Who We Are

by Nicola Haken

  “Hey, Olli.”

  Looking up from my tint bowl, I turned to see Claire coming into the staffroom. Claire owned the salon, simply named Hair Design by Claire, and had been both my boss and friend for the last five years.

  “Your four o’clock cancelled so you can go home early if you like.”

  Usually, I’d have offered to do a stock take, clean the staffroom, anything that would make up my hours so I didn’t lose pay, but today, with my mum’s graveside visit in my mind, I nodded. “That’s actually perfect. I’m meeting Tyler.” As I swirled the tint brush around the bowl, I made a mental note to text Ty with an earlier time while my client’s colour developed.

  “Hey, did you get your new scissors yet?”

  “Nope. Not had chance to get to the warehouse, but going next week.” Truthfully, I was waiting for payday on Monday. I’d been saving for new scissors for seven months, and once my wages hit my bank account after the weekend I’d be able to set aside just enough to get the scissors I’d been dreaming about. Sleek, black, six inch, titanium coated, offset blades. Stunning. Worth every single penny of the three-hundred-and-forty-pound price tag.

  It’d been years since I’d spent so much money on myself. My clothes, shoes, and make-up were all plucked from budget ranges, which didn’t matter because I had the skill to make cheap shit look fabulous with a few minor alterations. So these scissors felt like an extravagance, and if I thought about it too hard I almost felt guilty, but then I justified it by telling myself I needed them for work, not personal pleasure.

  “Remember if you go on Monday to come and get my trade card beforehand. Ten percent off the first Monday of every month.”

  “Perfect. Thanks.” Another great thing about a new month beginning was that now March was here, the gas should start lasting longer in the meter soon and Tyler and I wouldn’t have to sit wrapped in blankets on the couch.

  Ninety minutes and one satisfied customer later, I hooked my record bag across my body and left work, texting Tyler again as I waited outside for the bus. He didn’t reply so I tried calling, only to be met with his voicemail. Stuffing the phone back in my bag, I tried not to get frustrated with Ty as I stuck my free hand out for the oncoming bus. I knew we hadn’t been getting along lately, but he wouldn’t let me down today. Would he? She was his mum too.

  I stopped at the supermarket on the way first, to print off a recent photo of me and Tyler from my phone at one of the machines, and to pick up some flowers. My mum knew she was going to die a few months before she actually did, so that gave her plenty of time to reel off a list of dos and don’ts, one of which was not to waste money on fancy flowers that would be dead in a week. She said if I insisted on flowers, which I did because she liked them, then I mustn’t fork out ridiculous florist prices when a bunch of Tesco carnations would do the trick.

  So that’s what I did. I tucked the photo into the pocket on the front of my bag, and bought a bunch of pink and white carnations for the bargain price of £2.99 before setting off, on foot, to Blackley cemetery.

  My stomach felt heavier when the gravestones came into view. It always did. I couldn’t help imagine all the tears that must’ve fallen here, all the holes the bodies buried beneath this ground must’ve left in peoples’ lives. It was a sad place, yet…peaceful. Cleansing almost. Being here reminded me how lucky I was. Money, bills, and silly arguments with Tyler didn’t seem so important as I made my way over to where my mum’s small headstone stood. We were alive. We were healthy. We had each other.

  “Think we need to start appreciating that,” I said aloud, squatting in front of my mum’s stone. I didn’t really believe in heaven, or God, or any kind of afterlife, but I talked to my mum anyway. I’d always thought life after death was just the same as before we were conceived. Nothingness. But I had no proof, and it was a nice idea to think she might be able to hear me. Even if she couldn’t, talking to her made me feel better.

  “So, Ty’s not here.” I looked around the cemetery as I stuck the carnations into the metal vase that was buried in the ground in front of her headstone. I don’t know why I bothered. Deep down, I knew he wasn’t coming when he didn’t reply to my text.

  “I wish you were here to tell me what to do with him. I swear I don’t remember being such a pain in the arse when I was fourteen.”

