And he just stared at her.
And he breathed.
And he stared.
And breathed.
And then he shook his head and walked out without looking at her, like it was all too much.
She was left sitting on the bed. Alone.
Noah pressed pause and took it in.
She’d admitted it on video. Noah was a free man.
He felt a bit sorry for her, but also, WHAT THE HELL?! How dare she try to ruin Noah’s life, just because hers was a shambles? Maybe if she’d been a bit more honest and kind, Noah would have taken pity on her. Organized a charity event to raise money for the baby or whatever. Instead, she’d made an enemy of him. An enemy with all the proof he needed to TAKE THE LYING BITCH DOWN!
Laughing, he ran down the stairs in joyous abandon and flew into the lounge, completely forgetting it was Thursday evening and he was meant to be staying in his room because – “Mum! Mum! Guess what?! It isn’t mine! The baby isn’t…”
He stopped dead. Looking back at him in frozen horror was his mother and…
Noah gulped. Mystery Man.
But…
Noah blinked as he tried to comprehend it.
“You?” he finally muttered, not wanting to believe it. “What are you doing here?!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The image that would forever be etched on Noah’s mind from the incident was of a male figure whose shirt was riding up, revealing his boxers as he leaned over Noah’s mother on the sofa. A pair of boxers that had a distinctive waistband… One that bore the slogan “100% British Beef ”.
“Josh?” He was barely able to think, let alone speak. “Josh Lewis?!”
“Hiya, mate!” Josh replied, like this was all a pleasant surprise.
“Mum?!”
“Noah, I gave you express instructions not to barge in here unannounced when I’m entertaining – and now look!”
“Mum! Are you and Josh… You and Josh… You and Josh are… Oh God, you’re… You and Josh are…”
Shaking, he turned and ran out the front door as he heard Josh tell his mum, “Just stay there, I’ll sort it, man to man!”
Noah hotfooted it down the street, not knowing where he was going, but knowing there was no way he was staying in that house ever again.
“Noah? Mate? Bro?!” Josh called, running up behind him.
Screw that. Noah sped up even more. But it didn’t take long for a guy who played sport at county level to catch up with an asthmatic kid who normally avoided PE with a note from his mum.
“Noah? Mate! Wait up!” Josh jogged up, skipping round in front of him to block his feeble, wheezy path. “Don’t run off, mate! We gotta talk this out!”
Noah glared at him, furious. How dare Josh make this sound like Noah was the one who was behaving unreasonably? Noah’s breathing was short and erratic. The blood coursed through his veins, adrenaline pumping, anger rising. Josh was gonna get it, and he was gonna get it good!
“You,” Noah snarled, voice quivering with unmitigated hatred, “are an arse cactus!”
Noah let his words hit home, the full force of them doubtless cutting Josh like a really big sharp knife. No, a spear. A bloody great spear. No, a machine gun. A great, big, nasty machine gun, pummelling his pathetic, vein body with his powerful word bullets.
Josh gave him an unimpressed look. “Bro, really?! That the best you can do?”
“This is, basically, the worst thing one guy can do to another guy. Have sex with his mum! His friend’s own mum! All this time… Has it been you, all this time?”
Josh screwed his face up. “Just a couple of months, bro, no biggie.”
“No ‘biggie’? It’s … illegal!” Noah squealed.
“Mate, it’s not. I’m nineteen! I can do what I like. Shag who I want.” Noah felt bile rise into his mouth. “Even teachers at school, if I want, it’s all basically cool with the cops!”
“POLICE! It’s the POLICE! This isn’t sodding AMERICA!” Noah screamed.
“All right! Police! Whatevs, bro. Don’t sweat the small stuff.”
“How did you meet?” Noah demanded. He wanted to know. He wanted to know everything.
“Down the pub.” Josh shrugged. “She sang a Beyoncé song at the karaoke. Man, it sucked, but you gotta give her points for trying.” He gave a little chuckle, like he remembered it fondly. “Told her she shouldn’t give up the day job and she laughed and bought me a drink.”
