“And I was―”
“And you were right about Tav, yeah, but key diff, Luca, Tav never hated you. Everyone else on the face of the earth, yeah, but not you. This Jack kid, he’s not like Tav. He’s dangerous.”
“He’s scared.”
“An’ a scared dog is a dangerous one.”
“Doesn’t mean you kick it more. And―”
“Why do you care?”
Luca paused. In the quiet privacy—relatively speaking—of their shared room, with the only member of the whole extended family who could keep a secret, Luca’s tongue came unstuck from the roof of his mouth and he said, “‘Cause once I agreed with him.”
“What?”
“About being gay. I thought like him once, that being queer would make me sick and disgusting. And part of me wanted to hate Tav for what he was doing to me, what he was making me think and feel. I get it. I get where Jack’s coming from, I get that feeling that it’s sickening.”
“You know better now. Jack don’t.”
“But that I know better now means Jack could. And—he’s said stuff, when he’s been raving at me, and I think he’s actually afraid of me and Tav. I think someone’s touched him up or something, and he’s legit scared―”
“Did you just say legit?”
“Shut up. What I’m saying is, before he found out, he was alright. An’ he doesn’t deserve to go to prison ‘cause some perv’s molested him or something and he’s lashing out.”
Paolo groaned, and heaved himself up from the stairs. Like everything Paolo did, it looked like a monumental effort, and he flung himself onto the remaining space on Luca’s bed like a giant, dressing-gown-wearing sloth.
“Gerroff!”
“He’s not worth you getting stabbed, Luc.”
“And he hasn’t done owt but get gobby. He’s not got the balls to use that knife, I know he hasn’t,” Luca said fervently, squirming out from under Paolo’s heavy arm. “I’m not sending him down for something he didn’t do.”
Paolo sighed heavily. “Tell the cops what you just told me.”
“They won’t listen. They’re cops, they don’t care.”
“If they didn’t care, they wouldn’t be in our living room.”
Luca scowled, picking at the duvet cover.
“Don’t let your pride get you hurt, Luc, yeah?”
“It’s not about pride.” Not anymore. Not since Jack had first dropped that bomb about something happening.
“I’ll keep quiet,” Paolo said, “for the cops. I’m telling Mamma and Dad what you just told me. An’ if there’s one more incident—any incident—I’m telling the police, too. Okay?”
“No.”
“Tough,” Paolo said, and sounded so much like Mamma for a moment that Luca shoved him off the bed. “Oi! Twat.”
“Grass.”
Paolo grumbled something in French—jammy fuck, doing well in French at school as well as being bilingual—and sloped off to his own bed, from which Antonio’s explosion earlier when the police had shown up had roused him.
“Paolo?” Luca called once the lump had vanished under the duvet and settled.
A grunt.
“Thanks.”
Chapter 20: “He’s not just, you know, your standard bigot.”
On Sunday morning, there was a police car outside the Jensen house again.
Tav stayed away, though. He was angry at Luca for his stubborn refusal to press a complaint yesterday—for fuck’s sake, that was the second time Jack had pulled a knife!—and he knew they’d only have a blazing row if he went over there today. So he steered clear, helped Mam a bit with the chores, and babysat Amy until it was time for her dance lesson and Ian took her out. Amy could have kept Jesus on the cross distracted.
But the quiet that settled after she was gone let it all come rolling back in. Mam was tidying the living room, and Tav had been left to make up the girls’ lunches for football practice in the afternoon. The radio was cheerful. It was sunny. And Tav hated it, with that irrational fury against anything that didn’t match his current mood. He was angry, and he wanted the rest of the world to be angry with him, for God’s sake.
Fact was, Luca was being a total fucking idiot, and he was going to get himself killed, and he didn’t seem to fucking care. Since when was Tav’s boyfriend—you know, the one who was amazing at the butterfly stroke, and got Bs in geography without even trying—so stupid? Jack was going to kill him. He’d gone from putting bitchy notes in his locker in November right up to shoving a knife at him in January—that was only three months! He’d gone that far in three months; Luca was going to be dead by March at that rate, and he just totally refused to fucking see it.
