by Paige Toon
‘It smells like summer,’ I say to Natalie.
‘It smells like hayfever,’ she replies, followed by a loud sniff to prove her point. We’re giggling as we reach the group.
‘Hey,’ Tom says, leaning back on his elbows and smiling up at me. ‘Have you come straight from work?’ he asks, thwarting my intentions to ignore him.
‘Yeah.’ I find myself sitting down closer to him than I was intending to. He’s wearing blue jeans today and a faded orange T-shirt with surfer-style graphics on the front. His brown hair has been styled back off his face and his long legs are stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles.
‘You still working at that clothes shop?’ he asks. How did he know that? Oh, that’s right. He came in once with Isla. Great.
‘Yep,’ I reply shortly, taking the cigarette Em has just offered me. ‘Cheers,’ I tell her, borrowing her matches and obstinately lighting up. I know that I shouldn’t, that it’ll be one more way to let Stu down, but I’m feeling angsty and it’ll help take the edge off.
Tom turns back to his mates. My heart is in my mouth. Why do I have to fancy him so much?
Someone has brought portable speakers and Natalie plugs in her iPod. ‘Giving Into It’ by Johnny Jefferson comes on.
‘This is a bit old school, isn’t it, Nat?’ Chris says.
‘I like it,’ she replies defensively.
‘You know Johnny Jefferson used to live around here,’ says Em, blowing smoke out of her heavily lined lips. ‘But he’s moved back to LA now.’
‘Really?’ Natalie asks with a frown. ‘I thought he lived up the hill near George Harrison’s old house.’
‘He did,’ Em tells her. ‘He and his family left only recently.’
‘What are you, some crazy Johnny Jefferson stalker?’ Dougie teases her. ‘Bit old, isn’t he?’
‘I still would,’ she says flippantly. ‘Anyway, he’s only thirty-six,’ she adds and we all laugh because she knows his exact age. She goes a bit red. ‘OK, so yes, I do know pretty much everything there is to know about him,’ she confesses.
‘Are you the reason he fled the country?’ Tom asks cheekily.
‘I should have been his reason for staying,’ she replies melodramatically, flicking her long hair off her face.
We all laugh and Tom catches my eye and raises his eyebrows at me. Maybe he does like me . . . I just wish I knew where things stood with him and Isla.
Later, much later, we stumble on to the train as a group and make our way back to Maidenhead. I’ve had such a good laugh tonight, but I know I’m going to pay for it the minute I get home, and the thought is sobering.
Tom appears over the seat in front of me, looping his tanned arms around the back of his seat. ‘Are you in for it with your stepdad?’ he asks, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners. I can’t see his mouth behind the seat, but I think he’s smiling.
‘Probably,’ I reply, trying not to break eye contact as the train starts to slow down on its approach to the station.
‘Are you going to catch a cab?’ Natalie diverts my attention.
‘Nah, I’ll walk,’ I say, brushing her off.
‘I’ll walk with you,’ Tom says.
My stomach is jittery as we say our goodbyes to the others and walk beside the ring road away from the station.
‘I really want to see Two Things,’ he says, glancing across at the Odeon cinema complex on the opposite side of the road.
‘Me too!’ I exclaim. ‘I love Joseph Strike.’ He’s well hot – one of my favourite actors.
‘Well, I kind of want to see it for all the explosions and stuff, not Joseph Strike, but maybe we should go,’ he says casually, and the swarm of butterflies that have been unfurling in my stomach start to go berserk.
‘Sure,’ I reply as nonchalantly as I can. Does he mean we’ll go on a date or just as friends with a bunch of others? It is killing me to not ask about Isla. But it would be so embarrassing if he tells me they’re back together. He’ll think I thought he was asking me out when he clearly wasn’t.
Neither of us says anything for a while. I walk with my arms crossed over my chest to keep myself warm because I’m only wearing a lightweight yellow summer dress. I didn’t bring the denim jacket I usually wear with this outfit because I wasn’t expecting to be going out tonight.
‘Where do you live?’ I ask him to break the silence.
He jerks his head over his left shoulder. ‘Near the Pond House pub.’
