Candy (9 page)

We were on the far side of the zoo now, the quiet side. All zoos have their far sides: those places farthest away from the restaurants and the souvenir shops, where the less popular animals are housed, the animals that are hard
to see, or don’t do very much—wolves, deer, small brown things that live in burrows, birds that are not quite ostriches. They’re lonely places, these quiet sides—the kinds of places where secrets can be shared. Secrets or truths.

Or nothings.

With us, it was nothings.

I told Candy about my parents; she listened. I told her about Gina and Mike; she said she’d like to meet them. I told her about school and exams, and she drifted away, strangely saddened, or maybe just bored. But when I told her about writing songs and playing music and being onstage with The Katies, she perked up again. “It must be fantastic,” she said, “doing something you really like.”

“Yeah,” I told her. “It’s pretty good.”

“What’s it like onstage, you know, with all those people watching you? Don’t you get scared?”

“Not really. I mean, we don’t get that many people watching us, and when the lights are down you can’t see most of them, anyway. Besides, I’m usually too busy trying to remember the songs to think of anything else.” I looked at her. “What about you? Do
you
get scared?”

“When?”

“When
you’re
onstage—when you’re dancing.”

“Oh, right,” she said quickly, lowering her eyes. “Yeah…I don’t know…I don’t really think about it, I suppose. I just…” She raised her head and stared emptily into the distance, her face strangely sad again. When she spoke, her voice was cold. “I just pretend I’m not there. It’s the only way…” She sighed into silence, but only for a moment. With a self-dismissive shake of her head, she turned back to me with her smile restored and said, “Maybe I could come and see you play sometime?”

“Yeah.”

She grinned. “I could stand at the front and scream your name and throw my knickers at you. What do you reckon? Would you like that?”

“As long as you washed them first.”

She laughed.

“Actually,” I said, reaching into my pocket, “I just
happen
to have a poster here…” I unfolded the poster for our London gig and showed it to her. “It’s this Friday,” I said as she took the poster from me and looked it over. “I mean, I don’t know if you can get there…”

“The Black Room,” she said, reading the poster.

“It’s a club in Hammersmith.”

“Yeah, I know it.” She looked up at me. “You’re playing there?”

“Nine o’clock,” I said. “This Friday.”

She nodded, smiling. “I’m impressed.”

“I can put you on the guest list if you want.”

“Access all areas?”

“I don’t see why not. Can you make it?”

She chewed her lip, thinking hard. “I think so…I’ll have to see. It’s just a bit…”

“What?”

“Nothing…it’s all right. It’s just a bit complicated, that’s all. I might have to sort a few things out…” Her eyes went back to the poster, and I could see her weighing things up—imagining this, imagining that, balancing out the complications.

“I don’t want to get you into any trouble or anything,” I said. “If you can’t come—”

She shut me up with a sudden kiss that was almost painful in its passion. I thought I was going to fall over for
a moment, but then she broke off, and I managed to steady myself, and she looked into my eyes and said, “I’ll
be
there—OK?”

“Right…”

She moved closer, bringing her face up to mine, until I could feel her whispered breath on my lips. “I’ll be there.”

Then her phone rang.

“Shit!” she said angrily, reaching into her bag and pulling out her cell phone. She checked the caller ID, swore again, then moved away to one side.

“Sorry,” she said to me. “I won’t be a minute.”

She put the phone to her ear and kept on moving away. I heard her say, “No—I
told
you…” then, “I
know,
but you said…” and then she was too far away for me to hear anything. I could still see her, though, and although she was standing with her back to me, I could tell she wasn’t happy. Her whole body had tensed up, giving her a strangely retracted appearance. The way she was moving—nodding her head and gripping her fists—reminded me of the hunched and withered gestures of an angry old woman.

It wasn’t nice to see.

I turned away.

Burying my head in the sand.

When she came back, she didn’t tell me what the phone call was about and I didn’t ask. All she said was, “I’m sorry, Joe, I have to go.”

I just nodded.

She smiled and said, “Next time…”

We kissed again, and she whispered things that made
me smile, and then we walked through the evening to the end of our day.

