When I Was Joe (22 page)

‘Yeah, but they're too scared of you to speak to me.' She shrugs: ‘It's OK. I'll tell them they can talk to you.'

‘All of them?'

She looks suspicious. ‘Why . . . who were you thinking of?'

‘Oh, no one. . .'

‘Hmmm.' She's not quite sure what to think, but I hope I've made things safe to talk to Claire at school.

She leaves then, and I lie down on the sofa and I feel quite upset, although it's not being chucked by Ashley that's bothering me, but the memories she's stirred, the days and days and years and years of being told that there's something wrong with you because your mum is young and poor and had a baby when she wasn't much more than a child herself.

It's not just stuff like Father's Day when you've got no one to make a card for, and politicians on the telly
saying that single mothers cause lots of problems in society. It's not just Vicky Pollard on
Little Britain
and the word pramface and the word bastard as well.

It was the way everyone looked that first parents' evening at St Saviour's, when I realised with a horrible grinding feeling in my stomach that all the other parents came in pairs – even Arron's, although his dad wasn't the one he used to have – and Mum was at least ten years younger than anyone else's, and she didn't dress the same way as the other mums who were either suits or frumps.

And in the playground, the voices, the voices that I pretended not to hear. Your mum's a slut. Your mum's a whore. Will your mum do it with me?

No one I tried to talk to really understood. Auntie Emma said I was making a big fuss about nothing and she was sure that loads of kids at school had single mothers, and when I explained that most of them had dads as well, she said, ‘From what I hear, you're better off without yours.' Mr Patel said every woman needed a good man and perhaps I should come with him to the mosque some time, learn a more traditional way of life.

Arron said, ‘The problem, mate, is that she's too fit. She's nothing like a normal mother. She looks like she had you when she was eight.'

And then he said, ‘You just have to pick one of them to fight and they won't do it any more. Come on, bro,
remember the stuff we learned at boxing club.'

And I shook my head because there were so many of them and they were all bigger than me, and I thought if I fight one I'll have to fight them all. And I could see he despised me. And later he started with the ‘pretty boy'. And the ‘girl'. And the ‘gay'. And I had to take it because he was my only friend. But I worried that if I took it, it made it true.

And none of this would have mattered so much if I hadn't worked out a conversation that had bothered me for years; since I was about eight or nine and Nicki and I were watching
East Enders
, and Sharon was weeping and wailing about a baby she'd been pregnant with and hadn't had. Had somehow decided not to have.

And I turned to Nicki and said, ‘I didn't know you could quit a baby.'

And she said, ‘Well, sometimes you can.'

And I said, ‘Could you have?'

And she laughed and said, ‘What a question! Not with your gran and the Pope on my case!' And when I looked puzzled she kissed me and said, ‘I wouldn't ever want to be without my lovely boy.'

But it nagged away at me for ages, as things do that you don't really understand but you think might be important, and I stored it away until the day before I was due to start at St Saviour's. I was trying on my new
blazer and Nicki said, ‘You know Ty, at this new school they're going to be much heavier with the God stuff. It's all very well, and I'm so proud you're going there, but remember you've got a mind of your own. Don't let them fill you up with Jesus and Mary and the Pope until you can't make your own decisions.'

And I saw sadness in her eyes and I pulled that old conversation out of my memory and I kind of realised that if it hadn't been for Gran and the Pope then Nicki would have decided to be like Sharon on
East Enders
. And just then I still didn't really understand how or why but a bit of my inner certainty, my basic happiness, died that day. Which wasn't a great way to start a new school.

I'm still lying on the sofa, feeling a bit sorry for myself, going over it all again and again when there's a knock at the door and Maureen comes in. ‘Doug's gone,' she says. ‘He's going to find out what's happening, and maybe he'll be collecting your mum.'

She's trying not to look too nosy. ‘Your friend gone too?' she asks, although quite where she thinks Ashley is hiding I'm not sure.

‘Yup.'

‘All well?'

‘She chucked me, if that's what you want to know.'

‘Sorry to hear that. Long relationship?'

