Boys Don't Cry (8 page)

My brother, Adam.

He grinned at me now, turning back to Emma. ‘D’you want to hold her for a while?’

‘Nah, it’s OK. You’re doing fine,’ I replied.

Adam sighed, looking almost . . . sad.

‘What’s the matter?’ I asked.

‘I’d love to be a dad some day,’ said Adam. ‘It’s not going to happen though.’

‘There’s nothing to stop you meeting the right girl some day, settling down and having a whole football team of kids if you want.’

Adam regarded me. ‘Do I look like the kind of guy who’s going to settle down with a good woman?’

‘Stranger things have happened.’ I shrugged.

‘If I settle down, it won’t be with a good woman and what’s more—’

‘Fine,’ I interrupted. ‘Go for a bad woman then. They’re supposed to be more fun anyway.’

‘It wouldn’t be with a woman at all . . .’ Adam began.

‘Adam, I don’t want to talk about this.’ I turned away.

‘No,’ said Adam thoughtfully. ‘You never do.’

That wasn’t fair. ‘You’re too young to know who or what you really are,’ I told him.

‘How old were you when you figured out who and what you really are?’ asked Adam.

‘Damn it, Adam,’ I snapped.

‘Ah! D’you know you always bite my head off when I ask you something you can’t answer?’

‘I do not,’ I protested. ‘And all I’m saying is, this is a phase you’re going through and you’ll grow out of it.’

‘Did you go through this phase?’

‘Well, no, but I read somewhere or other that a lot of boys do.’

‘Hmmm . . . a phase? So when d’you plan to grow out of yours?’

‘Huh?’

‘This heterosexual phase you’re currently going through?’

‘Damn it, Adam.’

‘I’m only asking,’ said Adam. ‘Tell you what – when you grow out of yours, I’ll grow out of mine.’

I glared at him. ‘My situation is entirely different – and you know it.’

‘Why? Because there are more of you? There are more brunettes than people with red hair. Does that make redheads abnormal just because they’re not in the majority?’

‘You’re deliberately misunderstanding what I’m trying to say.’

‘No, I understand you perfectly,’ said Adam. ‘I’m just curious about this age of enlightenment you keep going on about. This mysterious age when I turn into you.’

‘I just don’t want to see you get hurt.’

My brother regarded me, a faint smile on his face. ‘I know, Dante. But this is my life, not yours. What’re you so scared of ? What I am isn’t contagious.’

‘Don’t be stupid. I just . . .’ I began, then shook my head. ‘Never mind.’

‘Go on. Say it.’

‘I’m concerned about you – OK?’ I admitted. ‘You need to be more . . .’

‘In the closet?’

‘No. Of course not. Well, not exactly. You just need to pick your moments.’

Adam frowned. ‘The moments to talk about stuff that’s important to me? Or the moments when you’d rather I didn’t?’

He was deliberately twisting my words. ‘I’m not the bad guy here, Adam.’

‘Neither am I,’ my brother informed me.

Silence.

‘I know that,’ I said at last.

‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘Damn, but you’re hard work,’ I sighed.

‘No swearing in front of your daughter, please. Sewer-mouth!’

I laughed, then stopped abruptly. Hang on a sec . . . Since when was ‘damn’ swearing? But then, I didn’t want Emma to turn into the kind of toddler who went round effing and jeffing.

A toddler . . . Damn it, what was I thinking? This baby would be long gone out of my life before it had the chance to toddle anywhere.

‘Did you love Melanie?’ asked Adam unexpectedly.

There was no pause before I shook my head.

‘That’s a shame,’ said Adam.

‘Why?’

‘Well, someone as special as your daughter should’ve been . . . made with love.’

‘She shouldn’t have been made at all.’

‘Coulda, woulda, shoulda,’ Adam pointed out. ‘She’s here now and she’s not going anywhere.’

‘The jury is still out on that one,’ I said.

‘D’you think that Melanie will come back for her then?’

‘If there’s a God,’ I replied.

My brother opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again without saying a word. We both sat in silence for a while. I don’t know what was on Adam’s mind but his words kept buzzing in my head. I regarded the baby as it lay asleep in his arms – so small, so helpless.

My daughter, Emma . . .

Should’ve been made with love
. . .

Yeah, it . . .
she
should’ve been.

