What We Hide (26 page)

“Not until I’ve mashed my brother like an old banana.”

“And what would be the point of that?”

No point, I knew. Simon had more friends than I did.

“Just to hit him,” I said. “Break something, maybe.”

Felix had a pencil out, writing his London number on a scrap. “Use it,” he said. “Whenever you need to. You ready for that pint yet?”

“Hallo.” Brenda slapped a slice of pork pie on a paper plate and added a pickle. “You hungry?”

“No. Ta.”

“Getting rowdy, eh?” She passed the plate to the next person in line. The music
was
louder, now that she mentioned it. The room had got smoky, more people dancing, including Elaine, thank god, with Alec, poor seconds. Raucous laughter hooted from the darts room.

I’d’ve liked to ask Brenda about Penelope. But what exactly? And how would Brenda know anything?

“My dad,” I said.

“Eh?”

“He visits?”

“My sister, you mean?” She reached around my shoulder, handing over another plate. “Yeah, well, Jerry, more like.”

“I didn’t realize,” I said.

Brenda gave a big, smiling sigh. “He’s dead sweet, is Jerry. Calls me Auntie Bren.”

“I’m Uncle Robber,” I told her. “They’re the cops and I’m the Robber.”

Felix came back with two pints. “Cheers.” He knocked his glass against mine, a wee
clink
.

“One of the boys from my school is here,” said Brenda. “Will it matter he sneaked in to use the loo?” She jerked her thumb toward the end of the bar.

I just about pissed my drawers.
Luke
. I did a stupid dance step, toward him, back again, sideways away from Brenda. Felix caught on in less than a second, giving Luke the up and down. “Are you begging to have your nuts severed? Letting him in here?”

I quick-scanned the pub to see where Simon was. Must be in the darts room. I slid up next to Luke, his face sweet and sly, full of surprising me. But I wrecked it, didn’t I?

“What are you thinking?” I touched my hand to his hip, fingers reaching skin under his jersey. “You can’t be here.” His crazy hair tickling my cheek. “You’ve got to go.” Moving my hand away felt like tearing off a plaster. “You could get hurt.”
Hurt
. Too small a word to sum it up, a lifetime of pinches and jabs, being shoved against every wall you ever passed, hair lit by matches, bangs to the ears, spag down the neck. Knuckles cracking against jawbone, the heel of a hand ramming an eye socket, the point of a knife slicing so slickly the skin doesn’t bleed or yelp with pain for several seconds until so many cuts up the arm are running with blood and spelling out who you are. Which is hurt.

“Is it because of him?” Luke was looking at Felix. “Is he …?”

He was jealous! “No, really,” I said. “Thinking of you.”

His eyes shifted just before a body pressed into me from behind. Something hard jabbed at my bum. Luke’s face went scared as hell.

Alec’s voice growled, “You like it this way, pricklicker?”

Banger’s goofy hiccup of a laugh. “Up the arse!”

I wrenched myself around, brought my knee up fast. Alec dropped the bottle he’d been poking at me as my blow caught him precisely in the knackers and sent him straight to the floor amidst the shattered glass. My kneecap glowed with the sting of excellent impact. Banger backed right off. The party went hush, apart from the Beatles
strumming away and the crackle of a Christmas bulb giving up its last light.

“Excuse us.”

I spun around to see Felix moving Luke toward the door.

“Show’s over,” called Harry from behind the bar. “Plenty of beer still in the taps.”

Alec was crawling to his feet, using Banger as a ladder.

“Take it outside, lads.” Harry handed a broom to Aunt Pat, for the broken glass.

Alec spat on the floor, tried to straighten himself. No way was I stepping into the alley with this lot. They’d cream me. Felix hadn’t come back. I’d go out the front, find him and Luke.

But, “Hey, poofter.”

I paused half a second.

“I’m looking at a dead faggot,” said Alec behind me. Banger hiccupped.

Time to leave the party. Time to leave the village.

The door opened and in rolled Felix. How had he done it, all these years? None of them had a clue. Harry turned up the music, the din was on again.

“Oy!” The groom himself. “Haven’t you pissed off yet?” He stank of whisky, head on a tilt like it was too loose to hold upright.

“Just leaving,” I said.

Simon blinked at Alec. “Whatsa matter? You look like you’ve been kicked in the nuts.”

Banger laughed like it was the funniest thing ever. “Your brother bolloxed him!”

Felix slung an arm around Simon, dragging him away from his sidekicks.

“A toast!” he called out. “To Mr. and Mrs. Muldoon!”

A faint cheer went up, mostly drowned out by the Beatles.

“And all the baby Muldoons!” said Felix. “May they keep on coming! Lanny! Bring that baby belly over here!”

“You!”
Simon pointed at me. “Don’t talk to my
wife
. And stay clear of my
kids
. You hear? No son of mine is having a queer boy for an uncle.”

“Oh, Jerry’s yours now, is he?” Brenda jumped in before I could even open my mouth. “After four years of pretending he doesn’t exist? I’ll tell my sister you’ve said as much. Ready to kick in a few quid for his Wheaties, are you?”

“You fat, stupid cow—” Simon swayed in front of Brenda. “You keep your mouth shut or I’ll shut it for you.” One of his hands tipped a bowl of dip, mucking up his cuff, leaving a puddle on the table.

“Simon?” Lanny tugged on Simon’s jacket, her creamy tits nearly spilling out of their basket. “Steady on. Let’s not get rowdy, right? Robbie!” she said. “Elaine’s been looking for you!”

“Elaine. Her dress was purple, right?” Where had Felix put Luke?

