part0003

We don’t walk around crying with sad faces, moaning and wailing – quite the opposite really. We paste happyish expressions on and smile bravely and say things like I’m fine and I’m alright, but we’re so not.

We used to be really happy, until Mum left us and then we were very unhappy for quite a long time but now we’re at the we have to get over it and carryon stage that the whole world expects us to be at. You know, the getting on with life stage. We’re not at that stage at all but we’re good at pretending. Except Skipper (the dog), he’s not so good at pretending. He was Mum’s dog and I don’t think his tail has wagged properly since she’s been gone. We get a half-hearted wag when we come home and then he seems to remember that we’re not mum and he trots off dejectedly and flops down into his basket with a big sigh. Maybe if we keep pretending, we’ll start to believe we’re alright if we keep doing it; sort of fake it ’til you make it. I can’t imagine I ever will be alright but I have to carry on pretending, for Dad’s sake.

So here we are standing in the hall at the bottom of the stairs and I’m ready to go but I’m waiting for Dad to finish preening himself in the mirror. He’s fiddling around adjusting his tie in the round fish eye wall mirror that distorts his face and makes his nose look enormous.

‘You’re not wearing that are you?’ I say.

‘Well, yes, I thought I would. What’s wrong with it?’’ Dad looks all round eyed and surprised at me.

More like what’s right with it. Beyond embarrassing.

‘You don’t need to wear a suit and a tie,’ I say with a sigh. ‘You’re not meeting the Queen. It’s just a college open evening. In fact, I don’t even know why you have to come, I’m seventeen, not a kid. It’s not as if I’m at school .’

‘I like to look smart.’ He tightens the knot and then thinks better of it and loosens it again. ‘And you know why I’m coming so let’s not start all that again.’

I grab my Parka from the peg and pull it on, zip it up to my chin and pull the hood up over my head.

‘Hurry up . I just want to get this stupid meeting over with.’

Dad stops fussing in the mirror and turns around and looks down at me for a moment and then wraps his arms round me and holds me tightly in a bear hug. My nose is being squashed into his chest and I wriggle my face free so I can breathe.

‘You’re a funny little thing. I just want to be there for you, because I let you down last time. I promise I won’t embarrass you in front of your friends.’ He says it in a sad sort of voice so I allow myself to be hugged. We stand like this for a bit and after a few minutes I duck out from his arms and go to the front door and yank it open.

‘I’ve told you, I haven’t got any friends. Everyone thinks I’m a weirdo. Now come on .’

Frogham Community College is an ugly grey oblong building of four floors with what seems like hundreds of windows that have wooden panels underneath them. The panels are all different colours and in different stages of peeling. Despite the jolly colours it’s a drab looking affair and, in an attempt to pretty it up a bit there’s a wrought iron sculpture of a dolphin in front of the entrance doors. What a dolphin has to do with anything I have no idea. It’s surrounded by pebbles stuck in cement to deter anyone from getting too close, although someone has managed to spray paint their tag on it.

Of course the car park was full when we finally arrived so we had to park miles away in a side street and walk here. We got battered around by the wind and rain in the ten minutes it took us to get here and Dad and I squeeze through the double doors into the college with a feeling of relief. We can hardly get through the doors for the throng of wet, noisy people in the hall and it seems like everyone is shouting. I look at Dad and he’s trying unsuccessfully to flatten his hair down with his hands; the wind has whipped it into a mass of unruly curls and the more he flattens it the springier it gets.

‘Should have bought an umbrella. I look like Ronald McDonald.’

‘You should get a parka like me. You can put the hood up then.’ I only say this to wind him up, he wouldn’t be seen dead in any coat that has a hood.

We push and shove our way through the mass of people and I pull my hood further down over my eyes but I can still sense that people are looking at me. I look down at the floor and follow Dad’s feet as he battles his way through.

The hall is huge with a stage at the opposite end to the doors and it smells of rubber, cooked cabbage and damp people. I don’t know why it should smell of cooked cabbage as the college canteen is at the other end of the building.

‘Where do we go, Josie?’ Dad stops suddenly and turns around and megaphones at me.

‘Up the end,’ I hiss at him, nearly falling over because he’s stopped so suddenly.

