I heard Mum’s key in the door. She started talking to someone in the hall. Miss Miles was up in her room with ‘Richard and Judy’ – I could hear the faint buzz of her television.
‘Is that you, Carl?’ I shouted, wondering if he’d come straight round to talk to me.
It wasn’t Carl. It was a total stranger, a tall dark man limping towards me. Oh God oh God oh God.
‘This is Gerry, Sylvie,’ Mum said brightly.
I glared at her but reluctantly held out my hand. Gerry shook it enthusiastically, smiling at me. His hand was damp, as if he was nervous.
‘Why didn’t you tell me Gerry was coming round, Mum?’ I said.
‘I didn’t know! He came to pick me up from work as a surprise,’ said Mum quietly. ‘I thought it would be nice if we all had supper together.’
‘We haven’t got much in,’ I said. ‘I hope you like bread and cheese, Gerry.’
‘No, no, we stopped off at Marks,’ said Mum, lugging carrier bags into the kitchen. ‘Take a look at this!’
Gerry obviously had a large wallet. There was smoked salmon, chicken, salads, rolls, peaches, cherries, white chocolate, fruit juice and wine.
‘Feast time!’ said Mum, happily unpacking.
‘It looks fantastic,’ I said. ‘I hope you both have a lovely supper.’
‘It’s for you too, silly,’ said Mum.
Gerry was giving her a hand, unwrapping all the food carefully to show he was a well-trained new man.
‘No, I’ve said I’m eating next door,’ I said.
‘Sylvie,’ said Mum. She took a deep breath. ‘Eat with us. You’ve eaten round at Jules’s enough recently. Come on, help lay the table.’
‘Well, I’ll just nip next door to explain—’
‘For heaven’s sake!’ said Mum. She rubbed her forehead for a moment. ‘Lay the table, please.’
‘I can lay—’ Gerry started.
‘No, Sylvie can do it. She knows where the plates and knives and forks and everything are kept,’ said Mum.
‘OK. I’ll lay the table. In a minute. I have to see if Carl’s back.’
‘When will you learn to stop running after Carl?’ said Mum. ‘Where does it get you? Honestly! Stop behaving like a five-year-old, please.’
I laid the table, slamming the plates down and rattling the forks and knives. It was so unfair. She didn’t understand – though there was enough truth in what she’d said to make my eyes sting. It didn’t get me anywhere. But I was still Carl’s friend, no matter what. It sounded as if he’d had a terrible day. He needed me.
But Mum wasn’t going to let me go. She made me sit down with her and Gerry and we ate the salmon and the chicken and the salads and the rolls and the fruit and the chocolate. Well, Mum and Gerry ate. I just picked at the food, a forkful of chicken, a tiny tomato, a bite of roll. Mum kept looking at me reproachfully, her eyes bright as if she was near tears. I wasn’t picking deliberately. I was just so het up and anxious that I could barely swallow.
‘Eat some cherries, Sylvie,’ said Mum, pushing the plate towards me.
‘No thanks.’
‘Well, what about a peach?’
‘No, really.’
Mum looked as if she’d like to ram the pound of cherries and all four peaches down my throat. Gerry tried to make polite conversation, asking me questions about school and favourite subjects and friends and hobbies. My answers were monosyllabic. He changed gear and chatted about his job and shopping and swimming while I shifted around in my chair, barely nodding. He eventually ground to a halt, exhausted.
There was a long silence. I wondered if I dared ask if I could go next door again.
‘Would you like a cup of coffee, Gerry?’ said Mum.
‘I’ll make it,’ I said. ‘You two go and sit in the living room. I’ll bring it in.’
Mum hesitated. It was the first move I’d made towards being a good daughter.
‘All right,’ she said.
They took their glasses and what was left of the wine into the living room. I heard Mum murmuring and Gerry saying, ‘No, no, she’s lovely. I expect she’s just shy, that’s all.’
I didn’t want him to defend me in that patronizing way! Why did Mum feel she had to parade me for his approval? He was nothing at all to do with me. I didn’t mind Mum having a boyfriend. She could keep company with an entire football team if she was so inclined. It was fine with me, just so long as I didn’t have to meet any of them.
