TWO STEPS FORWARDS
Giles was livid, and after speaking with his solicitor, passed Tuan in the corridor only to deliver a wounding glance of disapproval before disappearing into the labyrinth that was Whitegate. Apparently nothing could be done about the stories. Mutely, Tuan went off to meet Bee and her father. By the skin of his teeth, he was still allowed to stay at her house for the weekend. Driving into Whitegate through the barrier, crowded by jostling paparazzi, Patrick’s car had drawn attention. Driving out it drew more than any of them imagined possible. Foot easing gently on the accelerator, Patrick pushed on despite the sea of humans. Bodies and equipment knocked and bumped as they slowly cut a path, Bee’s wide blue eyes staring back at clamouring faces. They weren’t hiding anymore. It wasn’t possible.
Neither Bee nor Tuan were blamed as such, but few could understand how they managed to reveal so much about themselves after being thoroughly drilled not to speak to anyone under any circumstances. When Bee read the numerous concoctions using what she believed to be innocent conversation, she cringed at the alteration of her words. Discovering that adults who could smile and laugh and promise friendship would then behave so dishonourably was a shock. At least before, when Giles had done what he’d done in Asia, the signs were all there. The final act had not revealed him to be a horrible man, only confirmed what Bee already knew.
With the two hour long journey well underway, both children were silent, Patrick buried in his own thoughts, eyes no longer interested in who it was that was following them. The press was outside their house anyway. And so were the police, periodically.
Bee scowled as she pondered. No matter how much she turned things over in her mind, she couldn’t stop feeling wounded. These people were grownups and she was a child. Didn’t that automatically warrant a special place in their hearts, she wondered, offer some special protection? Didn’t the fact of her youth appeal to their better nature? She had been warned, made a judgement, and been wrong. The journalists had not been like her parents and grandparents, truthful and open, or Giles, who, in those first weeks on Pulau Tua, rudely ignored her very existence in an honest, if not brutal, expression of his feelings for her, or lack of them. These people were different. They were devious, conniving and exactly the opposite of what Bee believed most adults to be. Some recounts she’d read revealed subtle changes in expression that would only ever matter to her; others suggested feelings to which she had not confessed, all intonation of the spoken word lost in the terrible ambiguity of the written. The most disappointing articles were unrecognisable, and although not technically libellous, were not really true, falling into a midway nothingness that would be pointless to pursue.
The car passed through a small country town and the reflection of occasional street lighting flashed across serious faces. Bee grimaced as she thought, recoiling at how much she had revealed of her private self, believing at the time she had said very little of particular interest to anyone. But personal exposure was not the worst of it. Somehow she had divulged the simmering hostility between Felix and Giles, revealing that Pappy had eased the pressure on Giles to remove Tuan from Whitegate, only when satisfied the boy felt truly at home there. She had also joked about the beautiful Lydia’s obvious swooning affection for Pappy when they were on the island, and of her own father’s over protectiveness. So much said in such a short time with so little thought. In the darkness, she flushed.
Reassuringly kind in the circumstances, Felix had explained that the gutter press loved it because emotion represented something they could work with. He likened it to a spool of gold thread presented to a roomful of weavers. With such sumptuous material they could create whatever picture they wanted, trimming and reshaping the yarn to fit, nourishing the masses that thrive on spurious tittle-tattle. Spinning a ‘yarn’, Bee. Think about it. He had said it all without any obvious concern, adding that the family would become a yarn to be told and retold until something better came along. He was so kind that Bee’s shame deepened, guilt compounded by the fact that for the first time she had not been forgiven anymore than she had been blamed.
She glanced at Tuan, his face darkly silhouetted against the night sky beyond the window. The article about him was a different matter, for at least it appeared almost in original form. It was not a faithful recount of the interview but it had told his story in a way that even Bee could not deny was moving. It did not need sensationalising or exaggerating to be gripping. But he was upset, hurt, because the journalist failed to keep his word and let him read it first.