‘Where?’ he shouts as he leans down and ducks to look underneath my hood at me.

For God’s sake. The embarrassment.

‘Up there.’ I point to the end of the hall. ‘Stop talking to me. I told you not to talk to me.’

Dad throws back his head and laughs loudly while I try to make myself invisible inside my coat. When he finally stops laughing, he turns on his heel and continues fighting his way through and I follow him as he bounces down the hall. I try to make myself as small as possible but I know it’s not working. Everyone is looking at us. Why did he have to come? He can’t do anything quietly. Hardly anyone else’s parents are here, most have come on their own. I should have stayed at home, pretended I was ill.

‘Is that her? Is that Miss Bradley?’ he shouts over his shoulder.

‘Stop shouting.’ So irritating.

‘What?’ he shouts even louder over the babble of the hall.

‘I said. STOP SHOUTING.’

The second the words have left my mouth the hall falls silent and everyone turns and looks at me. We come to a halt as Dad stops to scan the hall for Miss Bradley.

I don’t move and keep looking straight ahead at Dad’s back but out of the corner of my eye I can see one of the Clackers. I slowly move my head to be confronted by Shana looking straight at me with a smirk on her face. She’s clacking chewing gum around her mouth and pouting for all she’s worth.

‘Hey, Josie,’ she calls out and makes a beeline for me, walking towards me with that stupid flat-footed ballet walk that she thinks makes her look cute.

‘Is this your Dad?’ she says as she plants herself in front of him. She flutters her eyelashes up at Dad and pouts even more. The smell of the sweet candy bubble gum that she always chews wafts over as she speaks.

‘Oh, Hello,’ says Dad, putting his hand out to shake Shana’s hand. Yes, he actually puts his hand out. ‘Nice to meet you, er…aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend, Josie?’

I turn my back to Shana and grab Dad’s arm and yank him quickly away. ‘We’re late so you’ll have to excuse us,’ I say to Shana as I drag Dad past her.

‘OMG.’ She shrieks, ‘You’re like, so funny Josie, you sound like you’re, what, twenty-five or something.’ She puts her hands on her hips and clacks the gum around her mouth.

I ignore her completely and put my hand on Dad’s back and push him past her. ‘Just keep going. And stop showing me up,’ I hiss at him. I didn’t expect him to move so quickly and nearly fall over where I’ve shoved him so hard. I sneak a peek out of the corner of my eye; Shana is watching us and grinning.

I spy Miss Bradley sitting at a table near the stage and pray that no one gets there before us. If I keep shoving Dad forward, we can get it over with and go home.

‘Ah, Mr Sparkes, how lovely to meet you.’ Miss Bradley sees us arrive and jumps up off her chair and holds her hand out. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’

Liar. I’ve hardly spoken to her and certainly never about Dad.

‘Have you?’ says Dad, looking pleased and shaking her hand. He pulls the chair out from the desk and settles himself down opposite her.

‘Aren’t you going to sit down Josie?’ Miss Bradley looks at me.

She looks a bit uncertain. ‘Well, you don’t have to...’

Dad pats the chair next to him. ‘Come on, Josie, sit down.’

‘No. You wanted to talk to her, so talk to her but I’m not getting involved. I told you this before we left. I’ll be over there when you’ve finished.’

I march over to the front of the stage and pretend to be engrossed in a crappy art display. I feel a bit mean. It came out all wrong, I didn’t mean to sound so rude and childish.

‘Didn’t know you were coming.’ A voice next to me makes me jump.

Biro, probably my only friend at college, or anywhere actually, has appeared next to me. He looks down at me with eyes that seem massive through the jam jar bottom lenses of his glasses.

‘My Dad’s over there talking to Miss Bradley.’ I turn and nod my head in their direction.

‘What, the bloke with the checked suit on?’

‘Don’t mention the suit. Or the tie. Or the hair.’

‘S’not that bad. Sort of retro. Isn’t brown the new black?’

I look up at him, his big owl-like eyes are twinkling and he’s trying not to laugh. It’s okay though; he’s laughing with me, not at me.

‘He has the worst dress sense in the world. Ever. Apart from you,’ I say with a smile.

‘Nothing wrong with my dress sense.’

