A Kiss in the Dark (15 page)

Kate and I texted back and forth the whole day. I told her I wasn’t feeling well. Yet another layer of lies. There was a lot of mushy stuff in those texts; I think we both needed reassurance that things were OK. I never thought I would be the kind of person who would tell someone that they meant the world to me. Or that I couldn’t imagine my life without them in it. I guess I never really thought that I was the kind of person who would fall in love. It always seemed like that was something for other people to do, while I stood on the sidelines watching them – not entirely sure whether to be jealous or not.

I think being in love with Kate made me a better person. No one would ever know that having Kate in my life was making me
nicer
. I was more patient with Mum and Dad, for one thing. Sometimes I’d even talk about stuff I was doing at school at the dinner table instead of saying ‘fine’ when they asked how my day had been. I even made dinner a couple of times (shocker) and it was (even bigger shocker) kind of tasty. I’d never made more than pasta with a jar of sauce before but I thought that maybe it was about time I learned how to fend for myself. And yes, I had
idly wondered about maybe cooking for Kate one day far, far in the future.

My family couldn’t fail to notice the changes in me, but no one said anything. I think they were just glad I was slightly more pleasant to be around. I’m not saying I was helping old ladies across the street or volunteering at the local homeless shelter or anything, but I did notice that I was more considerate about other people’s feelings in general. It was all down to Kate – it all came from her. I wondered if that would be her legacy when this was all over – an imprint of kindness on my brain. It was a nice thought, but I couldn’t allow myself to be that hopeful.

*

The days between Christmas and New Year are always a bit strange, like everyone’s still desperate to hang on to the festive season despite the fact that they’re sick of eating and drinking and being nice to each other. I used to spend a lot of that time sitting cross-legged in front of the present pile I always stacked neatly in front of my wardrobe, gleeful because I had new things, and new things were better than old things even though the novelty would wear off and the new things would feel like old things within a matter of weeks.

This year I spent the days moping around the house, unable to concentrate on anything. Kate was in
Glasgow with her mum, staying with Mrs McAllister’s best friend from school. Mags was the closest thing Kate’s mum had to a sister.

I was torn about Kate being away. It was good to have a little breathing space, time to get my head together, work out how I was going to handle things at Astrid’s house. But Kate had also mentioned that Mags had an eighteen-year-old son. A very good-looking eighteen-year-old son who was always joking about getting together with Kate one day. His name was Edward. Bastard. Kate had shown me a picture of him and he even
looked
like a bastard. There was a greasy quality about him that oozed out from the photo. Plus he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt that showed his bulging biceps, as if that was something people were supposed to be impressed by.

I told Kate I thought Edward looked like an untrustworthy sort of person. She laughed at me. She laughed and laughed until she was almost crying. Then she pinched my cheek and ruffled my hair. ‘Awwww, is someone
jealous
?’

Yes. I was jealous. But I wasn’t about to admit that to Kate. It wasn’t that I thought there was any chance something would happen between them. I had absolute trust in Kate’s feelings for me. She would never do anything to hurt me. But that didn’t mean I wasn’t
jealous of Edward. He was a boy. There was no doubt about that – the muscles, the trace of shadowy stubble on his face. If he did try it on with Kate and if by some miracle she reciprocated, then he’d be able to take off his shirt, unbutton his jeans, and Kate wouldn’t be disgusted. He was a real boy; I was Pinocchio. And I hated him for that – almost as much as I hated myself.

I kept in constant touch with Kate – little reminders that I was thinking about her. The only time she mentioned Edward was to say that he’d got a new girlfriend and he wouldn’t shut up about it. She was only telling me that to reassure me that I had nothing to worry about. I appreciated the gesture but it did precisely nothing to reassure me. Since when has having a girlfriend ever stopped a boy from lusting after someone else? I had this crazy picture in my head of him sneaking into Kate’s room after everyone had gone to bed. For some reason I kept picturing him in his underwear – tight black Calvin Kleins or something – six pack and pecs like an Abercrombie model. He would slip into the bed next to Kate, saying he wanted to talk or some such bullshit and then he would put his arms around her and hold her and she would lay her head against that broad, manly chest and then they’d have a lot of sweaty sex.

