Boys Don't Cry (22 page)

Yeah, right.

Adam had called Josh a coward, but Josh wasn’t the only one. I turned away from the mirror, unable and unwilling to look at myself a moment longer. I headed back along the corridor to the small waiting area, where we’d been left to wait for the worst and hope for the best.

‘I’m just saying, you’ve always been too hard on the boy, Ty. You’re blaming him for things that weren’t his fault,’ said Aunt Jackie.

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Dad dismissed.

I didn’t turn the corner to enter the waiting area. Aunt Jackie and Dad were talking about me. I stopped and listened.

‘Don’t I? You think me and my sister didn’t talk? You think she didn’t confide in me?’ my aunt challenged. ‘You think she didn’t know how much you resented her and Dante for what happened?’

‘What’re you talking about? I didn’t resent her. I married her, didn’t I?’ said Dad.

‘Yeah, but you didn’t want to, not at first and you made sure that Jenny knew it.’

‘That’s not fair. I was young and scared out of my mind, but I did the right thing,’ said Dad.

‘With precious little grace.’

‘Jackie, give me a break. I was only twenty, for God’s sake. It wasn’t an ideal way to start a marriage.’

‘The only reason you put a ring on my sister’s finger was because she was pregnant with Dante. D’you think Jenny didn’t know how much you resented her and your son? She knew you didn’t love her—’

‘That’s a damned lie,’ Dad denied emphatically. ‘When she died, I wanted to die too. Only two things got me out of bed each morning – Dante and Adam.’

‘Ty, all my sister ever wanted was for you to love her.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Dad shouted. ‘I did love her. She was my whole life.’

‘Then why didn’t you ever tell her that? Not once did you ever tell her you loved her,’ said Aunt Jackie.

‘I . . . I . . . I loved her,’ Dad replied, his voice now so quiet that I had to strain to hear him. ‘Jenny knew that. I’ve just never been good with those kinds of words. But Jenny knew how much she meant to me.’

‘The way your boys know it?’ asked Aunt Jackie. ‘The way you show Dante you love him every time you put him down or dismiss him? The way you show Adam you love him by not even acknowledging the fact that he’s gay? Is that how your boys know it?’

‘Of course I know Adam is gay. I’ve come to terms with that,’ said Dad angrily. ‘Don’t make me the bad guy here, Jackie. Just because I don’t agree with this navel-gazing, talk-about-our-feelings-every-two-seconds crap that seems to be the vogue at the moment.’

‘No one’s asking you to talk about it every two seconds, Tyler, but you won’t talk about it at all.’

‘Jackie, what should I have said to Adam? Go on, enlighten me.’

A deep silence and then a sigh from my aunt. ‘Tyler, I’m not here to argue with you. This is neither the time nor the place.’

‘I’m glad you realize that,’ said Dad. ‘Nice to see your opinion of me hasn’t changed one bit from the day I married your sister.’

‘That’s not true,’ said Aunt Jackie. ‘All I’ve ever wanted was what was best for you, my sister and my nephews.’

‘And you don’t think that’s what I want too?’

‘Then why didn’t you tell Dante the truth about—?’

I walked round the corner. Aunt Jackie’s stream of words ground to an abrupt halt. Dad and my aunt both stared at me with varying degrees of shock. Each of us knew I’d heard every word. The silence between us sliced into me.

But knowing the truth hurt even worse.

‘You . . . you only married Mum because she was pregnant . . . with me.’ For ever passed before I could get out the whispered words.

That one fact alone explained so much. Too much.

‘All this time, all these years I wondered why you never looked at me or treated me the same as Adam,’ I said.

The answer was simple. Adam was wanted. I wasn’t.

And suddenly so many things began to make sense. Like when I’d told Dad my A level results. I remembered his comment: ‘
If I had your chances I’d be a millionaire by now
. . .’

‘That’s why nothing I ever did was good enough,’ I realized aloud. ‘You blame me for ruining your life, for stopping you from doing all the things you wanted to do.’

Dad handed Emma to Aunt Jackie before swiftly walking over to me. ‘Now listen to me, Dante. You are wrong,’ he said urgently. ‘Yes, your mum and I probably wouldn’t have got married when we did if she hadn’t been pregnant with you, but I cared very much about you and your mum. I still do.’

‘But Adam was born with love – and I wasn’t,’ I said, my thoughts whirling inside my head like autumn leaves in a hurricane.

