‘Back off, asshole,’ Shane says, his voice clear, strong, confident.
Simon laughs. ‘What are you going to do, wheel on me?’
‘Is everything OK here?’ It’s Louis, arriving over, full of authority. I’ve never seen him like this.
‘Yeah, fine,’ I say. ‘Simon was just leaving.’ I stare at him to make sure he does.
Simon shakes his head, as if he’s seen everything. ‘Big brother saves the day,’ he says sarcastically.
Louis walks right up to Simon. He’s about five inches taller, with a lot more muscle.
‘I’m sorry,’ Simon says to Louis, ‘but do you own the place? Or do you just act like you do?’
Louis smiles. ‘You’re barred, buddy. I don’t want to see you in here again.’
‘Best news I’ve had all day. I hate this dump.’ He turns and walks, Amy hurrying to keep up.
Why don’t cruel diseases ever hit people who deserve them? I think, sitting back down.
Everyone in the coffee shop is staring.
Louis and Alex are looking at each other. His eyes seem sorry. Then he seems to wake up.
‘Everyone OK?’ he asks.
‘Yeah, thanks,’ I say. My face is red and I want to punch my fist through something. Preferably Simon’s face.
‘I’ll get you some more drinks.’ Louis looks to see what we’re having and is gone.
I look at Shane. His jaw is tight, his face dark. He looks like he could kill.
I try to make a joke of it. ‘That just proves what a loser I was before I met you – going out with a-holes like him.’
‘Let’s go,’ he says.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Tell Louis thanks for the drinks,’ he says to the others.
They nod. ‘OK, yeah, sure,’ Alex says.
‘Good to meet you, Shane,’ Rachel says.
He forces a smile. ‘You too.’
‘See you,’ I say to them, trying not to cry. I wanted so badly for this to go well. Now it’s ruined.
Alex smiles a chin-up smile.
Rachel puts a hand up in a kind of wave.
I go after Shane, who’s already outside.
‘How dare he talk to you like that!’ he says, so angry.
‘I can handle myself.’
But it’s like he hasn’t heard. ‘All I had to do was stand up. And he’d have backed off. Just stand up. I couldn’t even do that.’
I look at him straight. ‘Trust me, if that was an option, he’d never have come over. Simon is the world’s biggest wimp.’
‘Let’s get out of here.’
His mood is low all the way back to his place.
In his room, he says, ‘I can’t protect you. I can’t stand up for you.’
‘I don’t need you to.’
‘I need me to.’
I’ll kill Simon. I swear to God, I’ll kill him.
He looks down at the wheelchair and slams his fist against it.
It is ages before either of us speaks. We just sit there. I regret everything. Ever going out with Simon. Trying to stand up to him and only making it worse. Not leaving when I saw him come in.
‘This defines me,’ Shane says, looking down at his body. He sounds beaten.
‘Not to me.’
He looks at me like he doesn’t believe me. ‘What was the first thing you thought when you saw me?’
I think back. ‘I wondered why you were turned away from everyone.’
‘OK, the second thing.’
‘I thought your beard was terrible.’
He smiles despite everything. ‘OK. After that.’
‘I wondered what age you were.’
‘Are you normal?’ he jokes.
‘Probably not.’
‘OK. If you’d seen me on the street for the first time, what would you have thought – there’s a guy in a wheelchair?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
‘There you go. It does define me,’ he says gloomily.
‘To strangers, maybe.’
‘Mostly everyone is a stranger.’
‘Since when do strangers matter? They don’t know you. You’ll never see them again. Fuck them.’
He looks at me for a long time. Then he quietly says, ‘You’re great. You know that?’
‘Course I do.’ But the funny thing is, before Shane, I did care what people thought, what everyone thought. I’ve changed. And it’s because of him.
‘Don’t suppose I could have one of those hugs?’ he asks.
‘No.’ I walk away from him. Over to his music system. I turn on some dance music. Then I lock the door.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Shh.’
