Golden Boy (25 page)

‘I don’t know. At them, at us, at the world. What are we doing?’

‘Shut up and come inside! Everyone can hear you.’

‘Aren’t you frustrated, Kaz? Aren’t you? Don’t you just want to let it out? Come on, babe. Let it out. Don’t hold it in, talk to me about it, yell with me.’

I was walking in, waving him away. I was growing older, and I didn’t want to talk about Max being intersex anymore.

That was the only time I’ve seen Steve act truly out of line, out of order. That was what I liked about him: the order. He has always been reliable, steadfast, strong. He was grateful but he never questioned our entitlement to the life we wanted. He never faltered. He was always sure of himself. It was what I had craved at home, when my father was away.

That night, Max cried and cried and wouldn’t stop crying. We dipped in and out of his room all evening. Steve had to leave around ten for an emergency with a murder case. I held Max until about 4 a.m. He cried himself to sleep. The next day, he’d forgotten about it. That’s been it. The extent of the drama. Until today.

I feel . . . so stupid. I thought he was going to become a terror teenager because of all the problems, but he never did. And then this happens, and I never – not once – expected this. Now Max is still uncomplaining, but he’s confused, quiet, shy and awkward and miserable.

What did we do wrong? What did Max do to deserve this? Nothing. I didn’t smoke or drink during my pregnancy. Max isn’t a drug addict, or a brat, or a bastard. What did we do?

‘Jesus,’ I murmur, holding my hand over my mouth.

‘Karen, that’s the fifth time you’ve said that since we got in the car.’

‘Steve, shut up.’

He tuts.

‘Sorry,’ I mutter.

‘Let’s not do this now,’ he says, which infuriates me.

‘Yes, you’re right. Why don’t we get back and you can go to work and then you can avoid dealing with this, and I’ll have to?’

‘I’m not going to work this weekend.’

‘We’ve got that Rotary dinner tonight. We said we would go.’

‘We can cancel.’

‘Oh
god
, Steve, let’s just go. It’ll take our mind off it. We’re not going to get parenting awards for staying home from one dinner. It’s over. We lost the good parenting badge.’

‘Don’t be dramatic,’ he says, taking my hand.

Oh no. The cracks are beginning to show. I feel like I’m back there again, waiting for them to tell me what’s wrong with our baby. I can’t relive that all again. I just can’t do it.

I look at Max in the mirror. He has his iPhone headphones in and is staring out the window. He looks ahead and I catch his beautiful green eyes in the rear-view mirror. I look away tearfully.

Steve turns his head. ‘You alright, Max?’

‘Yeah, thanks Dad.’ Max’s mouth stretches at the corners and he nods compliantly, but I know this is only for us. His eyes are troubled and weak, flitting away from the mirror to the houses we’re passing. All those people’s lives being lived behind closed doors. I wonder what they would think if they could see my family. I wonder what the boys Max likes will think of him. I wonder what people will think if this gets out, what headlines the bloggers and YouTube videos and news sites will use. A tear escapes from the corner of my eye and I wipe it away.

Just leave him alone
, I think fiercely, my mind flashing back to that happy, tiny thug holding my finger, my eyes watching the sun dance over Max’s lovely, soft, golden skin in the back of the car.
Hasn’t he dealt with enough? Leave my baby alone
.

T
wo things are happening in our lives right now: firstly, Dad is running for Member of Parliament for our area.

This is extremely exciting. Debbie, who works for Dad, is around all the time, and so is Lawrence, who also works for Dad.

Lawrence is tall and old with a thin face and yellow hair, but not bright yellow like Max’s, sort of dull grey-yellow. He did not appreciate me saying this when I observed this.

I know this because he told me, ‘I do not appreciate you saying this, young Daniel.’

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Whatever.’

Lawrence basically tells Dad what to do, or sometimes he gives Dad advice, which he doesn’t follow. Mostly, though, it’s like the two of them are running for MP together, but Dad is the more nice one who everybody likes, so he is the front man.