Through the hum of rolling tyres and the thrum of the engine, Bee’s father spoke, revealing his own thoughts. ‘At least you didn’t tell them about the kidnapping. Saying it was a rescue was definitely better.’ Reflected in the rear view mirror, his eyes looked into Bee’s.
‘Of course not,’ she replied, defensively.
What the adults feared most was unfounded, that the children might reveal the shady circumstances under which Tuan had left Pulau Tua. All involved knew the only reason anyone kept it under wraps was for the sake of the boy, agreeing that to be abducted was an awful thing, but memories would not be expunged by allowing others, the authorities, to drag him off once more. Bee couldn’t believe anyone thought they might tell. It was offensive. She had always understood the importance of the secret, and for his part, she knew Tuan’s feelings for Giles were strong enough to want to shield him. He was smart enough to know that his own compassion would not be sufficient to protect Giles from prosecution. In fact, Felix had made this plain to them both even though they’d worked it out for themselves. As it was, the story from Ian Boyce stated only that once orphaned and destitute, Tuan had reluctantly agreed to leave for safer shores. The technicalities, not least the destination some seven thousand miles from his home, remained a grey area.
By the time Patrick finally pulled into the cul-de-sac, the lights in Bee’s home were shining a welcome across the heads of journalists. The car slowly rolled through the crowd and onto the short drive. By now, both Bee and Tuan had shed their glum mood and were planning the weekend ahead.
‘Would you be able to meet some more friends of mine?’ she asked Tuan, before they opened the car door, cameras already flashing.
‘Maybe. If you tell me more about your school. Let’s go there tomorrow and see it.’
‘It’ll be shut.’
‘I just want to see it.’
At school, Bee now had the celebrity status she’d craved, though it was not everything she’d hoped for. Even before the incident at City Library, everyone knew that she and the Tiger Boy were friends, but speculation had grown wildly and now no one would leave her alone.
*
After a fun weekend, Monday morning brought confession to Giles’ office door. ‘I’m lonely, Giles.’ Tuan said, ‘I want to meet more people my own age…’
Giles’ chair creaked, as he swung round. ‘Children your age? They don’t seem to be your age, though, do they?’
‘I want to do the things Bee does.’
‘Ah. Bee.’
‘Yes. Bee. I want to go to parties and go shopping, go to the cinema, play sports…’
‘We have all the films you could ever want right here, and all the footballs…’
‘It’s not the same. And you know it. I don’t want my only life outside these walls to be supervised trips to the library, or the occasional weekend with Bee, or even more occasionally with Felix. I want more. I want more than this.’ He stabbed a finger to the floor, ‘This can’t be all there is for me for the rest of my life. What are we hiding from? What am I hiding from? Everyone knows about me, so what is there to hide anymore, anyway?’ His volume was rising, ‘And what is the point of anything if I can’t have a normal life? I want to go to school. Properly. No more tutors, no more… no more… this!’
‘I see.’ Giles pushed his heavy frame up and out of the chair, silently watching Tuan for a moment, seeming to think, appearing to pick his words carefully. ‘And this is b
ecause what? You spent a weekend with Bee and think what she has is better?’
‘Giles,’ Tuan said, softly. ‘It is better.’
Giles turned away, eyes searching the room as if for something he’d lost. ‘Well. The problem is you don’t look very much like a boy.’
‘What? What are you talking about?’
‘Going to school. You look like a man. How will you fit in?’
‘Do you think I lied about my age? Is that what it is?’
‘Son, I know you didn’t. My God, I have seen how rapidly you’ve changed in the short time you’ve been here. I can well believe you were ten when I found you because since you’ve been with me, your maturity has accelerated faster than time itself! And why would I not believe you?’
‘Short time I’ve been here?’
Momentarily, Giles was silenced. ‘You don’t act like a boy, then, if you’d prefer,’ he said eventually, ‘You have… more mature needs, perhaps not suited to a school environment.’
