What’s Up With Jody Barton?, page 15
‘Nope,’ I said. Because she’s right.
‘Here we go,’ she said. ‘I think this is the only one I’ve got at the moment.’
I looked. It was the picture of River wearing the red jacket and red trousers and the great big pair of boots. I’ve always thought he looks really lovely in that shot. But so lonely too. Although he isn’t really alone, is he? It’s just a question of perspective. There are 7,172,091 people just in London and when you take into account all the others who live in Paris and New York and Hong Kong and Moscow and Mexico City and every single other place on the map, that’s a seriously large number of people. So the chances are that everybody has at least one friend waiting in the wings to keep them company. And in this poster it’s the cameraman who is standing right in front of River’s face.
‘Yeah, that’ll do,’ I said. ‘I need another as well. Have you got any pictures of The Doors?’
Poster Woman smiled. ‘I’ve always got loads.’ She waved her hand at the racks containing rock bands and said, ‘Have a shufty through those. There should be several of Jim Morrison and his mates amongst that lot.’
And there were. I actually had a choice of twelve different posters. Jim looked cool in all of them but, in the end, I decided not to mess around and chose a big one which was just of him and not the others. It seemed more honest. Jim has always been my favourite member of The Doors. He’s the reason I buy the posters. There’s no way I’d have pictures of Ray Manzarek and Robby Krieger and John Densmore on my wall otherwise.
Poster Woman rolled up my purchases tightly and put them into a cardboard tube to protect them from the rain. ‘Treating yourself today or someone else?’
‘These are mine,’ I said, and handed over my money. And then I started smiling again. But this time my smile wasn’t directed at the woman – it wasn’t directed at anyone. It was just one of those unstoppable expressions of happiness you get when things are feeling good. And for the first time in ages they finally were feeling good. Because it was such a massive relief to know that my bedroom would soon be back to normal again.
When I got home, my mum and dad were both busy in the cafe. As soon as my mum saw me, she stopped wiping tables and said, ‘Why were you in such a rush to get out this morning? I bet you didn’t even have any breakfast, did you?’ And straight after that she said, ‘Why aren’t you at school?’
I shot a quick glance at my dad. He was emptying the fridge of unsold cartons of orange drink and hadn’t even noticed me. In a low voice, I said, ‘I need to talk to you.’
‘You need to be in school, that’s what you need to be doing,’ said my mum.
‘Mum,’ I said – very calmly – ‘I really do need to talk to you.’ And then I remembered my manners and added, ‘Please.’
My mum gave me a funny look which was half-smile and half-frown. Then she wiped her hands on her apron and said, ‘You go on upstairs. I’ll be with you in about ten minutes. I just need to help your dad get the macaroni cheese sorted out. We can’t have the customers going hungry, can we?’
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘I’ll be in my room.’
I hurried through the STAFF ONLY door and ran up the stairs to my bedroom at the top of the building. Then, as soon as I was safely inside, I flumped down on my bed and did some very controlled b-r-e-a-t-h-i-n-g. I had too. I’d have suffocated otherwise. All of a sudden, I was so short of breath that I sounded like a swimmer with a dodgy snorkel. It surprised me. I run up and down those stairs all the time and I’m not usually so unfit. But, then again, I’m not usually on the verge of telling everything to my mum either. That kind of conversation could steal anyone’s oxygen.
When I’d stopped suffocating, I stood up and walked up and down the length of my room a few times. It only took three paces. I sat down on my bed again. And then I remembered my posters, found some Blu-Tack and stuck them on the wall. Immediately, I felt better. It was good to see River and Jim again. It was like having a couple of old friends back. Except that they were the kind of friends you secretly have a massive crush on.
I stood up and started pacing around again and, as I paced, my mind kept turning over a single question. It was a very different question to any previous ones. It was this:
How long does it take to make macaroni cheese?
Because I knew that as soon as that macaroni cheese was made, my life was never ever going to be quite the same again.