Like when Max and me play
World of War
and he goes ahead to take enemy fire because he’s better at dodging. In the same way, Dad is better at saying things that dodge reporters’ questions.

‘Don’t repeat that to anyone but me,’ Lawrence said when I told him this theory.

Debbie is much, much younger. She is nineteen, and really nice, with curly brown hair and is thin but with a big bum and boobs.

‘They are not that big,’ she told me.

‘What cup?’ I said, but Mum made me leave the table after I said that and Debbie laughed and called me a ‘liability’. I’m going to have to look that one up.

Debbie basically does a lot of the work Dad and Lawrence don’t want to do, like photocopying, making phone calls, and running. Dad and Lawrence walk everywhere, but Debbie runs everywhere, like there isn’t enough time to do everything she has to do.

‘Why do you work for my dad?’ I asked her.

And she said, ‘I agree with his politics. I hate the other guy and your dad’s the only guy who offered to pay me.’

‘Hm, how much?’ I asked.

I think he should probably pay Debbie more than Lawrence, because she does more running around.

‘I’ll make a note of that,’ Lawrence said when I suggested this.

One exciting thing about Dad running for MP is that we get to go to lots of parties. I never knew people threw so many parties. This week, Mum, Dad, me and Max have been to the Rotary dinner (Saturday night) and a barbecue for some old dude (Sunday), the Lions dinner (Monday – no lions), and then yesterday Dad and me went to a party at an old folks’ home, which had surprisingly good jelly and ice cream and music. Dad talked about somebody called Cold Train with some old lady. I just danced, and they all said my dancing was good. Mum stayed home from that one because she said she had a headache, and Max stayed home too, because of the second thing that is happening at our house at the moment.

The second thing is that Max is ill and even being sick sometimes. This morning, I was waiting in the car with Mum and then he came in and immediately ran out again, saying, ‘Sorry.’

And then we waited ages.

I said, ‘What if he’s dead?’

And Mum didn’t move, but stared out of the window like she was hypnotised.

‘Go and see if he’s OK, Mum!’

‘Why?’ Mum jumped and said this like she was angry, but then she unbuckled her seatbelt, but as soon as she opened the car door to get out, Max came back.

I asked, ‘Are you alright, Max?’

Max said, ‘Yeah, it’s fine.’

Then nobody said anything for the entire time we were going to school, except when we pulled up at my school and I said, ‘Thanks for the conversation, folks.’

I poked my head back in the car.

‘Daniel! Don’t do that, honey. I could have run you over,’ said Mum.

‘I said, “thanks for the conversation, folks”.’

‘We heard you,’ Mum said.

‘I love you guys.’

‘Love you too,’ Mum said. ‘Be good at school.’

I waited for Max to say something, but he didn’t, so I said, ‘I love you, Max.’

And he said, ‘Love you’, and smiled. He looked really sad, though.

Max doesn’t usually come with us in the car, but this week he has been coming with us every day. Mum said nothing was wrong, he just didn’t want to go on the bus because it smelt of petrol and it was making him feel sick. She said he has a bug.

I’m slightly worried Max will be weak for my army. What if he dies?

Children get cancer. I saw it on a programme on television. A boy became sick and threw up everything he ate and had no hair. Children get leukaemia. I don’t want Max to have leukaemia. I don’t want Max to have no hair. I don’t want my brother to die. Thinking about it makes me nervous all day. I chew through the cuff of my jumper, because I remember this boy in Great Ormond Street Hospital on TV who looked a bit like Max and he got small and sick and had a tube in his face and he died. Then I go and sit in the little house in the playground because I am crying and I don’t want anyone to see.

It’s Wednesday today and Max hasn’t even come in my room, even though I know he’s in from school, because I can hear his music in his room. He hasn’t spoken to me much at all, even though I keep asking him if he is OK. Max is never all rubbish and doesn’t want to play. Something must be wrong.

Also, Mum and Dad are pretending not to notice that he is very quiet.

