37

It would be wrong, a lie, to say that Joseph had never felt pain like it.

He’d felt it years ago, as sharp and debilitating as it was now. But for a long time since he’d denied its existence, buried and smothered it with the only thing he could find that would hold it in place and out of sight: anger.

But the news of his dad had wrecked everything, creating a tremor that cracked the fortress he had built, leaving him only with the pain again.

Mrs F cupped his chin in her hand, asking, pleading with him to look her in the eyes.

‘What did you do wrong? What do you mean, son? To who? I don’t understand.’

‘My ma.’

‘Your mother?’ It was the first real mention of her to leave the boy’s lips in the time she’d known him.

‘I must’ve given her a reason. To hate me like she did.’ His eyes swam with tears, pupils drowning beneath them, pulling him under.

‘Hate you? Joseph, that’s silly. How could she hate you? A mother can’t hate her child. It’s not possible. I promise you.’

He pulled her hand from his chin, and she felt his anger, yet again.

‘What would you know?’ he yelled. ‘You know nothing. Only thing you’ve loved in your life is in that cage. An ape. An animal!’

‘That’s not true. It may seem like it, but it’s not, I promise you.’

‘Then explain this: Syd’s mother and father threw themselves on her. That’s how much they loved her. That’s what Syd was worth. They’d die for her.’ He made a choking noise, almost expecting the world to end as the truth finally came tumbling out. ‘My mother? I can hardly tell you what she looked or sounded like. Not really. Anything I remember clearly is from a photo. Because she left before I could remember, that’s how much she loved me. That’s how much I was worth.’

‘Oh Joseph, that’s not true. Of course she loved you.’

‘Then why did she leave? What did I say or do that was so bad?’

‘Your grandmother has only told me so much, because I don’t think even she knows everything, but your mum wasn’t happy. Not just unhappy. Ill. She’d been ill for a long time. She suffered with her mood. Black moods. And your parents, well, they argued. And it made her worse. For days, weeks sometimes, she wouldn’t get out of bed. She couldn’t, even if your grandmother dragged her out. She was ill, Joseph, and in the end it got to her. So badly that she had to leave.’

‘Then why didn’t she take me too? I wouldn’t have made trouble for her.’ He was pleading now, eyes wide and brimming with tears. ‘I could’ve looked after her,’ he sobbed, ‘if she was ill. I wouldn’t have minded.’

‘You were five years old, Joseph.’

‘Doesn’t matter, does it? I could’ve hugged her. If she was sad, I could’ve made her laugh, told her a joke. Maybe I tried then, I don’t know, cos I can’t remember. All I know is that it must have been my fault, that I must have been bad. Otherwise she would have stayed, wouldn’t she?’

‘Don’t say that. It’s just not true. It’s not your fault.’

‘Then whose fault is it?’ As his head shook, tears set themselves free, puddling in the gravel. ‘Because it’s not the only time, is it? Gran didn’t want me either. Couldn’t wait to send me away. Then I walk into school here, and it starts again, before I even open my mouth. And what about you? From the second I arrived, you made it clear you didn’t want me here either. Did you? DIDYOU?’

She should’ve answered quickly, lied, told him it wasn’t so. But she didn’t, despite the fact that she didn’t feel that way any longer. And her delay poured petrol onto Joseph’s already considerable fire.

‘So tell me, will you?’ he roared, tears coating his face no matter how many times he wiped them away. ‘What did I do to you, eh? What’s wrong with me?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with you, Joseph.’

‘Then why do people keep leaving!’ The pain in his voice yanked at her like a loose thread on a jumper, unravelling her. ‘Dad promised me. He promised, when he went to fight, that he would come back. He... PROMISED.’

He fell again, shattered, but would accept no arm or consolation from her.

‘And he meant it, Joseph. Of course he did. It’s probably the only thing that kept him going in all that madness. You’d be the first thing he thought of in the morning, and the last thing before he closed his eyes.’

He sniffed loudly. ‘But it wasn’t enough, was it? I wasn’t enough.’

‘I promise you, Joseph, that none of this is your fault. None of it. I know you don’t want to hear it, especially from me, but it’s true. Life can be hard sometimes. And it can be unkind, more unkind than you can ever possibly imagine. But you must believe me that it can get better too. You can work it out with me. Here. For as long as you need. In time, I promise, it will get better.’

‘Will it? And you know that, do you?’

‘I do,’ she replied.

But Joseph did not believe her. ‘How? I mean, what have you ever lost? This place? Is that it? Do you think losing a few animals is the same as losing your entire family?’

‘It has NOTHING to do with this place!’ she roared.

‘Then tell me,’ he spat. ‘Tell me what you’ve lost?’

He watched her. And waited for a reply, trying to read all the thoughts and feelings that seemed to flash across her face. She looked close to tears, her lips moist as they twitched and formed words that never came out. She took a step forward, lifted her arms to him before pulling back, like she’d changed her mind.

‘I’m here for you, Joseph,’ she said, her voice tired, sagging like her body. ‘And you have a home here for as long as you want it.’

He didn’t reply. He was done. Spent. He felt no better for saying what he had, didn’t care or imagine that his words would have any effect on anything that followed. He was where he’d always been. Alone. And it was safer that way.

Silence followed. And when it was finally broken, it wasn’t with words but by the crunch of gravel beneath Mrs F’s feet as she walked reluctantly away.

Joseph didn’t move until he guessed she was out of sight, and even then, he didn’t go far, only back to Adonis’s cage, until he could lean his forehead against the cold metal of the ape’s bars.

He knew it went against what Mrs F had told him about Adonis and remaining safe, but in his mind, Adonis was the only friend left that he felt he could turn to.

So he didn’t flinch or move when he heard the slow, heavy footsteps labouring closer. Instead he lifted his head and looked the ape in the eye. Adonis looked back, breathing slowly, the same low, slow, repetitive noise coming from his mouth that Joseph had heard before, in another moment of distress.

But today, the effect was different. It didn’t soothe or take away the pain that Joseph felt. Instead it allowed it to come, and Joseph cried, loudly and angrily to the skies, not even stopping when Adonis tipped his own head back and roared his pained song too.