’

  ‘Lots of straight people watch queer porn. I read that somewhere.’

  ‘But I watched other things I really wasn’t into and some of it was fucked up.’ He looks up at the sky. ‘Extreme and just … degrading. I know it’s not real, but I’d freeze up inside because I don’t want to treat March like that. That’s not how I want to be with her … or with anyone, but I panic that maybe I don’t know any other way and I hate myself for this and I’m afraid, of myself, afraid that this darkness will always live inside my head.’ He’s whispering, putting his two hands up against his ears. ‘And now I’ve stopped, the empty space is back,’ he says. ‘And all these feelings are flooding in. Look at me.’ He holds out his shaking hands. ‘I’m a mess. The smallest thing sets me off. I can’t bear anyone touching me, I couldn’t even take your arms around me in the tent, but here I am, pouring my heart out …’ He trails off and I let the silence happen. ‘I haven’t allowed myself to feel anything for so long. My head was so full of images I could crowd out everything I didn’t want to feel, but all I can see now is how lost I’ve felt at home and how sad I am all the time and the worse things got with Mum and Harland the more I cut myself off. Everything is so intense. I’m so intense.’

  He closes his eyes like he’s out of words. It’s the most he’s ever spoken about anything.

  I want to hug him. It’s all I know to do, but I’m not sure whether he can take it so I slowly move my hand across to his knee, praying he doesn’t flinch. ‘You must have felt so alone,’ I say. ‘And I get that.’

  ‘How could you get it?’ He says it so quietly I have to lean in. ‘My body doesn’t work any more, Vetty.’ He looks up at me and his eyes are bright like the moon. ‘I’ve broken my brain.’

  ‘You make it sound so physical.’

  He sighs. ‘How would you feel if someone you liked, like really liked, kissed you and touched you, but you couldn’t react? Your brain wants to but it’s as though a plug has been pulled.’ He takes in a lungful of night air.

  He’s right. I have no idea how this would feel and I look back at the lights of the marquee in the distance, glittering in the dark like a parallel world. ‘I’m so sorry you’re going through this, Pez, but …’ He looks up. ‘… I’ll always be your friend, OK? I’m here,’ I say. He nods. ‘And you don’t need to feel ashamed.’

  His head drops again. I don’t know how long we sit like this, silently, in the dark, but it feels like forever. I’m starting to get really cold when his hand reaches around and gently squeezes my shoulder.

  PART FOUR

  Friends don’t lie

  24

  We race into the carriage and when I plonk down beside him, he shoots me a look. ‘What?’ I say. ‘I prefer to face forward.’

  His eyebrows tilt, that way they do. ‘That so?’

  ‘Count yourself lucky I’m not ousting you from the window seat.’ He rolls his eyes and returns to the window, but I catch the side of his smile. He’s staring out at the passing fields again, but I settle happily into my seat, already enjoying how light and different things feel.

  I flip through my phone, studying the photos I took over the weekend: Arial in the wheelbarrow, laughing. Pez blowing balloons by the back door. Fran eating toast in the kitchen on the morning of the wedding, wearing only rollers and her dressing gown. There’s a new warmth in my stomach as I take them in. I continue scrolling, aware of how much I’ve missed capturing these unguarded looks. It feels good. There’s Wendy brushing her teeth, toothpaste dribbling on to her chin. I stop and stare. I’m so happy for her and Fran that they had the wedding they wanted; a celebration that was so them. I just wish my conversation with Wendy the day before wasn’t such a disaster. It would have meant so much if I’d been able to tell her, but now I’m not sure why I assumed she’d understand.

  Our carriage is almost empty and we’ve got a table to ourselves. Pez leans back in his chair, doodling on the back of yesterday’s order of service, sipping on a Sprite and saying basically sod all. Still, it’s nice to see him drawing. I keep thinking of supportive things I should have said last night but the most supportive thing I can do now is to act normal, whatever that is. I lean in to see what he’s drawing but he twists around so I can’t see.

