The Art of Being Normal (25 page)

I turn my key carefully in the lock and ease the front door open. The hallway is empty. I creep forwards and press my ear up against the kitchen door.

I can hear my family on the other side; the rustle of newspapers, muffled voices, the occasional clink of glasses and cutlery, Radio 4 playing in the background. A perfect family scene. And I’m about to turn it upside down.

I back away and head upstairs to my bedroom where I dump my bag on the floor and remove my coat. I hunt around in my desk for the unsent letter to my parents, the one I almost posted under their bedroom door way back in August. I take it out of its envelope and read it through before smoothing it out and carefully gluing it on to the next available page of my scrapbook.

Mum and Dad look up in surprise as I enter the kitchen.

‘You’re back early,’ Dad says. ‘We didn’t expect you until dinner time.’

‘You look like shit,’ Livvy observes.

‘Livvy!’ Mum scolds. ‘Language.’

‘But he does!’ Livvy protests, pointing at me with her yoghurt spoon.

‘That’s no excuse.’

Livvy drops the spoon with a clatter and stands up to leave the table.

‘Excuse me, madam, we clear up after ourselves in this household,’ Dad says.

Livvy rolls her eyes but heads over to the dishwasher with her dirty brunch dishes, loading them noisily before wandering into the living room and switching on the TV. The whole time I just stand there, clutching my scrapbook so hard my fingers start to feel numb.

Mum peers up at me.

‘You do look on the tired side, David,’ she admits. ‘Up chatting all night I expect. Now, do you want some scrambled eggs or something? I think there might even be some smoked salmon left if you’re lucky.’

I don’t say anything.

I simply walk over, put my scrapbook down on the table, and walk out again, shutting the kitchen door behind me.

I go upstairs, curl up on my bed and wait.

It’s only an hour before I hear the knock at the door, but it feels like days. And even though I’ve been expecting to hear it, it still makes me jump.

‘Come in,’ I say, sitting up.

The door opens and in step Mum and Dad, the scrapbook tucked under Dad’s arm, their faces serious.

I stare up at them and realise my whole body is quaking all over. I wonder whether there’ll ever be a time when my body does what I want it to.

Dad clears his throat.

‘David,’ he says, ‘before we say anything more, we want you to know one important thing. And that’s that your mum and I love you very much. We always have and we always will. But we also need a bit of time to digest this, OK?’

I nod.

‘Now, are you certain this is what you want, David?’ Mum asks, edging forward. ‘You’re not just confused?’

‘No, I’m sure, Mum. I’ve been sure for ages now.’

‘Yes,’ she says quietly, lowering her eyes.

As I watch her move across the room, it’s almost like I can see all the plans she had for my future slowly crumbling inside her head.

‘Why didn’t you tell us earlier?’ she asks, her eyes glistening with tears as she sits down on the bed beside me. Dad reaches across and squeezes her hand.

‘I don’t know,’ I say. ‘I was scared I think. I was worried you would disown me or something.’

Mum starts crying properly then. Of course that sets me off, and then Dad too, which is miraculous in itself because I haven’t seen Dad cry over anything non-football related since his parents died. Noisy crying must be genetic because we’re so loud Livvy comes barging in assuming Granny must have just died. Mum whisks her out of the room, reassuring
her Granny is very much alive. She ends up dropping her off at Cressy’s for the afternoon, leaving the three of us to talk without interruption.

We go through my scrapbook, page by page. I show Mum and Dad the videos I’ve been watching on YouTube, the forums I’ve visited, the websites I’ve pored over. I tell them about the specialist clinic in London, the one where Leo goes. I monitor their faces out of the corner of my eye as they stare at the computer screen, their eyes wide, and I can almost see the cogs in their heads whirring at a speed of one hundred revolutions per second as they try to process everything they’re seeing and hearing. Some of the more explicit stuff makes them frown and wince and I can tell Mum is fighting back more tears. But they keep watching, reading, listening. All the time I have to keep reminding myself I’ve had pretty much my whole life to slowly get used to the idea, while they’ve only had a few hours.

Dad goes off to make tea. He comes back with a tray packed with biscuits (the nice ones we usually only get out when we have guests), cheese and pickle sandwiches and massive mugs of tea. We sit on my floor and have a sort of picnic, sitting in a triangle, our knees touching.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, as we slurp tea, my throat exhausted, my tear ducts sore.

Mum frowns. ‘What do you mean, David?’

‘For not being normal. I know it would be easier for everyone if I was.’

She and Dad exchange looks.

‘I’m not going to lie to you,’ she says. ‘Of course I’d prefer
it if things were more straightforward. I love you and I don’t want to have to see you have a hard time unnecessarily. And the road ahead, if this is what you really want to do …’

‘It is,’ I say firmly.