Should’ve been made with love
. . .

‘Dante, you’re not listening to me. If I’ve ever made you feel like I didn’t love you, then I’m sorry. Because it’s never,
never
been true. And if I pushed you too hard, it’s because I didn’t want you to make my mistakes.’

‘And I was your biggest mistake . . .’ I tried to turn away but Dad placed his hands on my shoulders to stop me.

‘No, son, you weren’t,’ Dad insisted. ‘Sometimes the things you’re convinced you don’t want turn out to be the things you need the most in this world. You have Emma, so you know exactly what I mean. You and your mum and Adam are the only things in my life I’ve ever cared about. Yeah, I had plans before your mum got pregnant. I was going to finish university, I was going to work in films, maybe as an editor. It didn’t happen. But if I could go back and live my life all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing. Not one single thing. D’you understand?’

I searched Dad’s face for something, though I had no idea what.

‘D’you believe me, Dante? It’s really important that you believe me,’ said Dad urgently.

‘Mr Bridgeman?’ The surgeon appeared to stand before all of us, saving me from having to reply.

‘How is Adam? Is he OK?’ Dad stepped forward.

I couldn’t breathe. My heart had moved up to my throat and I couldn’t breathe.

Please
. . .

‘Adam sustained a number of very serious injuries. His jaw and his nose were broken and his eye socket was shattered but we managed to save his eye. Plus he has two broken ribs and severe bruising over most of his body. But he’s out of theatre now and stable.’

‘Can we see him?’ asked Dad sombrely.

‘Just for a moment. I have to warn you that his face is going to take a long time to heal and he’ll probably have one or two permanent scars. We had to wire his jaw, realign his nasal bones and the surrounding tissue and we had to use metal plates and screws to hold his right cheekbone in place. I just need to prepare you for what you’re about to see.’

I turned to Aunt Jackie and held out my hands for my daughter. Aunt Jackie looked like she might argue, but then thought better of it. She handed Emma over to me. I lifted Emma up so that her head was resting on my shoulder. She barely stirred, still fast asleep. My daughter smelled fresh and clean and new. She smelled of hope. The only thing keeping me in the same postcode as rational at the moment lay asleep in my arms. We followed the surgeon as he led the way. It was way past midnight and I
was about ready to drop, but I kept going – one foot in front of the other.

‘Oh my God . . .’ Dad breathed.

Aunt Jackie’s horrified gasp as we approached said it all and didn’t begin to say enough. The surgeon had tried to prepare us for what we were about to see, but this was far, far worse. All I could do was stare. I wanted to turn away, but I couldn’t. Adam’s face was unrecognizable. He had a bandage wrapped around his jaw, under his chin and running round the top of his head. And his face was even more swollen, misshapen and discoloured than before. He looked like his face had been shoved into a mincing machine. The transparent oxygen mask over his mouth and nose did nothing to mask his injuries. He had a drip of colourless solution running into one arm and a bag of blood running into the other.

‘Our immediate concern is his breathing,’ the surgeon informed us. ‘Adam suffered displaced rib fractures, and what with that and his facial injuries, we have to monitor his breathing very carefully. And though we managed to save his right eye, it’s very likely that his vision will be impaired as a result of his injuries. He’s not out of the woods yet.’

Next to me, Aunt Jackie started to cry. Quiet, heartfelt tears which she tried but failed to control. Dad put an awkward arm around her, trying to offer comfort where there was none. Dad kept gulping, like there was something stuck in his throat.

‘Adam is young and strong and with time and patience, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t make an excellent recovery,’ the surgeon tried to reassure us.

Adam . . .

My beautiful brother, Adam . . .

And somewhere, out there, Josh was having a good laugh about what he’d done.

No matter. Once I found him, his laughter would stop.

Two days later when Dad, Emma and I arrived at the postoperative ward to see my brother, his bed was empty . . . Dad sprinted to the nurses’ station whilst I ran, pushing Emma in her buggy close behind him.

‘Where’s my son? Adam Bridgeman?’ Dad demanded of the two nurses at the station. One was a black guy in his late twenties, early thirties. The other was a middle-aged woman with a wrinkled forehead and red hair swept up in a high ponytail.

‘Oh, Mr Bridgeman, I’m sorry. I meant to catch you before you got to his bed,’ said the redhead. ‘Would you come with me, please?’

‘Where’s my son?’ Dad asked again, his voice a husky whisper.

Adam . . .