‘Are you mad?’ Tuan gritted his teeth, canines locking over canines. He had been caught having sex with a young female technician, who, thanks to Tuan’s indeterminate age, was sacked without prosecution.
‘Mature adolescents are…’
‘There are plenty of mature adolescents in schools, and there are plenty of young teachers, too. It doesn’t mean I am going to have sex with them all! How could you say that?’
‘I didn’t say anything of the sort. And frankly, it wasn’t me caught with my trousers round my ankles in a cupboard.’
Tuan growled, turning to leave. ‘But I bet you wish it was!’
‘Tuan stop. Stop right now. Don’t storm off. Why don’t we take ourselves to the canteen, have a cup of tea and talk sensibly?’ Giles smiled weakly, ‘I want you to be happy. Let’s make that work for us both.’
‘Why for us both?’ Tuan hissed, ‘Why can’t it just be for me, for once? Hmm? Me happy for me?’
Giles looked back to his desk. ‘The papers have come through,’ he said, calmly. ‘You are now officially Tuan Patterson,’ he chuckled. It was a soft sound conveying a reflective moment not in keeping with the general mood.
‘So it’s true they said yes then.’
‘Who?’
‘The authorities.’
‘Well why wouldn’t they? Tuan Patterson. Not quite the perfect ring to it, eh? Not yet. It’ll come.’
Tuan stared.
‘You maybe my son but I have no wish to dictate to you. You and I are a family now, albeit a small one. But more importantly we are a team. So let’s get that cup of tea and start planning. I suppose it is Bee’s school you had in mind?’
Tuan’s mood immediately lifted. ‘Yes. But it would mean living with you. It’s too far from here.’
Tuan watched Giles’ face rise with delight. ‘Well. Good news indeed.’
*
The move was more of a sacrifice than expected. Tuan enjoyed living at Whitegate amongst the comings and goings of the staff and relished the distance it afforded him, the subtle space he felt necessary to maintain between himself and Giles, since Giles had become less emotionally repressed. He seemed to need affection. Everyone had noticed the change, the softening, the slight knock in confidence, the trimmer waistline, and, in truth, the distant glimmer of a marginally better man. Plus there were a couple of young women there that Tuan liked.
The room Giles selected for Tuan was the largest bedroom in the house, with the best outlook over the vast gardens. Double doors opened onto a small balcony and a substantial en suite meant that for several years it had served as the guest room, and with three more rooms to choose from Giles could have kept it so. But of the five double bedrooms it was the finest, better even than the childhood room Giles continued to occupy. Tuan could see that Giles clearly wanted the best for his new son.
It was also the room Giles’ mother had used before she died, and Giles informed Tuan that she would have wanted him to have it, for whatever else she was – and she was many things – she had a sense of fairness. For all Giles had put him through, the least he could do was give Tuan a decent bedroom. But there generosity ended. Tuan was not permitted to decorate it in a way a teenager might enjoy. That would defile a sacred memory. And so when the familiar pictures and books, shelves, television and stereo, desk and computer, rug and chairs from Whitegate were moved into position, all bearing the clinical scars of a secured past, it was against a background of cream and burgundy flock. What had once been the central feature of the old lady’s room was carefully cleaned and packed up before being consigned to the attic. Whilst a tiger skin rug did not make the boy in the least uncomfortable, it brought out dreadful feelings of guilt in Giles, and he was glad to lock it away, confessing as much to a baffled Tuan.
The room, how ever old-fashioned, had received glowing approval from the two social workers that viewed it. It was a grand place. At one end, a huge freestanding walnut veneer wardrobe glowed, a simple but grand art deco creation that had been a gift from Giles to his mother. It smelt of old wood and history, and when Tuan saw it he felt an instant affection for the piece, as if the sheen and depth of grain somehow spoke to him. He hung some of his clothes on the old hangers that looped the rail, and neatly folded the rest on the dark inner shelves. Clothing Bee helped him buy amounted to everything fashionable, but his favourite things he had sourced alone. These personal choices were separated, like best china from everyday crockery, and so black trousers and black cotton shirts with stiff collars hung at one end of the rail like gathered riches, ordered and shrine like. At the very end, however, tucked away, hung a good copy of the frock coat in the library book. He had not needed Bee’s help after all. When he looked at the coat he felt it to be the one item that truly belonged.
