‘What brings you over here?’ I asked my brother. Not that I particularly cared about his answer. I just didn’t want him to give the game away.
‘My friends haven’t arrived yet,’ Adam replied, stroking Emma’s cheek with one finger. ‘Can I hang with you guys until they get here?’
‘Hell, no,’ Josh snapped. ‘This is a private party. You aren’t invited.’
Well, I didn’t want my brother hanging around with us either, but there wasn’t just vehemence in Josh’s voice, there was venom.
‘Dante, tell your brother to get lost,’ Josh ordered. ‘He’s not wanted.’
My frown deepened.
‘You heard him,’ Logan joined in. ‘Get lost.’
‘Hang on . . .’ I began.
‘Hang on for what?’ Josh challenged.
I opened my mouth to argue, only my brother got in first. ‘Dante, never mind. It doesn’t matter.’ Adam put a hand on my shoulder. ‘I’ll see you later.’
I looked up at my brother but he wasn’t looking at me. Instead, he and Josh were regarding each other, the same belligerent expression on both their faces.
Adam turned sharply and walked away. I turned to my mates. ‘Josh, that’s my brother you were talking to.’
‘So?’
‘So if anyone tells him to get lost, it should be me not you. And, Logan, that goes for you too,’ I said.
‘I’m sorry, but your brother gives me the creeps,’ said Josh.
What the . . . ?
‘Why would Adam creep you out?’ I asked slowly.
Uncomfortable silence ricocheted around our group. Against my chest, Emma was beginning to stir.
‘Well?’ I persisted.
‘He just does.’ Josh tried to shrug away his comment. ‘The way he’s always hanging around you and staring at . . . everyone . . .’
Staring . . . ? ‘What a load of—’
‘Besides, Dante, we don’t want some little kid dragging around with us,’ Logan interrupted.
I looked from him to Josh and back again. Were they talking about some little kid in general or specifically about my little brother?
Why didn’t I ask Josh that question straight out? Was I afraid of the answer?
Josh and I had been mates since we’d both started secondary school, me at ten and Josh at eleven. Logan joined our school at sixteen and had immediately latched on to us for some reason. And to my surprise, Josh had decided to let him. Logan had been a permanent fixture ever since. But there was something a bit off in the way neither he nor Josh could quite meet my gaze.
‘OK, Josh, what’s going on?’ I asked.
Josh shrugged. ‘Nothing. Come on, Dante. You don’t want your brother with us any more than I do.’
‘You guys need to chill. You’ll wake the baby,’ said Collette.
By the way Emma was beginning to wriggle against my chest, it was already too late to worry about that. Emma opened her eyes, took a second to check out her surroundings, looked up at me – and wailed.
Damn it.
I unstrapped the carrier and tried rocking Emma in my arms, but the music was suddenly too loud and the laughter too raucous and the lights were so bright and the smell of lager was nauseating. I looked down at Emma, feeling the world through every pore as maybe she was feeling it.
And it was horrible, like the shriek of twisting polystyrene.
And I hadn’t brought out her baby bag so I had no food, no nappies, no book, nothing. The realization of how unprepared I was rubbed against my skin like sandpaper.
‘It’s OK, Emma. I’ll take you home,’ I whispered to her as she clung on to my shirt. I should never have brought her here in the first place. Stupid, stupid idea.
‘God, she’s kinda ugly, isn’t she?’ Logan laughed as he watched her cry.
My blood stopped flowing, my heart stopped beating, my lungs stopped working – just for a second. But that was long enough. I looked down at Emma, her face pinched and closed in on itself, her eyes scrunched as she sobbed her misery.
Adam was right. She was . . . beautiful.
Really beautiful.
I stood up, placing Emma back into her carrier, gently turning her head so she’d be comfortable against my heart. ‘First of all, Logan, no one looks at their ever-loving best when they cry. And second and more importantly, if you ever call my daughter ugly again, I’ll punch your face in.’
Stunned silence.
I regarded Logan. I didn’t need to stare or glare or raise my voice for him to know I meant every syllable. Look at him. He had a face like a weasel and a constant sneaky, sly look in his eyes. And he had the nerve to call Emma ugly? I glanced around. All eyes were on me.
