Last Bus to Everland, page 21
It takes a few seconds for what he’s just said to click. When it does, I spin around to face him; he’s looking at me with this wobbly half-smile on his face.
‘Amir’s your boyfriend?’
‘Was.’ He tugs his sleeves over his hands. ‘He broke up with me in February.’
Something Jett said to me when I told her Jake was my brother comes back to me: ‘Shame about him and Amir.’ For a few seconds, I’m too shocked to do anything but gawp at him. And then a wave of anger crashes over me so fast, it leaves me dizzy.
‘Are you joking?’ It comes out as a shout, startling two women waiting for a bus along the road. ‘My whole life, you made me feel shit about being like this. About being different.’
Jake’s face falls. ‘What? No, I didn’t—’
‘Yes, you did! . . . Those are girls’ toys, Brody. Boys aren’t supposed to like that, Brody. Man up, Brody. Be normal, Brody.’
‘That – that was ages ago. I didn’t realize you remembered all that.’ Jake stares at me, shell-shocked. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know why I was like that. Maybe I was jealous of you on some level. You were so . . . yourself when you were younger. You didn’t care about being different. I was terrified of it.’
His eyes well up, and that pisses me off too – I can’t even cry because he spent my whole childhood telling me not to. I stand up and start pacing, my hands clenched into fists.
‘You should’ve said something,’ I tell him. ‘You’ve made me feel like an idiot. Again.’
Jake wipes his eyes on his sleeve. ‘Brody, I can hardly say or do or be anything without you hating me for it,’ he says. ‘Every time I try to help you with something, you act like I’m calling you thick. Whenever I stick up for you in front of those girls, you look more pissed off with me than you are with them. If I told you I’m gay, you’d have hated me for . . . I don’t know, for stealing your thunder, probably. I can’t win with you.’
I open my mouth to argue, then stop. He’s . . . kind of right. If he’d told me this while him and Amir were still going out, I would have been pissed off that he beat me to it. I would have been jealous that he got a boyfriend before I did. I might have worried that our parents would be fine with one gay kid, but that two would be too much for them to handle. And maybe I still will, but Jake’s crying properly now. The anger still pulsing through me starts to slow. This can’t have been easy for him, either. I know that much.
I sit back down and wait until he’s ready. A lady walking a Dalmatian comes over and offers him a tissue. He thanks her and wipes his nose.
‘Why did he break up with you?’ I ask quietly.
‘He met somebody else,’ Jake says, sniffing. ‘Someone more fun. Someone who doesn’t spend every day of their life studying . . . who doesn’t have a panic attack every ten minutes.’
‘You’ve had more of those?’
‘A ton of them.’ He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. ‘It sucks because I keep thinking we’d probably still be together if I hadn’t been so obsessed with getting into Cambridge. And now I’ve done it, and I’m not even sure I actually want to go any more.’
His first confession was a shock. This one practically makes my jaw hit the pavement.
‘What? What do you mean? Why?’
‘Lots of reasons. The cost is one thing – it’d be so much cheaper to stay at home, instead of getting loans and credit cards to pay for halls. And I don’t know if I want to be that far away, what with everything that’s going on with Mam and Dad right now. Not when I could study here and work part time and help them out.’ He runs his hands through his hair. ‘Plus, I like school, and I love my friends, but it’s exhausting being so different from everybody else. Cambridge would be more of the same.’
I shake my head. ‘Nah, they must have tons of people from state schools or on scholarships and that.’
‘Some, yeah. And I know I’m at an advantage, being white and privately educated. A massive advantage. But I still don’t know if it’s right for me.’ He shrugs his shoulders. ‘It’s just what you do at my school: you aim for Oxbridge. Maybe I was just going along with what everyone was telling me, without really thinking about what I want.’
‘Christ,’ I mutter. ‘You’re full of revelations today.’
‘I know, right?’ He gives a bubbly laugh and wipes his nose again. ‘Sorry. I’m a bit of a mess right now.’
This feel so weird. All those years of thinking my brother had everything sorted, that he knew exactly who he was and what he wanted – that I knew exactly who he was and what he wanted.
‘Look, I obviously don’t hate you,’ I say. ‘It’s just . . . you ken those Pinterest Fail memes? Like, a photo of some amazing three-tier cake and then somebody’s crappy attempt at copying it, all sad and lopsided? I feel like everyone sees me as the sad, lopsided version of you.’
He snorts with laughter. ‘Brody. That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.’
‘It’s true, though.’ My eyes are prickling. ‘You’re a hundred times smarter than I am. You’re more confident, you’re more popular, you’re good at sports. You never got lumbered with the stupid Fairy nickname like I did. You even got better skin than me. I know you’re not trying to make me feel like shit, but you kinda do.’
Jake leans back against the shop door, shaking his head.
‘That’s such crap, man. I mean, for one thing, you’re amazing at drumming. I could never do anything like that. I’ve been playing the violin for years, and I’m still terrible,’ he says, rubbing his eyes. ‘And for another, life’s not all about what you’re good at. It’s about being a good person. And you are one. If you, me and a packet of bubble gum were all tied to a railway track, and a train was coming, Keira would save you, then the gum, then take a few selfies, check her messages, then consider saving me if she had time left over.’
