by Marie Yates
I should be thinking about Grandma now, about how I can help Grandpa, and how I can help Mum with all of the organising. Instead, I’m hiding away in my room. Being back here has made me question what happened with Frankie. Do I really like her? I don’t know if it’s real or if I’m too scared to like a guy because of what happened. I’ve never fancied a guy, but I was only fourteen when I was raped. Then, I was never that interested when my old friends were talking about boys they liked. I haven’t met any boys I like since then either, not in ‘that’ way. Nobody liked me when I moved schools and, since I’ve been in Sixth Form, I’ve found the guys are quite annoying and I’ve been hanging out with the girls. How do I know if I can trust my feelings? There are guys I train with at taekwondo, but they’re just mates and I have a laugh with them. They’re nice, but I never felt the same way when they touched me as I did when Frankie touched my hand in the cinema. Admittedly, the guys at taekwondo were usually about to kick me in the head, but I don’t think that would have made a difference.
I’ve never really thought that I might be gay, but I’ve never really thought I might be straight either! I haven’t thought anything. The two people in my life I look up to are Mum (not that I’d tell her) and Jane (not that I’d tell her either). One’s straight and one’s gay so it has always been part of life and no big deal. I know that neither of them would care, in the nicest possible way, but I care. I don’t want to mess Frankie around and I want to be able to trust my feelings, whatever they might be. I don’t want to hurt Frankie if it turns out that I’m actually just scared of being with a guy because of what happened to me.
‘Father Carl’s here,’ calls the voice of my agitated mother. This is an instruction to go downstairs and not just information. I suppose the arrival of a Catholic priest is a sign that I should stop thinking about how much I might like Frankie. Might? Who am I kidding? I do like her, a lot. I just need to make sure it’s for the right reasons.
For now, I need to try to remember Grandma’s favourite hymn. I only remember her singing, ‘I’ll Never Fall in Love Again,’ by some old guy called Burt. I guess that’s true for her now.
Four
Once I started crying, I couldn’t stop.
I’d never been to a funeral before so I had no idea what to expect. Everyone was gathering outside and quietly talking to each other as if normal volume was against the rules – rules that nobody had shared with me. I hadn’t thought about the other people who’d be there; people I’d never met who had been friends with Grandma for years, people who were now chatting to Grandpa and saying how sorry they were. Why did people say ‘sorry’? It wasn’t like it was their fault she’d died.
‘It’s nice to see you, Dani, although I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.’ I spun around to find one of my old teachers standing in front of me. My first thought was, ‘Wow, she’s shorter than I remember,’ until I quickly came to my senses and realised I was older and taller than when I’d last seen her. At that time she had walked past me in the corridor of my old school and hadn’t made eye contact. Even though she had taught me for two years, clearly she’d had no idea what to do or say when I’d returned to school after what had happened. Talking to me today, she still seemed uncomfortable.
‘How are you getting on in your new school? Are you still in school?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ I said, a little too defensively. ‘It’s amazing, I’m in Sixth Form now and I love it.’ I stopped myself, realising I was too loud for the current gathering of people.
‘That’s great to hear and I’m pleased to see you looking so well, you know, after everything.’
She didn’t know the half of it. She walked away, leaving the word ‘everything’ hanging in the air.
What a great reminder, I thanked her for that.
What does she expect me to look like? I wasn’t a quivering wreck last time she saw me as far as I remember, not that she actually looked at me. Considering my grandma has just died, would it be weird if I did look like a quivering wreck? No, I don’t think so.
I was having this silent rant in my head while my face was obviously giving away how I was feeling. I felt Mum’s arm guiding me over to the door of the church and we were ushered into the front bench by an old woman clutching hymn books. ‘Number 427,’ she said, as she handed us a book each.
‘What’s number 427,’ I asked.
Grandpa turned to me, his tired face looking defeated, yet thoughtful. ‘That’s the number of people who’ve had funerals here this year. Grandma is number 427.’