Noah looked up at Josh with tears in his eyes. “I thought you liked me. I thought we were mates.”
“Yeah…”
“No.” Noah shook his head as he pieced it together. The ‘”chance” encounter in the canteen. The quick friendship. “No, someone like you would never be friends with someone like me. It was never about me and Jess. Mum put you up to it, didn’t she? She asked you to be my friend, didn’t she?”
“Mate, she was worried that you… She was just worried that you were … kinda unpopular and maybe … you know, acting a bit weird and stuff, so, you know…”
He stared at Josh. “I’m not a charity case.”
“Hey, totally, I know! And once we got chatting, well, I saw that you’re a pretty cool guy…”
“We both know that’s not true,” Noah muttered. “Why? Why would you want to do stuff with my mum?”
“What can I say?” Josh shrugged. “We have a connection. And sure, she’s a bit older, and some people might think that’s weird, but attraction doesn’t always fit into society’s expectations, you get me?”
Noah looked up at him sharply. Josh didn’t care what other people thought, he just did what made him happy. For all the other idiotic things Josh had said, he sure picked his moment to come out with the one thing that maybe Noah could just a little bit understand.
But he wasn’t going to give him any credit for that. That “older” woman was his mum.
And how could she do this to him? What the hell was wrong with her? She was forty. Why couldn’t she date some other sad fucker her own age? God forbid Noah should have a normal family life with normal parents who actually cared about him. He clenched his fists as a flash of heat surged through his body. “Tell Mum I hope she has a nice life!” he said.
“Mate!”
“No! Screw you! And everyone knows the only reason you’re still at school is because you failed all your A levels and couldn’t even get into London Met to do Leisure Management!” he screamed, turning and walking, really fast, away from Josh and away from everything.
On autopilot, he instinctively set off for Harry’s house … stopping himself two streets later when he realized: no way Harry would talk to him, not after their fight that afternoon. He stood in the middle of the pavement. No, Harry would just make out this was somehow all Noah’s fault, presumably for not being gay enough.
He couldn’t go to Gran’s, they wouldn’t let him in after hours.
The tears bubbled up inside him. He had nowhere to go. Nowhere except … unless…
She’d said he could visit any time. She’d said she wasn’t even starting at her new school until next week. So, maybe … Sophie?
There was a bus that stopped along the main road on its way to Grimsby. If he was quick, he could catch the next one. From Grimsby, he could get a train to Milton Keynes. Sophie would understand. She was nice and kind and she would take pity on him and might even give him cuddles and stuff. She would be everything Harry was no longer willing to be. He would definitely have enough money to get there. Beyond that, in a longer-term sense, he didn’t know and didn’t really care. All that mattered now was that he got the hell out of Little Fobbing, with its slutty mothers, duplicitous “friends” and lying girls who made out you’d got them pregnant when you actually hadn’t.
Up the road he saw headlights loom into view as an ancient double-decker wheezed its way along, holding up a queue of infuriated cars behind. Noah had never seen a more beautiful and welcome sight. That old bus represented his freedom. His fresh
start. His escape.
The bus pulled into the stop, releasing a gigantic fart of diesel fumes as it shuddered to a halt and opened its doors. Noah swallowed hard. This was it. He was really going to do it. He held his three-pound fare tightly in his sweaty hand and waited patiently as a lone passenger disembarked. He took a deep breath and lifted his foot, ready to embark on the first stage of his new life, and—
“Noah?”
He spun round. It was the lone passenger, standing on the pavement, looking at him. A man in a baseball cap and overcoat with the collar turned up, carrying a small sports holdall.
The cogs in Noah’s brain took a moment or two to turn.
A Google search…
An apartment complex…
A Ralph Lauren sweater…
And then his eyes nearly popped out.