He didn’t even finish his food at the dinners we went to. And we always finish our food because if we don’t, Mum says children in Africa will die.

At the Lion’s dinner, which was full of mostly old people, Mummy was talking about seeing Auntie Leah and Uncle Edward, and Hunter, our cousin, and how we haven’t seen them for ages. She asked Max if he wanted to hang out with Hunter and Max said no, because Hunter takes drugs and stuff. Then Mum said ‘shh’ and looked at me. Like I don’t know what drugs are! I’m not stupid.

Then she told Max to finish his food and Max nodded and tried to eat more, but he couldn’t, so I said, ‘He could box his up.’

‘What’s that, sweetheart?’ Mum said.

‘For the children.’

‘What children?’

I frowned. ‘In Africa.’

‘Oh.’ Mum looked confused and smiled like she was sorry about me being weird to the other people we were sat with.

‘For the children in Africa, right Max?’ I said, and he looked at me and nodded and smiled, but in a kind of not-really-smiling way. His eyes were sad, like dogs’, except dog eyes are brown and Max’s are green.

He said his tummy hurt. Tonight we are not going out. I don’t know what we will have for dinner. I’m looking forward to it, though. I hope it’s broccoli. I’m a fan of broccoli.

The music Max has been playing this week is sad music too. Usually we listen to rap and rock music because that is the soundtrack to
World of War
, but he has been listening to very slow, spacey music that makes me feel tired. I really hope he’s not dying.

I decide to go and see him, because he always comes to see me when I’m feeling bad.

I knock on his door, one, two, three, like Mum showed me, and then when I don’t hear anything, I open the door.

He is curled up under the duvet with his face in the pillow.

I walk up to him. He is very still.

‘Max?’ I say, and I reach out and poke him.

He does not move, so I check if he is breathing by putting my hand over his nose to feel the breath. I would usually do the mouth, but it is closed.

‘Hey!’ He moans. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Checking you’re alive,’ I say.

‘I can’t breathe when you do that.’

‘Sorry,’ I apologise politely. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

‘Nothing,’ he says into his pillow.

I narrow my eyes. ‘I’m not stupid.’

He groans and turns over so he is facing the wall. ‘This isn’t about you, Daniel.’

‘I know.’ I frown, because Max is stating the obvious, like he says I do all the time. ‘But I was worried about you.’

‘I’m OK,’ Max mumbles.

I start to worry a lot, because I’ve been worrying all day at school and for Max not to tell me something is a big deal, because we tell each other everything. If I ask him, he always tells me stuff.

‘Please, Max,’ I say, wiping my nose on my sleeve because it has started to run. ‘Are you going to die?’

‘What?’ He turns over, and his hair is all fluffed up and his face is all red from the bed. I put my hand to it. It’s very warm.

‘You have a temperature!’ I cry.

‘No, no.’ He rubs his eyes. ‘I’ve just been asleep in a hot bed. Come here,’ he says, and pulls me onto the bed next to him. ‘I’m not going to die. I’m not even ill.’

‘But you’re sad and you’re being sick!’ I sniff.

‘I’m just a bit tired,’ he says, hugging me. ‘My tummy is poorly but that’s it.’

‘Do you want to sleep?’ I ask.

Max nods.

‘Can I sleep in your bed with you?’ I say.

‘Sure,’ he says, but then when I go to get under the covers, he looks around at the bed and says, ‘Actually, let’s go in yours.’

‘Why?’ I ask, as he takes my hand and pulls me after him through the bedroom door.

‘Because I like your bed more. It’s comfier,’ Max says, and we both get in it.

He falls asleep very quickly and I stroke his fluffy hair on his forehead and then I wriggle out of the bed and I put Daniel The Bear under his arm so Max won’t be alone. Then me, and Pingu, which is a penguin that I named after the penguin on telly, play
World of War
with the sound turned down so we don’t wake Max.

Auntie Julie’s baby was due today, but it didn’t want to come out yet. I hope it will come soon. I’m going to recruit it for my army.