The Locked Attic, page 11
The whole room was dark. At first I thought it was because of the smoke outside, but then realised his blinds were down. There was a MacBook Pro on the desk at the end of the room. The screen was glowing invitingly so I sat down on the chair in front of it and opened up his documents folder, pausing to check I could still hear the shower still running. I scrolled down through the many homework assignments. I noticed one called Trial Translation Draft 6. It had taken him six drafts? And another essay titled Cold Comfort Farm: A Discussion on What was Really in the Woodshed which ran on to 12 different variations. All this was either a symptom of his mother’s controlling hand in his homework, or Jonathan’s language skills weren’t as great as advertised. I left the documents and headed to the photos folder. I just hoped he had his iCloud set up so photos appeared on his laptop as well as his phone. There must be something. Some clue. Something to point me in the right direction. Photos, Danny had said. That one word was all I had. I scrolled through the different subfolders. ‘Skiing 2013’, ‘Center Parcs 2016’, ‘Butlins 2017’, which felt curiously off-brand for the Franklins. Another said ‘Christmas gifts’ and I was about to click on it to see what Jonathan had been asking Santa for when a voice from behind me said, ‘What are you doing?’
I turned to see Jonathan himself standing behind me. He had a towel around his waist, and the rest of him was dripping wet. He’d clearly just got out of the shower and had come back to his room to find me so wrapped up in my nosing that I was unaware the noise of the water had stopped.
‘Oh... er… sorry, I was… just looking.’
He frowned. ‘On my laptop? Why are you looking on there?’
I felt myself going red as I stepped away from the computer to face him properly. I was annoyed at myself for acting like a naughty child. I needed to retain the role of authority here. Jonathan was the child, and I was the adult. And I was tired of being in the dark when it came to him. I wanted to know everything.
‘Close the door now.’ I said it in a commanding tone, the kind I used to use when Danny had opted for TV instead of homework.
To my relief, it worked on Jonathan and he came in and closed the door behind him.
‘Why are you on my computer?’ he asked, taking a step towards me.
‘Because I want to know what was going on with my son before he died. What was going on between you two. What you did or said that made him turn into a completely different person in the weeks leading up to his death. You see, I know something was wrong. And your evasion and refusal to talk isn’t going to stop me. If you want, I’ll go and get your parents in here right now and ask them what they think it could be, because I don’t seem to be getting very far with just you.’
I went to stand up, but Jonathan put a hand out to stop me. ‘Wait. Please.’ He stood there, like a dripping statue, water running down his face, which looked different without his glasses on. Younger, more fragile. After a few seconds he moved to the side and let his frame drop onto the bed with a thud. He put his face in his palms, rubbing at his eyes. ‘It’s all… it’s all just so fucked.’
I was desperate to chivvy him along, to ask what was fucked, what was going on, but I knew from experience that when a teenager starts to tell you something they’re finding difficult, it’s best to hold fire on the third-degree questioning until they’ve got it all out. So I sat still and silent, waiting for the boy to continue.
After almost a full minute, he did.
And his story astonished me.
Seventeen
Danny
A year before the explosion
My crush thing on Mimi Franklin has started to fade. Back when we first moved here I didn’t think it would, but as time has gone on I’ve started to look around at the girls more my age. Girls I might have more of a chance of falling into bed with than Mimi.
Although I do still think about Mimi in that way, I’ve kind of moved on from thinking she is a ‘realistic prospect’, as Jonathan would put it. He doesn’t know I’ve been thinking about his sister like that – it’s just the way he always speaks about the girls he fancies. Are they a ‘realistic prospect’, or out of our league. It doesn’t help going to an all boys’ school, with only the sixth form girls in the North Annex to look at from a distance as they play sports on the field we share.