  ‘I’ve uploaded some pics from the weekend,’ I say, and his pen stops scribbling. ‘D’you remember me talking about Liv and Jess?’

  He nods. ‘You mentioned them … a while ago.’

  ‘Well, they were dying to see a photo of you … something recent.’ He makes a face. ‘D’you mind?’

  His eyes flick to mine. ‘Not really. Guess it’s good … that you’re keeping in touch with them.’

  ‘It’s more like they’ve been in touch with me, a bit, but I haven’t been giving much in return. Until now. Talking to you made me realise I didn’t want to make the same mistake twice.’ He looks away. ‘Anyway,’ I say, passing him my phone with the picture of him alone, blowing up balloons. ‘Have a look. I think it’s nice.’

  He takes my phone and stares at the screen a moment, then he shifts his entire body around to face me, looking right into my eyes. ‘I had no idea you were there,’ he says. ‘I like it.’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Well, I felt miserable, and I look miserable, so … I guess you … captured me,’ he says. ‘Isn’t that what people say?’

  He smiles ever so slightly and this closeness feels precious. If I didn’t know all I do and the risks he took to get us here, I’d probably reach over and squeeze him. What he said about Jess and Liv and Freya makes me think about how much of myself I kept back from them because I was afraid; because I didn’t have his guts.

  Pez hands the phone back. ‘So,’ he says. ‘Were you with Rob last weekend?’

  I swallow. ‘We kissed.’ He snorts and looks out the window again. ‘What? I like him. OK?’

  ‘Do you?’ he says.

  It’s such an earnest question I feel derailed. ‘Um … yes, I do.’ I do. ‘Why’s that so hard for you to believe?’

  He shrugs. ‘Just, you don’t talk about him. And he’s a bit … surface, if you know what I mean. He can be pretty shallow sometimes. I thought you’d—’ He stops.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he says. Then he looks up and into my eyes. ‘Promise you won’t say anything to anyone about what I told you last night?’

  I sit back. ‘You don’t need to ask me that.’

  ‘But promise, yeah?’

  ‘Course,’ I say. He nods to himself, satisfied, and then returns to his drawing. I look out the window on my left, listening to Florence and the Machine, trying to figure out the stuff swimming in my brain, like what exactly I’m so afraid of and why I never did talk to Pez or March about Rob.

  A few miles beyond Didcot the train slows. There’s a large bird in the sky, hovering high, focused on something way down on the ground below. Pez squints into the glass. ‘Look, it’s my namesake. I’ve only ever seen one in a book.’

  I watch the bird soar over the field, darting expertly with impossible speed. ‘A peregrine? Is it really?’

  ‘You can tell by the wing tips and the two straight lines across their edge. See,’ he says, leaning his nose on the glass and pointing. ‘They’re in parallel.’

  As we come to a gentle stop, Pez leans further forward and together we watch, waiting for the peregrine to swoop down. I’m marvelling at how such a bruiser of a bird can hold itself so still when the train lurches forward and we get a glimpse of its magnificent wide wing
span. Then, just as quick, the bird flies off, its mind changed by something invisible to human eyes.

  Hand on my heart, the only living thing I’ve seen move with the same grace and power is Pez on his BMX.

  The rest of the journey passes in easy silence and we’re waiting for the doors to open at Paddington when my phone beeps. I’m expecting it to be Rob and I feel all tight inside because I said I’d be in touch and I wasn’t, but it’s a text from March.

  Hope the wedding was fun.

  Got a call about a film job. Pls say U did too?

  Pez spots her name over my shoulder and he looks up, waiting for me to say something. I hold up a finger and dial my voicemail. I’m not expecting there to be a message. March getting a call doesn’t mean I did too. Pez’s eyes widen but I stare back silently as a voice plays in my ear: a guy called Matt from something-or-other films says he’s looking for Vetty, then he says something about background artists for crowd scenes shooting in Acton on Wednesday, Thursday and Friday this week, then he leaves his number, asking me to call to confirm availability. I hang up and gawp at the phone as I step off the train.

  ‘What?’ Pez says.