My whole body suddenly went cold. So cold that my blood instantly froze inside me.

Don’t think
. . .

Don’t assume the worst
. . .

The nurse led the way into a small waiting room, ushering us in before shutting the door quietly behind us.

‘Mr Bridgeman, we had to take Adam back to theatre,’ she said. ‘A CT scan revealed a temporal bone fracture with an underlying chronic subdural haematoma. He’s been taken back to theatre to have the haematoma drained.’

Dad collapsed down into the nearest chair. ‘Oh God.’

‘We’re not sure the temporal fracture was a result of the recent attack. Has Adam been complaining of headaches recently?’

‘Well, yes.’ Dad looked thoughtful. ‘And his headaches were beginning to get so bad that I took him to see our GP a few weeks ago. We were still waiting to be sent an appointment for his scan.’

‘Ah,’ said the nurse. ‘Did he suffer any kind of injury or blow to his head that might’ve caused his headaches?’

Dad glanced at me. ‘You said he was playing in a school football match when the ball hit him in the head. But I don’t see how a football—’

‘Dad, it wasn’t a football match,’ I interrupted, horrified. ‘It was a cricket match.’

‘What?’ Dad stared at me. ‘But Adam said he headed the ball when he should’ve ducked . . . Oh my God . . . I thought he was talking about a football. If I’d known he was talking about a cricket ball, he would’ve been straight down the hospital, no matter how much he protested.’

‘I’m sorry, I thought you knew,’ I said. But the truth was I didn’t think much about it at the time, or at any time.

‘Well, that explains a lot,’ said the nurse. ‘But luckily for your son, very luckily, he was in the right place at the right time to get it attended to straightaway.’

‘Why? What happened?’ I asked. ‘Did he pass out or something?’

The nurse smiled at me. ‘The point is, we were on hand to take him straight into theatre. That’s the fact you need to hold on to.’

‘Is he . . . is he going to make it?’ I couldn’t help asking.

‘Don’t say that, Dan. Of course he is,’ Dad replied vehemently.

‘Draining a subdural haematoma is actually quite a straightforward procedure,’ said the nurse. ‘Don’t worry, Adam is in very good hands. If you’d like to wait here, I promise I’ll let you know the moment I have any more news.’

‘Thank you,’ said Dad.

I sat next to Dad, slowly pushing Emma back and forth in her buggy. After about ten minutes, Emma started agitating to get out. I unclipped the safety buckle and sat her on my knee. She was still restless.

‘Dad, would you mind holding her for a second?’ I handed Emma over, then dug into the baby bag hanging on the handles of the buggy. ‘D’you want this, Emma?’ I lifted up her teddy. ‘Or your book?’ I held up her favourite baby board book with well-chewed corners.

Emma reached for her teddy. Putting the book away, I sat down and put Emma back on my lap before handing over her teddy. The only sound in the room after that for quite some time was Emma burbling away to her toy in baby-speak. I absent-mindedly stroked her hair.

‘Dad, d’you think all this will get back to Veronica and
the social services?’ I asked the question that’d been gnawing away at me over the last couple of days.

‘You mean about Adam getting beaten up?’ Dad frowned.

‘No, about me being involved in a street fight?’

‘I don’t see how or why. And even if it does, so what? You were ambushed and your brother is the victim here. You weren’t the instigator.’

‘D’you think she’ll see it that way?’

‘Dante, stop worrying about Veronica,’ said Dad, looking me straight in the eye. ‘Emma isn’t going anywhere, I promise you. OK?’

‘OK, Dad.’

We sat watching Emma for a while. I lifted her up and kissed her cheek, before resting my forehead against hers.

‘Dante, I want you to know something.’

When I turned to Dad, I instinctively knew he’d been watching me. ‘Yes, Dad?’

‘I want you to know how proud I am of you,’ said Dad.

Huh? I blinked like a faulty lamp at him.

‘I don’t think I’ve told you that, but I am. I’m proud of how you knuckled down and did so well in your exams. And I’m proud of the way you’ve become a real father to Emma.’

I didn’t know quite what to say. This was a first.

‘Thanks, Dad,’ I said quietly.

‘And I want you to know something else.’

‘Yes?’

‘I love you, son. Very much.’

Dad was looking straight ahead, not at me, but I didn’t
doubt for a second the sincerity of his words. He’d never told me that before, but then I’d never said those words before either. I guess Dad and I were alike after all. I swallowed hard.