Boys Don't Cry (13 page)

‘You’ve got those because you don’t moisturize,’ said Adam.

‘I’d rather have the wrinkles,’ said Dad. ‘So how have Emma’s teeth been this morning?’

‘Well, she’s not crying any more but she’s still drooling
all over me,’ I said, remembering how soggy my T-shirt was by the time I’d carried Emma downstairs for her breakfast.

‘No female would drool over you for any other reason,’ said Adam.

My brother really thought he was funny.

The metallic click of the letterbox heralded the arrival of the postman. I headed for the front door before anyone else could move.

It had arrived.

My DNA kit had arrived.

Dumping the other two letters on the hall table, I called out, ‘I’ll be right back,’ before racing upstairs. I needed to be alone whilst I figured out what needed to be done. Tearing open the packet, I carefully placed its contents on my bed. There were three different-coloured collection envelopes; one blue, one pink and one yellow. Blue for the dad, pink for the mum and yellow for the baby. How very stereotypical. Luckily for me this test didn’t require a swab from Melanie to establish paternity. Each collection envelope had details on it that needed to be completed before the swab was put into it. As well as the collection envelopes, there were two pages of instructions, a reply envelope and three plastic packets each containing two cotton swabs. According to the instructions, I wasn’t allowed to drink coffee or tea for at least four hours before taking my cheek swab and I had to wait at least two hours after Emma had eaten before I could swab her cheek. I could still taste the cup of coffee I’d just finished so now I’d have to wait. Damn it.

Each swab was wrapped in sterile plastic packaging which should only be opened just before being used, and
the instructions dictated in capital letters that I couldn’t touch the swab end at any time. They’d provided two swabs per person, and each swab had to be allowed to air dry for at least half an hour before being placed in the appropriate collection envelope. I could choose to have the results either posted or emailed back to me. I thought long and hard about that. Email was faster, but we all shared the one computer and I sure as hell didn’t want Adam or my dad getting the results before me. I didn’t want them to even know what I was doing, not yet. So snail-mail it was then.

Now that the test was here, I just wanted to get on with it. Instead I’d have to cool my heels until just before lunch time. Then I’d have to wait between four to seven days for the results. I thought back to the early hours of the morning, pacing up and down, up and down and trying to rock Emma to sleep. Not even my nights were my own any more. The funny thing was though, when she was awake, I couldn’t stop watching her, looking at her.

My daughter, Emma . . .

My daughter, Emma?

‘I just need to know the truth,’ I whispered into the silence in my room.

That’s all I wanted, the truth.

So how come I still felt so guilty about doubting that Emma was mine?

After tidying up the stuff on my bed and hiding it away in my bottom drawer, I retrieved my mobile which I’d left off and recharging all night. It was a reflex to switch it on and stuff it in my pocket but the moment I put in my pass
code and SIM code, the thing started beeping. Seven missed calls from a number of my friends and twice that number of missed texts. The word had really got around. I pushed the phone into my trouser pocket before heading back downstairs. I’d only just reached the bottom of the stairs when the doorbell rang. I opened the door. It was Collette. Well, she hadn’t wasted much time.

‘Can I come in?’

I stood aside to let her pass, shutting the front door once she’d walked past me. We stood facing each other, awkward embarrassment flapping like some captured bird between us. She leaned forward. A brief kiss followed, more to get it out of the way than for any other reason.

‘Dante, how’re you? You OK?’ asked Collette.

‘Fine.’ I shrugged, though it had to be obvious that I wasn’t.

‘How’s . . . er . . . ?’

‘Emma? She’s fine. She’s in the kitchen.’

I led the way, feeling really uncomfortable. Yesterday, I’d been so pissed with Logan that there hadn’t been room for anything else. But now, I felt hot with something beyond embarrassment, something a little too close to mortification. Collette was my girlfriend. We’d exchanged loads of kisses and the odd grope or two or twenty, but nothing more. And here I was with a kid.

‘Hi, Adam. Hello, Mr Bridgeman,’ said Collette as we entered the kitchen.

‘Oh, hi, Collette. Excuse my dressing gown,’ said Dad, looking daggers at me.

Adam nodded in Collette’s direction before continuing
with his breakfast. Collette looked at Emma but didn’t say anything.

‘I’ll just go and get changed,’ said Dad, drawing his dressing gown further around himself. He scooted past us, still glaring at me. That’d teach him!