And that was it, a day at the zoo. One of the best—and weirdest—days of my life. I’m still living it now, every day, living it out in my mind—following the ups and downs, walking the pathways, reliving the moments of our Moonlight World…

It’s a day that never dies.

“
Y
ou’re wasting your life, Joe,” Dad said sternly. “You know that, don’t you? You’re wasting your life. If you keep on like this—”

“Keep on like what?”

“You know what I mean—all this pop music and everything—you and your Skaties…”

“Katies.”

“What?”

“It’s
Katies
—not Skaties.”

“I don’t
care
what it is. You’ve got exams this year. You should be studying—”

“I
am
studying—”

“When?”

“All the time.”

“You weren’t studying today, were you? You weren’t even at school.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You lied to your teachers, you abused my trust…”

It was eight-thirty in the evening. I’d been in Dad’s study for the last half hour. I hadn’t meant to get back so late from the zoo, but I’d kind of lost track of the time…and then the trains had been delayed, and I couldn’t ring Dad to let him know, because I wasn’t supposed to
be
on the train. So when I got back and he called me into his study, I guessed straight away that Gina had told him the truth—or what she thought was the truth—and I knew I was in for some serious talking. And when Dad gets serious, he
really
gets serious.

“…I know it’s been tough over the last few years,” he was saying, “but that’s no excuse for wasting your time on things that don’t matter—”

“I’m not,” I said.

“No? You could have fooled me. How are you going to get the grades you need if you spend all your time playing at being a pop star?”

“I’m not
playing
at anything. I just enjoy it—it’s good fun. And, anyway, it’s only one evening a week—”

“And weekends.”

“Not every weekend.”

“And days out in London when you should be at school.”

“I’ve already explained that,” I sighed. “It was just a one-off thing. It won’t happen again—”

“No, it won’t,” he said coldly.

“You don’t have to—”

“What?”

“Nothing.” I hung my head in shame and stared remorsefully at the floor. I didn’t expect Dad to fall for it, but at least it gave me a break from the furious glare of his eyes.

“Why do you have to do it?” he said.

“What?”

“Why do you always have to make things so difficult?”

I raised my head and looked at him. “Difficult?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Look,” I said, “I’m sorry—OK? I
know
it was a stupid thing to do, and I
know
I shouldn’t have done it…but it doesn’t
mean
anything, Dad—really. It doesn’t mean I’m wasting my life—”

“It means you’re grounded, Joe.”

“You can’t—”

“I can, and I will.”

“No, but listen—”

“No,
you
listen.” He leaned across his desk and gave me the look. “I’m going away at the end of next week. I’ll be gone for six or seven days. Until I get back, you’re grounded—do you understand? As of today, you’re not to go out on weekends, or after six in the evening, without my specific permission.”

“But Dad—”

He held up his hand. “I haven’t finished yet—are you listening to me?”

“I just wanted—”

“Are you
listening?
”

“Yes,” I sighed.

“Right—it’s half term when I’m away, but the same rules apply, and I expect you to follow them without any help from Gina. She’s got enough on her plate without having to watch over you all the time. I need to know that I can trust you, Joe. I’m giving you the responsibility for your own discipline, and if you don’t take it seriously, the only person you’ll be letting down is yourself.”

I looked at him, wanting to hate him but knowing I couldn’t. He was my dad. Whatever I felt about him, I couldn’t
hate
him. I could hate his stupid reasoning, though, the way he treated me like a kid but expected me to behave like an adult.
Why can’t you make up your mind, Dad?
I wanted to say.
Either treat me like a kid or treat me like an adult, but don’t keep treating me like something in between.

“Did you hear what I said?” he asked me.

“Yeah, I heard.”

“Is there a problem?”

I hesitated for a moment, thinking about Friday’s gig. I was torn between keeping quiet about it—and sorting out something when the time came—and being honest. It was tempting to keep quiet about it, but getting to London on Friday night without Dad knowing wouldn’t be easy. If I was honest, though, if I explained how important the gig was and begged him to let me go and he said no, then he’d be forewarned, so he’d be on his guard, making it almost impossible to get away without him knowing.