I got the coffee percolator out and started shoving coffee grounds in. I knew Mum would fuss if I made His Lordship a quick mug of Nescaff. I piled the dishes in the sink, leaving the water running. Then I cautiously turned the key in the back door and inched it open. I couldn’t risk going out of the front door. Mum would be bound to hear me, no matter how engrossed she was with Gerry, but hopefully she’d not know I was sneaking out the back with all the kitchen noises going on.
I crept furtively down the dark garden, dodging round the old apple tree, stumbling over a little pile of flowerpots, till I got to the hole in the fence. I edged through it into the Johnsons’ garden, jagged wood catching at my school cardigan.
I looked up at Carl’s bedroom. There was no light on, but that didn’t necessarily signify anything. He could well be lying there in the dark.
Then I saw a dim light in the Glass Hut window. I ran across the grass and tapped our Morse code password on the door. I waited.
‘Carl?’ I whispered. ‘Carl, can I come in?’
He didn’t answer me. I stood listening, waiting for a rustle, a sigh, a sob. I could hear a distant dog barking and the faraway strum and wail of Jake playing his guitar in his bedroom.
‘Carl, I’m going to come in,’ I said, and I turned the hut handle.
I opened the door and stepped into the hut. Something crackled under my feet. I stared around, blinking in the light, catching my breath. The five shelves were heaped with shards and fragments, a grotesque kaleidoscope of colour. The little glass animals were all mutilated. The elephant was minus his trunk, the giraffe’s head missing, the pelican beakless, the rabbit lop-eared, the crocodile without its tail.
The drinking glasses were keeling over drunkenly, the stems snapped off. Two vases rolled on the floor in a jumble of red and blue glass. The ashtrays were chipped, a paperweight smashed, millefiori flowers scattered like confetti. And the Glass Boy, oh the Glass Boy, Carl’s special irreplaceable Glass Boy was smashed into splinters, his beautiful glass face gone, his arms shattered, his legs stumps, one bare glass foot still fixed on his glass plinth, uselessly poised on tiptoe.
I reached towards him with one trembling finger. I touched a jagged edge. I didn’t know I’d cut myself until the red blood started pooling on the pad of my finger. The pain made me see it was real, not a terrible nightmare. Someone had smashed Carl’s glass, the beautiful special pieces he’d collected for years, the glass he dusted so carefully. He knew each swirl and bubble, every mark. He’d held each piece to the light and marvelled at it. He’d searched endlessly in charity shops and jumble sales. He’d spent every penny of his birthday and Christmas money on his collection. It meant the whole world to him. Someone had smashed it all.
Who could have done such a terrible thing?
Who could possibly hate Carl so much?
I was sure I knew.
I started running up the garden, screaming. Mick came rushing out of the back door.
‘What in God’s name …? Sylvie? What’s happened?’
He tried to catch hold of me but I pulled away from him. I ran through the door and there was Jules in the kitchen and Jake leaning against the fridge, drinking from a carton of milk. He stopped in mid swig and stared at me.
‘Sylvie!’ said Jules, seeing the blood on my cut hand. ‘Come here, over to the sink.’
‘Who hurt you, Sylvie? Tell me!’ Jake said urgently.
‘No one. It’s not me. It’s the glass. It’s so awful. It’s smashed, all Carl’s collection – all of it –
even the Glass Boy.’
‘Oh my God,’ said Jules. ‘What about Carl? Where is he?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t know!’ I sobbed.
She had hold of me, keeping my hand under the cold tap, doing all the careful motherly things – but she started shaking too.
‘Jake, you take care of Sylvie. Oh God, what can have happened to Carl? Mick?’ She went to the back door. ‘Shall I call the police?’
Mick came back in from the garden. ‘Yes, right now. Sylvie’s right. Everything’s smashed. I can’t understand it. How did anyone know the glass was in there? It just looks like a garden shed from the outside. We know about Carl’s glass, Sylvie does – but no one else.’
Jules was looking at me. ‘Who else knows, Sylvie?’
‘Paul,’ I whispered.
‘Carl’s friend.’
‘Not any more. He hates Carl now. He’s saying all sorts of hateful stuff about him at school. He’s been so horrible. But I never ever thought he’d do this.’
‘There now, Sylvie,’ said Jake, patting me.