‘Hardly,’ I say. ‘It’d be phone, selfie, gum, me, you. But aye, you’d definitely be last.’
He laughs. I have to admit, it does feel good to make him laugh for a change.
‘What are you gonnae do, then? Instead of Cambridge.’
‘I haven’t made my mind up yet. I got into St Andrews and Edinburgh, too. So maybe I’ll stay closer to home.’
Somewhere in the Old Town, a clock strikes midnight. Jake stands up, wipes his eyes, then holds a hand out. I take it and let him pull me to my feet.
‘Come on, we’d better get back before Mam gets home,’ he says. ‘I won’t tell her you were planning on eloping without saying goodbye.’
‘I was not eloping.’
‘You totally were. You’re basically Lydia Bennett.’
I actually get that reference; Pride & Prejudice is one of Mam’s favourite films. ‘Aye, well, you’re Mary Bennett. Slaving over your piano while everyone else is out having a laugh.’
He whacks my arm, laughing. ‘God, I probably am and all. How depressing.’
We walk back down Princes Street in an easy silence, past students on nights out and a few late-night dog walkers. I’m trying to take in everything Jake’s told me. I always thought my brother didn’t understand me, but clearly I don’t understand him either. Yet more things I’ve been oblivious to.
Neither of us has any more money on us, and Jake’s bus pass is only good for one person, so we have to walk all the way home. En route, I send Nico a string of messages, but he doesn’t reply. I wonder if he’s pissed off at me. Or if he thinks I’ve changed my mind. Another missed call from Dad pops up, but I swipe it away. I’ll deal with the fallout later.
It’s almost one in the morning by the time we get back, and apart from a couple of drunk guys arguing in Swedish outside a pub, the streets are pretty quiet. When we reach Mackay House, the lights of our flat are still on: the one in mine and Jake’s bedroom (though I’m sure I switched it off) and the living-room light too. I remember the missed calls from Dad, and a weird feeling starts to creep over me. Like that night in Everland, I can just tell – something’s not right.
Ignoring my sore ankle, I start to run. Jake follows me up the stairs, asking what’s the rush this time. When we reach 9B, my heart drops. The door is wide open, and Dad’s not there. The TV has been left on, a show about chess still playing, and there’s a dent from his head imprinted on the sofa cushion.
But my dad is gone.
We check his and Mam’s bedroom, but it’s empty. Jake barges into Keira’s and turns on the light; she groans and flips on to her front, mumbling something about not wanting to get up yet, then peeks up when we ask her where Dad’s gone.
‘What do you mean? Is he no watching TV?’
That nervous feeling swells into full-on fear. Jake and I look at each other, then run out the flat and back down the stairs. Suddenly, my dad’s cramped little life feels enormous: he could be anywhere, and anything could have happened. Scenes from the night he was attacked flicker through my mind like strobe lighting: Dad lying in a hospital bed; machines beeping; a nurse pulling Jake and me from the room. I picture all his panic attacks, in supermarkets and on street corners. And creeping behind them, a much darker thought: maybe he’s had enough of his cramped little life altogether.
When we turn right past the Co-op, a tall figure steps into the light of a street lamp. His eyes are wide and unblinking, and he’s shaking. The relief snatches my breath away. For a moment, Dad just stares at us. Agoraphobia is a mental illness, but for him it has physical effects: a pounding heart, tight lungs, hands and knees that shake so hard he can barely stand up.
‘Where the hell have youse been?’ His voice comes out as half-shout, half-gasp. ‘I’ve been calling you all night.’
Even with Dad trembling all over and my own heart still thumping, this feels almost miraculous: it’s been years since I saw him anywhere but sitting on the sofa or pottering around the kitchen. I wonder what it must look like to him, this world that he’s spent so long avoiding. I wonder what it’s like to feel the wind on your face for the first time in over half a decade; if the cold seems more bitter after so long inside.
‘I didn’t have my phone on me, Dad. We were just . . . out for a walk,’ Jake says. He puts his arm around Dad’s back and tries to steer him towards the flat, but Dad brushes him off. Two women walk past, openly staring. ‘What are you doing?’
‘I was looking for Brody.’ Dad looks at me and takes a long, shaky breath. ‘I found this.’
He holds up a piece of paper, and my stomach drops. My letter to Megan. I didn’t think anyone would notice it for a good few days, and only then when I never came back from Everland. My first reaction is to ask him why the hell he’s going through my stuff, but I swallow that back. It’s not the time. Still, he’s clearly more clued-in than I gave him credit for.
‘What the hell were you . . .’ Dad breaks off, shaking his head. ‘Why would you do that, Brody?’
He looks broken. Not the way he was that time in the hospital; a different type of damaged. I can’t even look him in the eye. I stare at the ground, mentally tracing the lines between the constellations of dried chewing gum scattered across the pavement. After a moment, Jake clears his throat.
‘Look, let’s go home. We can talk about this inside.’