  ‘I’ve been offered a job, on a film, as an extra,’ I say.

  ‘With March?’ he asks as I’m already messaging March to tell her. I nod at him, still typing as we reach the ticket barriers, and I stick my hip out for Pez to take my ticket from my pocket. He slots it in the machine for me to pass through and then follows. ‘Have you ever been an extra?’ he calls to me.

  ‘Um, no,’ I say, looking back. ‘Obviously. Why?’

  He overtakes me and turns around. ‘Well, it’s kind of boring,’ he says, walking on towards the Tube.

  I quicken my step. ‘Well, I have zero problems with someone paying me to hang around a film set for a few days. I’ll even admit to being a teensy bit excited.’

  ‘Yeah, have fun,’ he says, jumping on the escalator.

  ‘Hey, are you—’ I was about to say jealous, of me spending time with March, but I stop myself just in time.

  There’s something wrong with the Circle Line and it takes us three trains to reach Camden Town. As soon as we’re out of the station I call Dad to tell him about my new job but I get his voicemail and leave a rambling plea that goes on way past Sainsbury’s. The closer we get to the square, the slower Pez’s steps become. I’m not sure how wild he is about being alone. ‘Want me to come in with you?’ I say. ‘We could watch something?’

  He slings his backpack higher before looking back. ‘Sweet,’ he says, bounding on. I walk quickly behind. I already know what I want us to watch and I’m about to say it as I follow him in, but when we reach the kitchen Luna is sitting at the island with a friend.

  ‘Hey, you two,’ she says, springing up to greet us. ‘Did you have fun?’

  ‘Hi, Luna,’ I say, blabbering too much stuff about trains and tubes and quirky country weddings, but she kisses me like she appreciates it. Then she turns and wraps Pez in swathes of that long cardigan she wears, grasping him dangerously tight. His arms don’t move but his eyes close, like he’s started to blink and forgot to open them, and I end up staring at her friend and their empty bottle of wine for a little too long. ‘Vetty,’ I say, sticking my hand out to her.

  The friend smiles. ‘I’ve heard lots about you,’ she says, not unkindly.

  When I look around Luna has her hand on Pez’s forehead, like she’s taking his temperature, moving it slowly down his face and finally holding his cheek.

  Pez lifts her hand away. ‘We’re going upstairs,’ he says, and I back out of the room, after him.

  Pez stands over his desk, shaking everything out of his backpack and on to the floor – dirty rolled up socks, kitkat wrappers and all. Then he takes the order of service and puts it in his drawer before leaving the room.

  He returns moments later holding his huge iMac and places it down on the desk. ‘Top Boy?’ he says, on his knees, plugging it in at the wall .

  I make a face. ‘I was thinking more Ferris Bueller or Boyz n the Hood?’ This isn’t really what I’ve been thinking, but I’m building up to what I really want to suggest.

  He stands up. ‘Seriously?’ he says. ‘How many times is too much for you?’

  ‘But we haven’t watched them for years,’ I say, gritting my teeth.

  He turns the computer on and opens Netflix. ‘How about we try something from this century?’

  ‘Stranger Things!’ It finally leaps from my mouth just as my phone starts to ring. I reach into my pocket and read the screen. It’s from Dad.

  Early meetings all week. Afraid it’s not a runner.

  My heart sinks, but soon my thumbs are twitching.

  Can’t you do them from home?

  I can’t believe I’ve asked him this, but I’m already typing again without thinking.

  Or could arial stay with wendy until the weekend?

  The screen flashes again. Who knew Dad could type this fast?

  They’re off to venice! It’s called a honeymoon.

  I curse inwardly.

  I’ve already told march i’ll do it.

  I stare at the screen, waiting …

  Untell her. Home tomorrow. Talk then. Love dad

  Gah! There’s nowhere to go from here. I type OK and fling the phone down on to Pez’s bed. He brushes it aside and sits too, staring at me quizzically. ‘I can’t take the job.’ I don’t try to hide the huff I’m in. It’s so unfair. ‘Dad worked from home for four years, but seems he can’t even do a few hours out of the office now.’