‘You think he crept into the garden and smashed everything?’ said Mick. ‘For God’s sake, is this boy some kind of psychopath? How did he get into our garden?’ He peered out into the dark and then suddenly lunged forward. ‘Bloody hell, he’s still there! Look, over by the bushes!’
Mick started running. Jake followed him. They pounced on the figure hiding in the bushes, dragging him out.
‘Oh God,’ Jules whispered.
It wasn’t Paul. It was Carl. He was muddy and dishevelled, stumbling and shaking his head. His sleeves were covered in something dark. Mick and Jake tried to help him up the garden. He was crying, his nose running, and he was holding out his arms oddly. The dark stuff was blood.
He struggled to get away when he saw us staring at him. He ducked his head desperately.
‘Carl! Let me see your arms,’ Jules said. She took one look at his blood-soaked sleeves. ‘Right. The hospital. I’ll drive us there – it’ll be quicker than an ambulance.’
‘I’m not going to any hospital!’ Carl shouted hysterically. ‘I’m OK. I’m just cut a bit, that’s all. Look, I’ll wash it off, right?’ He ran the tap hard on his arms, splashing water everywhere.
‘Carl, love, you’re going to have to go, you’re going to need stitches,’ said Jules. ‘Your fingers are a mess – and look at your wrist!’ She tried to hold him but he was flailing wildly.
‘Did he cut him? I’ll punch his head in,’ said Jake, nearly in tears himself.
‘I’m going to call an ambulance if you won’t let me take you by car,’ said Jules.
‘We’ll call the police too,’ said Mick, getting his mobile out of his jeans pocket.
‘Why in God’s name phone the police? Are you going to have me arrested?’ Carl shouted.
‘We have to report what’s happened. Sylvie thinks your friend Paul smashed everything,’ said Mick.
Carl looked astonished. ‘You idiot,’ he said to me. He stood up straight, wiping his eyes and nose, blood dripping from his arms. ‘Isn’t it obvious? I did it.’
We all stared at him.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Carl,’ said Mick. ‘What are you trying to do, protect this so-called friend?’
‘You wouldn’t smash your own collection, Carl,’ said Jake. ‘It would be like me smashing my guitar.’
‘Oh, Carl,’ said Jules. ‘Whatever made you do it?’
There was a sudden loud knocking on the door.
‘You didn’t call the police already, did you?’ said Carl.
‘No, no. Jake, go and see who it is,’ said Mick.
We heard my mum’s voice, very cross.
‘Oh no,’ I said.
‘Let’s call in all the neighbours. Let’s get the whole street to come and gawp at me,’ said Carl.
Mum came storming through to the kitchen. ‘Sylvie, how dare you disappear like that—’ she started. Then she stopped, seeing Carl and the state he was in. ‘Dear God, what’s happened?’
‘We’re not quite sure,’ said Jules. ‘Some of Carl’s glass collection got smashed and he’s hurt himself picking up the pieces. Sylvie’s got a little cut too, but I think she’s fine. Still, maybe she’d better come with us to the hospital just to make sure she doesn’t need a tetanus jab or whatever.’
‘I’ll take her. Oh God, no, I’ve had too much wine. Perhaps Gerry can drive us. I don’t think he’s had as much as me.’
I went to Mum and put my arms round her. ‘Mum. You stay here with Gerry. I need to go with Carl. Please.’
Mum started arguing but Jules was surprisingly firm.
‘There’s no point all of us sitting in A and E for hours. I’ll take them.’
She put a hand on Carl’s shoulder, a hand on mine, and steered us out of the house. Carl tried to pull away when we were at the gate but she hung onto him.
‘You’re coming to that hospital, Carl. You’re badly cut. It looks like you’ve got splinters of glass in your fingers. For God’s sake, you’re my artist son, you need to get your hands fixed properly. You could have severed a tendon. Now get in the car, both of you.’
She drove us to the hospital while we sat shivering in the back of the car. Carl was still sobbing, though he was trying hard to stop. I got the car rug and wrapped it round him.
‘There now,’ said Jules when we pulled into the hospital car park. ‘Let’s get you sorted out, sweetie.’ She put her arm round Carl, tucking the rug tighter round him. ‘Come on, Sylvie.’