‘Well then, the road ahead is going to be tough. It’s going to be long and painful and frustrating and you’re going to encounter people who don’t understand it. I’m not even sure I understand it right now.’

‘I know. But I’m ready, I promise I am.’

‘What I’m trying to articulate, David,’ she says, ‘is that we love you and we’re going to support you.’

‘Besides,’ Dad says, ‘who wants to be normal anyway? Fancy that on your gravestone. “Here lies so-and-so. They were entirely normal”.’

I smile. But I can tell he’s putting on a brave face with all the fake jolliness. It reminds me of when his mum died and he was all lively and together at the wake, making jokes and filling up everyone’s drinks, and later I overheard him crying alone in the bathroom.

The phone rings. Mum and Dad both claim it must be for them, leaving me alone among the remnants of our picnic.

When Livvy gets home from Cressy’s, we all eat dinner round the table and Mum and Dad act like nothing has changed, when really, three out of four of us know that everything has.

I go to bed early. Mum tucks me in, something she hasn’t done in years. She’s been crying some more, I can tell because her face is covered in fresh blotches.

‘Can I show you something?’ I ask as she turns to leave.

‘Of course,’ she says, although she looks a little fearful.

I pick up my phone and scroll through the camera roll until I find the shot of Leo and me from the other night in Tripton. Despite his protests, Leo is grinning at the camera, his eyes sparkling. Next to him I’m beaming away, rosy-cheeked, high on alcohol and life. I pass the phone over to Mum and hold my breath. She stares at the screen for ages.

‘When was this taken?’ she asks, not taking her eyes off it.

‘Not long ago,’ I reply, biting my lip.

I try to read her expression, but I can’t quite work it out.

‘You look really happy,’ she says finally.

‘Thank you,’ I whisper.

She peers closer at the photograph and her expression changes a little. She looks up at me, a different kind of frown on her face from the one she’s been wearing for the majority of the day.

‘Was this taken in a pub?’ she asks.

‘Course not,’ I lie. ‘You know I don’t drink.’

Four weeks later

It’s the last Friday of term before the Christmas holidays and Essie and Felix have been acting weird all week; lots of urgent whispering when they think I’m not looking, and fixed smiles when they think I am. At first I put it down to boyfriend/girlfriend stuff but something tells me it’s more than that.

Today is definitely the pinnacle of their weirdness. In history Essie is totally manic, babbling non-stop. Even Felix seems on edge.

‘What’s going on, guys?’ I ask, for at least the one-hundredth time this week.

‘Nothing,’ they reply in unison.

‘We’re still on for tonight, aren’t we?’ I ask.

‘Of course we are,’ Essie replies. ‘Why wouldn’t we be?’

‘Just checking,’ I murmur.

For the first time ever we’ve decided to boycott the Christmas Ball. Instead we’re going to hang out at mine, gorge on pizza (Essie and I anyway, Felix will be bringing his own cauliflower-crust alternative) and watch Christmas films. And although I know we’ll have fun and everything, and even though the Christmas Ball has proved the most disappointing night of the year every year for the past three, I can’t help but feel a small ache of regret that tonight it’s going ahead without me.

The final lesson before lunch is maths. Mr Steele hosts a maths quiz. I’m pretty sure ‘quiz’ is just a slightly friendlier word for test, but I surprise myself by actually doing OK, not good enough for a prize, but OK. After the lesson I head to the canteen. I’m unloading my tray when I sense someone by my side. I look up. It’s Leo.

Upon his return to school following our weekend in Tripton, the teachers quickly figured out what was going on and a series of special assemblies was arranged, explaining Leo’s situation and what being transgender means, and making it clear that anyone found guilty of bullying would face a harsh punishment. Although the name-calling and cruel whispers haven’t stopped altogether, they’ve certainly died down.

Leo and I have steadily been hanging out more. We’ve been to the cinema a couple of times, sometimes to McDonald’s or Nando’s afterwards. He’s been over to my house a few times too, and charmed the pants off my mum and, to my surprise, Livvy. A couple of times a week he eats lunch with Essie, Felix and me. He never says a lot; just listens and
occasionally chips in with a sarcastic comment. Earlier in the week, the four of us went to see the drama club’s production of
Oh! What a Lovely War
in the school hall. Alicia was in it. She looked very beautiful and sang two solos. While she was singing Leo’s eyes looked all dreamy and sad.

He emailed his therapist, Jenny, about me, and she gave him the details of some support groups to pass on to me that might be helpful while I’m waiting for my referral to the specialist clinic in London to be accepted. Leo promises he’ll come with me in the New Year, although I’m not sure he will when the time comes. He avoids the subject of his gender whenever possible, even with me.

‘Hey,’ I say, opening my can of Coke.