I stand before him, holding his eyes with mine. I start to move to the music, move my hips, dance for him. Slowly, I unbutton my shirt. I whip it off and throw it at him. The corner of his mouth twitches into a smile. I unzip my skirt. Let it fall to my ankles. I step out of it with one leg and fling it at him with the other. He laughs. In my bra and thong I dance towards him. I take his face in my hands and kiss him. Then I dance away again, teasing him. I close my eyes and start to really get into the music. Finally, I go to him. I hooch myself up so that I straddle him.
‘Free lap dances for moody men,’ I say in a fake accent, maybe Russian.
He smiles.
‘I said moody men.’
He frowns. Then laughs. And I know I’ve won.
Now that I’ve offered, I’ve no idea how to lap dance. But I use my imagination. I rotate my hips, forward, back. I move my body close, then away. I raise my arms over my head, moving to the music. I’m enjoying it, turning him on, the power of that. He reaches for me.
‘Ah, ah. No touching. Is not professional. I am professional.’ I keep the accent up.
He laughs.
‘No touching till I finish.’
‘Then hurry up.’
‘Shhh,’ I say. ‘No talking. No touching.’
In the end, I touch him. I take his hands and put them on me. ‘OK. Touching.’
He pulls me to him. And our mouths meet with an aggression that hasn’t been there before. I push him back and rip his top over his head. I kiss his tattoo. He opens my bra, throws it aside and curses. His touch is light and rhythmical, like he knows how to be with a woman. I feel things I’ve never felt before. I rock back and forth, wanting more. I reach down, open his belt, his trousers. Then suddenly I’m stopping. I’m looking up at him in shock. And we’re laughing because everything’s working down there. He shrugs.
‘So we do more than lap dance,’ I say in that voice I’m beginning to like.
I jump up, get naked. Then I stop, remembering the one thing that could screw up my life – the one thing that has screwed up Alex’s.
‘Do you have something?’
‘Bottom drawer by the bed. Hidden.’
I hurry over. ‘Bingo,’ I say when I find one.
He laughs. ‘Bingo,’ he says, like he’s remembering how it all started.
Then I’m back.
He looks at me. ‘You sure?’ he asks.
I answer him with my body.
Alex was right. It is different with someone you love. But not just that, it’s different with someone who cares about you. And who knows what he is doing. Shane is amazing. He makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. Pleasure I never thought possible. Until my neck falls back and my whole body floods with waves. I hear him curse. I open my eyes to see the guy I love explode. It’s the best feeling in the world. He opens his eyes. We laugh in shock at what’s just happened between us, then cling to each other. Then, out of nowhere, tears spring to my eyes because I can’t help thinking, what will I do without him? I stay clinging to him, so that he doesn’t see my tears.
‘You OK?’ he asks.
‘No,’ I say, without moving. ‘I’m much better than OK.’ And by the time I pull back, I am, again.
I hate having to leave him. And go home. I lie on my bed, trying to relive eve
ry moment, when there’s a knock on my door.
‘Hey,’ Louis says, coming in. ‘How’re you doing? What was all that about today?’
I’d almost forgotten the Jitter Mug. I turn on my side and raise myself onto an elbow. ‘Just my ex-boyfriend being an asshole to my current boyfriend.’
‘You’re going out with the guy in the wheelchair?’
I sit up. ‘His name is Shane.’
There’s a long pause. ‘No offence, but aren’t you complicating your life a bit?’
‘Some of us aren’t afraid of complication, Louis.’ Hint, hint.
‘Have you really thought this through, though? What if you want to end it? You’re going to feel pretty shitty walking out on a guy in a wheelchair.’
‘Unlike you, Louis, I’m not always planning my next exit.’
It’s like he doesn’t hear me. ‘What happened him? Car accident?’
‘Shane has motor neurone disease – if you must know.’
‘Come again?’
For the first time in my life, I stun my brother into silence with a medical fact.
Finally, he speaks. ‘Do you love him?’ he asks carefully.
‘Yes, I love him.’
‘And you’re on for this?’
‘Yes, I’m on for this.’
‘Then you’re a braver person than I am.’
‘You could be brave. You have a chance.’
