Dare to Love (22 page)

He motions me to precede him up the steps. I’m acutely aware of his closeness. There’s an intoxicating mixture of anticipation and anxiety. He, on he other hand, appears relaxed, his movements easy and fluid as he kicks off his sandals by the door. I keep mine on.

‘Melissa, Darron, this is Josi, my friend I told you about,’ he announces as we step into the room. It’s a long room divided into two by a wooden divider. We are in the lounge section. I look past the sofa, the TV, the dining table in the other half of the room to the two people standing in a doorway. I assume the boy, about an inch shorter than Grant, much more slimly built with short cropped hair and an uncertain smile, is Darron.

Next to him is a girl who could be his sister. Her short, strapless, pink cotton dress adds just a touch of femininity to her slight boyish frame. Her braided hair, piled high on her head exposes a long attractive neck and slender shoulders. Thin, almost wiry legs extend from the edge of the dress to bare feet – neat and orderly on the floor in front of her. I’m stunned when Grant introduces her as Melissa. This slip of a girl transforms my misapprehension of voluptuousness.

The hand that shakes mine is small, soft, flaccid. Darron, although looking a little nervous, has a firmer grip.

‘Would you like a drink?’ Grant asks briskly.

‘Just some water,’ I answer. I need my head clear.

He goes into the kitchen to get the drink. Melissa and Darron part like the red sea to let him through. Both stare at me, not knowing what to say or do.

‘Melissa. That’s a lovely name,’ I say to break the silence, ‘do you ever get called Mel or Lisa?’

‘Sometimes people call me Mel,’ she answers in a matter of fact way.

‘And what about you,’ I turn to Darron, ‘does your name ever get shortened?’

‘Sometimes people call me Ron.’

They part again to let Grant out of the kitchen. They’ve been standing like guards of a treasure cave, shoulder to shoulder. All that’s missing are the uniforms, shields and swords. Grant sets the small tray with the water, an ice bucket, a small bottle of cola and a bottle of Hennessey on the coffee table in the lounge part of the room and indicates for me to join him.

I look around casually, trying to work out why two sets of suites are crammed into the lounge and dining area. The trophies, pictures and ornaments on the divider, the two coffee tables, one on which sits the aging TV, the computer stand with a PC and all the accessories all make sense. What doesn’t are the pink plastic flowers dotted wherever there’s a spare surface. By the side of the TV, on the top of the divider, on the dining table. Does Grant have an extremely feminine side or just poor taste in flowers?

‘Where do you want to talk to Darron?’

I pull myself back to the task in hand. I assume there’s another room we can use. There isn’t. Grant suggests I talk to him in the lounge and he and Melissa will withdraw to the kitchen. I know it’s highly unlikely any teenager will to speak to me freely and honestly if there’s even the remotest possibility his parents can overhear. I need time with him on his own. I have a hunch which might work.

‘Do you mind if we go for a walk?’ I ask Darron.

There’s a hint of confusion in his eyes as he looks from me to Grant. Grant too looks a little confused, then the penny drops and he nods approval to Darron.

‘I guess so.’

We head for the door and he stops to put his sandals on.

‘How long you going to be?’ Grant asks.

‘Shouldn’t be any more than half and hour.’ That’s usually long enough for most teenagers.

‘So, Darron, what do you know about me?’ I enquire as soon as we’re out of earshot. It’s dark and I can’t see him very well but I sense his nervousness. After all, it’s not everyday he has to talk to some stranger about his life.

‘Just what Daddy told me.’

‘Which is?’

‘That you’re his friend and you help people with problems.’

‘And you believe him?’

He’s silent.

‘Is there anything
you
want to know about me?’

‘Are you some kind of shrink?’

‘No, but your dad’s right. I do help people with problems.’

He’s silent.

‘Do you think you’ve got any problems?’

‘No.’

‘Oh. Why do you think your dad wants you to speak to me?’

Silence. I wait. When he realises I’m prepared to wait through the silence, he says, ‘Because me and him not getting on too well.’

‘Why do you think that is?’

‘He says it’s because I drop grades at school.’

‘And is that what you think?’

He’s silent again as we listen to our quiet padding on the pavement, interrupted occasionally by a passing car.

‘Do you think it’s because of the grades?’

‘It was at first.’

‘But now?’

‘He’s changed.’

‘Changed how?’

Silence. I explain that I won’t tell his dad anything he doesn’t want me to, unless it’s a matter of life and death. He looks up from the ground at me as if checking that he heard me correctly.

‘Look, Darron, I can’t put things right between you and your dad, but I can help you and him to understand what’s happening so the two of you can put it right.’

Silence.

‘I know you might be feeling that talking to me would be disloyal to him or that I’m going to tell him everything you tell me but its not like that. I can see you’re not happy with the situation and he’s not happy with it either. At least talk to me. See if we can make it better.’

‘He’s changed since he lose his job.’

‘How’s he changed?’

‘Since we move here him on my back every day. He find fault with everything I do. It’s not good enough for me to get good grades. I have to get excellent ones. He don’t play sport with me anymore. He hardly laugh and joke with me any more. Everything so serious. And he gets angry sometimes for no reason. I can say one thing today and it’s all right and when I say it tomorrow he gets angry and shout at me. He grounded me ages ago and every time I ask if he can lift it, he tell me my grades not good enough yet. It’s no fun at home so sometimes I just stay out with my friends. If I’m going to get into trouble for no reason I might as well get into trouble for something I do.’

His fingers are clenched tightly, his body is rigid. His breathing’s shallow as it passes noisily in and out of his nostrils.

