I delayed making the call to my father for as long as possible – sometimes, I thought, if you leave a problem for long enough, it self-corrects – but, by Saturday morning, I had reached that now-or-never moment. I took the cordless phone to my room and dialled the number.
‘Jake.’ My father sounded surprised and, it seemed to me, rather less than delighted to be hearing from his son. He started asking the usual boring questions about school – anything to avoid talking about what was really going on in his life and mine. I interrupted him.
‘There’s the school concert tonight. Can you come?’
‘Concert? But—’ He gave a little laugh. ‘You don’t play anything.’
That’s Dad all right – always the supportive one. ‘A friend of mine’s playing,’ I said. ‘I thought you’d like to check up on me with the teachers.’
‘Would I ever do that?’ he said, playing for time. ‘What about your mother?’
‘I’m asking you. Please, Dad.’
Silence from the other end of the phone. I was about to tell him to forget it, when he said, ‘I’d really like to, Jake, but I don’t want any more trouble with Mum.’
‘And if she agrees?’
‘I’d love to.’
When I went downstairs, my mother and Chrissie were in the kitchen.
‘Mum,’ I said. ‘Would you mind if I went to the school concert tonight with Dad?’
They both looked at me as if I had said something unspeakably shocking.
‘I’m going to the concert, Jake,’ said my mother. ‘It was agreed.’
‘Dad wants to go.’
My mother laughed. ‘It’s only because he knows it will upset me. That man is so transparent.’
‘Yeah,’ Chrissie chimed in. ‘Like he’s been really interested in school concerts before, hasn’t he?’
‘It was me who asked him,’ I said.
‘That’s nice,’ my mother murmured bitterly.
‘Mum was really looking forward to that as well,’ said Chrissie. ‘Honestly, men are just so selfish. It’s just me-me-me with them.’
My mother was looking at me, and I knew what the next step would be in this little game. She’d play the guilt card.
‘No, that’s fine.’ She smiled bravely. ‘I’ll find something to do, I’m sure. I look after you all week, and your father gets the treats at the weekend. That seems pretty much the way it goes these days.’
‘It’s just that I haven’t seen him for a long time.’
‘Aaaah,’ said Chrissie. ‘Let’s all feel sorry for Jakey.’
Mum ignored her. Then to my surprise, she nodded. ‘For you,’ she said. ‘Not for him, mind – for you.’
‘Thanks, Mum,’ I said, and kissed her quickly on the cheek before she had time to move away.
I knew that something was up when Sam suggested that I sat in on the rehearsal. Why should the girls want me there? It had to be a non-musical thing.
My parents like to do a big shop on Saturday mornings, which meant that we had the house to ourselves.
The girls arrived together, Zia toting her guitar and grinning as if she had just been told the greatest news ever.
I fetched them drinks from the fridge, as if we were all best friends. Then, as they wandered through to the sitting room, Sam casually mentioned that I was staying for the rehearsal.
‘I don’t think so,’ said Elena, glancing at Zia.
But Zia shrugged as she sat down on the sofa and opened her guitar case. ‘I have no problem with that,’ she said. ‘Maybe it would be useful to have an audience.’
‘Zed.’ Elena stood, hands on hips, looking profoundly shocked. ‘And maybe this should be a band decision.’
Zia glanced at Sam and smiled.
Sam smiled back. It was somehow an unmistakably guy-like smile. Suddenly I knew what was on the way.
He stood up. ‘Girls,’ he said.
There was something in his tone of voice that caused Charley and Elena to glance at one another in alarm. ‘What do you mean “girls”?’ said Charley.
‘Are you talking to us?’ asked Elena.
Sam spread his arms, enjoying the moment. ‘I got something to tell ya.’
No. Forget it. Impossible. This was some kind of weird Yank wind-up.
But as Sam spoke, I looked first at Zia, then at Matt. ‘Is this true?’ I asked.
Matt nodded. ‘Sam’s a boy,’ he said. ‘Always has been, always will be. It was one of those jokes that got out of hand.’
‘Out of hand?’ This was a sort of shriek from Elena. ‘I’ll say it got out of hand. You’ve made fools of us, you dork. We thought you were one of us.’