Our friend Scotty always says ‘What sort of girl decides to go to an all boys’ school for sixth form? A girl who wants to find the man of her dreams.’ We always tell him he’s a jerk, but I think we all secretly hope he’s right. And when the girls started coming to our house parties or hanging out to listen to our band practice, I too began to think his generalisation might have some truth to it because some of them really have been all over us. Really quickly. Two weeks ago, I was both surprised and nervous when Sara Watkins told me to follow her upstairs at a party at Scotty’s rugby friend Noah’s house. But I followed and did what I was told, going into an upstairs games room where older boys were drunkenly playing pool, while the massive TV on the wall played a weird edit of Game of Thrones battle scenes set to rock music. Scotty was on the sofa already, getting friendly with Sara’s friend Aoife. Sara just pushed me down and started kissing me and I went along with it. It was fun and exciting, and I felt myself going weak with pleasure as Sara kissed down my neck then started unbuckling my belt and unzipping my jeans.
I’d thought losing my virginity – even if it wasn’t the full-on virginity – would be this big, huge thing, but it didn’t really feel like that. At least, not until I tell Jonathan about it, two weeks after the party, when summer is getting ridiculously hot.
Jonathan and I decide to go swimming, hoping it will cool us down. It does just about, but also leaves us tired and a bit aimless afterwards, not sure what else to do. We end up wandering through the nearby woods that back on to the far end of Oak Tree Close. Probably how the road got its name. I think I once heard Jonathan’s mum saying the oak trees that lined the road used to be part of the wood back when it was a huge forest, before they chopped a lot of it down and built loads of houses. Even though the wood isn’t that large now, it’s still the sort of place where you can lose hours of the day without meaning to. And that’s what we decide to do. We spend an hour just ambling around, the bags with our swim kits nudging our backs as we wander between the path and the wilder bits, our wet hair drying quickly in the heat. Eventually we get too hot and sit down by a fallen tree in one of the shadier parts and share a can of Coke Jonathan got from the vending machine at the pool. It’s still cold and I only realise how thirsty I am when he passes it to me and I take a sip.
‘Thanks,’ I say and he smiles at me. We sit in silence for a bit. Jonathan and I often sit in silence. Silence with him is comfortable. Not awkward like it would be with some of the other people in my class. It doesn’t feel like we have to worry about saving up things to say, trying to make conversation, scared of dropping the conversation ball and making the situation flatline.
Jonathan does break the silence though, eventually. And he wants to talk about the party from a couple of weeks previously. The one held at Scotty’s mate’s house.
‘I heard that you and Sara talked a lot at the party,’ he says.
I laugh, realising the news of me and Sara’s activities had eventually reached him. ‘Yeah… more than talked.’
A few moments of silence go by before he replies. ‘Yeah. Yeah, Scotty said.’
I sigh. ‘Yeah, well, I didn’t think he could keep his mouth shut. But then neither could Sara.’ I laugh again, but I feel him tense next to me.
‘Don’t… don’t say stuff like that. You’re not like that.’
I frown at him, suddenly confused. ‘Not like what? It was only a joke.’ I turn quickly to face him, my legs scraping the twig-covered ground as I move.
‘Don’t talk about girls like that, as if they’re… I don’t know. I know Scotty and Noah and his friends go on about girls like that, as if they’re just there to do what they want for them, but you’re better than that. You’re better than all of them.’
This is coming completely out of the blue for me. Jonathan has never said anything like this. In fact, he doesn’t normally talk much at all; it’s usually me doing the talking, like moaning about my parents or homework or wanting a car as soon as I’m seventeen, and he just listens and says stuff now and then. Helpful stuff, in agreement, mostly. But this… this is new.
‘Er… well… sorry. I didn’t mean it badly. I was… Sorry. I was just embarrassed that Scotty’s been telling everyone that I got off with Sara.’
Jonathan says nothing. He just sits there, now playing with a leaf in his hands, shredding it slowly.
‘What… what do you mean… that I’m better than all of them?’
He’s still facing forward, but when I glance at him I can see that his face has gone all tense. It’s rigid, like he’s clenching his jaw.
