The Art of Being Normal (23 page)

‘Leo?’ I whisper.

But Leo doesn’t look at me. He just stands there, perfectly still apart from his fists, which clench and unclench, slowly at first, then faster and faster. There’s a moment of absolute quiet before he lets out this terrible howl and takes off round the garden, tearing it up like a wild animal. He drags the wheelie bin and turns it upside down, scattering rubbish all over the neat paving stones. He takes the terracotta plant pots that sit in a neat row under the windowsill and smashes them in turn against the wall, before stamping on the rose bushes so they bend and snap. He kicks the front door repeatedly and for a moment I’m worried he might kick it right in. Then he’s thumping it, his fists hammering against the wood. And all the time he continues to howl and I’m pleading for him to stop, screaming, begging him. A neighbour from across the road opens her window and yells at us, saying she’s going to call the police. Leo raises his head
and swears at her. She gasps and shuts her window.

‘Leo, please!’ I cry. He takes one final kick at the front door before pushing me out the way and charging down the path, flinging open the front gate so hard I think it’s going to come off its hinges. He begins to stride down the road, towards the sea.

‘Leo, wait!’ I yell. ‘Wait!’

But he keeps walking, faster and faster, taking advantage of my handicapped speed due to my stupid Ugg boots as I half-run, half-shuffle after him.

I finally reach his side outside a boarded-up gift shop on the seafront, my chest heaving with exhaustion.

‘Leo!’ I cry breathlessly. ‘Talk to me, please!’

He doesn’t answer me. He doesn’t even look at me.

‘Leo,’ I say, grabbing hold of his hand. He shakes me off, but stops walking at least and raises his eyes to meet mine. I can’t help but shrink back in fear. They’re gleaming with fury – black and murderous. He holds my gaze for a few seconds before breaking away and continuing along the front. As I run after him, I almost wish he would cry instead. I would know better what to do then, I could hold him, comfort him, contain him somehow. But he doesn’t do anything but walk, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his eyes trained on the wet ground in front of him.

‘Leo, where are you going?’ I plead again. But he ignores me and all I can do is try to keep him in sight as he increases the pace.

Ten minutes later we’re at the other end of the promenade. Neon-lit signs for amusement arcades called things
like ‘Flamingo’ and ‘Magic Land’ flash wearily, some of the bulbs faded or missing altogether.

Leo strides down the main aisle of the biggest arcade. He comes to a stop at a change machine and feeds a ten-pound note, one of the ten he won yesterday afternoon at the bingo, through the slot. Coins come tumbling out. He scoops them up and shovels them into the pocket of his hoodie before heading for the fruit machines. He comes to a stop in front of one and jams coins into the slot. I don’t know how the machines work so I just watch the blinking lights chase up and down, and every so often sneak a look at Leo’s face. He’s staring at the machine so hard his eyes almost look like they’re on fire, like they could rip a hole in the machine if they wanted to, Superman-style.

At one point the machine starts flashing all over and making lots of high-pitched bleeping noises. A few seconds later a cascade of coins comes hammering down into the pan at the bottom of the machine, making it overflow. A group of kids in the corner, crowded round a shooting game, look over enviously, hungrily eyeing the gleam of coins. I want to clap or cheer, but despite his win, Leo’s expression remains the same and I can only watch as he proceeds to feed the coins back in, every last one of them, until it’s game over and the bright lights on the front fall dark. He stops, gripping the edge of the machine, his knuckles turning white, like if he were to let go he might fly off into the atmosphere and be lost for ever. He lowers his head and I think he’s finally going to cry, but he doesn’t. Instead he’s off again, striding out of the arcade, and I’m scampering after him once more. Outside
he crosses the road diagonally without looking. A car has to brake suddenly, its driver winding down his window and swearing. But Leo barely blinks. I raise my hand in apology on Leo’s behalf and dash after him.

As I reach the other side of the road, I realise Leo is heading for the pier. It stretches out towards the horizon. There are big signs saying you have to pay to use the walkway but there’s no one patrolling the gate so we go straight through.