He gets up. Stretches (like we’ve been discussing the weather). And leaves.
THIRTY | REINDEER
Sunday, I call Alex.
‘Did you get a print-off of the ultrasound?’
‘Yeah, why?’
‘Can I borrow it?’
There’s a pause. ‘Why?’
‘I’m going to be an aunt. I want to photocopy it.’
‘Oh my God, I never thought of that. Wow.’
‘We’ll be kind of related? Well, not actually related, but you know, connected.’
‘That’s amazing!’
‘And you know Rachel could be godmother and we’d all have, like, a job.’
‘You always cheer me up,’ she says but sounds kind of sad.
‘So can I’ve the ultrasound picture?’
‘Sure.’
‘Will I call over for it?’ I want to make sure she’s OK anyway.
‘Yeah sure.’
She takes it out of a small brown envelope and hands it to me without looking at it. It’s black and white and grainy.
‘Oh my God. It’s so cute. Look at its tiny little hands.’ I hold it out to her.
She takes it, looks at it, then puts the back of her hand to her mouth. She starts to shake, silently crying.
‘Oh God. I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘This was a mistake.’
She shakes her head. ‘No. It’s just … First time I looked at this, David was beside me. We were together, making plans, telling each other how cute the baby was. It was the loveliest moment. Then …’ She looks up at me. ‘I still can’t believe it. One split second and everything changed. I’ve lost him forever. I miss him so much.’ She looks at me, her eyes filled suddenly with fear. ‘I don’t know if I can do it on my own.’
‘Course you can.’
‘Oh yeah, what about school? How’ll I go to school with a baby? What about college?’
‘Alex, come on. Think about it.’ (I have.) ‘Your dad’s minted. He can hire nannies, nurses, whatever you need to help with the baby. You can still have a life. And look at this little person. So beautiful. So magical.’
‘So delicate. So vulnerable.’
‘We were all vulnerable. Look at us now.’
‘Yeah, but what do I know about babies? What kind of mum can I be? I’m sixteen.’
‘You’ll be seventeen. And all you have to do is love it.’
She looks at me, eyes wide. ‘What if I can’t? What if I hate it?’
‘You won’t. It’s impossible to hate a baby. Nature makes them cute for a reason.’
‘I could hate it. For ruining my life.’
‘It won’t ruin your life.’
‘It already has. I’ve lost David. And no guy will ever go near me for the rest of my life because no guy wants to be an instant dad and I don’t even know why I’m thinking of that because I don’t want anyone else, only David.’
Oh my God, I think. It’s a total mess. And I haven’t a clue what I’m talking about.
‘Do you hate it?’ I ask. Afraid of the answer.
She looks at me for a long time, her eyes wide and frightened. And just when I expect her to say yes, she shakes her head.
‘I can’t.’ She shrugs. ‘It’s not its fault, is it? It’s mine.’
Which leads me to another terrifying thought: ‘You don’t hate yourself, do you?’
‘No, but I really tried.’ She smiles suddenly, and it’s like the sun coming out.
‘Can I plait your hair?’
‘Why?’ she asks, surprised.
‘I don’t know. I just feel like it.’ And we’ve talked enough and worried enough and sometimes it’s just nice for someone to play with your hair.
She smiles. ‘OK, go on then, knock yourself out.’
‘Have you a comb?’
She gets one, then sits down. I start by combing her hair through. Soon I’m plaiting. For a long time, there’s just this pleasant silence.
Then, out of nowhere, she says, ‘You’ll be there for me, right? No matter what, right?’
And because it’s Alex, the person who never needs anyone, it’s extra sad. I let go of her plait and come round to face her. ‘No matter what. One hundred per cent.’
She closes her eyes and nods. ‘Good.’
I bang the ultrasound picture down in front of Louis.
‘Meet your baby.’
He closes his eyes, tips his head back and groans. I pick up the picture and put it in his hand. I lift his hand up to his face. He opens his eyes and looks at it. For ages, he says nothing. Then, ‘How old?’
‘Thirteen weeks when it was taken. More now. Obviously.’
He doesn’t take his eyes off it. ‘Boy or girl?’
