“I guess. Marc’s making chicken like my nan used to do, with the rice and peas and gravy.”
“Banging. I’ll come straight from work.”
He presses a button and an acoustic guitar starts. A deep voice like a lullaby.
“Who’s this?” I say, frowning.
“Shut up. What? I can’t like a bit of acoustic stuff sometimes? It’s good thinking music.”
I smile. Even my oldest friend has stuff he doesn’t show.
“So what was in it then, the story?” he says.
I lean my head against the cool window.
“Everything.”
EXT. – NIGHT
A thick brown A4 envelope rests against a front door.
No address, just a name in block capitals. LEIA.
I’m lying on my back. There’s a light in my eyes. I can see spots. Big saucer-shaped blobs of hot white and there’s a voice. A female voice.
Then it’s dark. I blink and there’s no difference with my eyes open or closed. I can hear water dripping, maybe into a metal sink. The drips almost sound electronic.
Now I’m running. It’s afternoon and I’m running home. I look down at my feet and my strides are long. I’m bounding like a gazelle or something and then blood is dripping. Thick drops of it hitting the pavement in front of me. I feel my nose and it’s flat. Like it’s been pressed into my face.
I’m sitting in a snowy footprint.
I’m outside the head master’s office.
I’m kissing Leia in the street. Her hot mouth pressed against mine.
I’m behind bars.
I’m sliding a wad of paper into an envelope.
I’m standing outside our house, with Chewbacca and a zombie, giving the thumbs-up.
I’m hugging Marc. He’s hugging me. His arms are strong and I feel safe and then he’s squeezing me tighter. And tighter. I try to break free but he just keeps squeezing and I can’t breathe. I’m trying to scream but my mouth is full of cotton and he just keeps squeezing.
“Yo!”
His voice comes through my bedroom door.
“Wake up, Lukey! Birthday breakfast!”
I roll over. Check my phone. Nothing. My head hurts. Starved of sleep.
The smell of a fry-up. Notebooks stacked in a pile.
Happy birthday to me.
They’re all sitting at the table. Dad in his old place in between Mum and Marc. They start to clap as I walk in.
“Finally!” says Dad.
“Don’t you have work?” I say, rubbing my eyes.
“Don’t be daft, big man. My boy turns seventeen? I think that’s a day-off type situation. Come and sit down.”
Mum gets up as I sit and brings a plate from the side full with fry-up.
“Hold on, Ange,” says Dad and pulls something out of the chest pocket on his shirt.
“There.” It’s a candle, sticking straight up out of the sausage on my plate.
“Hold still, Mum,” says Marc, leaning in and striking a match.
Mum lays the plate down in front of me as all three of them sing the song.
“Don’t forget your wish, love.”
I stare at the little flame.
“Isn’t he a bit old for that?” says Marc.
Dad points at him like a judge. “You better just shut your mouth, Marc Henry.”
And the pair of them smile.
Leia’s face.
I close my eyes. The curves of her lips.
Eyes open. Blow.
“Right,” says Dad, clapping his hands. “Let’s nyam!”
Four terrible jokes. Three cups of tea. Two embarrassing stories. One Darth Vader impression.
A lot of laughing.
I look across at Dad as Marc eats. Dad shrugs and holds up crossed fingers. I do the same. Two boys hoping to win the girl back.
My body feels heavy.
“Here you go, love.” Mum hands me a box wrapped in Christmas paper. It’s a bit smaller than a shoebox, so it’s not trainers.
“It’s not trainers,” says Marc, and his eyes are dancing.
“Thanks, Mum,” I say.
Mum shakes her head. “It’s from all of us.” The three of them beam smiles.
I put on a posh voice. “Thank you, All of Us.”
“Open it, then!” says Dad. So I do.
Stunned.
“The geezer in the shop said it’s a good one,” Marc says as I pull off the last of the paper. It’s a brand new camcorder. My throat itches.
They’ve got me my own HD camcorder. I look up.
“Is it all right?” says Mum, and she looks genuinely concerned.
“It’s amazing,” I say. “Thank you.”