‘Two weeks, but we had some amazing moments,' I say gloomily, and then I realise how stupid that sounds and I start to laugh because actually I'm kind of bubbling with happiness inside to be able to be Claire's friend. I'm thinking I can go shopping with her and help her chose nicer clothes, and take her long rippling hair and tie it back with a silky ribbon, and have someone to talk to that I can trust and feel close to. A real friend.

Maureen laughs too and says, ‘You must be absolutely devastated. Why don't I make you a cup of tea?'

‘Yes, OK. Thanks.'

We sit at the kitchen table and I tell her about not being able to go running. She says, ‘Look, Ty, that was a very frightening experience yesterday. Don't kid yourself. Some evil bastard tried to kill you and that's a big thing to cope with.'

‘Yeah,' I say and she says, ‘You know, Ty, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger,' which is pretty amazing because I would have thought that Maureen'd be way too old to have even heard of Kanye West.

‘Anyway,' she goes on, ‘We're happy that your identity as Joe is very secure, and no one can connect you here with Ty. It's possible we might be able to arrange some counselling for you in the future, but right now you're going to have to take a bit of advice from me.'

‘What's that?'

‘Keep calm and carry on. It was a poster during the Second World War – no, I'm not that old, cheeky bugger – and I've always thought it was a good motto.'

It's a good one for a runner, I think, and I wonder about giving it another try. Maureen seems to read my mind. ‘Go on,' she says. ‘Maybe you can do it this time.'

I hesitate a bit on the step, then I fiddle with my iPod until I find the Kanye West song she was talking about, and I walk down the garden path. I almost turn around and come back when I get to the garden gate. But with Maureen watching me and Kanye in my head telling me to be strong, I manage to jog down the street and around the corner and I'm running again. And maybe, just maybe, I can take her advice.

My mum arrives back at about 9 pm on Sunday, just as I'm ironing a shirt for school the next day. She's pale and dazed, blinking like she's just woken up. I put the iron down and come and hug her. ‘Hi, Nic. How was Gran?'

‘I don't know,' she says in a faraway little voice. ‘They took her away from us. And then they put us in some hotel place. . . And then we were there, and now we're here, except Emma and Lou are somewhere else. I don't know where.'

I wonder if it was a hotel at all. She's acting like she's been in a loony bin. ‘It was because of the shooting,' I say impatiently. ‘They had to move you in a hurry.'

‘Oh God, yes, the shooting,' says Nicki, like she's a TV and someone's turned her on. ‘You could have
been killed. Are you all right? Oh, God, Ty.'

‘Yes, yes, would I be doing the ironing if I'd been shot?'

The screen goes blank. ‘Oh. I don't know. They didn't tell me anything.'

‘They must have told you that I was OK.'

‘I suppose so.' She's doubtful. ‘They talk to Louise mostly and she doesn't tell me anything.'

Maureen has been listening to this, standing tactfully by the door and she comes over and puts her arm around my mum. ‘Nicki, love, you have a good sleep now and you'll feel more like yourself in the morning. I was wondering, would you like me to see if I can stay on a few days? Just to help you get back on your feet again, and tell you how Ty's been doing while you've been away.'

Nicki looks like there's no one there at all. ‘Yes, whatever you want,' she says. ‘Whatever. . .' and her voice trails off and she wanders out of the room.

‘Blimey,' says Maureen, ‘what is she on? I'd better go and help her get ready for bed. She's so away with the fairies that I don't think she can even do that. Don't you worry, Ty, whatever my boss says, I'm not going anywhere in a hurry.'

I just bend my head over the ironing and concentrate very, very hard on getting all the creases out. I iron six
shirts, five handkerchiefs, ten T-shirts and two pairs of trousers. I move on to tea towels, underpants and even socks. When there's nothing left in the house that I could possibly iron, I gather together all the books I'm going to need for the morning. And then I find an episode of
The Simpsons
on telly and I watch it without laughing once.

Doug and Maureen come and sit either side of me. ‘OK, Ty, I am definitely going to stay,' says Maureen. ‘Doug thinks your mum may just be a bit out of it because she had a sleeping pill in the car, so you should see a great change in her in the next few days.'

