‘I’m being serious, Danny. You used to talk a lot about your mam and Callum.’
‘Nowt to talk about.’
‘And you don’t invite me round your place any more.’
‘It’s a long way up Whickham Bank.’
Part of me wanted to tell Amy. Wanted to tell her everything. But the other part, the part that always wins, had parked a boulder in front of me mouth. It was saying, ‘No, bad idea, Danny. She can’t help you. You’ll scare her away. It’s for you to fix.’
‘If we’re going out I don’t want us to have any secrets,’ said Amy.
‘Like you not telling me anything about Lanky Dave.’
Amy’s face told me I’d got her on that one.
‘I’m concerned, that’s all, Danny. If something happened you’d tell me, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you?’
Did the world’s smallest nod.
‘Can I have a proper answer, please?’
‘Yes, Amy. I’d tell you.’
Thirteen
• • •
‘Mam, can you tell me about me dad?’
‘I’ve told you a million times, Danny.’ Exaggeration. ‘I’m not talking about him.’
‘I just want to know who he is, that’s all. All the other kids know who their dads are, even the ones who’ve copped off with someone. Why won’t you tell me?’
The question usually ended with me mam slobbing on a chair, or blowing out air or staring out of the window, sometimes all three. And that’s what happened this time.
‘Some things are best left in the past, Danny.’
‘Why? Was he bad?’ I nearly said, ‘like Callum’. Didn’t. Should have.
‘Yeah, he was bad, in his own way.’
‘Which way?’
‘His way.’
‘How bad?’
‘Just bad,’ she snapped.
Bad was what I needed, a really bad dad to do something to Callum and make him stop.
‘Was he a criminal?’
‘Danny, I said I don’t want to talk about him and now you’ve gone and made me talk about him.’
‘Do you not know where he lives then?’
‘Yes I do, but I’ve got no intention of telling you.’
Tried one last thing.
‘But if I’ve got a dad, why can’t I see him? All the other kids see theirs.’
This had just the right effect on me mam. She got up from the sofa, came over and gave me a big cuddle.
‘Danny, your dad and I went our separate ways even before you were born. We had our reasons, and please don’t ask me what they were.’ I was just about to do that. ‘It’s best if we leave things the way they are.’
‘Just you, me and Callum?’
‘Yes, just you, me and Callum,’ she said, trying hard to smile.
Me dad must have done something really bad if this was better than that. I realised that me mam was never going to tell me about me dad, not in a trillion years. But if she wouldn’t, I knew someone who would.
‘Hi, Gran.’
‘Eeh, hello, Danny, haven’t seen you in ages,’ said me gran, looking me up and down. ‘Was gonna say you’ve grown, but I’m not sure you have.’
Gave her a massive hug.
‘What brings you here?’
‘Me bike.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Me bike,’ I shouted.
‘Oh.’
‘Have you not got your hearing aid in, Gran?’ I said, at full volume.
‘Na, I divvent like them. Hurt me lugs.’
Me gran would rather be half-deaf than have sore ears. Maybe she thinks we all talk rubbish.
‘Where’s your mam?’
‘Home.’
‘Haven’t seen her in donkeys.’ Even more wrinkles filled her forehead. ‘Is she okay, Danny?’
‘Think so.’
‘And what’s Callum up to?’
‘The usual.’
‘Chatterbox, aren’t you? Howay inside.’
We went in. The house smelled just the way I remembered it, like a flower shop. Looked at the stairs I used to slide down on me coat. Saw pictures of me mam and me on the wall. It was good to be back.
I followed her into the front room.
‘Sit there, Danny, so you’re on me good side.’
Flopped down next to her on the sofa. Gran’s house was dead clean, with lots of stuff in glass cabinets, like a museum. Granda was sitting in the corner, staring at nothing.
‘Y’alreet, Granda?’
Didn’t even turn his head.
Gran smiled as if to say, Don’t bother, son.
‘Would you like a glass of pop, Danny?’ she said. ‘You always used to love pop.’