‘What?’
‘It’s the hymn number, Dani, just open your book,’ Mum said. ‘Dad, there’s a time and place.’ She was not impressed. Grandpa winked at me and I had a sudden urge to laugh. I hadn’t thought much about the afterlife or what I believed might happen when you died. I definitely hadn’t imagined it to be like the cheese counter at a supermarket where someone called out your number and you got … well, I wouldn’t know what you’d get, but I reckoned it had to be better than cheese.
The most horrendous noise shattered my thoughts of the great cheese counter in the sky. Hymn number 427 was being destroyed by an old woman playing the organ. I looked around and everyone was mumbling the words into their hymn books. The doors of the church opened and in walked Father Carl, closely followed by stern looking men carrying Grandma’s coffin on their shoulders.
That’s when it hit me. Grandma was in the coffin, she wasn’t coming back. I would never see her again. Mum wouldn’t see her mum again and poor Grandpa would never see the woman he loved again.
I cried.
I cried as Father Carl talked about how wonderful Grandma was. I cried as Mum stood up and talked about how lucky she was to have been raised by such a fantastic woman. I cried as the old woman destroyed another two hymns at full volume. I cried because it hit me that I’d never see Grandma again. But I realised I was mostly crying because Grandma had never heard Mum say those words. It wasn’t like they were the best of friends. Grandma had said some unforgivable things to Mum in the aftermath of the attack. If Mum really felt the things she had just said out loud to this group of people, then why hadn’t she made more effort to spend time with Grandma when she was alive? It was not like she’d stand up at a funeral and say, ‘Actually, she’s been a bit of a bitch over the last couple of years,’ but if she meant it when she’d said that she loved her mum and was grateful for everything she’d taught her, why didn’t she tell her? Maybe she thought she’d have more time.
‘Did Grandma know you felt that way?’ I asked as we walked back out of the church.
‘I hope so, just as I know you love me even when you’re angry or hurting because we hurt the people we’re closest to.’
‘That’s silly,’ I said, still crying. Mum handed me over to Jane so that she could go and talk to people. I was relieved that I didn’t have to make small talk with strangers. Jane put her arm around me and walked me to her car, handing me a packet of tissues. We sat in silence, watching as random strangers came to shake Mum’s hand and tell her that they were sorry. Everyone was sorry.
‘Christ, that music probably finished off at least two more old people,’ Jane said, and we both dissolved into laughter, hopefully far enough away that nobody could hear us.
Five
It has been a really rubbish week but finally being back at home has made everything seem better. I don’t want to experience another funeral for a very long time. The only good thing, if you can call it that, was when I spoke to some of Grandma’s friends at the wake.
I was surrounded by people sharing stories of Grandma in her youth, and before she had Mum. The stories made her sound like someone I would have wanted to have been friends with. She had broken the rules, had always been in trouble, but only because she had been standing up for what she had believed in.
‘Your grandma was sent home from school in disgrace on the first day of term one year,’ shrieked one of her friends. ‘She decided tha
t it wasn’t fair the boys could wear trousers and yet the girls had to wear skirts; it was cold and we weren’t able to afford tights. Well, she marched into class, proudly wearing her brother’s trousers and was promptly marched to the headmaster’s office and then marched off the premises. She was all mouth until the school called her father and she was back, wearing a skirt, before the morning milk break.’
They laughed as they shared stories and I learnt more about my grandma in that one hour than I had done throughout my whole life. That made me sad as I had seen her as an old woman, not a woman with a whole lifetime of stories.
The wake meant that I enjoyed some time with Grandpa, and I figured he must have some cool stories too.
We walked Reggie, we talked and I found out that he’d proposed to my grandma over fish and chips. ‘That’s as romantic as it got in our day.’ He smiled. ‘And it worked. She said, “yes”.’ He admitted that he’d never spoken ill of my biological father but had ‘always hated that muppet’.
