Logo Missing

So that’s who Dad was frantically texting before we drove here.

Gram continues, ‘Are you wearing make-up, Ethel?’ Then she says to Dad, ‘Richard, how did this all come about?’

And even if now is not exactly the right time, and the circumstances not exactly perfect, I don’t really have much choice.

I’m face to face with three adults. I’m twelve. Their combined age must be nearly two hundred, and I still feel that it’s me who has more sense, me who is doing the right thing.

‘How? How could you?’ I say softly, and turn to include Great-gran. ‘How could you both?’

Perhaps it’s Dad’s blokeish banter that gives me the confidence to speak to them as directly as I do.

Gram hasn’t even sat down yet, and no one says anything so I go on.

I practically whisper, ‘You knew. You and Great-gran, the two of you, conspired to keep the truth from me. All my life I have been living as … as someone else. And you knew?’

No one says anything, so I hiss, ‘How could you?’

My voice is losing its calm.

Dad has raised his hand in a calm-down motion. ‘Steady on, Boo,’ he says. ‘She’s an old lady.’

That’s when something releases inside me. It really feels like that, as well: like when a stretched elastic band pings off your finger. Everything I’ve been concealing, all of the tension that I have been holding on to, all of the times that I’ve wanted to share my secret but never felt able to – it all seems to come loose with that one gentle gesture and the soft words of Dad.

‘Don’t “steady on” me!’ I say, much louder. ‘And I know she’s an old lady. Old enough to know better, that’s what I say.’

I look at Great-gran, and speak directly to her. ‘One hundred years old and you haven’t learned not to lie? Everyone thinks you’re just a sweet little old lady, sitting there in your shawl, but you’re no better than anyone else. Just because you can’t talk? You think that’s an excuse?’

Dad has stood up now. ‘Boo, that’s enough.’ He’s right, of course. It was mean. But now I’ve started it’s like I have to go on.

‘Enough? I haven’t even started. And don’t call me Boo. It’s Ethel. And I like my name! My name – the one that’s on that stupid fake birth certificate!’ I’m shouting now, and Great-gran’s expression is horrified, but there’s more to come, I can feel it.

I turn my anger towards Gram.

‘Have you seen this?’ I say, pulling off my sunglasses to reveal the dark sockets of my eyes. ‘What about this?’ I open my mouth wide and lean towards Gram. ‘This is me! What are you so horrified about? Is being invisible a bit too “common” for you? Or is it just “vulgar”? Well, I don’t care – this is what is going on, and I’m sick of lying! I’m sick of hiding!’

I pull off the glitter wig and Gram’s hands go straight to her mouth as she sobs a gasp of pure terror.