I looked at him, trying to decide how to play it. His face was calmer now. It was still deadly serious, but the fury had faded and I thought I could detect just a hint of compassion.

Or so I hoped.

“What about Friday?” I asked quietly.

“Friday?”

“You know—the gig…with the group. The Katies. We’re playing in London…I told you about it, remember?”

“How could I forget?”

“If you’d just let me go to that—”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s only one night…”

He shrugged.

I said, “But it’s really important, Dad. If I don’t go, they won’t be able to play. I’ll be letting everyone down. We’ve already hired all the equipment and everything, and there’s people coming to see us. We’ve sold tickets—”

“You should have thought about that before, shouldn’t you?”

“Come on, Dad…you’re not being fair.”

“Well, now you know how it feels.”

“But you’re always telling me about taking responsibility for things. What about my responsibilities to everyone else? The rest of the group, the promoters, the people who’ve paid—”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re not family, they’re just…”

“What? They’re just what?”

He shook his head. “Don’t start twisting my words, Joe. You know what I mean.”

“Yeah…” I said, nodding my head as if I knew what he meant but didn’t believe him. Actually, I
didn’t
know what he meant, but I could see he was getting a bit flustered about something and that was all I needed to know. I kept on nodding, trying to look reproachful—which wasn’t easy—but, strangely enough, it seemed to work. Dad’s face was getting twitchy, and his mouth had lost some of its confidence.

I kept staring at him.

After a moment or two, he cleared his throat and said, “People are different, that’s all I’m saying.”

I didn’t reply.

“I don’t mean different like
that,
” he said, trying to dig himself out of a hole. “I just mean that some people
mean
more than others…” He sighed, realizing that he was only making things worse…and I suddenly understood what I was doing. He was right—I
was
twisting his words. I was making him think that his views offended me. I was forcing him to defend himself when he had nothing to defend. I was manipulating him, basically. Manipulating his fears and his prejudices. I knew it was wrong, and I could feel the guilt stirring inside me…

But I did my best to ignore it.

Sitting in silence…

Suffering my false indignation…

“All right,” Dad said eventually. “Where is this concert, anyway?”

Yes!
I thought.

“Hammersmith,” I said quietly.

“What time does it finish?”

“Not too late…I’d probably be back by eleven.”

He nodded slowly. “All right…I’ll think about it.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I didn’t say you could
go
—I just said I’ll think about it. So don’t go thinking you’ve got one over on me, because you haven’t—understand?”

“Of course.”

“And,” he continued, “whatever decision I make, that’s it. That’s my final answer. I don’t want any more arguments—OK?”

“Yeah.”

“I mean it, Joe. I want your word that you’ll accept my decision, otherwise I’m not even going to think about it.”

“OK,” I said. “I promise.”

He gave me a doubtful look.

“Scout’s honor,” I said, struggling to find some sincerity. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

“It’s not a joke.”

“I
know.
I’m serious, Dad—I mean it, honestly. I promise…”

Another look, this one a tiny bit warmer, then he took a deep breath, stretched his back, and let out a long drawn-out sigh.

“All right,” he said. “Go on, then. You’d better get yourself something to eat, and then I think an early night might be in order.”

“OK,” I said, getting up, relieved that it was all over at last.

“And Joe…?” added Dad.

I looked down at him. He suddenly seemed very old. Tired and gray, his long face ashen and lined, his body framed in the dark formality of an ancient suit…

He looked as if he’d never been young. Never been anything but old.

“Yes, Dad?” I said.

His eyes fixed sadly on mine for a moment and I thought he was going to say something, something that would probably embarrass us both…but after a second or two he blinked the sadness away and said, “Nothing…it’s nothing. Go on, off you go. I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah…OK. I’m sorry about everything…”

He nodded silently, staring down at the table.

I stood there for a moment, unsure what to do. Part of me wanted to say something else, to let Dad into my mind, to show him the truth of my feelings, but another part—
the cowardly part—just wanted to get out of there. And that part was stronger.

So, with a headful of conflicting emotions, I said good night, then turned around and shuffled out.