I notice Leo’s lack of food.

‘Don’t tell me you weren’t tempted by the driest turkey in the land,’ I say, presenting my plate as if it’s the top prize in a game show.

‘I can’t stay,’ he replies. ‘I just came by to give you this.’

He hands me a note.

I frown and open it, immediately recognising Essie’s spidery handwriting.

If anyone asks, you don’t know where we are. See you at yours tonight. E & F x

I look up at Leo.

‘You know what’s going on?’ I ask.

‘No idea. They just asked me to make sure you got this. Why, what does it say?’

‘That they’re bunking,’ I say. ‘But they never bunk.’

For all Essie’s claims to be a rebel, she never misses school unless she’s close to dying.

Leo shrugs. ‘I dunno. Like I said, they didn’t say anything else.’

He stands up and turns to go.

‘Hey,’ I call after him. ‘Are you going to the ball tonight?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Me, Essie and Felix are hanging out at my house if you fancy it?’

‘Thanks for the offer, but I reckon I’m just going to stay in tonight.’

I can’t help but feel disappointed.

‘That’s too bad. In that case, I guess I won’t see you until next term?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘Merry Christmas then.’

He smiles.

‘Yeah, Merry Christmas.’

I watch him leave.

That afternoon, usual lessons are cancelled and replaced by DVDs or games, which makes Essie and Felix’s disappearing act even more puzzling.

On the way home, Mum plays Christmas songs in the car.

In the back seat Livvy jigs up and down.

‘Excited about your first ball then, Liv?’ I ask over my shoulder.

‘Duh?’ she replies. ‘Of course I am. It’s going to be epic. Mum, did I tell you there’s going to be an actual snow machine?’

‘You did, darling,’ Mum says, winking at me.

‘Ten of us are going to Cressy’s to get ready. Cressy’s mum has hired a limo and everything, a white one.’

‘Sounds great,’ I murmur.

‘Not just great, epic,’ Livvy says dreamily.

After an initial freak-out, Livvy has taken the news of what my parents are referring to as my ‘gender issues’ far better than expected, the blow possibly softened by my parents’ promise to coincide my first clinic appointment in London with a trip to see
Wicked
afterwards. I often sense Livvy looking at me though, through narrowed eyes, as if she’s trying to figure me out by telepathy or some other cosmic means, rather than just coming out and asking me.

‘Did you get ice cream in for tonight?’ I ask Mum.

‘Of course.’

‘What flavours?’

‘Oh, you know, a variety,’ she says vaguely.

‘And did you get the non-dairy stuff for Felix?’

‘I think so …’

We pull into the driveway. As I’m climbing out of the car I’m certain I see the curtain twitch, which is weird as Dad doesn’t normally get home from work until at least five-thirty, if not later.

Mum opens the door, nudging me through it first, to reveal Essie and Felix in a tableau on the stairs, Essie with her arms outstretched, Felix crouching beside her.

‘Surprise!’ they yell.

I notice Essie is wearing a pair of fairy wings and has glitter smeared on her cheeks, and Felix is sporting plastic mouse ears and an all-in-one garment that looks suspiciously like a silver unitard.

‘Don’t ask,’ he says.

‘What are you guys doing here?’ I ask. ‘You’re not meant to be coming over until seven.’

‘We were fibbing!’ Essie sing-songs with delight.

I turn to Mum.

‘Did you know about this?’

She just shrugs innocently and ushers Livvy into the kitchen.

Essie scampers down the stairs, followed by Felix, his hands hovering awkwardly over his crotch.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask.

‘She’s got a thing planned,’ Felix whispers.

‘Oh. OK.’

Essie produces a wand from behind her back and starts swinging it about above her head.

‘Do not fear, sweet thing, for tonight, Cinderella, you shall go to the ball!’ she cries in a theatrical voice.

She points her wand at Felix, almost poking him in the eye. He scampers up the stairs, returning a few seconds later with a shiny black box in his hands. I peer at it, realising it’s a brand new make-up kit.

‘It’s Mac,’ I say, looking up. ‘But this stuff costs a fortune.’

‘My dad’s wife works at the head office,’ Essie says with a shrug.

‘But you can’t stand her,’ I say.

‘She’s been tolerable the last few times I’ve seen her,’ Essie mutters sheepishly.

Essie waves her wand again and Felix hurtles back up the stairs. He returns with a wig on a polystyrene head.

‘Is that
my
wig?’ I ask. It’s been styled into soft waves and has a small tiara nestled on top.

‘Yep,’ Essie says proudly. ‘Hats off to your mum for smuggling it out of your room without you noticing.’

I peer down the hallway, but Mum has shut the kitchen door.

‘And now for the pièce de résistance!’ Essie cries.