‘I am one of you. El, listen—’
But Elena was on a roll now. ‘Think of everything I’ve done for you. The secrets I’ve told you, the time I’ve spent with you, the make-up tips we shared. I even lent you my bra.’
Sam looked down at his chest. ‘I’ll kind of miss my gazungas,’ he said.
‘I gave you my tampons,’ said Elena in a weak, despairing voice. ‘Have you any idea how personal that is? A girl just doesn’t share out tampons with anyone.’
‘Especially if he’s a guy,’ murmured Zia unhelpfully.
‘I feel so…used,’ sniffed Elena.
‘I was really grateful,’ said Sam. ‘At least my problem with Mark was sorted, it being my time of the month and all.’
‘Yeah, what about the Mark Kramer thing?’ I asked, trying to get the subject away from Elena and her tampons. ‘What was all that about?’
Sam shrugged, smiling. ‘Between you and me, it was going nowhere, that relationship.’
‘He’s going to go mad when he finds out,’ said Matt, and for a moment the thought of Mr Heartbreak’s face when he discovered that his latest girlfriend was a boy eased the tension in the room.
‘And now what’s going to happen?’ I asked.
‘Now we play the gig tonight,’ said Sam. ‘We work out what to do after that.’
Zia was strumming away at her guitar.
‘I thought we were a real girl band,’ Elena grumbled. ‘I’m not sure I’m prepared to do backing vocals for a boy.’
‘Pretend I’m a girl one more time,’ said Sam. ‘Do it for me.’
‘And for me,’ said Zia, with a little smile.
‘Please, El,’ said Sam.
It was the same old story. Yet again the whole future of our band rested on the shoulders of Elena Griffiths. Why is it, I wonder, that it always has to be me who makes the really big decisions?
They were begging me. Basically, I suppose they all realised that, without me, there would be no band – that in a way I was the most important part of the whole line-up.
‘I’m really not sure,’ I said.
I looked at their anxious faces and made up my mind. Just this once, I’d put my own feelings aside and do it for them.
‘All right.’ I nodded briskly. ‘Let’s go.’
And Zia hit the opening chords of ‘Bad Girl’.
Guitar, then Sam singing solo, Zia coming in on harmonies, building to the chorus with the other two – it was a slow build, ‘Bad Girl’.
How did it sound? Not that great, to tell the truth. The four band members seemed to be going in different directions and in different rhythms. Elena and Charley stared at the ground, looking embarrassed. Their shouting bits sounded like kids messing about in a playground. Zia belted her guitar, drawing out the vocals. Even Sam looked as if he wished he were somewhere else.
‘Good,’ I lied when they had finished.
‘You reckon?’ said Zia, seeing through my politeness.
‘It was…fine.’ Anxious to change the subject before the truth came out, I asked, ‘What are you guys calling yourselves, by the way?’
Blank looks all round.
Would you believe it? They had formed a band and they didn’t even have a name for it.
It only occurred to me that Saturday afternoon when my mother returned from one of her clothes-buying binges that I had a small, Sam-shaped problem on my hands.
I was reading a book on my bed when she waltzed in, looking unusually pleased with herself. She twirled around once and looked at me expectantly.
‘Well?’ she said.
‘Well, what?’
‘Well, what do you think of my Talent Night gear? Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.’
‘That thing you’re wearing. It’s new, isn’t it?’
‘Honestly, men. They never notice anything. I bet Sam will notice when she sees me tonight.’
I sat up on the bed. Mum, I now realised, had bought herself a new outfit. It was a sort of weird, baggy shirt-and-skirt thing that seemed to be made out of old sacking.
‘She’s quite a down-to-earth girl, Sam.’ My mother did another turn. ‘So I wanted a suit that said to her “Ty’s mother is an elegant, successful woman, but is also very grounded and sensible and kind”. D’you think it says that, Ty?’
‘Sam will be up on stage, Mum. She’ll have other things on her mind.’
‘But afterwards, when the three of us are together in front of all the other parents – me, my son and his lovely, successful girlfriend. And everyone’s looking at us. It’s important that I look the part.’
‘Oh yeah, right. I had forgotten about the other parents.’