There it was again – that pain like I’d been punched in the throat. I closed my eyes, waiting impatiently until I could open them again without embarrassing myself. And what was the first thing I saw? Adam kissing Emma on the forehead. Again. How I envied my brother. His default state of mind was to trust everyone and accept everything until he had a reason to do otherwise. That’s what made me so anxious about him. He was so naive. Next to him, I felt like the most cynical bastard in the universe.

Poor Dante. I can’t help feeling sorry for him. I know it must be one hell of a shock to suddenly find out you’re a dad and a single parent all on the same day, but he looks like he’s teetering on the edge of a cliff and believes that no matter what he does, he’s going to fall. He can’t see how beautiful his daughter is – which is really surprising considering who her father is.

And his face when I said I was unlikely ever to be a dad! I don’t hide what I am, but my family don’t exactly encourage me to be open about it either. Dad just ignores the fact that I’m gay, like it’s some strange beast in the room and if he pays no attention to it, it will just fade away to nothing. And Dante acts like this is some passing fashion I’m wearing this year but which I’ll discard the moment something new comes along.

For heaven’s sake, I’ve known I was gay since I was thirteen.

And what’s more, I like it. Scratch that, I love it.

I just wish Dad and Dante would chill out about it.

When Dad finally came home, it took him three trips to the car to bring in all the stuff he’d just bought. I swear he came home with three-quarters of the contents of the baby store he’d been to. After ten minutes of unpacking the car, the sitting room was an obstacle course. Leaning against the wall adjacent to the door, a ready-to-assemble cot packed in a box took pride of place; there were enough disposable nappies to soak up all the water in the English Channel, a baby carrier thing that let you carry a baby against your chest arms-free, a bottle of baby bath, baby moisturizer, baby cream for nappy rash and other baby pharmaceuticals, baby cutlery, baby bottles to replace the one Mel had left, a bottle sterilizer, baby bedding, a highchair, a few toys like a soft ball and a teddy bear, a couple of picture books, a dress and other baby clothes, baby booties, baby wipes – baby, baby, baby.

Adam handed a now-waking Emma back to me and flitted around the room like it was Christmas and every new thing was for him. Blinking like a stunned owl, I looked from Emma to all the stuff such a tiny thing
needed and back again. And that’s when it hit me just how truly clueless I really was.

‘This lot must’ve cost a fortune,’ I said, still shocked by the amount Dad had bought.

‘I was only going to get a cot, some nappies and a change of clothes,’ said Dad ruefully.

I stared at him.

‘They’re for my granddaughter, OK?’ said Dad. And if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear he was embarrassed. ‘Everything else after this is down to you.’

Down to me . . . ? I’d be broke inside a week. And all these things . . . Dad had bought this stuff like he thought Emma was staying for a while, a long while. She’d be here a day or two, maybe a week at the very longest – just until I got back the results of the DNA test.

Emma wriggled in my arms, reaching out with both arms for the stuff on the carpet. From the strange, impatient noises she was making, she was just as excited as Adam.

‘She wants you to put her down,’ said Dad. ‘She wants to explore.’

‘Is it safe?’

Dad smiled at me. ‘Yeah, just be ready to pick her up if it looks like she’s about to touch something she shouldn’t.’

Frowning, I placed the baby on one of the few bare patches of carpet. Emma took off like a shot. I’ve never seen anyone move that fast on all fours! We all burst out laughing, then looked at each other in surprise. It wasn’t often these days that we shared a laugh. I was the first to stop. I was about as far from being in a laughing mood as it was possible to get.

Emma crawled over to the sofa, then tried to pull herself up. She landed on her bottom twice but she didn’t cry or protest in any way, she just kept trying. Finally she managed to stand, wobbling a bit but staying upright.

‘She can walk?’ I asked, amazed.

‘Not yet. She can stand though, so walking isn’t too far away,’ said Dad.

Emma pulled a packet of baby wipes towards her then sat down with a thump, taking the wipes with her. She examined the packaging like it was truly riveting. Moments passed as we all watched her. She was fascinated by something as trivial as baby wipes.

‘First things first,’ said Dad after a few moments. ‘We need to sort out the cot. Adam, you can help me make it whilst Dante looks after Emma.’

Adam’s eyes widened. He pointed to himself. ‘Me? Dad, these are not the hands of a manual labourer.’

‘Well, I can’t do it by myself.’ Dad frowned.

‘Fine. Then I’ll look after Emma and Dante can help you with the lifting and shifting.’