“Oh you!” Lanny gave me a push, gleefully tipping me against a chair. “I was hoping she’d be your type!”

“My type?” I said.

Felix looked sharp my way, warning me not to say what I was thinking.
My type is the boy who just left the bar
. I wasn’t quite so daft as that, pinning a target on Luke’s back.

But I wouldn’t insult the bride either.

“I’ve learnt a lesson from my brother,” I said. “Leave the pretty girls alone, unless you’re ready to play papa.”

Simon swung hard, but it was an easy duck. I’d have loved to thump him, I really would. Only it couldn’t end well, him having a pub full of yobby mates ready to do battle. And like Felix had said, what for? Simon was about to fall down all by himself.

“He’s all yours,” I said to Lanny. “An empty bleeding handbag.”

Brenda came around the food table to slip an arm about my shoulders.

“Ta,” I said.

Felix was there, and Brenda. Aunt Pat sidled over, broom in hand. Even Dad, nearby.

I had my own ragged army.

And something worth fighting for.

jenny

At home, it was the day after Thanksgiving. Usually there’d be platters of leftovers, except … I wondered who Mom cooked for, if not for us? No Thanksgiving in England. The Pilgrims
escaped
this country! They were giving thanks for landing somewhere that promised liberty for all, currently upheld by the United States Armed Forces. Was Matt having turkey in Vietnam?

My mother’s method of roasting a turkey is to wrap it in bacon like an Egyptian mummy. The oven would be on from before breakfast until we were driven insane by the smell, midafternoon when people arrived for the feast. But Tom and I, we always tried to outsneak each other, nabbing the strips of bacon before anyone else had a chance.

No smell of turkey bacon came out of the tubs delivered from the kitchen of Ill Hall at Friday dinner. Meat loaf again, boiled spuds, wizened peas. In the dorm afterward, I sat on my bed, crazy homesick. Not for my parents. They’d just been here for the whole of Visiting Day weekend. And I’d be home in only three weeks! My semester abroad, already over! So what was missing? My bedroom? My Philly friends?

I pictured the reunion with Becca and Kelly, each of us draped over an armchair in Kelly’s rec room. What would I tell them?
The food was terrible! Even worse than we ever guessed. Living in a dorm was awesome, friends day and night. The teachers, we called them by their first names, it was so evolved and cool. In the summer, there’ll be skinny-dipping in the pond. This one guy, Nico, you wouldn’t believe the color of his eyes! And my best friend of the boys, his dad is a Hollywood movie director, I’m not kidding. I made friends that I’ll keep for the rest of my life.…

What was wrong with me? Now I was lying in my imagination.

I hadn’t spoken to Penelope since the day that neither of us explained why I was crying. She didn’t accuse me and I didn’t confess. Kirsten and Percy patted my back and felt sorry for me and the master plan worked. Matt had broken up with me. They were sympathetic and no one asked awkward questions. But how could they be my friends—for the rest of my life—if the only me they knew was a fake?

Tom knew who I was. Possibly the only person in the world. But I’d stopped calling him because he was never there. How many messages had I left with roommates? And he’d never called back. What happened to my promised weekend at Sheffield? Never the right time. Was it
Tom
I missed?

Tom. And Matt. Home the way it was supposed to be. Thanksgiving
after
the meal, when Matt came over and we stayed up later than late, joking around, playing charades, eating leftovers at two in the morning. It wouldn’t be like that, not anymore, maybe not ever.… Tom would be in England until the war was over, and Matt … Would Matt come home?

And now I was going back, without them, and without … Maybe I’d been hoping for a miracle, but I thought I’d be someone else by now. I thought at least that I’d be … 
someone
.

I lifted the lid of my trunk. Nothing ever got folded unless it had just come back from the laundry, where fairies packed it all in a tidy net bag every other Monday. Each week, there were more clumps missing from the fringes on my sweaters and T-shirts, probably clogging the pipes of the washing machines.

I scooped everything out and dumped it on my bed. The trunk bottom was dusted with sweater lint and a pinkish stain from where my hair conditioner had leaked. I began to sort and fold. The checklist, sent to Philadelphia by Isobel—before I knew who she was—was taped to the inside
of the lid, each item carefully marked off to show what I’d brought so I’d be certain to take the right things home again.
Vests, V-neck sweaters, dark skirts, collared blouses
. Tatters at this point. Useless, really, anywhere else.

I’d arrived with high hopes, my trunk bursting with the ingredients to become a new person. A person who—I ran my fingers over the cut edges of the skirt nearest me—who didn’t need parents or a brother telling her what to think. A person who was daring and intriguing. Funny and carefree. Sure of herself.

What a bleeding joke, as Penelope would say.

Don’t think about Penelope.

If I were lucky, the next three weeks would pass with no more Penelope drama.

The Austen door banged open, Kirsten and Brenda bustling in.

“Off-day with Penelope?” Brenda was saying. “She
can
be a bit of a cow, just like my sister, Kath.”

“This is more than a
bit
,” said Kirsten. “She did something so stupid it was evil.”

“What did I miss?” I said.

“Penelope and Kirsten,” said Brenda. “Hammer and tongs on trolley duty.”

“Not open for discussion,” said Kirsten. “Brenda, stick your bag on Caroline’s bed.”

Brenda had a paper bag, its top folded over a bulging middle.

“We don’t have an overnight case at our house.” Brenda
laughed, cheeks pink. She didn’t seem embarrassed to carry her belongings in a grocery sack. “We’ve never been anywhere, my old dad or me.”

“This is finally your night?” I said.

“Yeah, I’m dead tickled!”

“Good timing, with Caroline gone home for the weekend.”