“Dad?!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
“Are you getting on, mate??” shouted the driver as Noah stood gawping, half on the bus and half on the pavement.
He was totally confused. “Dad? What you doing here?”
“Thought I’d come back, didn’t I? Thought I’d come see my boy!” his dad said, glancing up and down the road before settling his eyes on Noah and smiling.
“Mate? Off or on?” shouted the driver. “We’ve all got homes to get to!”
“You off somewhere?” his dad asked.
“I… I’m not sure, I…” Was this even real? What the hell was going on?
“I think you should get off,” his dad suggested, pulling Noah away as the pneumatic doors started to close on him.
Their weedy teenage impediment removed, the doors snapped shut and the bus pulled away, leaving a plume of noxious exhaust gas in its wake. Noah wiped the soot from his eyes and looked at the slightly dishevelled bloke standing in front of him.
Dad.
But he looked nothing like the photographs Noah had seen on Google. Where was the tan? The bright white teeth? The confident swagger?
This “top businessman” apparently liked to wear baggy Adidas sweat tops with trackie bottoms – and quite evidently not because he’d just been to the gym. His face was pale and drawn, with a heavy smoker’s yellowish cast to it. There were bags under his eyes and a dark shadow of unkempt stubble. And, most disappointing of all, he was shorter than Noah remembered. If these were the genes he was working from, Noah knew there really was little hope for a growth spurt.
It was a bit disappointing, yes, but still, his dad was here! Should Noah hug him or something? He had seen television programmes where long-lost relatives were reunited and they always hugged and cried and stuff.
But Noah didn’t feel like hugging this man. He didn’t know what he felt.
And then he did feel something, and it surged up inside him. It was a mad destructive rage, the like of which he’d never felt before, and he was screaming, “Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!” and pummelling his feeble fists into any and every part of his dad he could find, to hurt him just a fraction of what Noah had been feeling all this time.
And when it was over, Noah staggered back to the little bench, collapsed down and started crying, huge gulps of engulfing tears that made it sound like he was choking to death.
“Nice to see you too, mate,” his dad said, coming to sit next to him.
“Where have you been all this time?!”
“Spain.”
“I know that!”
“Why ask me, then?”
Noah urgently wiped his streaming eyes with the palms of his hands, doing his best to man up, only for his dad to gently put his arm around him and the uncontrollable tears to start all over again.
He fought valiantly against the gentle pressure being applied to draw him closer, unwilling to so easily give in and make it seem like everything was cool. He wanted his dad to know he was angry. He wanted him to know he hated him, because everything that was bad about life, everything that was wrong, it was all his fault.
But Noah’s resistance broke down far quicker than he would have liked, and it wasn’t long before he was nestled into his dad’s shoulder, sobs gently subsiding with each whiff of comforting aftershave.
“I’m sorry, Noah. I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make it all up to you.”
“It’s OK.” It really wasn’t. It was going to take a lot more than a single apology to make up for six years of misery.
“I promise you, everything I’ve done … it’s only because I wanted to make life better for you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“I know.” He really didn’t. What sort of man just abandoned his kid, with no explanation?
“We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
“You’ve no idea,” Noah said, grimly, sniffing to clear his nose. He pulled away and sat more upright, remembering he was nearly sixteen, not six, and cuddling up to your dad wasn’t really the done thing any more, even if you hadn’t seen him for six years.
Catching up. How about we start with a little truth, then? “Tell me about my secret sibling.” Noah stared his dad down and crossed his arms. His father owed him that much, at least.
“Your what?”
“Come on, who is it?”
“…I’ve no idea what you’re talking about!” His dad shrugged. “Is that some crap your mother fed you?”
Noah dropped his eyes. It possibly was. Another lie, designed to cover her back. She’d probably spent the money on herself and her inappropriate choice of men. She’d probably used it to buy stupid boxer shorts that said “100% British Beef”, whilst poor old Noah had to make do with virtually wearing bin liners and old sacks, bashing out essays on an old-fashioned typewriter … practically… OK, a PC from three years ago, which was basically the same thing. God! Noah had been so gullible.