I put my thumbnail in my mouth and bit it. And then I remembered something. Lifting up an edge of my mattress, I slid my hand underneath it and pulled out an ex-crumpled, bed-flattened booklet. It was the one that Superman had given me.
Am I gay/lesbian/bisexual?
‘Shit,’ I said, for no particular reason. And then I opened it up and started to read.
Did you know that an estimated one in every ten people is gay/lesbian/bisexual?
No, I didn’t know that.
That’s about the same proportion of the population as people who have blonde hair.
Can’t be right, I thought. I know shed-loads of people with blonde hair but I’m the only boy in my school who fancies other boys.
So being gay is just as natural and ordinary as being straight.
Try telling Liam Mackie that. Or my dad.
So how do you know if you’re gay/lesbian/bisexual?
Well, I know for definite that I’m not a lesbian, thank you very much.
It’s sometimes difficult to answer this question when you’re a teenager because life is so interesting and exciting that your emotions are shifting around all the time. Enjoy exploring who you are.
Jog. Right. Off.
But often you’ll know that how you feel is not just a passing phase. Make a list of all the people you’ve ever been attracted to. Are they males or females or both?
I’ve only ever fancied Liam Mackie, I thought. And then I bit my thumbnail and frowned because I knew that was actually only half of the truth. The other half is that I’ve never fancied girls. Not ever. Not Natalie Snell. Not Latasha Joy with her big gazongas. Not Beyoncé Knowles. Not Cheryl Cole. Not even Pippa Middleton. I like some girls and I think some girls are really pretty but I haven’t ever wanted to kiss one. And I’ve always felt completely different because of that.
And who are the pin-ups covering your walls? It may seem silly, but it’s the little details like these which may be clues to who you really are.
‘River Phoenix,’ I said out loud. And then – just in my head – I added, ‘He’s so bloody beautiful!’
A lot of people ask themselves, ‘Why am I gay?’
Yep. Fair point.
It’s just who you are. Nothing has made you gay/lesbian/bisexual. Would you be asking yourself the question, ‘Why am I straight?’
Nope.
So don’t then! Don’t feel embarrassed. Respect yourself and the way you are.
There was a whole load more of this stuff, but I didn’t read it because I could hear footsteps coming up the stairs. Quickly, I shoved the leaflet back under my bed and then for no reason that I can properly explain, I rushed over to my window and checked that the arch of Wembley Stadium was still smiling in the sky over north-west London.
It was.
I breathed out a big sigh of relief and crossed my fingers.
My mum poked her head round the edge of my door and said, ‘Can I come in then?’
I nodded and sat back down on my bed.
My mum stepped into my room, pulled the chair out from under my desk and sat down. She looked nervous.
‘What’s going on, Jody? Why aren’t you at school? I think I put too much pepper in the macaroni cheese because I couldn’t concentrate – I’ve been worrying so much.’
I bit my knuckle and thought about the bombshell I was about to drop. And then I said, ‘Sorry.’
My mum waved my apology away. ‘Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s only macaroni cheese.’
‘Nah,’ I said. ‘It’s not that. I mean . . . I’m not really bothered about the macaroni cheese. Well, I am . . . but that’s not really what I’m apologizing for. It’s a kinda much wider issue than macaroni cheese, to be honest.’
My mum leaned forward and put her hand on my arm. ‘Just tell me.’
‘I’M GAY,’ I said. And then I clapped my hand over my mouth. I hadn’t meant to tell her quite so loudly.
My mum’s eyebrows rose by about two centimetres. Her hand stayed on my arm though.
After a few seconds, she said, ‘Are you sure?’
‘OF COURSE I’M SURE,’ I snapped. And then I clapped my hand back over my mouth again because snapping at people doesn’t ever really help much.
My mum said, ‘OK, OK. I was just asking. I don’t know much about these things, Jody.’
‘Neither do I,’ I said more quietly. ‘I just know that I am.’
My mum got off the chair and came and sat down next to me on the bed.
‘And this is why you’re not at school today?’
‘Yep,’ I said. ‘I can’t face it at the moment.’ And then I hesitated before adding, ‘I haven’t been to school all week.’