‘I… Don’t worry. It doesn’t matter.’
‘What? It obviously does. What’s going on?’
Then he looks at me, and I’m completely shocked as I can clearly see tears in his eyes. They don’t fall though. He stays calm. Doesn’t burst into tears. And a couple of seconds later, I wonder if I’ve imagined them. And then everything goes out of my mind when he speaks.
‘I love you, Dan.’
I feel something drop within me, like I’ve become a pebble that’s been plunged into a deep pool.
‘Are you…? Do you mean…?’
His lip starts to tremble a bit, but he bites it hard with his top teeth and takes in a slow breath through his nose. Then he says, quite calmly, ‘I’ve loved you for ages. I’ve just always been scared to say.’
I’m trying to digest what he’s saying. If he’d just told me that he was gay, that would be simple and I wouldn’t have thought much of it. But this is much bigger news. And I’m not sure how to take it.
‘You mean… you like guys, not girls?’ I don’t know if this is the right question to ask, but I feel I need to get some firmer details on all this.
He shakes his head. ‘I like girls. I still, like, fancy girls. But I also like you.’
I frown at this. ‘Are you saying… you saying I’m like a girl?’
He makes a half-grunt, half-laugh sound. ‘No, I’m not saying that. I just mean that’s how I feel. I fancy girls. And I fancy— I love… you.’
Still frowning, I ask: ‘Why are you telling me this?’ It sounds harsher than I mean it to. I see his eyes crease at the sides, as if I’ve said something upsetting. ‘I just mean… why?’ I’m struggling for words. ‘I just wondered… are you asking me out?’ I decide to smile, to make all this a little bit lighter than it has become. I’m relieved when Jonathan smiles a bit too.
‘I think I am. But I think you just like girls and only girls. That right?’
I nod automatically. Then I pause. I’ve never thought about it. It hasn’t crossed my mind that I would ever fancy or want to do stuff with anyone other than a girl. Over the past few years, they’ve become one of the main things I think about. It was like, when I got to thirteen, a switch had been flicked in my brain and I suddenly started noticing them everywhere and what they were wearing and how it made them – and especially certain parts of them – look and how that made my heart leap a bit. I think back to a horribly embarrassing time at our local pub restaurant when the waitress dropped her little notepad as she was walking away from our table and had bent down to pick it up and Dad said, ‘Eyes back on the table, Danny.’ I realised I’d been staring at her obviously and felt cross with them all for noticing, and cross with myself for not being at all subtle. Whereas if it had been a guy who had dropped his notepad, there’s no way I’d have thought to stare in the same way. So that’s why I pause when Jonathan asks me. I don’t feel like I’ve had time to think it through to give a definite ‘no’.
I decide to speak out loud what I’m thinking and just be honest. ‘I’ve never thought about it. I mean… the idea of guys together doesn’t freak me out or anything. I just haven’t ever thought about it… like… to do with me. Does that make sense?’
Jonathan nods. He sits up a bit and seems to be relieved I am at least OK to talk about this unexpected subject he’s brought up. ‘Yeah, it does. Because I’d never thought about it… about anything to do with guys until we became friends.’
I smile again. ‘You trying to flatter me?’ I mean it playfully, but it probably sounds a bit forced. Jonathan just shrugs.
‘I just… think you’re amazing. You talk just… so easily about so many things. You’re confident about everything. You’re good at everything. Everyone likes you at school. Anyone would be your friend, but you’ve… you chose me.’
I am about to say that with us being opposite neighbours, I haven’t exactly chosen him, but then I remember his sister and why I’d originally started to hang out with Jonathan in the first place. I close my mouth. That bit probably wouldn’t sound very good to him.
‘Stop with the… I don’t know, the praise. It’s embarrassing. I mean, I’m not amazing—’
‘Sorry, I know. I shouldn’t have said all that. It’s cringe.’
I laugh a bit at that. ‘Yeah, it is cringe. But I don’t really mind. It’s OK.’