  Reaching into my bag, I pulled out the photo and stared at it for a few seconds. I took it last week. I bent down, pressing my chin to his shoulder while he was eating breakfast, and snapped a selfie before he had chance to tell me to piss off.

  “See the scowl on his face?” I said as I nestled it inside the bunch of flowers, hoping the cellophane would stop it blowing away, at least for a few days. “That’s been his face for the last six months. I’ve forgotten what his smile looks like. I think I’m doing it wrong, Mum. I think I’m letting him down.”

  Sighing, I sank the rest of the way down to the ground, not caring that the grass was damp and would likely seep into my jeans. I sat there, my arse getting wet, for a couple of hours, hoping the entire time that Tyler would show.

  He didn’t.

  I talked to my mum some more. I sat in silence for a while, too. I picked at the grass, thought about the past, and worried about the future until I figured it was time to give up on Ty and go home.

  He wasn’t at the house when I got back and that’s when my frustration morphed into concern, before quickly turning into anger. Maybe I needed to be firmer with him. I wouldn’t have dared disappear on my mum for a whole day without checking in. She’d have yelled until my ears bled and then grounded me for three months. I’d never been great at the authority thing. I guess I thought Tyler had been given all the punishment and discipline a person could ever deserve by being abandoned by his father then having his mother taken away, but he was taking the piss out of me and it needed to stop.

  While I thought of what I would say, how I would handle the situation when he finally strolled back into the house, I kept myself busy by tidying the living room, cleaning the skirting boards, and starting the washing. Unsurprisingly, Tyler hadn’t brought his down to the basket in the kitchen so I had to go looking for it, which is when I found a scrunched-up letter from school, dated a month ago, under his dirty PE kit in his school bag.

  It was a reminder, which I found strange seeing as I hadn’t seen the original letter either. Apparently, the one-hundred-and-fifty-pound deposit for Disneyland Paris was due by next Tuesday in order to secure his place on the trip in November, the trip I knew nothing about. Before I had time to wonder why he hadn’t mentioned it, the front door slammed, making the kitchen window rattle in front of me.

  Tossing the letter on the counter, I dragged in a deep breath and prayed that he’d left his attitude outside as I walked into the living room to meet him. “Where’ve you been?”

  Flustered, Ty ran his hand over his shaved head. I hated his lack of hair, thought it made him look like a yob, especially coupled with the hoody and tracksuit bottoms, but I didn’t say anything. I imagined he didn’t particularly like my asymmetrical style and blond highlights that ran through my vivid red hair either.

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “I, uh, lost track of time.”

  “It’s one day, Ty.” I couldn’t prevent the disappointment in my tone. I, personally, went to visit Mum’s grave often, but I’d only ever asked Tyler to spare one day a year. Just one. “One day a year I ask you for something, no, expect something from you. One. Day. She’s your mum!”

  “Come off it, Olli, I didn’t even know her.”

  What the… Winded, like I’d literally been punched in the gut, I stumbled back a step.

  “I’m sorry,” Tyler said, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean--I don’t remember her, like at all. Sometimes I see images in my head, but I don’t know if they’re memories or visions I’ve made up from stories you’ve told me. I’m not sayin’ it’s not important, or that I don’t, I dunno, love her, it’s just different for me than it is fo
r you.

  “Every year I have to watch you sittin’ there and you’re full of so much emotion. You cry and you miss ‘er, and I feel like a bastard ‘cause, well ‘cause I don’t.”

  I was too shocked by his admission to pull him up on the fact he’d just swore in front of me. “You don’t miss her?”

  “See!” Blowing out a humourless laugh, Tyler strode over to the couch and plopped himself down. “Now you think I’m a prick but I-”

  “Watch your language,” I interrupted. “And I don’t think you’re heartless. I just don’t understand that’s all. She was your mum. She loved you, loved both of us, so much. She took such great care of you.”

  “So do you,” he replied, and for just a second my heart stopped dead in my chest. He’d never told me I’d done a good job before. “I’ve always thought about her, wondered what she was like, what life would be like if she were still here…but not whether it would be better or anythin’ like that. I’ve never felt like I’m missin’ out. You’re enough family for me.”