I watch her hand reach for Dad’s and their fingers intertwine, and I have to whistle to stop myself crying.
“Smethwick’s Scorsese.” Marc eats a sausage with his fingers and the walls feel like they’re smiling and I want to press pause on everything to stretch the moment out.
Yo! Happy Birthday man! Coming later with Tom. Z
Me and Dad watch Big Trouble in Little China while Mum and Marc go shopping for things for dinner later. Dad does his audio commentary the whole way through.
“You know, Kurt Russell was offered the Superman role before Christopher Reeve and turned it down?”
I pretend he hasn’t told me that one, and all the others, a hundred times before and just sit, half watching, half drifting off, my new camcorder in my lap the whole time.
“You can do test shots for your script,” Dad says, as the bad guy’s face expands like a balloon on the screen. “Let me know if you need a suave father-figure character.”
He pulls his James Bond face, but keeps his eyes on the telly. The bad guy explodes.
I stare at my phone. Nothing.
“There’s definitely a role for Big Alien Pilot,” I say. “You look like you’d be perfect.”
Mum and Marc get back in time for lunch and Donna’s with them.
Her and Marc make everyone sandwiches and start prepping for dinner.
Dad turns off the TV.
“We should play dominoes!”
“I’m all right, Dad,” I say.
“Shut up, killjoy. Ange! Where’s the dominoes?”
Mum comes into the living room holding a card. “They’re where they always were, Joe, why don’t you get up and fetch them? Here, Lukey, this was on the mat.”
She hands me a yellow envelope with just my name written on it, no address. My stomach flips as I take it. No address. Does she know where I live? Could she have found out?
It’s a postcard showing a still from Reservoir Dogs. Harvey Keitel leaning over Steve Buscemi, both of them pointing their guns at each other. I turn it over.
“Who’s it from, love?”
Mum sits down on the sofa.
I stare at the picture and smile. “Just a mate.”
By the time Zia and Tommy show up, I’ve played enough dominoes to last me until I’m as old as you’re supposed to be to play them in the first place. Marc and Donna are still in the kitchen. Mum’s curled up on the sofa.
“Yo!” says Zia, pointing at the camcorder box. “That’s high-end, man.”
I look at Mum, smiling like a cat.
Tommy sits down next to her. “You filmed anything yet? Hi, Mrs Henry.”
I shake my head.
“Hello, Tom. How’s your dad?” Mum says.
“Good, yeah, thanks.”
“We got you this.” Zia holds out the present. “It’s a notebook.”
I take it.
“For all them ideas, Lukey.” Tommy smiles.
I smile back. “Thanks man.”
“We need music!” says Dad and disappears.
Then Donna shouts, “Food’s ready!”
It’s incredible.
The gravy tastes just like Nan’s. Dad found one of his old dancehall CDs upstairs and that’s our soundtrack as people catch up in between licking their fingers and asking for more. Tommy keeps looking a
t Donna, then pretending not to when Marc catches him. Zia can’t help staring at Dad, like he always used to, and Dad and Mum keep stealing looks at each other. I just watch it all playing out, present, but conscious of the missing character in the scene, never once letting my phone out of sight.
EXT. – NIGHT
A man with a broken face steps onto the petrol station forecourt. He looks both ways, smiling to himself as he unwraps a packet of cigarettes.
“Will you do the apple trick please, Mr Henry?” says Zia, looking at Dad like a puppy waiting for his walk. Dad’s busy trying to get rid of the subtitles he accidentally set up on the TV. Everyone’s stuffed.
“My name’s Joe, son, and I haven’t done that for years.”
“Oh, go on, Joe,” says Donna, egging him on. Marc goes to the kitchen and fetches an apple.
“Go on, old man.” He throws it across the room to Dad. “Do your trick.”
Dad holds the apple up in his hand like it’s some ancient relic. “By jungle law, I call forth the power of ten tigers. Drum roll, please!”
Everyone drums their knees. Dad closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, then crushes the apple in his fist. Bits of pulp shoot out either side and into his lap. Zia actually cheers.