I look at him; black bobble hat – okay, black scarf wrapped around his face – okay, fake fur coat and red doc martins – not okay.

‘Where did you get that coat anyway?’

He strokes the fur fondly. ‘Charity shop. Bargain. Five quid. Smells a bit though.’

‘Sleeves are a bit short too.’

He stretches his arms out to show his jumper cuffs a good six inches longer than the coat sleeves.

‘Starting a new trend. Think it must have belonged to a woman.’

Biro and I met on our first day; two fellow weirdos. I was sitting alone at lunch, trying to look as if I wasn’t bothered about being on my own and chewing the same mouthful of sandwich that just wouldn’t go down. Biro dumped his lunch tray onto the table and sat down next to me and proceeded to shovel spaghetti Bolognese into his mouth. He wolfed the whole plate down in minutes then wiped the back of his hand across his mouth and picked up a bottle of Coke.

‘A levels or BTEC?’ he’d said between slurps.

‘GCSE re-sits,’ I’d said.

That’s how we met. Biro really doesn’t care that he’s not one of the in crowd; he’s completely comfortable with how he is and doesn’t even notice if he’s getting laughed at, he enjoys being different.

I look over at Dad and Miss Bradley, deep in conversation; I wonder how much longer they’ll be.

‘Your parents here?’ I ask Biro.

‘Na. Made sure of it. Never told them about it.’

Idiot, why didn’t I think of that?

‘Isn’t that your mate over there?’ I follow his eyes to see Ellie standing with Stacey and Shana.

‘No mate of mine. She’s a Clacker now. One of the gang.’

‘Yeah, I see she’s copied the eyebrows. And the pout.’

Ellie and I used to be best friends. Right from our first day at school. We still speak; we’ve haven’t argued or anything but we’re not close anymore. I’m not sure what happened. Ellie changed but I didn’t and maybe that’s the problem. I never got into the whole make up and boyfriend thing, even Mum used to say I had an old head on young shoulders. I can’t help it, it’s just the way I am. I had a brief period when I tried to fit in; slapped the make-up on and tried to talk like everyone else but people can smell a fake a mile off. And that’s what I was, a fake. So I just have to be me: a weirdo. Stacey started calling me the professor because of the way I speak until I pointed out that I’d failed every single one of my GCSEs.

Ellie puts up her hand and gives me a wave; I must have been staring without realising, I tend to do that. Which all adds to the weirdo label. I don’t blame her for defecting, she wants to fit in and be like everyone else. Who wants to be the odd one out like me? I give a half-hearted wave back and turn to Biro.

‘What have you come for if your parents aren’t here?’

‘Going to have a chat to my music tutor, then I’m going home. Only came so it’d look like I cared, ‘cos I want to use the music room. I’ve got some people auditioning for my band tomorrow and I can’t use the pub ‘cos there’s a do on. And anyway, I don’t want my dad poking his nose in. You got anything planned for after?’

‘No, nothing. Just going home.’

‘The ‘rents have got an open mic evening. Do you want to come? Might be a laugh.’

Biro’s parents run a pub; it’s a converted house in the middle of a row of terraced houses with a bar not much bigger than my bedroom.

‘Could do,’ I say casually but inside I feel ridiculously pleased that he’s asked me, if it wasn’t for Biro, I’d never leave the house apart from going to college.

‘Ask your Dad, too.’

Biro and I are squashed between the bar and the door to the toilets. The place is rammed with people and a bearded, middle aged, long haired hippie is thumping a guitar and doing a very bad version of George Michael’s “Faith”.

‘I’d give it up if I was him,’ shouts Biro.

I nod and take a slurp of my J20. Biro takes a long swallow of his bottle of coke which I know he laced with a good few measures of vodka when his Dad wasn’t looking. I don’t have any in mine; don’t have any tolerance for alcohol at all. We didn’t ask Dad; Biro was only joking but that’s the thing with me, I’m not very good at knowing if people are joking or not.

Biro’s Dad leans across the bar, ‘Alright chick?’

I’m fine, thank you, Mr Birowski.’

‘Charlie, chick, call me Charlie. Want another drink?’

‘No, I’m good, thank you.’