Well, I’d told him and all of them about Emma now. When I’d decided I’d do it in my own time and in my own way, this wasn’t quite what I’d had in mind.
‘Your daughter?’ Collette was the first to speak.
‘That’s right.’
‘Your daughter?’ Josh repeated.
My friends were looking at me like I’d just emerged from a spaceship. Then Josh started to laugh.
‘Ha ha! Good one, Dan. You had us going there.’
Some of the others also started to laugh. Most didn’t. They were watching me for their cue. One ‘Gotcha’ from me and I’d have ’em rolling in the aisles – well, around the tables at any rate. One word and I’d be off the hook. Emma would be my secret, a family secret. A secret . . . I looked down at Emma. She was looking straight up at me, still crying. I kissed her forehead, before turning to look directly at Collette. So many things I’d wanted to say to her, so many things I’d wanted to explain before this moment arrived. Just once, couldn’t my life run according to my schedule?
‘Emma is my daughter and I’m taking her home. Have a great night, everyone.’
I turned round and headed for the door. Behind me, a chorus of exclamations and questions started up, but I didn’t let that stop me.
‘Hang on, Dante.’ Collette was at my side before I’d barely set foot on the pavement. She looked from me to Emma and back again. ‘You . . . you weren’t joking?’
I said nothing. If there was a joke then it was on me, not by me.
‘Who is its mother?’
Pause. ‘Melanie Dyson.’
‘Mel?’ Collette’s eyes drank me in and spat me out. ‘All this time you’ve been carrying on with Melanie behind my back?’
‘Collette, you should know me better than that. Mel and I split up after Rick’s Christmas party. That was almost two years ago. And like the rest of you, I haven’t . . . hadn’t seen her since.’
‘How old is that thing?’ Collette pointed to Emma.
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Emma is . . . eleven months. She’s a year old next month. And she’s not “that thing”.’
‘OK. I’m sorry. But I don’t understand. How come you didn’t tell me that you had a daughter?’
‘I only found out yesterday. Mel came round and brought Emma with her.’
‘Are you two back together again?’
‘No.’
Collette wore her shock like a neon dress. Not that I could blame her. I should’ve been in the Bar Belle, knocking back an ice-cold lager and celebrating my A level results with my friends and Collette. My head was supposed to be buzzing with plans and schemes and dreams of university and beyond. Now my entire horizon was filled with Emma and nothing else. The laughter washing out of the BB mocked me. I wanted to get far away from it.
‘Didn’t you know Mel was pregnant?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Is that why she left school so abruptly?’
‘I guess so.’
I really wasn’t in the mood for twenty questions. And the laughter inside the Bar Belle was beginning to get to me.
‘Where’s Mel? Why didn’t you bring her along tonight?’
‘She’s gone.’
‘Gone?’ Collette frowned.
‘Yes, gone. She went to live with friends and
dumped Emma on me. Mel didn’t want Emma and neither do I, but I’m stuck with her,’ I said. The moment the bitter words were out of my mouth, I wanted to call them back. I glanced down at Emma. Now that she was outside the restaurant, she’d stopped crying but was still awake. I closed my eyes. Damn it. I shouldn’t have said what I did and I sure as hell shouldn’t have said it in front of her.
Damn it.
Sorry, Emma . . .
There it was again, that hard, painful lump in my throat that made it hard to swallow, hard to breathe.
‘I really do have to go now,’ I said wearily. ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow, OK?’
‘I can come round if you’d like?’ Collette offered.
‘Yeah, OK. Whatever. I’ll see you.’
I turned round and walked away. I had to get Emma home.
I had to get my daughter home.
21
Adam
Josh is such a crap-head. If only the way people are inside was reflected in the way they look outside, then Josh would look like Dorian Gray’s portrait. He really is a toxic little toad. I know exactly why he didn’t want me to join Dante’s group. Well, it wasn’t hard to figure out.