And Tav didn’t believe for a minute the police would do anything without Luca. Jack would get, like, community hours or something for having a knife in a swimming pool, and that would be it. He’d not get done for New Year at all, because the only witness refused to say anything, and they’d never believe Tav to take it on his word. They’d been the same when Tav’s dad had still been living with them. Mam had only kicked him out after he’d hit Tav, but all those times Tav remembered her answering the door to the cops with a black eye, and he’d told them, but their dumb system meant they’d needed Mam to say it, not him. He hadn’t been enough then, and he wouldn’t be enough now.
So it was making his skin crawl, that Luca had the key to making Jack go the fuck away and get locked up proper, and he was refusing to fucking let go of it.
For once, when the doorbell rang at ten, Tav didn’t really welcome it. He knew what the outcome was going to be: a row. So he opened it, grunted at Luca’s jacket, and retreated to the kitchen, uninterested in anything more, but knowing Luca would just go around the back and break in anyway if he wasn’t allowed in. Lose-lose.
“Hello to you, too,” Luca said, padding after him. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Tav said shortly.
“Want to come swimming? I need to let off steam.”
“Done with the cops?” Tav asked, the words slipping past without him really realising they were coming. Shit. There went any hope of not arguing, then.
Luca snorted. “Mam insisted on giving a statement about our door, and Coach ringing them about that time I hit Jack at club. It’s nothing.”
“You didn’t tell them owt, then?”
“Course not.”
Luca’s tone was flippant, and Tav pursed his lips as he rummaged in the fridge for cheese. “You should have done.” Another slip-out.
“Oh, leave it, Tav.”
Fuck this. Tav banged the block of cheddar down on the counter and rounded on him. “No I won’t bloody well leave it!” he shouted. “You need to tell them before he fucking stabs you! I mean, do you even get that? He’s trying to kill you!”
Luca’s face seemed to actually darken. He crossed his arms over his chest, shoulders hunching up, and scowled. “He’s not,” he said flatly. “You weren’t there.”
“Oh right, I have to fucking be th―”
“Yeah, actually, you do,” Luca snapped. “He’s pulled it twice, and both times he was panicking. He was proper freaking out, he’s not just・ don’t know, your standard bigot. For fuck’s sake, Tav, his hands were shaking all over the place that first time, he nearly dropped it, he’s not fucking capable of―”
“You don’t know what he’s capable of,” Tav retorted. He felt his hands curl into fists at his sides. “You don’t know him, Luca.”
“Neither do you.”
“I don’t fucking have to know him to know you should be fucking reporting him. For fuck’s sake, Luca, I’m no grass, but―”
“Jack’s been—I think he’s got proper issues, like―”
“Yeah, he’s a twat.”
Luca physically threw up his hands, like Mamma Alessandra in a temper. “See! You’re not listening! You’ve just written him off as a twat, like he’s not a real person, and―”
“And he could fucking love kittens fo
r all I care!” Tav shouted. “He’s trying to hurt you! Do you fucking get that? He is trying to hurt you!”
“I’m not fucking stup―”
“You’re acting fucking stupid!”
Luca visibly bristled, straightening as though Tav had slapped him, and Tav really kind of wanted to. “You―”
“You’re acting like a fucking moron—what the hell do you want to give him a chance for, eh? He’s going to fucking kill you, Luca!”
“He’s not.”
“He bloody well will!” Tav raged. His temper frayed around the edges, and snapped when Luca rolled his eyes. “He fucking will!” Tav’s voice turned into a roar, and before he quite knew what he was doing, he’d crossed the kitchen, seized Luca by the upper arms, and shook him.
The slap was loud and stinging. “Lay off!” Luca seethed.
“I’ll fucking smack it into your head if I have to!” Tav shouted, shoving Luca back towards the kitchen door. “He’s going to fucking kill you and you don’t fucking care, you stupid, idiotic, arse-fucking cunt!”