‘I’ll have one, Pa.’ Biro bangs his empty bottle down on the bar.

‘No, you won’t son, you’ve had enough of my vodka.’ He whisks the bottle away and drops it with a clang into a bin under the bar. ‘And stop calling me Pa.’

‘I haven’t had any vodka.’

‘Yes, you have. I wasn’t born yesterday. If I lose my license it’ll be your fault and I’ll have your guts for garters. Anyway, make yourself useful and go and check the gents – make sure they’re decent.’

Biro pulls a face. ‘Do I have to?’

‘Yes, you do. I’m too busy and there’s no way I’m letting your mother go in there. Just flush the toilets and open the window if it needs it.’

Biro pulls a face and reluctantly leaves the bar and saunters across to the back door. The toilets are out the back through a dark, damp corridor, I think they may have been outside at one time. I never use them if I can help it; they’re full of spiders and are freezing cold.

Within minutes Biro comes back and resumes his position leaning on the bar next to me.

‘Rank. Don’t know what’s difficult about flushing a toilet but no one in here seems to have that skill.’ He bangs on the bar to get Charlie’s attention.

‘Pa! Do I get a drink now?’

‘Yeah. But you’re only having coke. Gents okay?’

‘Fantastic, there’s nothing I like more than the sight of another bloke’s shit bobbing around with dog ends floating on the top.’ He takes the offered bottle of coke. ‘Highlight of my evening.’

Charlie laughs and winks at me and turns to serve another customer.

‘Disgusting,’ mutters Biro taking a slurp of his coke.

I laugh at the look on his face and after a moment he can’t help himself and joins in.

‘You’re lucky you’re not a bloke, we’re a gross lot.’

The faint sound of applause interrupts us as the George Michael wannabe finally takes the hint and gives the microphone back to the MC and sits down.

The MC clears his throat. ‘Now, Ladies and Gentleman, a treat for us all. Our very own landlord, Charlie, is going to give us his rendition of Stairway to Heaven, put your hands together...’

Charlie comes out from behind the bar and weaves his way to the microphone accompanied by whistles and table thumps. The MC hands him the microphone and Charlie takes it with a beaming smile.

Biro drains his bottle of coke in one swallow and bangs it down on the bar.

‘C’mon. Time to go. X Box is calling. See if you can beat me.’

‘Oh. Okay. If you like.’

‘I do like.’ He looks across at Charlie who points the microphone at Biro and winks at him.

Biro rolls his eyes at me. ‘And you thought your Dad was embarrassing.’

We’ve just got home. Dad picked me up from Biro’s and I wondered how long it would be before we’d have to have “the conversation”. We chatted about the pub and the open mic night in the car but not the college meeting but I knew it was only a matter of time.

‘Josie, don’t you think we should talk about it?’

I hang my coat up and keep my back to him so I don’t have to look him in the eye.

‘Nothing to talk about,’ I say, hoping that he’ll give up.

I can sense he hasn’t moved and I turn around and he’s standing in front of me with his arms folded.

‘Look. You need to face up to things, you can’t avoid your feelings forever. Miss Bradley thinks seeing a counsellor would really help you.’

‘I’m not avoiding anything. I’m not going to see a shrink and that’s the end of it.’ I fold my arms across my body to emphasise the point.

Dad sighs. ‘She’s not a shrink, she’s a counsellor and she might be able to help. Miss Bradley says she refers students to the college counselling service all the time. There’s no shame in it.’

‘I don’t care. I don’t need any help.’

‘You do. You know you do. You need to talk things through, about Mum and what happened in your exams.’

‘I don’t need to talk about it, I’m fine. And people are allowed to fail exams you know.’

‘You’re not fine and you didn’t fail them.’

I unfold my arms and squeeze past Dad and start up the stairs. ‘I’m off to bed, got to get up in the morning.’

‘Just think about it,’ he calls after me.

‘Night,’ I call over my shoulder.

‘Night, sweetheart.’ He sounds dejected and I feel bad. Again.

I close my bedroom door and lean my back against it and let out a sigh of relief. The last thing I need to do is to talk to a counsellor; I can’t talk about Mum, if I start talking I might not be able to stop and then it’ll all come out. I can’t tell anyone the truth.