I only had to walk past Josh’s table for him to get stuck in the moment I was in his sights. Dante was nowhere around so Josh waded in with one of his usual stupid comments, spurred on by that shit-stirring weasel, Logan. Logan really thinks he’s all that, with his designer fade and his designer attitude and his music-producer dad who had had a couple of chart hits back in the Stone Age. I mean, who cares – apart from Logan? Josh doled out the insults whilst Logan laughed longer and louder than was necessary. Moron! I gave Josh better than he was dishing out and moved on. Josh really wasn’t worth my time or effort. I wasn’t going to let him or anyone else spoil my evening.
Heading for the bar, I weaved in and out of people, making painfully slow progress. It was my round but the place was now heaving. Sharpening my elbows, I tried to attract the attention of one of the barkeepers. Dante must’ve been nuts to think he could bring Emma to this place. I couldn’t help wondering where my brother had got to though. Maybe he’d stepped outside for a while? I’d already checked out the loos, thinking maybe Dante had gone to change Emma’s nappy, but he wasn’t in there. Maybe, just maybe, he had seen sense after all and gone home.
‘Do they even serve your kind in here?’ a voice whispered in my ear.
I spun round, knowing as I did so just who was behind me. And I wasn’t wrong either – unfortunately.
‘How d’you manage to stay upright without your knuckles dragging on the ground?’ I asked with contempt.
‘Huh?’
‘Exactly.’ I turned away, waving the cash in my hand as I tried to get served.
‘You think you’re smart, don’t you?’ hissed Josh in my ear.
‘And good-looking and talented.’ I turned my head slightly to inform him. ‘Don’t forget those.’
Silence.
Then to my intense surprise, Josh started to laugh. ‘You think a lot of yourself, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but I’m not alone in that,’ I told him.
He laughed even harder. I turned around, now suspicious. Oh my God. He was actually smiling at me. Why? Was he feeling all right?
He was up to something.
‘What’re you drinking?’ asked Josh.
‘Why?’
‘ ’Cause I’ll buy it for you,’ said Josh.
My eyes narrowed. ‘By the pricking of my thumbs . . .’
‘Huh? What’s wrong with your fingers?’
‘Nothing. It’s just a quote from Macbeth.’
‘Why’re you spouting Shakespeare?’ Josh frowned.
By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes. I wasn’t about to finish the quote out loud though. I wasn’t that stupid. But I was instantly on my guard.
Josh was definitely up to something.
22
Dante
My bedroom door opened about two seconds before I was going to repeatedly bang my head off it. I sprang back, Emma in my arms. She was still screaming.
‘What’s going on?’ Dad asked wearily.
‘I was just coming to get you,’ I admitted. The words came out almost slurred, I was so tired. ‘I need your help, Dad. Emma won’t stop crying. It’s doing my head in.’
‘Is she hungry?’
‘No. I tried warming up some milk but she didn’t want it. And her nappy is dry and I’ve checked her cot in case something in it was making her uncomfortable, but it’s fine. Why is she constantly crying?’
‘Dante, your daughter can’t speak yet, so how else is she supposed to let you know that something is wrong?’
‘Dad, you’re missing the point. How on earth am I supposed to know what’s wrong with her then. I’m not telepathic.’
‘No, you’re missing the point,’ said Dad. ‘You don’t need to be telepathic, you just have to listen to her and respond. Your mum told me that you and your brother used to have different cries when you wanted different things. Jenny said both of you had a higher-pitched wail when you were hungry and a more whiney low-pitched cry when your nappy needed changing. Maybe it’s a woman thing or a mum thing ’cause I could never hear the difference.’
Dammit. The last thing I needed at two bloody thirty in the morning was a stroll down memory lane.
‘How does that help? I still don’t know what’s wrong with her,’ I snapped.
‘What I did instead, as I didn’t have your mum’s expert ears, was check everything. I’d check your nappy, I’d try feeding you, I’d make sure you weren’t too hot or too cold or too thirsty. Dante, you have to work by a process of elimination.’
‘But that takes up more time,’ I protested.
‘And you’re in a rush to do what exactly?’ asked Dad, eyebrows raised.
‘Sleep,’ I said plaintively. At that moment I would’ve paid hard cash to be able to get some sleep.