“We going to the pub, then?” says Marc from the doorway.
Donna starts to get up. Dad’s still brushing himself down. “You kids go. Me and your mum’ll stay here.”
Marc looks at Mum. Mum nods. “He’s right, you don’t need us cramping your style. Go and have some fun, but be careful.”
“Yes, Ma’am. Come on, people.”
EXT. – NIGHT
Boney fingers tap the ash from a cigarette as a car prowls city streets.
Marc’s staring at me from across the little table.
“Cheer up then, birthday boy!”
He raises what’s left of his Guinness. I do the same. Zia’s playing Who Wants To Be A Millionaire? on the machine. The pub’s Friday-night busy and Donna’s helping behind the bar, winking over at us in between serving regulars. Tommy’s outside smoking. No word from Leia.
“I’m just gonna grab some air.” I rub my stomach. “I’m still stuffed.”
Marc nods, his eyes on Donna the whole time.
EXT. – NIGHT
Cigarette smoke snakes out through the crack of a blacked out car window.
The two of us stand, backs against the outside wall. “So Marc and Donna are back on then?” says Tommy.
“Looks like it. They’re talking about moving.”
He takes a drag of his cigarette. “Where to?”
“Leeds.”
Exhale.
“Leeds?”
“I know.”
It feels like we’re on stage. A director watching us from the darkness.
“Stuff’s changing, eh, Lukey?”
I slide my hands into my pockets. “Guess so.”
The pub door swings open and light from inside stretches towards the kerb.
“Yous two alright?” Marc steps outside. Me and Tommy nod.
“Have you phoned her yet, Lukey?”
“Nah. I haven’t got her number.” They both look at me.
“I deleted it.”
“Why would you do that?” says Marc.
“Because. I dunno. Are we going back in?”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Lukey, let’s go.” Marc steps towards the kerb.
“What?”
He turns back. “You obviously can’t stop thinking about her, so come on, I’ll drop you over there now.” He steps into the quiet road. Mum’s car’s parked a bit further down on the other side.
“Leave it, Marc. I’ll cheer up, I promise.”
“No, come on. Let’s do it. Life’s too short, man. Tell her how you feel, whatever you did, talk it out. Make her see.”
Then the engine growls.
Marc’s walking backwards with his arms out. “Come on, little brother. Now or never.”
That same growl. No. Please No. A million volts pulse through me, making my blood scream.
“Marc!”
I rush forward. Marc’s face drops, looking confused. “What?”
And it’s coming.
The black car.
Craig Miller.
No.
I’m stretching to get to him. My brother. Everything I owe him. All the love in me. Pushing my legs forward. Please, no. Marc turns. He sees the car, but the headlights are blinding him. He can’t react. He’s frozen. My big brother. I’m almost there.
“Marc!”
Tommy screams, “Lukey!”
Marc’s face. Panic. The light in his eyes.
The black bonnet inches away. Please.
I throw myself at him. Please.
Black.
Screeching tyres.
The thud of a body.
The crunch of metal on metal.
A boy screams.
INT. EMERGENCY ROOM – NIGHT
YOUNG MAN sits, mouth open, ready to speak.
Hiss of sliding doors. YOUNG MAN’s face drops. His mouth closes.
GIANT MAN and PETITE LADY stand in entrance.
PETITE LADY runs over. POLICEWOMAN looks up. YOUNG MAN looks down. Clock says eleven fifty.
PETITE LADY: What happened? Where is he?
YOUNG MAN doesn’t look up.
POLICEWOMAN: Mrs Henry? He’s in theatre now. They’re operating.
PETITE LADY: God. I need to see him. I’m a nurse.
Crying. GIANT MAN holds PETITE LADY. YOUNG MAN looks up.
GIANT MAN: What happened son?
YOUNG MAN: I don’t, he was, I didn’t …
GIANT MAN: Tell me what happened.
POLICEWOMAN: I’ve been trying to ascertain the details, sir.
GIANT MAN: Stay out of it. Son, look at me. What happened?
YOUNG MAN: I’m sorry, Dad.
PETITE LADY: How is this happening?