“Tav!”
Luca shoved back as Mam shouted; the heels of his hands dug painfully into Tav’s chest, and Tav lashed out and thumped him—right in the eye, perfect aim, and hard as he physically could.
“Luca, go home,” Mam snapped. “Christopher Tavistock, you stop that this minute!”
“You’re fucking dead, Luca!” Tav bellowed, straining to get past Mam’s fierce voice and firm hands. “He’ll fucking do you in!”
“Just go fuck yourself, Tav, you don’t know fucking shit!” came the furious reply, and then the front door slammed.
“What the hell was that,” Mam demanded, and it wasn’t a question.
Tav paced back, grinding his teeth. His heart was racing. His knuckles stung from the blow to Luca’s face, his own face stung harder from Luca’s distinctly-not-girly slap, and Tav perversely wanted to hit him again. Why didn’t he fucking get it, what the hell was he trying to do, nurse his fucking pride? What was pride when you’d been fucking stabbed? Jack was going to―
“Tav!”
“I’m going for a run,” Tav said shortly, shouldering past his mother and stamping up the stairs. Fuck Jack, fuck Luca, fuck the whole fucking shitty situation.
Tav was going to go run until he couldn’t even breathe, and then―
Then he didn’t know what.
* * * *
Luca slammed the front door as hard as possible, and stormed across the street. Jesus Christ, he’d just wanted a bit of bloody time off from all this shitty melodrama, and Tav had to go blowing his lid just like every fucker else in the―
He slammed through his own front door, and straight into Antonio’s back.
“Whoa! What’s up, Skywalker?”
“Fuck off,” Luca snapped, running up the stairs two at a time. He’d get the bus then, if Tav was going to be such a fucking dick. He’d get the bus into town, get there earlier, and exhaust himself in the pool. People needed to just stop carrying on!
“Charming,” Antonio called up the stairs, then his boots started to clomp after Luca. “You have a row with your Tav?”
“None of yours,” Luca shouted down, jogging up into his room. Paolo was a lump under the duvet, as usual, and merely grunted when Luca rummaged in the shared desk for Paolo’s weed money. It was bus money now, bitch.
“So what else would have you―”
“I said it’s nothing, Antonio, fuck off,” Luca repeated, fishing out three quid and slamming the drawer. Paolo stirred and mumbled something about the colour purple.
“Hey,” Antonio said, catching Luca’s shoulder when he came down. “Look, it’s about that Jack kid, isn’t it?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Antonio’s hand tightened when Luca tried to pull away. “You need to tell them, Luca.”
“I need to tell nobody nothing.”
“You need to―”
“Why?”
Antonio frowned. “Why? He’s dangerous. I mean, I get it, you don’t drag ‘rents into the playground, but this is more than just a bullying twat who’s alright with his fists. You’re going to get hurt.”
“He’s not capable of it,” Luca said flatly. “I freak him out.”
“What, ‘cause you’re bent? Tough shit, he’ll have to―”
“It’s not as easy as that,” Luca interrupted. “He’s not just, you know, your standard bigot. He’s said shit, Tonio. Shit like reckon he’s—someone’s touched him up. Like abused him or something. He’s proper scared of queers, he’s afraid of me, so he’s lashing out, like.”
Antonio blinked. For a brief moment, his jaw worked soundlessly, and Luca seized on the opportunity.
“So what’m I meant to do, Tonio? Just shop him to the cops ‘cause who gives a fuck, he’s a bastard? He’s not. He’s right good in the pool, I thought he were alright before the accident, and he needs—I dunno, he needs help. Not locking up, like.”
“So tell the cops that.”
“The cops? They don’t help, they’re like social.”
“Social help.”
“Oh right, yeah, that’s why we’re here,” Luca said sceptically. Social services had, after all, had the whole family on a list for a bigger council house—given the five kids and all—since Angelo was born. Still hadn’t happened. And they’d been right arses and dragged their feet loads when Dad had formally adopted Antonio to get dad’s rights on him. Luca trusted the social to actually do anything less than he trusted the police to help.