‘You don’t need him in your life, Dani,’ he said. ‘He’d promise you the earth and break your heart, like he did to your mother.’
‘I don’t want to meet him, so don’t worry, I won’t be looking.’ I decided a while ago that my biological father was of no importance to me whatsoever. He didn’t want to be in my life so I wasn’t going to waste my time worrying about it.
‘Your mum’s finally got a good’un now, hasn’t she?’ That was the first time I’d heard Grandpa mention Sammy. ‘It’s good to know she’s being looked after.’
I hadn’t thought about it like that. Mum hadn’t had someone to look after her for a long time. She had Jane, but that wasn’t the same thing.
Sammy was there when we got home. He’d made dinner and cleaned up. Grandpa was right – she did have a ‘good’un’.
I was worried about Grandpa being on his own once we were home. His parting words had been, ‘It’s okay, Dani, I’ll be all right even though there’s nobody to nag me. I can watch the football in peace,’ which should have dispelled my fears.
‘We’ll see him soon,’ Mum assured me, and when I called him to tell him we were home, I was certain I could hear the sound of a football match in the background.
I’m now hiding away upstairs as Jane and her girlfriend, Lucy are here for a couple of days before Mum goes back to work. They’re downstairs with Mum, Sammy, and wine, embarrassing each other with stories about how they got into trouble as kids and how Grandma would always find out. I’ve heard it all before. Lucy has promised me that she won’t drink too much so she’ll be ready to help me with some taekwondo training tomorrow. She’s a black belt and I’m in awe of her skills. I’m working towards my red belt and have missed my grading because of being away. I explained to my coach why and he said that if I worked hard and was ready for the grading, he’d arrange for me to do it due to the circumstances. He said it would give me a focus and I wouldn’t have to wait another three months. That was really kind of him and I don’t want to let him down. I haven’t been training while I’ve been away and I’ve missed it. Having Lucy here means that I can get some expert coaching and be ready for my grading. She’s promised to help me in the morning and that’ll keep me occupied as I am meeting up with Frankie tomorrow afternoon.
I texted her yesterday to tell her we were coming home. ‘Oh, babe, I’m back in the land of doom, wish I could be with you x,’ she replied. My heart skipped a beat and I wished I could be with her too.
She’s back visiting friends where she used to live. She called it the ‘land of doom’ because ‘it’s the most backward village in the country where broadband is slower than a dolphin on land and the people are still wearing shell suits.’ I had to google what a shell suit was and I was glad Frankie hadn’t brought that look to Sixth Form.
Now that we’re about to meet up, I feel nervous. We’re going back to Sixth Form next week, I have my taekwondo grading, I need to think about applying to Uni, which Jane has reminded me about for the millionth time, and I have much work to catch up on after the last couple of weeks. Thinking about Frankie – about how I feel, and about what I want – is taking up 99 per cent of my time. I even dreamt about her last night. We were back at the cinema, without the others, and she kissed me. I woke up wondering if that was what had happened, then wished that was what had happened. Now I’m back to not knowing what I want. It’s exhausting being me.
For now, I feel like the only grown up in the house. I’m going to bed while the adult-children are making a lot of noise downstairs!
Six
I’m getting ready to see Frankie. A morning of taekwondo definitely took my mind off my nerves about seeing her again.
Lucy was so good and I struggled to keep up with what she was showing me. She was explaining the theory while slowly doing the movements; and even though it made total sense as she was doing it, my brain and body weren’t able to translate it into action. She was really nice to me and didn’t make me feel like an idiot for not getting it. We went right back to basics and did moves from each of the gradings I’d already passed.
‘You’re really good. A natural,’ Lucy told me when we went back to the first grading I’d ever done.
‘I should be able to do this, it’s for beginners,’ I replied, less than impressed although grateful I could remember.
‘If you don’t have the foundations, how will you be able to improve and develop?’
Okay, so she had a point and doing all of the basic exercises reminded my brain and body what I was doing. I didn’t feel like I was failing and didn’t feel frustrated that I couldn’t do the hardest moves to begin with.