‘Well, unless you want to be marching up and down with Emma all night, I suggest you try to find out what’s wrong with her,’ said Dad. ‘Pass her here.’
Gladly. I handed Emma over to him, my tired arms flopping to my sides. I watched as Dad placed a hand on Emma’s forehead and then her cheeks.
‘Hmmm . . .’
‘What? Is she OK?’ I asked, suddenly and inexplicably anxious.
‘Well, she’s slightly hot and she’s dribbling like a water feature,’ said Dad. ‘Emma, sweet pea, I’m just going to look at your gums.’
Using the side of his index finger, Dad moved first Emma’s top lip then her bottom lip out of the way.
‘Does she need a doctor?’ I asked. ‘Should I call out a doctor?’
‘No need. She’s teething,’ said Dad. He handed Emma back to me. ‘Wait here. I’ll be right back.’ And he disappeared out of my room. He came back waving a tube of teething gel in his hand and grinning. ‘Aren’t you glad I did all that shopping?’
Glad? At that moment I just wanted to bow down and worship at his sweaty feet.
‘Sit with her in your lap and then you can apply some of this to her gums.’
‘Is it safe?’ I asked.
Dad regarded me, distinctly unimpressed. ‘I did check first, Dante. I have done this once or twice before.’
‘OK. No need to jump down my throat,’ I mumbled.
‘It’s safe for children over two months,’ Dad informed me. ‘Are your fingers clean?’
‘Of course.’ I frowned.
Dad squeezed some gel onto my index finger and watched as I applied it as gently as I could to Emma’s gum where her two bottom teeth were beginning to show. Emma was chomping on my finger as I applied it but it didn’t hurt. I guess she was as keen as I was to stop her gums from hurting.
Dad waited with me for another five minutes, until Emma settled down and finally fell asleep. Moving like a zombie I placed Emma in her cot, covering her up to her waist with her baby blanket. Then I fell onto my own bed,
too tired to do anything else.
‘Night, son.’ I was only vaguely aware of Dad pulling my duvet up around my body.
‘Night, Dad.’ I muttered.
And I was out for the count.
‘Come on, Emma, just a few more mouthfuls,’ I pleaded.
Each of my eyelids felt like they were made of solid lead as I struggled to keep them open.
‘Open up, Emma,’ I said, waving the spoon around in front of her firmly closed lips. ‘Here comes the airplane!’
But she wasn’t having it and I couldn’t say I blamed her. She was probably just as tired as I was, but if she didn’t eat now, the whole day’s feeding schedule would be history. I knew I was supposed to be flexible about these things with a young kid, but flexibility and tiredness didn’t really go together. And it felt like I had only just closed my eyes to sleep before it was morning and time to open them again.
‘Come on, Emma. Please eat some more of this yummy banana porridge.’ I leaned forward and opened my mouth to show her how it should be done.
Emma reached out and her tiny fingers touched my cheek. I froze. We watched each other intently. Emma stroked my cheek and smiled. That’s all it was, a smile. Slowly I drew away, feeling strange and not sure why.
I finally finished feeding Emma her breakfast and she was now drinking juice out of her non-spill toddler tumbler. I reckoned I had about one minute – two, if I was lucky – to wolf down my bowl of wheat flakes and a couple of mugs of coffee before she started agitating to be let out of her highchair.
Emma loved to explore and at the moment, of all the rooms in the house, the kitchen was her favourite. I looked around the room doubtfully. Two days ago it had been just a kitchen. Yes, the floor had been a little sticky and the work surfaces had needed a bit of a wipe, but it had been perfectly functional and I’d never given it a first thought, never mind a second one. Now it was a deathtrap, with hidden dangers lurking at every lethally sharp corner and in every perilous cupboard. I’d already used every antibacterial wipe we had in the house on cleaning the floor, the cupboard handles and all the work surfaces. The kitchen hadn’t looked this good in years. Only then had I let Emma crawl around whilst I made her breakfast, but I must’ve broken some speed records a dozen times already to pull Emma away from potential dangers. It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet and I felt like I’d run a half-marathon. I was bloody knackered.