‘Aren’t you going to say hello to Emma then?’ asked Adam.

Funny, but I’d been thinking the same thing myself.

Collette was momentarily taken aback. ‘Oh yes. Of course. Hi, Emma.’

Collette walked over to the baby and awkwardly patted her head. Adam raised an eyebrow. Frowning, Emma looked up at Collette. I hurried over and took Emma out of her highchair before she could protest at Collette’s treatment the only way she knew how.

‘So this is your daughter?’ said Collette. I could see she was struggling to find something appropriate to say.

‘No flies on you,’ said Adam.

Collette shot him an impatient look. Emma wrapped an arm round my neck and looked Collette up and down like she wasn’t terribly impressed. I had to bite my lip but Adam wasn’t as discreet.

‘Dante, your daughter is a smart one,’ said Adam as he stood up and headed for the dishwasher. ‘She must get her brains from her mum.’

Emma began to chortle.

Collette frowned. ‘Adam, you’re not funny.’

‘Emma thinks I am,’ replied Adam.

Which made me bite my lip even harder. There was something about Emma’s laughter that was infectious.
Though judging by Collette’s stony expression she was immune.

‘Dante, she looks like you,’ said Collette.

‘No one is that unlucky,’ Adam quipped.

‘Dante, can we go for a walk or something?’ said Collette, exasperated. ‘I’d like to talk to you in private.’

‘Adam, I don’t suppose you could . . . ?’

‘No, I couldn’t baby-sit,’ interrupted Adam.

‘We could take Emma with us,’ suggested Collette. ‘Maybe to the park?’

Take Emma out? In daylight?

‘We could take Emma in her buggy,’ said Collette.

Oh God. Pushing a buggy . . . I took a deep breath. I mean, it wasn’t that I was . . . ashamed of Emma. I wasn’t. It was just . . . People were bound to gawp at me. I glanced out of the kitchen window. It was a beautiful day with a blue sky and not a cloud in sight, so I couldn’t even use the weather as an excuse to stay put.

‘Would you like to go for a walk?’ I asked Emma. She smiled at me. I took that as a yes. ‘I’ll be right back,’ I told Collette. ‘Help yourself to a drink from the fridge if you want one.’

I headed upstairs with Emma and changed her out of her baby-gro and into one of the new dresses Dad had bought her. Her legs kicked out constantly like she was riding a bike in a triathlon. It was only my super-fast reflexes that stopped her kicking seven bells out of my arms. I put some fabric booties on her feet and we were ready to go. I hit the landing just as Dad came out of the bathroom.

‘You might’ve told me that Collette was coming round this early,’ he admonished.

‘I didn’t know she was,’ I replied.

‘Hmmm.’ Dad was only slightly placated. ‘Are you going out then?’

‘Yeah, we thought we’d take Emma to the park.’

‘Er, not without a hat on her head,’ frowned Dad. ‘It’s baking out there. D’you want the girl to get heatstroke? Where’s the pink cotton bonnet I bought her?’

‘In my drawer,’ I replied.

‘Well, it’ll do more good on her head,’ said Dad, adding with a sly smile, ‘I remember you had the sweetest little yellow bonnet and you used to cry your eyes out whenever your mum or I took it off you.’

‘Ha ha, Dad.’

‘I’m sure I’ve got a few photos of you in your sweet little hat if you’d like to show them to Collette.’ Dad’s grin broadened.

‘Oh, my splitting sides,’ I said sourly before heading back into my room to get Emma’s hat. Behind me, Dad chuckled.

Emma now had one of the three drawers in my chest of drawers. All my stuff that used to be in there had been chucked into the bottom of my wardrobe. I put Emma in her cot and rooted around in the drawer until I found her hat. The moment I put it on her head, she raised her hand to try and pull it off.

‘I don’t blame you,’ I told her. ‘But we’re going out now and it’ll protect you from the sun.’

‘Nnuuh, nnuuhg . . .’ Emma told me.

‘I hear you,’ I replied. ‘But it’s for your own good.’

We headed downstairs. Collette followed me into the sitting room and watched as I put Emma in her buggy. I checked Emma’s baby bag to make sure I had spare nappies and we were ready to go.

‘See you later, Dad,’ I called out.

He appeared at the top of the stairs, fully dressed in jeans and a blue T-shirt, thank goodness. ‘Enjoy your walk.’

Collette opened the front door and we walked out into the sunshine.