‘Aye—’ nearly forgot – ‘please.’
She went and got me a glass of lemonade. Tasted good. Felt a burp building, but managed to keep it to meself. Even me gran’s ears could hear one of me monster belches.
‘So how come you’ve decided to pay us a visit?’
‘Want to know where me dad is.’
Gran didn’t have much colour in her face, but what she did have went and left. She looked a bit like the lass whose car got kicked by Callum on the coast road. Gran took in some quick gulps of air like she was sinking underwater. This made her cheeks go back to pink again.
She put her spotty hand on mine. ‘What’s brought this on, Danny?’ she said, looking worried.
‘Nothing’s brought it on, Gran. Just want to know where he is.’
‘Have you asked your mam?’
‘Aye, she’ll tell me nowt.’
Gran looked at me over the top of her glasses. ‘If she won’t, I don’t think I can.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because your mam must have a very good reason.’
‘What reason?’
Gran scratched her chin. She had little hairs, just like Barry.
‘There’s things in life you don’t need to know about, Danny. Maybe one day you’ll get to hear all about him. But now’s not that time.’
‘What about in five minutes?’
‘No, not in five minutes either. In a few years.’
‘I don’t want to wait for years.’
‘Well, you’ll just have to. You’ve got to be patient.’
Then she put her hand on mine again.
‘Tell your mam to call me.’
‘That’s if he lets her,’ I muttered.
‘What’s that, son?’
‘Nothing, Gran. Nothing.’
Fourteen
•
I sometimes went round Amy’s house after school. Liked going there. There was a good feeling to the place. It felt safe. Like nothing was ever going to kick off. Probably scared to do anything in front of Jesus, who was watching them from crosses, all over the house.
But I remember one time her mam and dad actually had a bit of a barney.
‘I’m going out tonight, Mark,’ said Amy’s mam. ‘It’s been in the diary for ages.’
‘I was going to watch the match at the pub,’ he said, his voice all disappointed.
‘You can watch it here.’
‘Not the same.’
‘It’s a game on a telly. Don’t tell me it’s a different match at the pub.’
‘It’s the atmosphere.’
I’d come to realise that adults can argue about absolutely anything. Amy and me sat listening to them in the front room.
‘What’ll happen now?’ I asked Amy.
‘Me dad’ll stop in and watch the football.’
‘He’ll let your mam win?’
Amy looked at me, with her quizzing face. ‘Do you mean Callum always wins in your house?’
‘Well, he’s the bloke, isn’t he?’
‘What planet are you on, Danny? Have you not heard of equality?’
Heard of it. Just not sure I’d seen any of it. Couldn’t think of a single time when me mam had got her own way. Whatever Callum said was the law.
‘It’s just not how things go in our hou
se.’
‘That’s sad,’ said Amy, and she squeezed me hand.
Sure enough her dad agreed to stay in and watch the match. Then a few seconds later they were hugging in the hallway. No hard feelings.
Seeing what went on in Amy’s house made me more determined than ever to find me dad. This was the sort of house I wanted to live in. One where little arguments didn’t turn into enormous arguments. One where no one ever got hit.
I decided to go and see me Aunty Tina. She and me mam used to hang around together a lot. They can’t have just talked about clothes all the time. Must have saved some room for family. Thought there was a chance she’d know something about me dad.
I told me mam I was going to see Amy.
It was way too far to cycle to Aunty Tina’s so I got the bus, two buses, in fact. Took ages. Not like at Christmas, when we got there in about ten seconds.
Walked up the long drive to her house and rang the bell.
Door opened.
‘Hello, Danny. My, this is most unexpected,’ said Aunty Tina. I hadn’t been round her house since Christmas.
‘Hello, Aunty Tina.’
‘Where’s your mum?’ she went, peering up the drive.
‘At home with—’ Even his name made me want to spit – ‘Callum.’
‘Has anything happened?’ she said, with a worried look.