‘That’s ages away!’ I exclaim. ‘You could have shared a cab with Natalie and Mike.’
He shrugs. ‘I don’t mind walking.’
‘Me neither. Anything to delay the inevitable,’ I say nervously. ‘He is so going to flip out at me.’
‘I can’t imagine Mr Taylor flipping out at anyone.’
I screw up my nose. ‘OK, so he doesn’t really flip out as such. He just puts these enormous guilt trips on me. It makes life even more unbearable.’
A good twenty seconds pass before he gently says, ‘I’m sorry about your mum.’
‘Thanks,’ I reply quietly.
‘What about your dad? I mean, your real dad,’ he asks after a moment.
‘What about him?’ I reply.
‘You don’t have to tell me, but do you ever see him?’
‘I don’t even know who he is, let alone where he is. My mum would never say.’
He sucks the air in through his teeth. ‘That’s tough. I’m mad at my dad, but at least I know where he is if I really need him. Do you think Mr Taylor knows who your real dad is?’
I frown. ‘I doubt it. Why would he?’ Then again, Mum knew Stu when they were teenagers. They went out for a bit and broke up. She was eighteen when she fell pregnant with me, but she and Stu didn’t get back together again for years afterwards. ‘Maybe I’ll ask him.’
He glances at me. ‘Do you really want to know?’
‘Definitely,’ I say resolutely. ‘Not knowing has been the hardest thing I’ve ever had to deal with. Well, you know, until Mum . . .’
My voice trails off. Obviously this pales in comparison to Mum dying.
We turn left at the roundabout and start to walk up the hill. I think that’s the end of that particular conversation, but then Tom says, ‘Maybe your mum didn’t tell you who he was for a reason. What if he’s in jail or . . . worse?’
I think about that. My mum clearly didn’t want me to know anything about my dad – there has to be a reason for that. But even if he is a low-life, I need to understand where I came from.
‘What could be worse than jail?’ I bat back.
‘I don’t know.’ He looks uncomfortable.
‘I suppose he could be dead,’ I muse aloud, and then I’m swamped by a dark feeling. I halt on the bridge and place my hands on the wall, staring down at the railway lines below. Tom pauses beside me.
‘Sorry,’ he says softly. ‘I don’t know why I just said that.’
‘You’re right, though.’ I turn to look up into his eyes, which are full of compassion. ‘What if he is dead? I always thought he was out there somewhere, but what if he’s not?’
‘Mr Taylor’s OK, isn’t he?’ Tom says uneasily, hooking his thumbs into his jeans pockets. ‘I mean, I know he’s not your real dad, but haven’t you lived with him for years?’
‘Since I was about eight.’ I hesitate. ‘Sometimes I think he must hate me.’ I say it so quietly, that I’m not sure Tom has heard me.
‘Of course he doesn’t,’ he says. ‘Why would you think that?’
A train passes loudly underneath us and I watch it go before speaking again. ‘I’ve known him all my life, but even when I was little I sensed that there was something off about the way he sometimes looked at me.’
‘What do you mean?’ Tom asks uneasily.
‘I don’t know. It was like he resented me.’
‘Oh. Maybe he was sad that your mum had you with another guy instead of him.’
‘Stu can’t have children,’ I r
eveal, glancing sideways at him.
‘Well, that definitely makes sense, then. You probably remind him of what he couldn’t have.’
‘I bet he wishes I never existed,’ I whisper, looking away again.
I feel Tom’s hand on my back and I tense up, feeling incredibly vulnerable. I don’t usually let my guard down like this. After a moment, he lets his hand drop and stands beside me, gazing down at the railway tracks. I can still feel the warmth of his body beside mine, but I wish he’d left his hand where it was.
I sigh. We both speak at the same time, but I only hear my words: ‘I guess I’d better get home.’ He nods brusquely and starts to walk on, and I could kick myself because I want to hear what he was going to say.
I’ll add it to the list of other things I’ll probably never know.
‘I live just up here,’ I say as we take a right off the main road. I stop at the entrance to my close. ‘You don’t have to walk me to my door.’ I’m half thinking that I might go in the back way: on to the shed and into my bedroom window, a route I take when I want to avoid Stu.