“Alright, point, but―”
“They won’t help Jack and you know it, Tonio.”
“So what, you’re gonna ignore this until you get shanked or worse?”
“I left a note for the school counsellor, and I’ll raise it with the head of year if I have to, and I’m gonna stay out of his way a bit mo―”
“You can’t quit swimming because of some―”
“I didn’t say that, will any of you actually listen to me?!” Luca snarled, finally pulling away from Antonio’s hand and stomping down the stairs to the front door. Unfortunately, Antonio followed. “I’m not quitting, I’m just gonna avoid him at school and steer clear of talking to him. Coach will have banned him from club for at least the rest of the term anyway after he pulled that flick-knife.”
“Yeah, a flick-knife. Knife. Luca, you can’t just hope this’ll go away. Whether the kid has a reason or not, he’s fucked up and he’s dangerous.”
“So what, he should get locked up because someone else fucked him up?”
Antonio seized his shoulder and shook him, not unlike Tav had Luca. Luca scowled and shook him off, feeling his temper—momentarily cooled—rising again. “Listen, Skywalker, anyone who hurts our family, they’re the fucking enemy. You know that.”
“Yeah? What about one of our family, then?”
Antonio suddenly looked utterly furious. “What the fuck is that meant to mean? Has Angelo been sound―”
“Nonno.”
The word brought Antonio up short. Granddad. Mamma’s father, who had reacted to his unmarried, eighteen-year-old daughter being pregnant by chasing her out of the house with a gun and telling her that if she didn’t put the baby up for adoption the minute it was born, he’d kill the bastard and her with it. Mamma had fled all the way to the UK, and only returned to visit after she was married and had three more babies. Nonno Antonelli, who still called Antonio ‘the bastard boy’ and refused to acknowledge any of them as his grandchildren. Who had supported his sons in never speaking to them or Mamma, and had refused to let them go to Nonna’s funeral.
Nonna had been the only reason they had visited Italy. When she had died, two years ago, the visits had stopped. Forever.
And his very title stopped Antonio in his tracks.
“Nonno is family,” Luca said quietly, “but he’s the enemy, too.”
Antonio clenched his jaw.
“It’s not that easy, Tonio,” Luca said quietly, and
retreated to open the front door. “Jack’s fucked up. But he’s a victim, too, and I can’t just throw him under the bus, you know? Not when I know he’s not really capable of carrying out his threats. Not really.”
“You better be fucking right, Luca,” Antonio croaked, face grim and voice hoarse, “or I’ll kill you my-fucking-self.”
Chapter 21: “You need fucking help.”
The walk to school on Monday morning was…painful.
Luca was waiting in the street when Tav came out, but he offered no smile, no hug, and definitely no bachi or whatever. He pretty much shouldered his bag and started walking, leaving Tav to fall into step and scowl at the back of his head. Fine. If Luca wanted to be a bitch when Tav was fucking right, let him.
Aaron joining them eased a little bit of the tension, as Aaron played oblivious and just talked theatre with Luca, and then Tav was abandoned by the gates when he ran into Daniel.
“What’s up with you and your, um, Luca?” Daniel asked warily, and Tav rolled his eyes.
“He’s being a fucking idiot.”
“About…?”
“Collins.”
“Oh. Did you, uh. Fight?”
“Me an’ Luca, yeah,” Tav said grumpily, and Daniel shifted on his feet uneasily.
“Well, uh, you know. He’ll get over it,” Daniel attempted, then hastily changed the subject. “I haven’t done Miss Corey’s essay.”
Tav ground his teeth. For once, Daniel’s uneasiness about Tav having a boyfriend rankled, and he snarled and kicked the gate aggressively as they passed into the school grounds. “You need to get the fuck over yourself,” he snapped.
“What?” Daniel said.
“This fucking problem you have with me being queer. Get over yourself already; it’s been three years.”
Daniel frowned. “I’m not…”
“Pull the other one, Dan.”
“Fine, it’s weird. That what you want to hear?”
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