It would take all day to tell her what had gone on. But I wasn’t going to. She wasn’t the one to tell.
Shook me head.
She looked at me through slitty eyes. ‘Are you sure everything’s okay, Danny? I’ve spoken to your mum, but she doesn’t seem herself. She hasn’t been round here in ages.’
‘You haven’t been round our place in ages.’
Aunty Tina suddenly looked guilty, her fingers fidgeting with each other. ‘Yes, well, after the way Callum went on, Greg doesn’t want… doesn’t want to go there. I’ve tried to meet her for a coffee, but she’s always busy.’
‘Yeah, busy.’
Busy didn’t do it for Aunty Tina.
‘Are you one hundred per cent sure everything’s all right?’
No, Aunty Tina, everything is not all right. But don’t you worry. I’m going to sort it.
‘Aye, it’s all right.’
‘It’s “yes”, not “aye”, Danny.’
‘Yes, Aunty Tina.’
Her face lost its worried look.
‘Your Uncle Greg has taken Tabitha and Marcus to tennis.’
‘Haven’t come to see them, I’ve come to see you.’
Her big brown eyebrows went up. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, you.’
‘You’d better come in then.’
Kicked me trainers off at the door. Aunty Tina’s house was even cleaner than Callum’s and Gran’s. Shoes weren’t allowed in. Like they’d done something wrong.
We went into her front room. Took me jacket off and put it on a chair.
‘Would you like a glass of something?’
‘Yes, something.’
Stupid thing to say, but your head doesn’t work proper when you’re nervous.
Aunty Tina came back with a glass of orange juice. Tasted a bit weird.
Had bits in it.
‘Well, this is a surprise,’ she said, making a squeak with her bum when she sat on the leather sofa. Be even more of a surprise when she heard what I was after. ‘So why have you come all this way?’
Took a glug of juice and choked on the stupid bits. Aunty Tina patted me back till the cough stopped.
‘I’ve got a question for you.’
Aunty Tina leaned forwards. ‘I’m all ears.’
‘I want to know where me dad is.’
Aunty Tina sat back, arms folded. Didn’t look so pleased to see me any more.
There was a long silence while she worked out what to say next.
‘Where’s this come from?’
‘Me.’
‘I know it’s from you, Danny,’ sighed Aunty Tina. ‘I want to know why you’re asking the question.’
‘I’ll be fifteen next March. Thought it was about time I knew who me dad was. Is.’
‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you,’ she said, fiddling with the beads round her neck.
‘Why not?’
‘It’s for your mum to tell you. Have you asked her?’
‘Loads of times. She won’t tell me. Where is he?’
Aunty Tina looked like one of those people on a quiz show who hasn’t got a clue what the answer is. They’d love the money, they’d really love it, but they just haven’t got a clue.
‘Danny, are you sure everything’s okay at home?’
Now it was like one of those cop programmes, when they ask the same question over and over.
‘Yes,’ I said, probably a bit too loud, and a bit too quick.
‘It’s just, after what happened here…’ Didn’t need reminding of that. ‘You’d tell me if something was up, wouldn’t you, Danny. You’d tell me?’
‘’Course I would. But I want to find me dad.’
Aunty Tina shuffled like she had an itch. ‘It’s a very complex situation we’re talking about here.’
‘But we’re not talking about it.’
She got up and walked slowly around the room, still fiddling with her beads.
‘Oh, Danny, Danny, Danny.’
Something told me that she wanted to tell me. I decided to help her. ‘Just tell me a bit.’
Aunty Tina smiled. She had dead white teeth, like you see in adverts.
‘You can’t just know a bit, Danny.’
‘Tell me everything then.’
She shook her head, and her beads jiggled. This was starting to do me brain in. I know grown-ups keep stuff from kids, but this was ridiculous. All I wanted was to find out where me dad is. Not too much to ask, is it?
‘Is he dead?’
‘No, Danny, he’s not dead.’
‘Is he in prison?’
She shook her head.
‘But he’s bad?’