Since seeing that first picture of the elegant dress of centuries gone by, he had been obsessed by the image, specifically the coat with its neat fit and flowing skirt. And now he had that coat. A fine coat that he would not have the courage to wear for some time to come, but he had it and that alone helped to settle some of the anxiety he felt about who he was and where he was going. Already bearing the appearance of a man, his vanity revealed that in many ways he was only just becoming a teenager.
*
The day prior to the start of the school year, Tuan’s stomach knotted, tightening as it had before setting off into the jungle to finish his childhood at a time when life itself seemed threatened. It was the only similarity, for if anything, life now was finally opening up. And Bee was on hand to provide distraction, to focus thoughts on things other than this next step into the unknown.
‘This room is fantastic!’ she exclaimed, ‘Oh my God, just look at the size of it. And your own bathroom! A balcony! You are spoilt, you know that?’
‘I do, but I’m not complaining.’
‘I mean it’s a bit… well old… but sort of quite cool with it.’ She opened the doors of the great wardrobe, ‘Whoa! Look at this stuff. When did you get all of this?’
As Bee began rummaging through the hanging black shirts and trousers, sliding each item with a yank as she browsed, Tuan scowled.
He pulled her away, irritated, ‘I have it the way I do so it doesn’t get creased.’ He crudely separated the clothes once more before shutting the double doors.
‘Tuan. Was that a frock coat? Was that the frock coat?’ Bee shrieked, gesturing wildly at the wardrobe.
‘Maybe.’ He smiled.
She attempted to pull open a door but Tuan pushed her hand away.
‘Oh come on. I only want to look. Please? Pretty please? If I can’t look then who can? I promise I will just look. I won’t touch. Not much. Just once, maybe.’
‘Take the piss, more like. Later. Let’s get a drink first. We’ll sit outside.’ Tuan watched as Bee walked out the door and onto the wide landing. Her once straight waist drew in above the perfect curve of her hips, hips that subtly swayed. He admired her round buttocks.
She turned to see if he
was following and caught his stare, but appeared not to understand it. ‘Come on, Stripy Pants, before it rains.’
*
Outside, low billowing cloud threatened to unload, but even with the dampening air it was so mild they sat in comfort on the terrace, watching leaf-laden branches roll and sway with a slowly increasing breeze. It seemed a lifetime had passed since those first few forays into the private gardens of Whitegate where the slightest chill had driven Tuan back inside, shivering, stiff and depressed, the copse so admired from his window proving to be nothing more that a simple cluster of trees.
Sipping hot chocolate, the privacy of the garden offered pleasant reassurance, with deep mature hedging and thickets of overgrown conifers framing huge expanses of lawn. Sat in the late summer green of a very English garden, Tuan felt nothing of what had gone before, no longing for a past unsullied. Not that it was forgotten, not that he didn’t still dream of earthy smells and his mother’s voice, but those things were no more than a memory, wistful, perhaps, but not sad.
Firmly on the road to adulthood, he often wondered whether to bother with tradition anymore. Forever contained in this other world he wondered if he should forget the Steps and move on, for this felt as much like home as anywhere and here absolutely no one followed the old ways. No one had heard of them. They didn’t form part of their history. He was a different person now, with a new life so what was the point of hanging on to the past? But then he would look at Bee, as he did now, noisily slurping her drink, the girl who was every bit the person he had wanted her to be when he first saw her on the beach. Or he thought of his mother, or saw his forgiven father in the Stars high above, or remembered his siblings for whom the luxury of life was cruelly and prematurely withdrawn, and knew he must go on. He was the last of his kind and the least he could do was live his life as was intended, and earn his right to ascension; qualify for re-acquaintance with all things lost.