‘She was a bit like this in the hospital,' I say doubtfully.

‘She's been under a lot of stress,' says Doug. ‘She just needs some recovery time.'

Why can't she just keep calm and carry on like me? It's not as though she was the one who was shot at, or the one who's going to have to get up in court and tell her story, or even the main person involved here anyway. Stress . . . it's just an excuse really. An excuse for being useless.

I get up and collect my pile of ironing to take upstairs.

‘I'm going to bed.'

Maureen follows me up the stairs. ‘I'm going to
put half a sleeping pill and a glass of water by the bed, just in case you have nightmares again.'

‘Thanks, Maureen. Thanks for staying.'

She looks at me and says, ‘It'll get better, Ty. This'll pass, you know.'

She's great, Maureen, but she's also police. And the police told me that Gran would be safe in her flat, and that I should go into the hospital with Dave. So I don't altogether believe what she has to say.

Mum's still asleep when I get up in the morning. Maureen makes me some toast and wishes me luck, and I trudge off down the hill. It occurs to me that last time I was properly at school – apart from my date with the head teacher, of course – I was in floods of girly tears, sobbing my heart out in Mr Henderson's smelly office. What if somehow everyone knows about that? What if there's some secret CCTV footage that has been sent to everyone's mobiles? I very nearly turn back a few times before I reach the school gate.

Brian, Jamie and Max pounce on me the minute I walk through the gates. ‘Hey, Joe, good to see you back, mate.' We do a bit of high-fiving, and Brian asks, ‘So, what's the story? Did they throw the book at you?'

‘Nah. Carl and I have to work on a joint project together.'

Everyone has different ideas. Jamie thinks we'll be
running cricket club for year seven. Brian reckons we might be sent to some sort of boot camp for delinquent youth.

‘Or maybe you'll have to scrub out the swimming pool,' suggests Max.

‘With our toothbrushes?' I suggest.

The boys go silent, nudge each other and look at me. Ashley's directly ahead of us in the playground, at the centre of her group. They're all looking over at us and several have supportive arms round Ashley who is wiping away a tear.

‘We heard the news, mate,' says Brian. ‘What a bummer. But her parents are very strict, I hear.'

‘It's always the ones with the strictest parents who are the real goers,' says Max.

‘Maybe she'll be up for a secret affair?' asks Jamie. I shake my head: ‘Nah, time to move on. There'll be plenty of other opportunities in this school.'

Brian sighs: ‘For you, maybe, but it's a desert for some of us.'

As the bell goes for registration, I'm vaguely aware that I'm attracting quite a bit of attention. People are looking my way, pointing me out, and there's a general murmur that seems to be directed towards me. Girls are smiling, some year seven boys start clapping and cheering before being shushed by the playground supervisor.
I'm trying to ignore all the attention and just look out for Claire.

She's quite easy to spot because there're only about three girls still wearing winter uniform. Her hair is still all over her face. She looks as scared and lonely as ever, like I used to feel at St Saviour's, although I hope I wasn't such an obvious loser.

I can't imagine how I'm ever going to get people to accept that Joe could be friendly with this girl – especially when really fit girls like Lauren and Emily and Zoe from 8P are giving me a lot of glances and winks and secret smiles whenever Ashley's back is turned. I'm pathetically concerned that Joe's image shouldn't be tainted. But is Joe cool enough to give Claire a boost?

I try and catch her eye but she completely blanks me. Maybe she's not aware of my official status as Ashley's ex. When we sit down in assembly we're so close that I could almost reach out and touch her hand. I'm inching towards her, little by little, trying to make a tiny bit of skin to skin contact which no one else need see – but she moves her hand away and puts it in her pocket.

I'm almost snubbed, but, OK, it's best to be cautious. And then I remember. Ellie's race, Ellie's big, important, qualifying race was yesterday. And I didn't wish her luck and I didn't ask how it went. I've blown it.
I've totally blown it. This nice supportive family who've only been good to me must think I'm a selfish scumbag. Claire is obviously furious on her sister's behalf. And Ellie will never want to train with me again.