‘They’ll be so jealous of me.’ Mum laughed, then suddenly frowned. ‘Sam won’t think I’m trying to steal her thunder with my new outfit, will she? Teenage girls can be so sensitive about that kind of thing.’
I went back to my book. Mum, I realised, was in for a shock. Just when, for the first time of her life, she thought she could be proud of me, she was going to be more humiliated than ever.
‘I’m sure she’ll just love it,’ I said.
Talent Night is kind of a big deal. Mrs Cartwright likes to pretend that the idea is to give the kids a platform to be themselves, to express their music and acting talent, to blahdy-blahdy-blah, but the truth is that it’s all about the adults.
Parents are given the chance to see how wonderfully their little ones are getting on. Teachers are able to go around pretending that they’re basically normal, straight-forward people. Above all, future parents and a few of the big swells on the local council are shown what a great place Bradbury Hill School has become under the inspired leadership of Mrs Deirdre Cartwright.
It’s showbiz, in fact. Nothing but showbiz.
So, unless you’re an egomaniac or a teacher’s darling, the word on Talent Night is simple: don’t.
Last year, I was one of the new kids. Mum and Dad were keen to show what great, committed parents they were. It was bad enough having to watch some acts on the stage but worse – much worse – was seeing teachers trying to be nice. I swore that next year I’d go down with a bad attack of flu rather than repeat the Talent Night experience.
Yet here I was, back again a year later, all because of my little American cousin.
The first people we saw as we arrived at the school that evening were Jake and his father, Mr Smiley. Normally I’d expect Jake to be doing his skulking-in-the-background-wishing-he-was-anywhere-else routine, but when he saw us outside the school gates, he actually stepped forward.
‘Hi, Mr and Mrs Burton,’ he said, like the nicest kid-next-door you could ever imagine. ‘Hi, Matthew. Hi, Sam.’
And Sam does this strange little chuckle. ‘Well, hello there, Jakey boy,’ he says.
‘This is my dad, Sam.’ Jake nodded sideways at his father. Now Jake’s dad is the ultimate executive-manager type, but that night he was not wearing a suit – in fact, he was not even wearing a tie.
‘Hello, young lady,’ he said, shaking Sam’s hand. ‘I’ve heard all about you.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that, Mr Smiley,’ said Sam. At that moment, he seemed to have noticed something across the room. ‘I’d better get ready,’ he said and was gone.
Seconds later, Mrs Sherman appeared, wearing a mad, billowing dress and a couple of tons’ worth of flashy jewellery. Tyrone was behind her, a wince of embarrassment fixed on his face.
As they joined the group, Mrs Sherman put an arm around Tyrone’s broad shoulders. ‘Why don’t you run after Sam and wish her luck?’ she said, loudly enough for us all to hear.
Tyrone muttered something about stage fright.
‘Believe me, she’d appreciate it.’ Mrs Sherman glanced up at us. ‘I know what girls are like. How about a little good-luck kiss?’
My parents must have looked a bit startled by the idea of Tyrone giving Sam a good-luck kiss, because Mrs Sherman turned to us. ‘Young love, I don’t know!’ She laughed gaily.
I tried to my best to kill the conversation, suggesting we grab our seats, but there was no stopping Tyrone’s mother now.
‘Don’t tell me you hadn’t heard,’ she said to my parents. ‘Ty and Sam are an item.’
‘An item of what?’ This was my mother.
‘An item as in together – a couple.’ Mrs Sherman smiled proudly. ‘Honestly, they’re so secretive, these kids.’
‘They are?’ said Mr Burton.
‘Tyrone is Sam’s boyfriend. Aren’t you, Ty?’
I was slightly taken aback by how surprised the Burtons looked at the news I had just broken.
‘It appears that my son has a reputation as something of a babe magnet,’ I said, allowing a hint of motherly pride to enter my voice. ‘The girls can’t get enough of him. Especially darling little Sam.’
Tyrone groaned. ‘Mum, please.’
‘That’s…interesting,’ Mary Burton said in a slightly sniffy way.
‘We’d better get to our seats,’ added that little mouse of a husband of hers.
Smiling, I followed them. Did they really have to make it so obvious that they were jealous of me?