  Pez makes a noise like he’s trying to be sympathetic. ‘What do you need?’

  I let out a long breath. ‘A mum.’

  ‘When?’

  I check his face. He’s serious. ‘Well … Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Dad leaves for work just before nine and Arial’s camp doesn’t start until eleven, and he doesn’t get home until after six, so …’ I rub at my forehead, realising how impossible this all sounds. ‘What was I thinking? It was stupid to—’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ he says, leaning his back against the wall.

  My hand drops to my lap. ‘You would?’

  He shrugs. ‘Why not? Anything to get out of this room.’ I reach for him, spreading my arms out wide. He ducks but I manage to grab him and for a few seconds he lets me hug him. Before I let go, I hold even tighter. ‘Why don’t you stay tonight?’ he says.

  I sit up. ‘In here?’

  ‘Wherever. It would be nice, that’s all.’

  My heart swells like a balloon. ‘I’d like that.’

  Pez falls asleep during the third episode of Stranger Things, which under normal circumstances I’d find unforgiveable, but I see he’s shattered, in every way. The extra mattress under his bed is long gone so I make my way to the spare room, the one I slept in as a kid sometimes.

  This bedroom is almost the size of our living room, and it feels even bigger because the ceiling is so high. I jump under the sheets, taking in the familiar smell of whatever they were washed in and listening to the shower in the en suite drip a beat in time with clack of a distant pipe. I’ve drunk so much Coke my brain whips and whirls. Then Luna’s feet are on the stairs, padding a predictable pattern past my door. It’s been years since I heard this house at night but that I still know its rhythm helps me settle. It’s not long before all sounds fade and I’m thinking only about how much I’ve missed being here and how good it feels to slip slowly into sleep as Pez snores peacefully next door.

  I wake to daylight and something heavy weighing the duvet down.

  A black box sits at the end of the bed, with a blue Post-it curled in a tiny wave on top. I sit up and reach for it, pressing the Post-it down to read.

  Gone to Tesco to get Coco Pops. Wanted to give you this years ago, but here it is … later than planned but charged and ready to go!

  I peel the blue sticker away and stare at the word NIKON printed in gold letters beneath.

  25

  Marc
h and I are in the cafe and she’s so excited about the film work, it’s impossible not to be swept along. I’m so glad I went with her to the casting that day. I’m glad for a load of reasons; that we’re getting to hang out together for a few days being only one of them. I finish giving her a long coffee order before I pass on the info that Matt the film guy, or second AD as he called himself, gave me about what to wear.

  ‘Nothing obviously contemporary was what he said first, but then he said not to worry, because the girls in wardrobe will give us a once-over.’

  ‘Nice one,’ March says. ‘I was so busy finding out what we’re being paid, I forgot to ask,’ she says, sliding a decaf flat white across the counter. ‘Just a hundred and twenty quid per day!’ She raises the hot milk jug high in the air and we both cheer until she lowers her arm and leans in. ‘What else did he say?’

  ‘That it’s crowd scenes for a film set in Northern Ireland during the nineties, or maybe eighties. I can’t remember.’

  ‘But what’s the film’s actually about?’

  ‘How dance culture brought young people from both sides of the divide together was what he said. I wrote it down but I’m not sure—’

  ‘Protestants and Catholics raving. I like that,’ she says, nodding to herself until Viv summons her to help at the till.

  When lunch is over we sit down for a drink at our usual table. She stares at me like she’s waiting. ‘C’mon,’ she says, ‘I want to hear all about the wedding.’

  ‘God, yeah,’ I say, making some dumb face. ‘It was fun.’ But her eyebrows stay high. ‘Well, the wedding itself was great. My aunt and her wife had the best time, but other parts of the weekend were …’ I stop to think about how best to answer this. ‘Full on?’ I say, sitting slowly back and cracking my can of lemon San Pellegrino. I’m pouring it from up high the way I watched her do, only I must have the wrong glass, because I have to slurp some out to make it all fit.