Probably sensing his realization, his dad kindly changed the subject. “Did I just catch you running away from home?”
“Oh. No. No… I was just… I just fancied a trip out.”
His dad grinned. “Mum pissing you off, then?”
“Mum is … she is a very bad person … a liar and a… She said you were dead, by the way … and I hate her and never want to see her again.”
“But you’ve been writing me letters every other month.”
“What?” Noah spluttered.
“Letters. From you… Or…”
They both realized at the same time. “Unbelievable!” they chorused.
“Mum’s been pretending to be me!” Noah squealed.
“I should have known. Of course you didn’t demand to take Food Technology as an extra GCSE option.”
“No, that’s true.”
“Oh. Oh well. But the bit where you say you’re taking an active interest in your mum’s career and do I think she should diversify into doing Elvis, Michael Jackson and Eminem?”
“What? No, that’s not something… As if?!” Noah spluttered. “And how would that even work? Ridiculous!”
“Can’t believe it. Can’t believe I fell for it.”
“I wrote you a real letter, though! The other day. I guess you didn’t get it yet…”
“Must have arrived after I left.”
“Why don’t we both go to live in Spain?!” Noah said, suddenly having the best idea he’d ever had. Everything that was wrong here would be better there. He didn’t have any best mate at all now, so he could make a new Spanish best mate. Called Javier, maybe. He would be tanned and toned, and have carefree, tousled hair. It would be lovely. “Take me with you when you go back!”
“That’s a…”
“Come on! It’s an ace idea!”
“That’s a… It’s not that simple. There’s school … and shit.”
“Shit” just about summed it up. “Have you got a pool?”
“…Yeah.”
“Amazing. And it’s hot? All year round?”
“Not all year. There are still seasons, like anywhere.”
“Take me!”
“We’ll talk about it, OK?”
> “Yeah, all right.” Noah was fine with that. It wasn’t a no, it was a “talk about”, which was full of possibility. “Where are you staying?”
“Well, I was thinking…”
“Not at home. You can’t stay at home.”
“Oh.”
“It’s just… Mum and stuff… It wouldn’t be good.”
“She seeing someone?”
Noah grimaced.
“Who is he?” his dad smiled.
“No one. It’s not serious. Just some no-hoper, really. I’ve only met him once or twice. Thinks he’s some sort of Adonis or something, but he’s just an idiot.” Noah shrugged it off like it meant nothing, but in his head he was APPLYING A BLACK AND DECKER SANDER TO JOSH’S BALLS.
“Well, I can’t say I blame your mum. We didn’t leave on great terms, and it has been a long while. I haven’t got anywhere else to go, though.”
“What about the bed and breakfast?”
“I don’t wanna spend money on that!”
“Have you got any mates you could crash with?”
“Been away six years, Noah! Doubt any of them will remember me now!”
Something about this didn’t seem right. Noah couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it felt wrong. “You’re not in trouble, are you?”
“’Course not! Jeez!”
“Huh. OK.”
“Just thought, be good to spend some time with my boy. Be there for him, for once.”
Noah nodded. Maybe. He thought through the highly limited options. “The shed? You could stay in the shed?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Noah gave his dad strict instructions to quietly sneak into the back garden and wait inside the dilapidated and rotting wooden structure that could, at a stretch, be labelled a “shed”. Then, after checking his father had reached safety across the garden, Noah steeled himself and confidently opened the front door to the house.
“I’ve returned,” Noah declared, walking into the lounge and massively swallowing his pride.
“Noah, I’m glad you’ve seen sense,” his mum said, putting down her glass of wine (wine!) and balancing her cigarette (that his father had doubtless paid for!) on the side of the ashtray. “Josh and I would love to talk this through with you.”
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