She waves her wand a final time. Felix goes dashing up the stairs once more, emerging a few seconds later carrying a dress bag.

‘Open it,’ Essie whispers, her eyes glittering.

Slowly I unzip the dress bag to reveal just about the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. It’s light blue with delicate shoulder straps, a full skirt and a gauzy sash round the waist.

‘It’s just like the movie star dresses in my scrapbook,’ I breathe, running my fingers over the silky fabric.

‘I know,’ Essie says excitedly.

‘It’s incredible, it really is. But I can’t wear it,’ I say, doing up the zip.

Essie’s face drops.

‘What do you mean, you can’t wear it?’ she demands.

‘Are you serious? Wear this to the ball? With a wig and make-up and stuff? Can you imagine what Harry would do?
I’d be a laughing stock until the end of time. Look, I’m really touched you’ve done all this for me, I’m bowled over, but I can’t go to the ball wearing this, I’m sorry.’ I shove the dress back into Felix’s arms, tears in my eyes.

‘When Ess said “you shall go to the ball”, she didn’t specify which ball,’ Felix says gently.

‘What do you mean?’

‘We mean we’re not going to the Eden Park Christmas Ball,’ he says.

‘Then where are we going? We’re not crashing some other school’s ball are we?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Then where are we going?’

‘You’re just going to have to trust us,’ Essie says.

I hesitate.

‘Look, just start getting ready,’ she continues. ‘All will become clear, I promise. Oh, wait, one last thing.’

She runs up into my bedroom, returning a minute later with a shoebox. I take off the lid to discover a pair of silver sequined Converse.

‘Trainers?’ I say.

She smiles mysteriously.

‘I told you; all will become clear.’

Having my mum do my make-up is probably one of the most surreal episodes in my life so far (and probably hers). It’s almost as surreal as having Felix sitting on my bed dressed as a mouse watching. Dad arrives home from work and orders us pizzas (salad for Felix) before dropping Livvy off
at Cressy’s house. Things get even more surreal as I sit round the kitchen table in my bathrobe wearing full make-up, chomping on a slice of Hawaiian pizza with my parents as if it’s the most normal thing in the world.

At six-thirty I am standing alone in my bedroom staring at myself in the full-length mirror on the back of my door, not entirely sure of what to make of the person staring back at me.

There’s a knock at the door.

‘C’mon out!’ Essie calls. ‘We wanna see.’

‘Hang on,’ I yell back.

Because I want this moment to last a few seconds longer. Just me and the mirror. And me finally liking what I see in the reflection, even if it also makes me feel like I might faint or vomit or both at any second.

More knocking.

‘All right, all right, I’m coming,’ I say, taking one final look. ‘But first, close your eyes.’

‘They’re closed!’ Essie and Felix call back in unison.

I take a deep breath and cautiously step out on to the landing. Essie and Felix are poised, holding hands, their eyes screwed shut, Felix dressed in a slightly too-large tuxedo, Essie in a very short purple dress and artfully ripped fishnet tights.

‘OK, you can open them now,’ I instruct.

Essie opens hers first, gasps, hugs me and promptly bursts into tears.

‘I’m hoping they’re happy tears,’ I say as she sobs on my shoulder.

‘Of course they are!’ she wails, breaking away and clinging on to the banister as mascara pours down her cheeks.

Felix passes her a fresh toilet roll before breaking into a grin and pulling me into a hug.

‘You look amazing,’ he whispers. ‘Proper fit.’

I laugh and hug him even harder than I already was.

The doorbell goes.

‘That’ll be Leo,’ Felix says. ‘I’ll get it.’

‘Leo?’ I say.

‘Well you can’t go to the ball without a date,’ Essie says, blinking away her tears.

‘Wait,’ I begin to protest. But Felix is already bounding down the stairs. Dad beats him to the door. Essie and I hang over the banister and watch as Leo steps into the hallway, looking self-conscious in a grey suit and a blue tie.

Essie wolf-whistles. ‘Nice threads, Denton!’ she calls.

He rolls his eyes in response.

‘Aw, check out Leo’s tie,’ Essie whispers, as Dad takes Leo’s jacket and offers him a slice of leftover pizza. ‘It matches your dress!’

‘Don’t even go there,’ I warn her.

‘Why not? You’re single, he’s single …’

‘We’re just friends, Ess.’

‘But you guys would be so cute together!’

‘Ess, I mean it,’ I say firmly.

‘You’re no fun at all,’ she says. She’s smiling too though.

I kept my promise to Leo. I haven’t told Essie or Felix I was with him the weekend I went to Tripton. They suspect though, and have probably been driving themselves insane
trying to figure out what we were up to down there. And maybe one day, with Leo’s permission, I’ll tell them, but for now that weekend is our secret – just Leo’s and mine.