We had to give our details to a woman at reception. Then we sat in a crowded waiting room with babies crying, drunks swearing, mad people muttering. Carl hunched up inside his rug. Jules sat between us, her arms stretched out round both of us. We still didn’t talk. We were too dazed by the whole situation. Carl shut his eyes as if he was trying to blot it all out. Jules kept looking at him anxiously, her teeth nibbling at a piece of loose skin on her bottom lip. He was still shivering violently.
‘There now,’ she whispered. ‘There now.’
Then we were led into a small cubicle and a woman in a white coat gently peeled back Carl’s bloody sleeves and looked at his arms and hands.
‘Ooh dear, you’ve gone to town here, matie,’ she said. ‘What have you done to yourself, eh?’
‘He tripped and knocked over a glass collection,’ said Jules. ‘That’s why he’s in a state of shock.’
‘I should think you are too!’ she said. ‘Well, we’ll get you thoroughly examined and stitched up and you’ll eventually be as good as new. I wish we could do the same for your mum’s glasses! And now what about you, young lady? Oh, this is just a little nick. Still, we might give you a tiny stitch, just so you can keep your brother company.’
‘He’s not my brother,’ I mumbled.
‘Uh-oh! Boyfriend, then?’ she said.
I took a deep breath. ‘No. Best friend,’ I said.
Carl opened his eyes and gave me a wry little smile.
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a little while until there’s a doctor free to stitch you up. I’m not sure if the cafeteria is still open, but you can get a tea or coffee from the machine down the corridor. That’s it, try to cheer up. It’s not the end of the world.’
‘She’s right,’ said Jules when she’d gone. ‘Now, I think we could all do with a cup of tea, don’t you? I’ll go and see what I can rustle up. You two look after each other. If either of you start violently spurting blood holler for a doctor, OK?’
She went off, and Carl and I were left together.
‘I’m sorry I called you an idiot,’ Carl whispered. ‘You’re not the idiot, Sylvie. I am. I’ve just been so stupid. I feel so ridiculous. It’s so awful. I’m not used to being like this, feeling so much, making such a fool of myself. I just couldn’t bear it though. He’s told everyone.’
‘But why did he?’
‘I don’t think he intended to. He kept quiet and ignored me in class. Then he told the drama teacher h
e didn’t want to be in A Midsummer Night’s Dream any more. He said it interfered with his football practice, but then one of the Neanderthals in the team said to him, “’What, don’t you want to be in your fairy play any more, you little poof?’’ He didn’t mean it, he was just mucking around, but Paul took him seriously and practically punched him. Then some of the others started joining in. They were just teasing – they all think he’s fantastic, and they know he’s straight – he’s been showing stupid Miranda’s tits to everyone, for God’s sake. All he had to do was laugh, but he got more and more wound up. I was watching him and he saw me and he blushed. Someone said, “Why have you gone all red?’’ and someone else said, still teasing, “Ooh, it’s the sight of his fairy playmate,’’ meaning me. You could tell they weren’t serious, they weren’t putting two and two together, but he was scared and he just started yelling stuff.’
Carl stopped and took a deep shuddery breath.
‘Stuff about you?’
‘Yes. That I was gay and I’d tried to snog him and it made him sick. Then they all got started on me. Only this time they weren’t teasing. This time it was for real. And Paul joined in. He said the worst things. And he told them stuff about me, told them about my glass collection. They started calling me Glass Boy. Then one wag said, “No, no, Ass Boy,’’ and that’s caught on in a big way.’
‘Oh, Carl. What did you do? Did you get angry? Did you cry?’
‘I just stood there like a dummy, trying to ignore them. I tried to make out that it was no big deal. I didn’t really care so much about all the others. It was Paul saying it. I held it all in. I went to drama and all the boys there knew and they couldn’t say too much in front of the teacher but there was a lot of whispering and no one would come near me. Then on the way home on the bus some of them were saying stuff and cracking jokes, really stupid crude jokes—’
‘How can they all be so horrible?’
‘It’s just the way things are. But I still didn’t react. I sneaked in at home while everyone was in the living room watching something daft on the television. I couldn’t face them. I grabbed a bottle from the kitchen cupboard – cooking sherry, for God’s sake – and I went out to the Glass Hut and I started drinking.’
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