She tugs at her hair. GIANT MAN pulls her closer.
POLICEWOMAN: With all due respect, sir, Marc’s in intensive care. As I was just explaining to Luke, here, a hit and run is a very serious crime. The sooner I can establish the details, the sooner I can get to work.
GIANT MAN and PETITE LADY stare at POLICEWOMAN. YOUNG MAN looks down.
GIANT MAN: That’s not Luke. That’s Marc.
I used to pretend I was asleep when we drove home at night. Part of it was so that Dad would have to carry me inside, but mostly I loved listening. People say the best stuff when they think you’re sleeping.
The cold beep of machines.
Swinging doors. Latex gloves peeled off.
The sounds of humans fighting death.
I feel broken.
I am broken. My right leg in two places. My ankle. Four ribs. Eleven stitches in the side of my head. Serious abdominal bruising. And my pelvis is cracked.
The doctor told Mum I should’ve died. That the only reason I’m not dead is because I didn’t get dragged under the car when it hit me, and the only reason that didn’t happen is because of my size.
Not so little, Luke Henry.
A thick brown A4 envelope on a bedroom floor.
“Let me come back to the house.”
“I don’t think so, Joe.”
“I want to be there, Ange. I can help.”
“It’ll just confuse things. He needs to rest.”
“He needs to feel safe.”
“Keep your voice down. Look, I think he’s stirring.”
Blurred edges.
Mum’s sitting next to my bed, leaning forward, holding my hand, her head on her arm. Dad’s asleep in the chair next to the door. I can tell by the light outside that it’s early.
The thick trunk of my white cast slopes up away from me. My naked toes sticking out at the top look like skiers waiting to come down a slope.
I squeeze Mum’s hand and her head is straight up.
“Lukey? What is it, love?”
My throat is sore as I swallow.
“Where’s Marc?”
A beige plastic cup in a robotic claw. Black liquid and steam.
“You look tired,” I say.
Marc’s standing next to Mum’s empty chair. Her and Dad went to get coffee.
“You wanna sit down?”
He does. And the way he’s moving is wrong, like somebody’s controlling his body remotely.
“How you doing?” he says.
“I’m OK. Look at this.” I press the hand controller and the bed lifts me up. The pain shoots up from my waist. I wince.
“Be careful, Luke.”
He takes the controls and lowers me back down. I stare at the ceiling. The potted polystyrene panels look like giant graph paper. The lines blurring. Like it’s a dream sequence. My mouth is dry.
He sits quietly. Watching me as I drift off.
I’m in front of the whole school.
More than a hundred faces staring at me as I stand next to Miss Cooper. I’m in Year Two.
I look down at my feet. My black school shoes are now a battered grey. The sheen on the parquet floor.
I’ve got butterflies.
“Amazing story, Luke,” Miss Cooper says, and she hands me a signed certificate for ‘outstanding achievement in literacy’ and a two finger KitKat. I look up at her smiling face and feel her hand on the back of my neck, as the whole hall gives me a round of applause. My throat is dry as I scan the crowd.
The oldest kids are at the back on the PE benches. Marc’s right in the middle. The coolest boy in Year Six. He’s staring right at me as he claps.
I squeeze the chocolate in my hand and smile at him.
The applause finishes and everything goes quiet. Miss Cooper points to the front row for me to sit back down, then Marc shouts out:
“That’s my little brother!”
And the hall erupts into a football chant.
LU-KEY, LU-KEY, LU-KEY!
I look at my big brother and feel my chest rising.
Marc does a thumbs-up and smiles.
He’s still there when I wake up.
Sitting upright, hands in his lap.
“Morning,” he says, and forces a smile. “I told them to go and eat. You hungry?”
I shake my head. “What day is it?”
“Sunday.”
I run my tongue around my dry mouth. “It feels like a Sunday.”
I can smell soap.
“I’m so sorry, Luke.”
I look at him. He looks young.
He leans forward. “I’m so sorry.”
And he cries.
Leia on my lap. Her hands pushing my chest. My hands on her hips.
It's About Love Page 23