My mum’s eyes widened. And then she looked annoyed and said, ‘I blame that school. They should’ve phoned me.’
I shrugged. ‘You should blame me. I’m the one who hasn’t been in.’
My mum sighed and then nodded and looked thoughtful. ‘Has that black eye got anything to do with this?’
‘Yep,’ I said. And then I looked down at my hi-tops and said, ‘Liam hit me because he knew I fancied him.’
My mum’s eyes widened a bit more and then she sighed again and said, ‘Blimey, Jody, you could have picked someone who wasn’t going out with your sister. Talk about making life hard for yourself.’
‘I didn’t choose to fall in love with him,’ I said.
My mum’s eyebrows shot up again. ‘You fell in love with him?’
I shrugged and put my head in my hands. ‘I thought I did. It felt like it at the time.’ And then I closed my mouth and stopped talking because I could feel myself getting upset.
My mum went quiet for quite a long time. I sat on my bed – head in hands – and waited for her to get upset as well.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she wrapped her arms around me, pulled me towards her and just said, ‘Oh, Jody!’
I was so surprised that I let myself be hugged for a few seconds and then I pulled away and said, ‘You seriously don’t mind?’
My mum smiled. ‘It’s a bit of a shock. But why should I mind? I just want you to be happy, Jode.’
‘Oh,’ I said. I couldn’t think of a single other thing to say. To be honest, I’d expected the conversation to be more complicated.
‘And besides,’ said my mum with a smile, ‘I always knew you were special.’
‘Oh,’ I said again. And then I frowned. What the hell was she talking about?
‘But I’m not special,’ I said. ‘I’m gay but I’m not special. About one in ten people are thought to be gay, lesbian or bisexual. That’s about the same proportion of the population as people who have blonde hair. I’m just ordinary.’
‘Oh,’ said my mum, and she frowned too. But then she brightened up again and said, ‘But you’ve always been special to me, Jody, and you always will be. My little leap-day baby! You don’t get born on the twenty-ninth of February just to follow the crowd.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘but that’s not why I’m gay. It’s got nothing to do with my birthday or my star sign or my past life or anything. It’s just who I am.’ I was starting to feel a bit agitated.
‘I know,’ said my mum. ‘And it’s exciting really, isn’t it?’
‘Is it?’ I was getting more agitated by the second.
‘Yeah,’ said my mum. ‘It’s just like having our very own Rufus Wainwright in the family.’
I stared at her, totally baffled. And then I said, ‘Who the heck is Rufus Wainwright?’
My mum said, ‘Oh, surely you’ve heard of him! He’s that American singer-songwriter. Or is he Canadian? Camp as Christmas. Gorgeous-looking though.’ And then she scrunched up her forehead to think about it a bit harder and said, ‘He’s sort of like a gay James Blunt.’
My mouth dropped open in alarm. ‘Oh my God!’
My mum giggled. ‘Oh, chill out a bit, Jody. It’s no big deal.’ And then she looked serious again and said, ‘Does Jolene know?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, and bit my lip.
My mum squeezed my arm. ‘She’ll get used to the idea, sweetheart. You did try to hit on her boyfriend so don’t be too down on her.’
‘I’m not down on her,’ I said. ‘She’s down on me.’
My mum said, ‘Who else knows?’
‘Everybody at school. They’ve been talking about me on Facebook.’
My mum sighed and squeezed my arm again. ‘You can’t stay off school forever though, can you? You’ve got to face up to things. You’ve got your GCSEs in a few months.’
‘I know,’ I said. ‘But there’s only tomorrow and then it’s half-term. And after that I’ll be ready to deal with it. Don’t make me go back tomorrow.’
My mum fiddled with her hair. ‘But you can’t mope around here all day. What will we say to your dad?’
‘We’ll tell him the truth,’ I said. ‘You just said I’ve got to face up to things.’
My mum fiddled with her hair a bit harder. ‘Yeah, but, sweetheart, there’s no point rushing into anything. Just give it a few days until you’re sure. And, if you really are, tell your dad then.’