‘OK,’ he says, looking past me. He probably wasn’t going to walk me to my door, anyway. ‘Which one’s yours?’ he asks.
I glance backwards and feel embarrassed as I point at the little house that I call home, with its dark-brown wooden cladding and untidy front garden. The grass hasn’t been cut for months. Almost six months, to be precise. A memory comes back to me of mum frantically dragging the tiny lawnmower out of the garden shed on the afternoon of my birthday party.
‘Don’t bother,’ I’d berated her.
‘It looks a mess!’ she exclaimed, her long dark hair tied up into an untidy ponytail and mud smeared across her jeans and her left cheek. ‘I don’t want all of your friends’ parents dropping their kids off and thinking we live in a dump.’
‘Why not, when it’s true?’ I said sarcastically, then went and listened to my music in my bedroom, turning the sound right up to drown out the noise of her manically mowing the lawn. She was in even more of a rush to go and get my cake after that.
Why didn’t I offer to help? Why was I always such a spoilt brat? And why didn’t Stu ever mow the frigging lawn? But he was visiting his parents that day in Bristol, so I can’t even blame him. No, I can only blame myself.
‘See you later.’ I turn away from Tom before he can see that I’m upset again. He must think I’m enough of an emotional wreck as it is.
Chapter 5
All the lights in the house look like they’re off as I approach, so I decide to risk going in the front door. The house is silent when I walk in. It’s almost midnight and Stu must have gone to bed already. At least I didn’t have to risk getting a splinter from climbing over the back fence again. I feel a small flurry of relief, but it’s swiftly replaced with trepidation. We’re still going to have a row – it’ll just be a delayed one, that’s all.
I tiptoe up to my room and collapse into bed. Natalie has texted me for an update about Tom, so we spend ten minutes pinging messages back and forth while I fill her in on all of the details. Afterwards I try to fall asleep thinking about the hottest boy in school, who may or may not fancy me, rather than my disappointed stepdad.
The next morning, I take my time getting up. I can hear Stu pottering away downstairs and I’m slightly surprised that he hasn’t come to bash my door down – he never normally lets me sleep in. Eventually I decide I’m going to have to go face the music. I tentatively open the door and step out on to the faded-green carpet on the landing. I can hear the radio in the kitchen as I slowly make my way downstairs. It’s ten-thirty so Stu’s probably having his mid-morning cup of coffee by now. I poke my head around the kitchen door and see him at our small, round, wooden kitchen table reading the Sunday newspapers, his hair still damp from the shower. A mug of coffee is steaming beside him. So predictable.
I jut my chin out defiantly and walk into the room, steadying myself for the onslaught.
‘Hi,’ I say.
He doesn’t answer.
‘Hello?’ I say more loudly.
He takes a sip of his drink. The silence feels ominous.
‘What, so now you’re ignoring me?’ I know I shouldn’t push him, I know I should go and sit down and give him a proper apology, but I can’t seem to keep myself from making things worse.
He sighs. ‘I don’t have anything to say to you.’
‘Well, I’m sorry, alright? I wanted to go out.’ I sound defensive, not in the slightest bit genuine.
He turns a page over.
‘Fine.’ I go to the cupboard and pull out a mug to make myself a coffee – I could use one after last night. I slam it down on the counter and bang the cupboard door as I do so, just to make a point.
My phone beeps. It’s a text from Natalie asking me if I want to go up to Winter Hill with them. I expect Stuart to snap when I ask him if I can go, but instead he says it’s fine.
‘Don’t you mind?’ I ask him.
‘You’re going to go, anyway, so why bother asking for my opinion?’ he calmly replies.
I glare at him and walk out the door.
Dougie picks me up in his banged-up Ford Fiesta. Aaron is in the front seat and Em and Natalie are in the back.
‘You’re still alive!’ Natalie jokes.
‘Just,’ I reply, still smarting from Stu’s reaction. I have a distinctly uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’d almost prefer him to be angry with me than give me the silent treatment.
When I get home later, I pause for a minute in the front garden, staring down at the overgrown grass and tall dandelions with their fluffy white heads. Mum always used to make me wish upon them. One day, just to spite her, I wished out loud that she would tell me who my real dad was. I said it to hurt her, and from the pained look on her face, I know that it did. Now she’s gone, I’d do anything to take back every hurtful thing I ever said.