‘I’m sorry to hear how difficult it’s been for you,’ I say quietly. He’s turned on the tap and I don’t want him to turn it off again. It feels like it’s been tightly closed for some time. ‘You sound like you miss your dad very much.’

‘I miss the way he was. The way we were when he had his job and before Mel moved in.’

‘What do you think of Mel?’ I know it should be a purely professional question but I find myself listening more intently for his opinion.

‘She’s all right really. But if she wasn’t there he would have more time for me. Sometimes the two of them go out and leave me in the house. She go to football with him on Sundays instead of me.’ His voice relaxes a little as he says, ‘She make me laugh sometimes when he’s been angry with me. Sometimes she’s fun.’

‘What do you want to do when you leave school, Darron?’ I try to take his mind off his dad.

‘Daddy wants me to be an architect.’

‘And is that what you want?’

‘I guess. If my grades are good enough.’ I sense his hesitation.

‘And if they’re not?’

‘Well, I really want to be a professional footballer!’ He lights up.

‘American or English.’

‘English. I would love to go to England and play football.

‘What does your dad think of you being a footballer?’

‘He says it a good idea after I finish my schooling. But he won’t let me play anymore.’ The anger is back in his voice.

‘You know, Darron, I talk to your dad and he’s not happy. I talk to you and you’re not happy. What do you want to happen? What would make you happy?’

‘I want him to lift the grounding.’

‘And that will do it?’

He thinks for a while.

‘I want him to spend more time with me. I don’t mind if he don’t buy me things because I know he can’t afford it without a job… I want him to stop being angry so much.’

‘Have you told him this?’

‘Course not. He wouldn’t listen.’

It’s been drizzling for a few minutes and it’s beginning to get heavier.

‘Do you mind if we walk back now?’ I ask.

‘Yeah sure, we can get back home this way.’

‘Do you mind if I mention to your dad what we’ve talked about? I think it would really help.’

‘Yeah, I guess,’ he answers slowly.

‘If there’s anything you’d rather I didn’t tell him…’ I leave it hanging.

He looks as if he’s playing back our conversation for anything incriminating. He finally states, ‘No you can tell him everything.’

Grant comes eagerly into the lounge as we arrive and looks expectantly at me. Darron goes into the kitchen to join Melissa.

‘Do you want a drink now?’ he enquires, reaching for the bottle of Mount Gay.

‘Yes please.’

He pours the golden liquid over ice cubes, adds the coke and hands it to me.

‘Thanks.’ I take a sip and let it cool my mouth. He looks about to burst with expectation.

‘You have a very observant and intuitive son,’ I begin. ‘I think you need to listen to him and you need to tell him what’s troubling you instead of taking it out on him.’

He looks appalled. It’s obviously not what he’s expecting. In hushed tones I tell him Darron would like him to lift the grounding and that I support him. It’s gone on too long to be effective.

‘What do you suggest I do?’ He looks genuinely uncertain.

‘You could maybe start with some negotiation.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘When you take everything away from him and it’s all or nothing to get them back, it can seem like too big a mountain to climb. If he can get a bit at a time back for doing some of what is expected of him, there’s more chance he will do it.’

‘So what do I have to negotiate?’

‘That’s for both of you to decide. Ask him what’s most important to him and bargain with that, but he has to get something back. It can’t be a one-way street.’

‘OK.’ He looks pensive. It’s a look I like to see on parents’ faces. It generally means they’re thinking about their children’s needs.

Dinner is fried chicken, macaroni pie, mashed potatoes and salad. ‘It was a joint effort,’ Grant proudly declares as we sit around the small dining table. Darron’s very proud of his “crushed” potatoes. Grant made the salad. Melissa the chicken and macaroni pie. The atmosphere’s light. Grant laughs frequently at Darron’s comments, almost as though he’s making up for lost time.

They leave the TV on and the conversation centres around Z channel’s discussions of the music and lives of celebrities. This is interspersed with questions about England, my experiences there, my work, my children. More than once I ask myself what Grant’s doing with Melissa, who seems to have more in common with Darron than with him. Grant and I could be the parents of these two children. Yet there’s something quite steely beneath her immature exterior.

Despite this, I feel very included. I have another two small rum and cokes. Melissa only drinks beer occasionally, doesn’t like the taste of spirits. Her taste buds probably haven’t developed yet, I think uncharitably. Darron’s tried beer but doesn’t like the taste. So it’s just me and Grant, the adults, drinking.

I’d convinced myself Melissa would be a pouty femme fatal, now I realise I’m not in the least bit jealous of this Z obsessed stick insect. Grant seems so solid next to her.

What are you doing here? I ask myself. I’ve been made to feel so much a part of this family, it could almost be incest to have sex with Grant. After a couple of hours I plead fatigue and apologise for not being able to stay longer. Grant leaps up to take me home. I hug Melissa; a polite thank you hug. Darron’s hug is full of unspoken gratitude.

As he pulls the car off the drive, he brushes my arm. ‘I bet you’re thinking you don’t have any competition.’

‘Wasn’t aware I was competing.’ I’m insulted he could think of putting me in the same bracket as Melissa.

‘You see what I mean about her immaturity though?’

‘Then why are you with her?’ Something’s not adding up. There’s more to this relationship than he’s saying. More to Melissa than a clinging ivy. She has a hold over him but I’m not sure what it is.

‘Can you drive around a bit or can we go somewhere quiet?’ I’m not ready to face Celia yet. I need a bit of space to process what just happened. On the one hand Melissa appeared so young, so immature, so trusting. If she has any concerns about the relationship between me and Grant she didn’t show it. Yet there was something about her I couldn’t put my finger on; something in the way she responded to a woman on the TV who married an older man.