‘But I’m sure now,’ I said.
This time it was my mum who bit her lip. ‘I know you are, darling. But I don’t know how well your dad is going to deal with the G word. When it comes down to it, he’s a very traditional man with very traditional ideas. He absolutely hated that film Brokeback Mountain. So let’s not worry him with this for the time being.’
I’m not sure whether I felt better or worse after that. I definitely felt a bit flat though and also a little like I’d been cheated. It was as if I’d just dragged myself all the way up Mount Everest only to find that there was an even bigger mountain standing right behind it. And, worse than that, I’d been greeted at the top by a gay version of James Blunt who had high-fived me and told me that we were both as camp as Christmas and just like two gay peas in a glittery gay pod.
So as soon as my mum was out of my room I put on Call of Duty and spent the next few hours liberating France. And by the time I’d bored myself of that, I felt less like a gay pea and slightly more like Action Man.
But dinner that evening was as awkward as ever. Dodgy looks were being passed around our table more frequently than the salt and pepper pots. Every time I looked Jolene’s way, I found myself on the receiving end of a Vulcan Death Glare. In the end I had to stop looking at her.
Then there was my mum. She was acting proper weird. For a start, she was fussing around me and being overly nice – which would have been OK if I hadn’t spotted the funny glances she kept flashing me. Every few seconds, we’d catch each other’s eye and I’d see a look of pure panic staring back at me. At first I couldn’t work it out. And then it dawned on me that she actually thought I was going to stand up at any second and proclaim my gayness at the dinner table.
It put me off my macaroni cheese, if I’m honest.
The only person who was acting normally was my dad. He ate a few mouthfuls of macaroni and then waved his fork at me and Jolene and said, ‘Are you two kids still having an epic communication fail?’
I can’t cope when my dad tries to talk hip. It’s embarrassing.
Jolene pulled a face and said, ‘Nobody says epic communication fail, Dad. It’s called an epic conversation fail. And, yes, we are.’
My dad said, ‘Why? What’s the beef?’
I cringed. I think Jolene did too. My mum sprang up from her seat and said, ‘Does anyone want the ketchup?’
Jolene just said, ‘Ask Jody.’
My dad looked at me and said, ‘So what’s the beef, sunshine?’
I pushed a piece of macaroni around with my fork and didn’t say anything. My dad stared at me for a moment and then rolled his eyes and said, ‘Crikey O’Mighty! You two are as much fun as a day out in Watford! Whatever it is, just make sure you’ve smoothed it over before your birthday. I’m not having you turning sixteen – or four – and not being on friendly terms. So that gives you almost a fortnight to sort yourselves out.’
Jolene puckered up and made a farting noise. And then she said, ‘Jog. Right. Off.’
Sometimes she’s so rude that I struggle to accept we’re twins.
My dad said, ‘Watch your manners, Loopy Lou.’ And then he turned to me and said, ‘When are you gonna start helping me in the cafe again? You’re not still feeling iffy, are you?’
I pushed my macaroni around a bit more.
My dad said, ‘Those two old dears have been asking after you. What are their names again? Rita and Maureen? Yeah, they’ve missed you.’
‘Have they?’ I suddenly felt extremely anxious. I hoped they hadn’t told my dad that they’d seen me sitting in Super Burger at Brent Cross.
‘Yeah,’ said my dad. ‘They can’t get enough of you . . . think you’re the bee’s knees. And Whispering Bob Harris . . . he’s been asking after you as well.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Has he?’
My dad turned ever so slightly red. Then he smiled and said, ‘Well . . . no . . . I made that bit up, obviously. Whispering Bob Harris doesn’t like anyone, does he? And actually . . . those two old birds didn’t ask about you either . . . but I miss having you around, Jode. Nobody else washes up quite as well as you.’
And even though Jolene was giving me the Vulcan Death Glare and my mum was flashing me looks of panic, I started to laugh a bit. I couldn’t help it.