He turns to face me properly. ‘Really? You… don’t want to stop being friends or anything?’
I shake my head. ‘No, definitely not.’
We keep eye contact after I say that. He smiles and keeps looking at me. And I keep looking at him and his deep hazel-coloured eyes, still a bit red at the edges from the chlorine in the swimming pool.
We seem to slip into some parallel universe at that moment. Right there, in the woods, it’s like we’ve found a door to another world. Both of us together are thrown into something strange and exciting and extraordinary. Something we will always remember. And before I know it I’ve leaned towards him and he’s leaned towards me and we are kissing, my lips on his, his face touching mine. I can feel the prickle of stubble on his chin. I can taste the Coke Zero, and the Polos he crunched earlier when we’d set out to the pool on what I thought would be a normal day. I can smell his shower gel that I’d seen him rub on his body in the shower moments earlier. It’s odd. All of it is odd. But it isn’t bad. And the more it carries on, the less odd it feels. I lean in further and his hands move around me, inviting me into his embrace and I become aware of his palm moving down my back to my shorts, clasping on to me, exploring, and then I’m suddenly very aware of how into it I’m getting, and at that exact moment Jonathan’s hand moves round the front to my waist and he finds what he’s looking for. Pleasure rushes through me so fast I gasp and draw back.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says straightaway, pulling his hand back. ‘I got a bit… carried away…’
I’m panting as if I’ve run a mile without stopping, my heart beating a furious rhythm in my chest. ‘It’s… it’s fine. I just… I need to stop for a bit. All of this… it’s just…’ I laugh then, and the act feels like a relief, as if I’m either going to laugh or cry and I’ve chosen the more enjoyable option. Jonathan is still looking absolutely terrified, so I move back over to him and kiss him again. It feels like the most natural thing in the world from that point on. From the moment I decide to go back for more, to allow his hands to continue their journey across the top of my clothes, I realise I don’t mind it at all. After what feels like a thousand dizzying years, but what can only have been a minute or two, we stop kissing and break apart and sit there, side by side against the fallen tree in silence. The non-awkward, comfortable silence we’ve had before, only now it feels even more comfortable and nice.
When we start walking, Jonathan starts talking. He has questions, and so do I. But whereas before, these questions would have astonished me, they now seem just part of this new thing between us. The answers I have to give – and I know I have to give them – aren’t entirely the ones he’s been hoping for. I know that. But I also know it’s better than a flat-out no. So I tell him I’m not gay and don’t really know if I’m bi, and I’m also fairly sure I wouldn’t be up for having sex, not full-on sex at least – especially since I haven’t yet gone all the way with a girl yet. I tell him that I don’t mean it as anything bad towards him, just that I don’t feel comfortable with that, at least not right now. But what I am up for takes him by surprise. It’s him that suggests it. As a compromise, maybe. Would I be up for sleeping with him? Not shagging, actually sleeping. He says we’d fallen asleep together once on the same bed last year when I’d slept over and we were watching movies late. He’s been thinking about that time ever since, and wants to be in a bed with me again, the two of us falling asleep together. And in this new parallel world we now seem to be living in, this as an idea doesn’t seem that bad. In fact, part of me even thinks it sounds quite nice.
Instead of finding it weird and strange, I too find myself looking forward to the coming weekend, when Jonathan will come to mine for a sleepover on Saturday night, and instead of sleeping in the guest room or on a camp bed, he’ll actually be in my bed with me. The thought of it makes me smile. And when I tell him I’m cool with it, he smiles too.
Eighteen
Stephanie
The day of the explosion
‘It all happened at that party – the one where you picked us up. At Scotty’s house before Christmas.’
I nodded but didn’t say anything more, glad my instincts had been correct. I hadn’t been going mad. Something did happen that night.
‘It was all fine, but then some of them started doing… started doing coke. I don’t think it would have got weird, if that hadn’t happened. Well, maybe it would… I don’t know.’