‘Leo, it’s going to get dark soon, they’ll be shutting the pier,’ I say. ‘We don’t want to get locked in.’

He doesn’t answer. Visible through the gaps in the wooden slats beneath our feet, the murky green sea swills over the muddy seabed. The further we walk, the quieter it gets, the lights and sounds of Tripton fading behind us, until it feels like Leo and I are the only two people in the universe. More than once I almost slip and have to grab Leo to steady myself. He stiffens at my touch but lets me regain my balance before continuing.

‘Leo, where are we going?’ I ask for about the tenth time.

At this stage it’s a fairly stupid question because there is nowhere
to
go apart from the end of the pier, or else turn round and head back. But either Leo can’t hear me or he chooses to ignore me, because he just keeps walking, his rhythm never faltering. It takes us ten minutes to reach the end of the pier and the whole time he doesn’t utter a single word.

The end of the pier opens up into a rectangular space dotted with metal benches and old-fashioned viewfinders.
Leo walks to the edge, rests his hands on the metal rail and stares out to sea. I hover behind him, unsure what to do next. Out here the sea is a little choppier but it’s still eerily quiet – the only sound coming from the lapping waves below us. I can’t help thinking the weather ought to be wilder – stormy and dramatic – not this strange version of silence. One of the metal benches has several bunches of drooping flowers fastened to it. I wonder what terrible thing might have happened in this very spot and pull my coat tighter around my body as a shiver dances up my spine.

We stand like that for several minutes, Leo staring out to sea while I stand behind him.

‘When I was little,’ he begins, his voice hoarse, ‘I wanted this toy garage really badly.’

I dare to move in beside him.

‘It had like five storeys,’ he continues, indicating the height by motioning in the air, ‘and a lift and I thought it was just amazing. I cut out a picture of it from the Argos catalogue and taped it to my headboard and I’d lie in bed for hours and just stare at it. I think I even dreamed about it, I wanted it that much. And because I wanted it so badly I sort of convinced myself that if I got it, everything would be OK. It was like all the other crap would disappear, just because I had this garage. Anyway, I woke up on Christmas morning and went downstairs and there it was under the tree with a massive red bow on it, this thing I’d been dreaming about for months. And I was so excited and for like two days I thought it had worked, that everything was going to be OK, just because this load of plastic I’d wished for was actually
mine. But then Mam’s boyfriend at the time, Tony, Tia’s dad, tripped over it and broke the ramp and didn’t even say he was sorry. And Tia, who was just a baby really, she kept putting her sticky hands all over it and losing the cars, and broke the lift by being too rough with it, and by the New Year it was ruined and I realised it hadn’t made things better, not even close. And most of all I hated myself for being so stupid, for ever believing it would really make things better. But that’s the story of my life. Everything I want turns to crap, I should have learned that by now.’

‘You can’t talk that way,’ I say urgently. ‘You’ve got so much going for you, Leo.’

‘I don’t want to hear it. Just leave me alone, David.’

I’m David today. Kate is clearly forgotten.

‘I’m not leaving you,’ I tell him, ‘not while you’re like this.’

‘I’m not about to chuck myself over the railings if that’s what you’re worried about,’ he mutters darkly.

‘I know you’re not,’ I bluff. ‘I’m still not leaving though. Friends don’t do that.’

He spins round to face me.

‘How many times do I have to say this? I don’t want to be friends with you, or with anyone else. I just want to be left alone.’

I open my mouth to argue back but he gets in first.

‘I mean it, just get lost, David, go.’

I remain where I am.

‘Go!’ he yells, tears building in his eyes. ‘Leave me alone, David, just, please, piss off!’

I take a step towards him.

‘Go away!’ he yells one final time, before turning his back on me, gripping onto the railings hard. I move in, put my hands on his shoulders and try to turn him to face me. At first he resists, thrashing angrily against me. Undeterred I try again, and this time I can feel his exhausted body slowly giving in, going limp in my arms, his head collapsing on my shoulder.