It’s funny how easy it is to believe your own lies. All the time I was in Dad’s study, all the time he was lecturing me about responsibility and discipline and wasting my life, all the time I was apologizing for blowing off school and spending the day in London…all that time, and it never even occurred to me that I was lying through my teeth. As far as I was concerned, I
had
gone to London to sort out a problem with the gig. It
didn’t
mean anything. I
was
sorry. It
wouldn’t
happen again.

I believed it.

It was the only way to live the lie.

But as soon as I was out of Dad’s study, the truth suddenly hit me. The real truth—Candy, the zoo, Moonlight World—and I realized that I’d just been lectured and punished for something I hadn’t actually done. Admittedly, I’d done something worse and got away with it, but still…

Still what?
said the voice in my head.
You were lucky, really. You know that, don’t you? You were lucky. It could have been a whole lot worse…

When I went upstairs, I found Gina waiting for me in my bedroom.

“How did it go?” she asked anxiously.

She was sitting on the floor, flicking through the pages of a music magazine, and it looked as if she’d been there a
while. A ragged circle of books and CDs and empty coffee cups had formed on the floor around her.

“I hope you’re going to clear all that up,” I said, nodding at the mess on the floor.

She gave me a friendly sneer, then got back to the subject. “Come on—what did Dad have to say?”

“Quite a lot.”

She shook her head. “I’m sorry, Joe—I had to tell him. He was really worried about you. If I hadn’t told him, he would have called the police—”

“It’s all right,” I said, sitting on the bed. “It’s not your fault.”

“He would have found out, anyway—”

“Yeah, I know—don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have got you involved in the first place.” I looked at her. “What did he say when you told him you’d rung up school for me? Did he go mad at you?”

“Not really. I think he was too pissed off with you to bother about me.” She looked up. “Are you grounded?”

“Yep.”

“How long?”

“Until he gets back from wherever he’s going next week. Where
is
he going, anyway? To the cottage?”

“No, it’s a work thing, in Edinburgh—the society’s annual conference.” She smiled. “Gynecologists galore…” The smile faded. “He’s going with Mum, they’re making a week of it.”

I nodded absentmindedly, thinking about the cottage…Woodland Cottage. I hadn’t thought about it for a long time. It’s a little holiday place that Dad bought years ago, a rustic wooden bungalow hidden away in a little village on
the Suffolk coast. We used to go there quite a lot when Mum was still around. It’s a really nice place—right out in the middle of nowhere, quiet and peaceful, surrounded by woods and fields, with a quiet little estuary nearby…

“Joe?” said Gina.

“Sorry—what?”

“Did you get it sorted out?”

“Get what sorted out?”

“Whatever it was you went to London for—the really important thing about the gig. Remember?”

“Oh, right…yeah, no problem. It’s all…uhh…”

“Sorted out?”

“Yeah.” I smiled. “Everything’s ready.”

“You’re still doing it?”

“Yeah—why not?”

“I thought you said you were grounded.”

“I’m on parole for the day.”

“That’s great. I’m really looking forward to it.”

I looked at her—momentarily speechless. I’d forgotten she was coming.

“What?” she said, frowning at my puzzled look, then realizing what it meant. “Oh, come
on,
Joe…you
invited
me. Bring Mike along, you said—”

“Yeah, yeah…I know…”

“Don’t you
want
us to come?”

“Of
course
I do…It just slipped my mind for a minute, that’s all.” I leaned down and ruffled her hair. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, well…”

“Don’t be such a sulk.”

“I’m not.”

I smiled at her.

She smiled back.

And we were OK again. We kept on talking for a while, not really saying anything, just passing the time, then eventually Gina got up and kissed me good night and left me alone with my thoughts.

It was a lot to be left alone with—Dad, lies, Candy, lies, Gina, lies…so many lies it was hard to keep track of the truth.

I started to clear away the rubbish that Gina had left on the floor.

One thing at a time,
I kept telling myself.
Take one thing at a time. There’s no point in worrying about Friday until you know for sure that Dad’s going to let you go. If he doesn’t let you go, then it won’t matter what happens when Candy turns up and Gina and Mike are there…it won’t matter how you try to explain things, because you won’t be there, and neither will Gina and Mike, so there won’t be anything to explain.