I knew it would never happen. I knew the scenario
was ridiculous, but that didn’t stop it running through my head, playing out in various different ways. I was torturing myself and I knew I should stop, but I didn’t – not until Kate informed me she was in the car on the way back to Edinburgh on the 29th. Just like that, smarmy Edward disappeared from my brain and was replaced by worry about New Year’s Eve.

Forty-eight hours to go.

On the morning of the 30th, Jamie informed us that he’d decided not to go back to Aberdeen until tomorrow. He said he wanted to spend at least
some
quality time with his little sister during the holidays. I didn’t like the sound of that. But then he came up with this idea that we should take part in the torchlight procession
as a family
. The torchlight procession is exactly what it sounds like – a whole load of people, meandering through the streets with a whole load of torches – real ones with flames rather than the kind with batteries. It’s part of Edinburgh pretending it’s the best place in the world to spend Hogmanay when most people would actually rather be somewhere with temperatures
above
freezing. We used to take part in the procession every year, until one year Mum and Dad went to a drinks party instead. I guess that’s how family traditions die a death. It looked like Jamie was
intent on resurrecting this one with the sole intention of stressing me the hell out.

Mum and Dad thought it was a brilliant idea, until I pointed out that the vouchers you needed to get torches would definitely be sold out by now. I was quite proud of myself for coming up with that one. I’d given up the illness charade just in case Mum got all maternal on me and decided not to let me out of the house on Hogmanay. Kate would kill me if I had to bail.

Jamie smirked at me, and that was when I knew he was one step ahead. ‘Nah, it’s OK, Al. A mate of mine has four vouchers he said I could have.’

I had no choice. Mum was already getting excited, saying she’d make up a couple of flasks of hot chocolate for us to drink on Calton Hill while we waited for the fireworks after the procession. Dad was asking if she could put a ‘wee dram’ of whisky in one of those flasks.

So it was settled. Tonight was officially ‘family time’. I had no idea what Jamie was up to. Maybe nothing at all – maybe he really did want to spend time with us after the invasion of extended family over Christmas. Maybe he was horribly lonely up in Aberdeen and spent his days pining for us. Somehow I didn’t think so.

I texted Kate to check what she was up to. I needed to make sure there was no chance of us bumping into her or her mum. I didn’t ask her if she was going to the torchlight procession, because obviously that would have led her to ask if
I
was going and that might make her ask if she could come with me. I needn’t have worried – she was spending the evening with her mum. Mrs McAllister was making a steak pie, which was one of their little family traditions. They usually had it on Hogmanay but since Kate was supposedly so keen to spend the New Year with Astrid, they’d decided to celebrate a day early. Apparently her mum was
not
happy about them not seeing in the New Year together, but Kate had really laid it on thick, begging to go, making some deal about how much piano practice she’d do in January. That was what clinched the deal, of course. So I was safe to admit I was taking part in the procession and Kate was jealous about that. She made me promise that we’d go together next year. She made me
promise
.

*

It was bloody freezing, but there was no rain or hail or snow so Jamie’s procession plan was GO. I wore my new hat pulled right down over my ears. It didn’t look as good on me as it did on Kate.

The four of us walked up the hill into town; the
streets were teeming. I walked with Dad and Jamie walked with Mum, which was always the way it worked out whenever we went anywhere together. Dad was telling me about some French film he wanted to see and asking if I’d go with him. Going to see random foreign films was one of his favourite things to do. Usually he ended up going by himself, which didn’t seem to bother him. He probably liked the peace and quiet – and not having Mum asking what was going on every five minutes. For an intelligent woman – and my mother really
is
an intelligent woman – she has this incredible inability to follow basic storylines. Although I reckon at least half of the time she does it so that Dad feels all clever when he’s explaining things to her.

Chambers Street was heaving by the time we arrived; the queue to get our torches seemed to take forever. Just as I was starting to lose the feeling in my fingers Jamie handed me my torch. It always made me a bit nervous, carrying those torches. That was part of the fun though – wondering if some idiot would accidentally set someone else’s hair on fire. Jamie always used to mess around, pretending to trip and fall – Mum hated that. There was no messing around this year though. Jamie looked solemn in the flickering firelight.