I hold on to him tight and let him cry.

We walk back to Sea View in silence. Along the way, I steal a few glances at Leo’s face, pale and stern. He doesn’t return them, staring straight ahead the entire time. We stop for takeaway pizza. I have to smuggle it upstairs past Mrs Higgins. We eat it in bed and watch rubbish telly –
The X Factor,
then half of some stupid action film from the eighties with really bad special effects. The whole time Leo barely speaks.

‘Is it all right if we go to sleep now?’ he asks, as the credits of the film begin to roll. It’s the most he’s spoken since we were on the pier.

‘Of course,’ I say. ‘Whatever you want.’

We take turns using the bathroom. As we negotiate our way round the tiny bedroom, collecting toiletry bags and night clothes, it feels like we’re doing an awkward little dance together.

When we’re done, I turn out the light and climb into bed beside Leo. It shifts as he rolls over to face away from me. I roll over too so I’m facing the same way, my face inches away from his curved back. I long to reach out and touch it,
to let him know I am here for him, but I feel scared to do so, unsure of what might be pushing it too far.

‘Leo?’ I whisper.

‘Yeah?’

‘Are you OK?’

He makes a sound that I can’t decipher.

‘Leo, can I tell you something?’

The covers rustle. I choose to take it as an OK.

‘I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met, you know,’ I say.

Leo lets out a sharp laugh.

‘You haven’t met all that many people then.’

‘I’m serious, you are,’ I say. ‘And your dad is mad for not wanting to know you, bonkers. Cos you’re amazing.’

I pause, worrying I’ve made a serious error by mentioning Jimmy.

‘You sure you’re not drunk again?’ Leo says after a beat.

I take his joke as a good sign and poke him gently in the ribs.

‘I mean it,’ I add after a moment. ‘He isn’t half the man you already are.’

The sentence hangs in the air like an echo.

Then silence.

‘Thanks, David,’ Leo murmurs eventually, his voice cracking a little, ‘that’s a really nice thing to say.’

My fingers search tentatively for Leo’s in the darkness. I find them, my fingers daring to curl round his. I hear Leo take a deep breath before allowing his hand to relax into
mine. His hand feels small and soft in my big paddles; like a child’s almost.

We lie in silence for a bit, our breathing falling into rhythm.

‘Leo?’

‘Yeah?’

‘I think I’m going to tell them.’

‘Who? Your parents?’

‘Yeah. I think I’m going to tell them tomorrow, when I get home. Before I do anything else.’

‘You’re doing the right thing.’

‘You think?’

‘Course. Your mum seemed really sound when she drove me home that time.’

‘I hope so. I’m still terrified though.’

‘What’s your dad like?’ Leo asks quietly.

‘I look like him apparently, not ideal as he’s pretty much a giant.’

‘No, I meant what’s he like as a person.’

‘He’s just kind of a typical dad, I guess.’

As soon as the words leave my mouth I regret them.

‘Shit, sorry,’ I say quickly, ‘I didn’t mean it like that. God, that was so stupid of me.’

‘It’s OK,’ Leo says. ‘Go on.’

I visualise my dad – big and goofy and embarrassing.

‘Well, he likes football and golf and beer and cars and stuff like that,’ I say carefully. ‘And when I was a kid he used to try and get me to kick a ball about with him in the garden and stuff, but when I made it clear I wasn’t into all that, he never put pressure on me, or made me feel like it was a big
problem. And when I was asking for dolls for Christmas and wanting to paint my bedroom girly colours, he never batted an eyelid, or at least if he did, he didn’t let me see. He’s always just let me be me, I guess.’

‘He sounds pretty great,’ Leo says.

‘Yeah,’ I murmur, realising that describing him out loud like that, he sort of does.

‘Why are you so scared of telling them if they’re so cool?’ Leo asks, practically reading my mind.

‘Because I’m pretty sure they have no idea this is coming. It’s going to knock them sideways and I have no idea how they’re going to react. I mean, they’re hardly going to be letting off party poppers and unfurling banners, are they?’