‘He was once.’
That’ll do me.
‘So why can’t I see him?’
Aunty Tina scratched her cheek with four red fingernails. ‘You just can’t, Danny, not without your mum’s permission. I can’t give you that.’
I stood up. I wanted to kick her stupid sofa, and all the knick-knacks on her shelves. Another house where everything was perfect.
‘I want to see him,’ I shouted.
‘Calm down, Danny.’
‘You don’t understand.’
Aunty Tina came over and took me hand. I took it back. It’s my hand. Not hers.
‘What don’t I understand? What are you talking about, Danny? Why are you so desperate to find him?’
The room fell silent, apart from a clock ticking on the mantelpiece, and Aunty Tina’s breathing.
‘Then can I write to him?’
‘What?’
‘Write to him. Don’t need to see him, I can just write.’
‘No, Danny. I can’t, really I can’t.’
‘Well, I’m off then.’
Picked me jacket up and walked towards the door.
‘What are you doing?’ said Aunty Tina, her voice all shaky.
‘Going home.’
‘You can stay a bit longer if you like. I’ve made some carrot cake.’
‘I want me dad. Not cake.’
Aunty Tina looked like I felt. Hopeless.
She followed me into the hall, and tried to help me put me coat on, but I grabbed it off her and did it meself.
‘Do you want me to drive you home, Danny?’
‘No.’
‘I wish I knew what this was all about.’
Wish on, Aunty Tina.
I normally give her a hug, but not today. Didn’t deserve it.
She looked at me, confused, then wrapped her arms round me. I wanted to break free, but didn’t. Couldn’t. I just felt weak, like all the muscles in me body had been removed. Hugs from me gran. Now fr
om me aunty. Never thought I’d miss them. But I did. It reminded me of the times when we lived with me gran and granda. Everyone there. Everyone happy. I felt safe. I knew this feeling wouldn’t last, though. Aunty Tina would have things to do.
I saw a picture on the wall. It was Aunty Tina, Uncle Greg, Tabitha and Marcus, bunched up together on a beach, with proper smiles, not Callum ones. Me mam used to have pictures of us in our flat. But there’s none where we live now. Just photos of racing cars. Like we don’t exist.
The picture and the warm hug were too much. I started to cry. I’m not a cry-baby, really I’m not, but I couldn’t stop them. The tears just kept coming.
‘Oh, Danny,’ she went.
Aunty Tina squeezed even more tears out of me. I felt stupid, sobbing over her nice hall carpet. She finally let go and went to get some tissues. I caught me face in the mirror. It didn’t look like me, eyes red like a zombie, hair messed from the squeezing, face sad from the smiley picture.
Aunty Tina came back with a pile of tissues for me. I blew me nose, and reached for the front door handle. But before I got it she put her hand on mine.
‘Wait.’
She hurried off into another room. Probably getting more tissues. A minute later she came back with a piece of paper in her hand. Too small to blow me nose on that. She stood there looking at it, like she didn’t know why she’d got it. Then she shoved the paper in me palm, and put both her hands over mine, like jaws.
‘When you write to him, tell him not breathe a word about who told you.’
‘Yes, Aunty Tina.’
‘And get your mum to call me. Please.’
‘Yes, Aunty Tina.’
‘And whatever you do, Danny, you must never tell your mum I gave this to you. Do you understand?’
I looked at her hands on mine.
‘Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Aunty Tina, I understand.’
Fifteen
• • •
I ran like a winger all the way down the street, with a grin as wide as the Tyne.
I knew what Aunty Tina had given me, even without looking. She’d given me me dad’s address.
Stopped running when I reached the bus stop. I had that feeling you get on Christmas morning when you’ve got a present in your hands. You want to open it, you really do, but part of you doesn’t want to open it, ever. You just want the excitement too much. That’s what it was like with me bit of paper. But you can’t stand it, you’ve got to know. I closed me eyes, counted to ten, then opened it.
Me Mam. Me Dad. Me Page 5