We edged our way through the crowd. I have to admit, it was still an incredible sight – thousands of torches bobbing through the darkness. It would have been cool to watch the procession from somewhere high up – a room in the Balmoral Hotel, maybe – but you’d be missing out on a fundamental part of the experience. There was something special about so many people taking over the streets like that.

It made me think about witch hunts. Add a few pitchforks into the mix and this must have been what it was like. Marching through the streets in pursuit of some poor woman who hadn’t done anything wrong. Maybe she’d mixed up some herbs to cure some minor ailment or other or maybe she was just a little bit too wise or maybe she didn’t have a husband. And of course that got me thinking that if I’d have been unlucky enough to be born five hundred years ago I’d probably have been near the top of the witch-hunters’ shit list. I was just weighing up the options of being burned at the stake versus that stupid ducking/drowning thing they used to do (and coming to the conclusion that I didn’t really fancy either option all that much) when Jamie nudged me with his elbow.

I hadn’t even noticed but he’d somehow engineered it so that we were behind Mum and Dad. I asked him
what he wanted but he just shook his head. Then he started slowing down, so I had to slow down to stay with him. Before I knew it, random people had moved in to fill the gap between us and our parents. I could just about still see Dad’s hat if I strained my neck. ‘We’d better catch up,’ I said to Jamie, but he shook his head. And that was when I knew what was happening – the lion’s signature move of separating the cute, helpless baby zebra from the pack. Jamie took hold of my arm and manoeuvred me towards the pavement. A few people gave us odd looks as we pushed through the crowd of onlookers on South Bridge. Someone even shouted ‘Oi! You’re going the wrong way!’ but Jamie ignored them.

We ended up in a little close off the Royal Mile – one that was thankfully free from tramps or tourists, although it did still come complete with the usual faint aroma of piss and vomit. ‘Um … what are you doing? Mum’s gonna freak out when she realizes they’ve lost us.’

‘I think we’re a little bit too old for that whole
stranger danger
thing, don’t you?’ He paused and I knew he was about to say something I wouldn’t like. ‘Besides, I told her I’d be … er … borrowing you for a bit.’ He at least had the decency to look guilty.

‘And why did you tell her you wanted to do that?’
I would have crossed my arms if I hadn’t been holding the bloody torch.

He shrugged. ‘I said I needed to spend some time alone with my baby sis to … shoot the breeze.’

‘Shoot the breeze?’ I said, sceptically.

‘What?! That’s a thing, you know. It means talking.’

I rolled my eyes. ‘I know full well what it means, Jamie. It’s just not something you have
ever
said. Why are you being so weird?’

I knew, but I wanted him to say it.

The two of us stood facing each other in that narrow, dank alleyway, with the torchlight dancing on our faces. It would have made a pretty cool scene in a film. Except in a film we would have been co-conspirators in some kind of plot to overthrow the government or something. I had a nasty feeling Jamie wasn’t in the mood to conspire with me.

‘You’ve been avoiding me.’

This was true. ‘I have
not
. I’ve practically been on my deathbed … or hadn’t you noticed?’

‘On your deathbed? God, Alex, I never had you down for being a drama queen. Anyway, you weren’t even ill so why don’t you cut the crap?’

Jamie had never talked to me like this before. Sure, he was always taking the piss out of me and he’d get
annoyed at me in a very normal brotherly way. This was different – he was deadly serious, for one thing.

‘So what if I
was
faking? There’s only so much family togetherness I can stomach – you know that.’ Some Americans walked past the entrance to the alleyway chanting ‘U-S-A, U-S-A.’ Every time I see them doing that on TV I try to picture us chanting ‘U-K, U-K’, but somehow it doesn’t work – for some reason the enthusiasm doesn’t really translate.

Jamie leaned back against the wall; I hoped there was some crusty old chewing gum that would stick to his expensive new jacket. ‘Alex, I know something’s going on with you so why don’t you just spit it out so we can get back to Mum and Dad in time for the fireworks … I thought you might feel more comfortable talking away from home.’ Jamie sort of shook his head at how nonsensical that was.