I’d never pushed a buggy before, and to be honest it felt a bit strange. Different. Unfamiliar.

‘D’you want me to push her?’ Collette asked from beside me.

‘No, it’s OK. I’ve got it,’ I told her.

We walked in silence for a while. I honestly couldn’t think of anything to say – something that had never happened between me and Collette before.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Collette finally.

‘For what?’

‘That you’ve got stuck with a kid you don’t want.’ Collette was only repeating what I’d said the night before, so why did it jar with me?

‘I was stupid, that’s all.’

‘Did Melanie say when she’s coming back?’

‘No. It could be next week or next year. Or never.’

‘What’re you going to do?’

‘I’m not sure. I’m thinking about my options,’ I said.

‘What about university?’

‘I’m still hoping to go, but . . .’ I shrugged. I didn’t need to say anything else. Silence.

‘What will you do if Melanie doesn’t come back before you’re due to start at uni?’

I shrugged again. ‘I’m trying to sort it out so that I can still go to uni, but it’ll take a week or two before I know one way or another what my options are.’

‘What’re you planning?’

‘I don’t want to say yet.’ I forced a smile. ‘I don’t want to jinx it.’

Pinning all my hopes on a DNA test was clutching at straws the size of quarks but it was all I had. If Emma . . . if she wasn’t my daughter, then I could hand her over to social services with a clear conscience.

But if it turned out that she was my daughter . . .

‘Nnuuu . . . wwunn . . .’ said Emma.

I peered over the buggy. ‘What’s the matter?’

Emma was kicking out and waving her hands and didn’t look at all happy.

‘What’s wrong?’ asked Collette.

‘I think she’s thirsty,’ I replied.

Well, it was a hot one. The sun was beating down like it was in a bad mood. Emma was grizzling, and quite frankly I couldn’t blame her. It hadn’t been my idea to come out in the first place. We were only halfway to the park and I was already feeling like a wilting lettuce leaf.

‘We could all do with something to drink,’ I decided. A few shops further along the high street was a newspaper shop that sold groceries as well. I swung the buggy round and we all headed inside. Heading straight for the fridge,
I grabbed a carton of orange juice for Emma, a can of ice-cold ginger beer for me and a strawberry and banana smoothie for Collette ’cause I knew it was her favourite. Then we went over to join the queue of people who’d had exactly the same idea.

A blonde middle-aged woman in the queue directly ahead of us turned round, to check out who was behind her, I guess. She looked fed-up and bored, but the moment she caught sight of Emma she was all smiles.

‘Hello, petal,’ said the woman, bending down to beam in poor Emma’s face. I pulled Emma’s buggy back slightly. I mean! ‘She’s gorgeous.’ The woman smiled at me. ‘And doesn’t she look like you.’

How I wished people would stop saying that. ‘Hmm . . .’ I replied noncommittally.

‘How old is your sister?’ asked the woman.

‘Er . . .’

‘It’s not his sister, it’s his daughter,’ Collette provided.

Why on earth did Collette volunteer information the woman hadn’t even asked for?

The expression on the woman’s face changed dramatically. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open in shock. ‘She’s your
daughter
?’ she asked, scandalized. She didn’t say it quietly either. More people in the queue turned round. My face began to burn. ‘She’s your daughter?’ the woman repeated, even louder than before just in case there was someone in the country who hadn’t heard her the first time. ‘How old are you?’ she continued, her eyes narrowing.

None of your business, that’s how old I am
, I thought
belligerently. I glanced at Collette. She was looking down, embarrassed.

‘Well?’ the woman persisted.

‘Seventeen,’ I said reluctantly.

Instant facelift. Her eyebrows almost hit her dyed blonde hairline. ‘Seventeen?’

Oh my God. The echo in this shop was truly astounding. The woman looked Collette up and down like Collette wasn’t much.

‘Don’t look at me. It’s not my baby,’ Collette proclaimed. ‘I’m just a friend. It has nothing to do with me.’

I looked at Collette, taking in the indignation lining her face. Her lips resembled an umbrella in the pouring rain.

One glance revealed only too clearly that the blonde didn’t believe her. ‘Kids having kids,’ the woman sniffed. ‘And no doubt you’re not working and living off benefits.’

‘It’s none of your business what I’m living off.’ That last comment made me snap like a ginger biscuit.

‘It is my business when it’s my tax money that’s providing your child benefit and Jobseeker’s Allowance and whatever else it is that wasters like you get from the state.’