  Sighing, I lowered myself onto the chair opposite him. “Then why don’t you feel like you can talk to me?”

  Heat pooled in Ty’s neck before crawling onto his cheeks. “W-what do you mean?” he stuttered. “I talk to you.”

  “Disneyland. I found the letter.”

  Exhaling a rush of pent up air, his stiff shoulders relaxed. “Oh, that.” He looked suddenly relieved and, weirdly, it worried me even more.

  What else was he keeping from me?

  “Didn’t see the point in mentioning it,” he added, shrugging. “We can’t afford it.”

  “I decide what we can afford, Ty. Money is my responsibility, not yours.”

  “But we can’t, right?”

  “Are your friends going?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Tyler, I said are your friends going?” I repeated, my tone firm and, hopefully, authoritative.

  He shrugged again, and I idly wondered if you could get repetitive strain injury in your shoulder. “Some of ‘em.”

  “Then so are you. I’ve been saving. I have the cash for your deposit.”

  He looked up at me, one eyebrow slightly raised, and I almost felt like the child in this scenario.

  “I’ve got the money, Ty.”

  I’ll just need to wait a little longer for my scissors. I didn’t add that part aloud.

  “Get me the original letter from your form teacher on Monday. I need to know how much the whole trip is going to cost.”

  And how the hell I’m going to pay for it. He’d need new clothes, a passport too. These things would add up, but I could do it if I tried hard enough. He deserved something to look forward to. There was always bar work going in the village. I figured I could ask around, get a few evening shifts somewhere. I was pretty well known on Canal Street thanks to my Miss Tique act. I had friends and acquaintances in most of the bars and clubs. Someone would hook me up, I was sure of it.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” Ty asked, a small, almost wary smile tickling the corners of his lips. “I can go?”

  It’d never felt so damn good to say the word, “Yes.”

  It’d been too long since I’d seen him smile. Sod smile, he was beaming, a full-on grin brightening his whole face. The moody teenager who hated my guts had vanished and I had my little brother back.

  Standing, he rushed towards me, staring at me like he used to, like I was a superhero.

  “Thanks, Olli,” he said, crashing into my body and wrapping me in a bear hug that didn’t last nearly long enough. “Can I go back out and tell Ryan? I’d call him but I’m outta credit.”

  “Sure.” I nodded. “Just an hour though, yeah?”

  Still smiling, he saluted me. “Promise!”

  As always, he slammed the front door behind him, but for the first time in Christ knows how long I breathed a sigh of relief, of hope, rather than frustration. It felt like we were going to be okay. I felt like we’d opened up more in the last few minutes than we had in the two years since Ty had been a teenager. I wasn’t naïve enough to believe the fact he bounced out of here like the Duracell bunny on an acid trip was because of our brotherly bonding session, that credit belonged to Disneyland, but hey, he didn’t hate me. He didn’t think I’d been a shitty brother or done a crap job of bringing him up, and hell if that didn’t lift the weight of a thousand islands off my shoulders.

  Chapter Two

  ~Sebastian~

  I WAS JUMPING down from my cab after arriving back from my last drop of the day when my life almost ended. Okay, so maybe I was known for being a tad on the dramatic side, but when Benny - my oldest friend and biggest pain in my arse -jumped out from behind my trailer, I almost choked on my fucking heart.

  “Jesus Christ,” I muttered, breathless from the fright. “How the hell did you get in the yard?”

  I’d been a heavy goods driver for thirteen years, working here at Patterson Haulage Ltd. for three of those – long enough to know they didn’t let pedestrians wander in off the streets to play hide and seek behind the lorries. Transport was in my genes, I guess. My dad had been a trucker all his life, and he met my mum at work – she worked as a clerk in the office. I never wanted to do anything else. I walked straight into my first warehouse job fresh out of school and stayed there until I was old enough to train for my Class 1 licence and could go out on the road. I loved my job.

  “That old lady with the bright orange face let me in. Told her I needed to talk to you about Scott.”