‘I don’t know.’
For ages, he just stares at the picture. Then he looks at me. ‘It’s not as easy as you think. I like her, OK?’
‘Isn’t that a good thing?’
‘Not if she doesn’t like me. Which she doesn’t.’
‘Can’t you just forget that?’
He laughs like that would be totally impossible. ‘Would you get involved with someone who doesn’t want you involved, someone you like but can’t have?’
‘You more than like her, don’t you?’
He puts down the picture. Sighs deeply. ‘Yeah, OK, I more than like her, which is why I can’t play happy families.’ I feel like hugging him. ‘You have to give up on this, Sarah, OK? Alex doesn’t want me involved. Let’s leave it at that. And make it easier for everyone.’ He pushes the scan across his desk. ‘And you needn’t tell her I like her.’
I wouldn’t do that to him. Or her. ‘It’s OK. I won’t.’
Minutes later, I hear him pounding on his drums. He hasn’t played his drums in years.
When I call to Shane after school the next day, Deirdre isn’t her usual friendly self. Oh my God. Could she have heard us?
‘Is your mum OK?’ I ask when we get to his room.
‘Just a bit pissed with me.’
‘Why?’
‘I cancelled my physio.’
‘Why?’ He needs his physio.
‘The physiotherapist couldn’t do his usual time and you were going to be here.’
‘Shane. I don’t mind waiting. Seriously.’
‘I know, but I get tired after physio. I don’t want to be tired for you.’
‘OK. Here’s what you do. Have the physio. Sleep for an hour. I’ll hang out with your mum.’ I’ve no idea what we’ll talk about but I’m sure we’ll come up with something.
‘You don’t want to hang out with my mum.’
<
br /> ‘Shane. If you don’t do your physio, I’ll leave. I mean it.’
He holds up his hands. ‘OK, OK. I’ll do my physio.’
‘And you have to sleep after.’
‘You better wake me after half an hour.’
‘An hour. And, yes, I’ll wake you.’
‘Promise?’
‘Jesus. I promise.’
‘OK.’
We go out to tell his mum.
‘Thank you, Sarah,’ she says. ‘At least he listens to you.’
We call the physio and all have coffee together until he comes, then Shane heads to his room with him.
‘I was just going to sort through old photos,’ Deirdre says. ‘Would you like to help?’
‘Sure.’
She disappears for a while and returns with an armful of shoe boxes.
‘Would you believe I never put them in albums?’ She tips the boxes over and hundreds of old photos fall out all over the table. ‘Dive in,’ she says. ‘Just help me put them in some sort of order. If you can.’
The first photo I pick up is of an angel. He’s about three with big blue eyes and blond hair. He’s wearing reindeer antlers and a little red nose.
‘Aw, bless,’ I say, and hand it to her.
She looks miles away, her face soft and dreamy. And I think, of all people, this is hardest for her. She’s loved him for nineteen years. She knows him better than anyone. Loves him more than anyone. Even me. I pick up a photo of Shane in rugby gear. His kit and knees are covered in mud. She looks at it.
‘He was eleven. This was taken just before he heard he’d been put on the C team. He was devastated. I told him it was a good thing because it would teach him how to deal with disappointment. He looked at me like I was mad. But he picked himself up, turned up early to every training session, every game. Gave it his all.’ I smile. That’d be Shane. ‘He loved rugby,’ she says, and her eyes fill.
And even though I don’t know her, I know what she’s feeling. I reach for her hand and squeeze it. She looks at me and smiles.
‘What would we do without you?’
The physiotherapist leaves. We stay, sorting photos, a whole record of Shane’s life. After an hour, I go in to wake him. But how can I when he looks so peaceful, away in some other world where he might be running, playing rugby or diving into the sea? I take off my shoes and slip in beside him. Slowly, so he doesn’t wake, I snuggle up to him. I inhale the smell that is uniquely his. I kiss his neck softly. Then I slip my arms around him.
The Butterfly Novels Box Set: Contemporary YA Series (And By The Way; And For Your Information; And Actually) Page 47