I shove my key in the lock and walk in to a silent house.
‘Are you here?’ I call aloud to Stuart. No answer.
I find him in the living room, staring at the wall.
‘What are you doing?’ I demand. He doesn’t answer. ‘For fuck’s sake, Stu, will you talk to me?’ I screech.
‘Watch your language!’ he shouts and I feel a strange surge of relief that I’ve finally got a reaction out of him.
‘You’re so useless!’ I let rip. ‘Do you know what a state this house looks? Why didn’t you help out more when Mum was alive? Why didn’t you ever mow the lawn? If Mum hadn’t had to race around here like a maniac on the day of my party, she might not have been killed!’
His eyes are wide open, and when he speaks it’s with stunned horror. ‘Why are you always such a little—’ He stops himself and takes a deep breath.
‘Go on! Say it!’ I yell, tears filling my eyes. My next question comes out of nowhere. ‘Do you know who my real dad is?’
His mouth abruptly shuts.
‘Do you?’ I ask again.
He looks away from me and the blood drains away from my face. ‘Do you?’ I ask once more, this time with shock. I step around the coffee table and kneel in front of him. ‘Stuart?’ I ask, my pulse still racing. ‘Stu, please? Do you know?’
He won’t meet my eyes.
‘I thought that when Mum died I’d never find out the truth . . . If you know, you have to tell me.’ Tears track silently down my cheeks as I stare at him, my last hope for my world’s biggest secret.
Slowly, his eyes meet mine and I know that the answer is yes, he knows.
‘Please tell me,’ I beg, as the tears continue to stream relentlessly down my neck, soaking the rim of my T-shirt.
He rubs his hands over his face in a frustrated, lost gesture, upsetting his horn-rimmed glasses. He takes them off and pushes his right hand through his hair, studying the glasses in his left. I wait in breathless silence. He shakes his head.
‘I don’t know, Jessie.’
‘Stu, please,’ I say again. ‘I need to k
now. It’s why I’ve been so . . . angry . . . I can’t move on, I can’t say goodbye to her. Not really. I’m so hurt and upset that she kept this from me. Please . . .’ There is a lump the size of a ping-pong ball inside my throat now. ‘I just want someone to be honest with me. I don’t care if he’s in jail. I’ll get over it if he’s dead. What could be worse than that?’
He shakes his head. ‘He’s not in jail.’
My breath catches and I freeze, staring at his face.
‘And he’s not dead,’ he adds.
‘Then who is he?’
He sighs. ‘He has a family. He doesn’t know you exist.’
‘So that’s it? I can’t know who my dad is because he doesn’t know who I am? Because I might upset his happy little family? Well, tough! What about me?’
‘It’s more complicated than that,’ he tells me.
‘How can it be more complicated than that?’ I don’t understand. I so wish I did.
‘He’s . . . well known.’
‘What?’ My brow furrows. Now I’m even more confused. Is he a celebrity? A politician? ‘Have I heard of him?’
He nods slowly. ‘His name is Johnny Jefferson.’
My world tilts off its axis. Not because I think my dad is Johnny Jefferson, but because Stuart has just told me that my dad is Johnny Jefferson. How could he be so cruel as to openly taunt me?
‘How could you?’ I ask, my head spinning. Why would Stu mock me like this? To teach me a lesson for acting out?
‘I’m not lying to you,’ he says solemnly and I want to slap his face. ‘I’m not! I’m telling you the truth.’
‘I hate you,’ I reply bitterly.
‘Jessie,’ he says firmly. ‘Your dad is Johnny Jefferson.’
I stare at him. What is he talking about?
Stu sighs. ‘Your mum was a groupie of Johnny’s first band, Fence, before they became famous.’
‘A groupie?’ I shake my head in confusion. Aren’t groupies really slutty?
‘Yes. She followed the band everywhere, was obsessed with Johnny.’
My face flushes. ‘Are you being serious? If you’re lying to me I will walk out of this door and you will never see me again,’ I swear vehemently. Maybe that’s what he wants.