  “Scott?” Slamming the door to my cab closed, I fished my phone from the pocket of my Hi-Vis jacket and scanned the screen for missed calls. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Well, he likes Eminem, but hopefully he’ll grow out of that.”

  “What?” Narrowing my eyes in confusion, I stared at Benny who looked to be admiring his thumbnail.

  “Nothing’s wrong with him. I just knew they’d let me come see your truck if I played the kid card.”

  Rolling my eyes, I huffed as I turned and re-opened my cab door. Climbing the steps, I leaned inside to grab my holdall and tacho card before hopping back down. “You’ve seen a wagon before. You shouldn’t use Scott like that. There could be a real emergency one day.”

  “And if there is I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be the one anyone’d call about it,” he said, his tone amused as he ran his finger along the curtain of my trailer. “This needs a wash.”

  “You offering?” I asked as I locked up the cab and started walking towards the transport office. I found it highly doubtful as I turned my head to the side and eyed up his leather coat, and beige turtleneck that no doubt he’d paid upwards of a hundred pounds for. Benny worked in recruitment. In other words, companies paid him far too much money to find them suitable candidates for their businesses, money which he wasted on overpriced shit he didn’t need. “Or did you come here for another reason?”

  “I came because, as you know, it’s my birthday on Friday. The big three-four. I want y…” Pausing mid word, Benny spun on his heels. “Holy hot ginger.”

  I didn’t need to turn around to know he’d spotted Rod, seeing as he was the only red-headed bloke who worked at this depot. “Christ, Benny. Keep it down. I have to work with these guys.”

  “Chill out. The fact you’re mates with a gay guy won’t give away the big secret that you like cookies and ice cream.”

  “It’s not a secret,” I snapped. Or maybe it was, given that I’d never told anyone I worked with that I was bisexual. My last two relationships had been with women, and ‘passing’ as straight was simply…easier. I was a copout and a liar but I was tired of explaining, defending myself.

  There are a lot of misconceptions about bisexuality and I’d encountered most of them during my twenties. Now, at thirty-four, I was kind of exhausted with it all. I wanted to fall in love and create a future with another person as much as anyone, but I’d given up on the idea a while ago. Relationships, for me, whether with a man or a wom
an, seemed to consist of me justifying myself, reassuring my partner, or hiding – as Benny would say – the cookies or ice cream part of my sexuality.

  I couldn’t just be me.

  I wasn’t good enough.

  Contrary to popular belief, I didn’t want to sleep with everybody, and there weren’t twice as many fish in the sea, because most fish thought I was confused, greedy, unfaithful, trying to be trendy, or afraid to admit I was gay. The last one confused me the most. The number of people who believed bisexuality was a temporary label used to ease the transition to gaytown would never cease to amaze me. It happened, sure, but there were a hell of a lot of bisexuals claiming to be gay, or straight, for no other reason than they couldn’t face the stigma attached to it, too.

  I was simply attracted to people. I got turned on by the way someone carried themselves, by their confidence, or even shyness. I felt the same stir in my cock and pull of excitement in my chest when I saw the rugged grooves of a man’s chest as I did the silky curves of a woman’s hips. People are beautiful. I couldn’t help it. It’s just the way I was made.

  Thankfully, many people realised these days that being gay or straight wasn’t a choice. Unfortunately, some of these same people believed bisexuals were capable of making a choice, and that they should. Well, I tried that when I was a teenager. I tried to pick a side, to ‘fit’ in somewhere.

  Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work out too well.

  “Just tell me what you came for,” I added to Benny, pushing open the swinging door that led to the warehouse which, in turn, led to the office.

  “Do you have Scott this weekend?”

  “No. Lisa’s taking him to see Jenny’s parents in Cornwall. Why?”

  “Great! You’re coming to the village for my birthday.”

  Ugh. “Ah, you know it’s not really my scene.” I had my reasons for not frequenting the village, unlike Benny who spent so much time there it could be considered his second home. Besides, after a day on the road my idea of a good time was Netflix and a takeaway.