Dad sighed. ‘Adam, Dante needs to spend time with his daughter. He needs to get used to being with her and she needs to get to know him. That’s why you’re going to help me instead of him.’

‘That’s not fair,’ Adam complained.

‘Sucks to be you,’ said Dad, one eyebrow raised. ‘Now move your backside and help me carry this cot upstairs.’

Adam turned to scowl at me. I smiled. It made a change for him to be the one on the sharp side of Dad’s tongue. I was loving that!

‘Well, let me go and change out of these clothes at least,’ said Adam. ‘I’m not ruining one of my favourite T-shirts.’

Adam was out the door before Dad could stop him. Dad raised his eyes skywards and shook his head. ‘That clean freak in him is your mother’s gene, not mine,’ he said. Then, ‘Dante, don’t let your daughter chew the plastic.’

I turned my head. Emma now had the corner of the baby-wipe packet in her mouth and was sucking on it.

I took it out of her hands. ‘No, don’t put that in your mouth.’

Emma looked up at me indignantly. Her lips pursed, her eyes scrunched up. Hell! I knew what was coming.

‘Here, Emma. Look at this.’ I grabbed the soft felt multi-coloured ball Dad had just bought and handed it to her. ‘See the pretty ball?’

Emma took the ball from me and, after turning it in her hands, raised it up to her mouth and started chewing on it.

Phew! Disaster averted!

When I straightened up, Dad had a smile on his face.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘Nothing,’ Dad replied.

Well, it was clearly something but he wasn’t prepared to share it.

Adam came back downstairs wearing different jeans and a different T-shirt. The colours had changed but otherwise the style was exactly the same. From his expression, Dad was thinking the same as me. He looked Adam up and down and raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

‘Adam, grab hold of that end and we’ll make a start,’
he said. ‘Dante, you stay down here and start sorting this stuff out. And make sure you keep an eye on your daughter.’

‘D’you really think she’s mine?’ The words made a bolt for it before I could rein them in.

Adam and Dad both turned to look at me.

‘Never mind,’ I mumbled.

‘’Course she’s yours,’ said Adam. ‘She looks just like you for a start.’

‘I thought all babies are supposed to look like Winston Churchill?’ I said, eyeing Emma doubtfully.

He laughed. ‘Yeah, for about one day after they’re born. After that, they take on their own looks. And Adam is right. She looks just like you.’

I couldn’t see it to be honest. But then, I’d only just started looking.

‘Dad, when you’re in my room, could you take down the poster of Beyoncé, please?’ I asked.

Dad tried and failed to suppress a chuckle. ‘Why?’

My face started to burn. I decided not to rise to the bait. Luckily Dad put me out of my misery by not pushing it.

‘Yeah, no problem, son.’

I ignored the knowing smile on Dad’s face.

Adam squatted down and placed the tips of his fingers under the box. ‘I bet this gives me blisters,’ he grumbled.

Dad rolled his eyes. ‘This is going to be painful,’ he sighed.

Well, that was deeply unpleasant. Remind me never to do that again.

Still, it was for a good cause. For my niece. I still can’t get used to saying that.
My niece
. I like the sound of it, though. Strange as ‘niece’ might sound, I bet ‘daughter’ sounds even weirder to my brother. Poor Dante. He’s been a nanosecond away from puking his petrified guts out ever since Dad and I got back from the ‘D’ word. Talk about a rabbit caught in headlights. Dad’s being all efficient and organized in the hope that Dante will follow his lead and get on with things as he so obviously can’t get out of it. But I don’t think Dante quite sees it that way.

I still can’t get over it.

Dante – Mr Boffin, Mr Truth, Justice and the Bridgeman way, Mr Every-second-of-my-life-planned-for-the-next-ten-years – has got a kid. A beautiful baby girl. He’s a secretive little bunny, isn’t he? Study freak by day. Stud by night. Ha! I can’t wait to tease him about that. Shouldn’t really kick him when he’s down but it’s the first time I can remember him really messing up.

Dante is supposed to be the sensible one, is he?

To be honest, I was a bit hurt when I heard Dad say that. Talk about eavesdroppers never hearing anything good about themselves. But Dante hasn’t cornered the market in having brains. I think Emma downstairs proves that. And Mr Playboy never even told me he wasn’t a virgin any more. Whatever he told Dad, I wonder how many girls he’s really slept with? God help us if more women come knocking on the door, claiming he’s a daddy.