‘Let’s try again, slowly,’ Lucy instructed as she took me through the movements and explained what each stage was for.
‘That makes sense now,’ I tried to say, but I was out of breath and was realising how much work I had to do to be ready for my grading. ‘I’m knackered.’
‘One more time and we’ll leave it for today.’
I did it, I needed to get faster, but I did it. That was the first time I’d been able to get that right and it felt really good. ‘Thank you, I never thought I’d get there,’ I wheezed, trying to stand upright and failing miserably.
‘Practice makes perfect is a crappy saying, but it’s true. If you do that four or five times a day until your grading, you’ll nail it.’
I didn’t mean to, but I rolled my eyes. I’d heard that a thousand times before. I knew it was true and I knew it was what I needed to do. I just tended to lose motivation. I really wanted to pass my grading, yet day by day, I didn’t want to practice.
‘It won’t be handed to you on a plate,’ Lucy said, which convinced me that every adult had some sort of mind-reading ability. ‘It’s what you do behind the scenes that allows you to have those two minutes of glory and pass that grading with flying colours. I know you want to be good at this – you are good at this, but to be better than good, you need to put the hours in.’
‘They sound like wise words,’ Jane said as she came through the door. ‘We need to head off now, wise one,’ she joked. I saw the time. I’d been so engrossed in training that I’d forgotten it.
Thanking Lucy again, I raced to the shower. Jane shouted, ‘We’ll be off then, you must be seeing someone special to run off without saying goodbye.’
‘I’m just late, see ya,’ was the only reply needed for Jane to know that she was right. Almost as soon as the front door shut my phone beeped.
‘Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do x.’ OMG, did she know about Frankie? How could she know? She couldn’t know. Nobody knew.
Jane’s text is still on my mind when, after saying goodbye to Reggie, I walk into town to meet Frankie. Meeting at the coffee shop is a standing joke as neither of us like coffee but it’s where everyone from Sixth Form goes.
As I walk in the door I see Frankie is already sitting at a table. I sit down opposite her.
‘I’ve missed you,’ Frankie whispers,
and hugs me. ‘I wish I could’ve been around to cheer you up, I’m sorry you’ve had a shitty time.’
‘It hasn’t been all bad,’ I admit. ‘I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.’
Frankie has already ordered for me. Sitting with our hot chocolates in coffee mugs, we talk about what we’ve been doing, about Grandma and about Frankie’s visit to the ‘land of doom’. Neither of us knows what to say about what happened at the cinema. I don’t know if I should bring it up and Frankie isn’t saying anything.
We go quiet, and no doubt we are both thinking the same thing.
‘Dude, are we going to sit here like it never happened?’ is Frankie’s subtle way of dealing with the situation. She is her usual loud self and I find myself looking around to see if anyone is listening. ‘Is there someone else you’d rather talk to?’ she says in response to my visual sweep of the coffee shop.
‘Of course not. I’m just not sure what to say,’ I answer. I genuinely have no idea what to say or do. I can feel my stomach doing funny things, I can’t look Frankie in the eye, and while I want to run out of the coffee shop at the speed of light, there is also nowhere on earth I’d rather be. Is this what it’s supposed to feel like?
‘It’s all cool, we like each other, that’s a good start,’ Frankie reassures me. ‘Let’s chill out and hang out today and we don’t have to talk about anything.’
‘Sounds good,’ I reply, and then can’t think of anything else to say. My mind goes blank and I find myself staring at the bottom of my empty mug. I have to be honest. Where do I start with that? ‘I guess I just need some time to think. The last couple of weeks have been the best and the worst all at the same time.’
‘As long as I’m defined as the best, we’re all good.’ Frankie laughs. ‘Shit, sorry, I’ve done it again. It’s not like a funeral would be the best, unless you didn’t like your grandma? Shit, sorry. I’ll shut up.’