It takes us a while to get back: Dad’s legs are still unsteady, and even the slow stream of night-time traffic is freaking him out. When we finally arrive home, Keira’s up, and Mam’s in the middle of dialling a number on the landline. When she sees us, she drops the handset and rushes over to Dad, bombarding him with questions about what happened and where we’ve been. Dad slumps down on to the cushions, still wheezing a little.
‘I’m gonnae make some tea,’ I mutter, disappearing into the kitchen as Jake starts to explain. I don’t want to see the look on Mam’s face when he tells her what I was planning. As the kettle boils, I try to work out what the hell I’m going to say to them. There’s no way I can pretend that letter to Megan was anything other than a goodbye note. Looking back, I don’t know why I didn’t just stick it in her locker at school. Stupid to think I could hide anything in a flat this size.
My hands are sweating as I carry the mugs of tea back into the living room. Mam is reading my letter to Megan, one hand pressed to her mouth. I fight the urge to snatch it away from her and instead sink down to the carpet, pulling my knees to my chest. Dad takes a long gulp of tea, then points at me.
‘You’re gonnae tell us what’s going on. Now.’
The presents that I left in the shoebox are lined up on the coffee table like evidence in a trial. Keira picks up the bottle and stares at the tiny village inside. It looks different without the lights of Everland shining on the glass. Like somewhere small and dull . . . and impossible to escape.
‘I havnae been very happy lately,’ I say, and the truth of that hits me like a punch to the gut. ‘But I’ve been seeing this . . . guy, and he . . . he makes me feel better, but he’s leaving Edinburgh. I was gonnae go with him.’
They stare at me for what feels like the longest, longest time. This is the second time tonight I’ve told this story, this half-truth, and it sounds even more ridiculous than the first. I almost wish I could tell them about Everland, just so they’d know it’s not as nuts as it sounds – that I’m not as reckless as it makes me sound. But they’d think I’d actually lost it if I did.
‘So you were running away.’ Dad swallows. ‘Without telling us. Without even saying goodbye.’
‘Well . . . you’d’ve stopped me if I told you.’
‘Bloody right we would’ve stopped you!’ Mam snaps. ‘You think we’d just let you take off like that? You’re sixteen, Brody!’
‘Aye, but –’ I grapple for a reason. ‘I dunno – I thought it might be better this way. Like, I know money’s tight at the moment. One less person to feed and all that.’
Jake scoffs and rolls his eyes. Keira calls me a moron. Mam stands up, mumbling something under her breath, and paces around the room. If Tink was here, he might have hissed. It’s a cheap trick, really, using their financial issues to try and talk my way out of this – not even I really believe my parents would ever see it that way. But to my surprise, Dad’s eyes soften.
‘You wouldn’t believe the amount of times I’ve had thoughts like that.’ His Adam’s apple bobs under his chin. ‘A lot of the time, I feel like a total waste of space. When your mam works all they extra shifts and I cannae even pop down the shops to help her out; every time I miss one of Keira’s shows or Jake’s rugby games. It feels like I’m no doing my job as your dad.’
There’s silence. This is the first time he’s ever been this honest with us. The first time he’s spoken about his agoraphobia at all. I can tell it’s hard for him to say: he winces with each word. His eyes float over to the TV, but for once there’s nothing on the screen. Just his own reflection gazing back at him.
‘Honestly . . . there are days when it feels like you’d all be better off without me.’
I remember the first time Leanne and Michelle took the piss out of Dad. We were eleven, and they said he was a wuss, that he was a loser who was too afraid to even go outside. When I came home and told Mam about it, she pointed out how brave he is: he was in the army, for one thing, and he almost got killed stepping into a three-against-one fight. But even if he hadn’t done those things, even if his agoraphobia had just come out of nowhere . . . he’d still be brave. There’s bravery in getting up every morning and battling a disease that you hardly understand. There’s bravery in surviving this world when your mind can only focus on the bad in it. Not the sort of bravery that’ll earn you a medal or a paragraph in the paper, but it’s still bravery. He is trying.
Mam reaches for Dad’s hand. Keira climbs into his lap and puts her arms around his neck. Jake leans over and pats his shoulder.
‘That’s ridiculous, Dad,’ I say, and it’s my turn for my voice to choke up. ‘Of course we wouldnae be – how can you think that?’
‘Well, how can you?’ He shifts Keira on to one leg so he can lean towards me. ‘Listen. I know you think we don’t see you, Brody, but we do. I know you think that you need straight As and a place at Cambridge for us to be proud of you, but that’s a load of crap. The three of you are different. You’re gonnae have different lives, and different opportunities. I know that’s unfair, but it doesn’t make you any less. It’s about time you realized that, son.’
My eyes feel hot. I think about him finding that letter tucked inside my copy of Peter and Wendy and panicking – a panic that overrode his instincts and sent him running out of Mackay House trying to find me.
Jake’s right. Him and Mam, they wouldn’t pick themselves up from this if I vanished. I don’t know if I can risk that.
I don’t know if I want to.
A few years ago, Dad and I watched a documentary about astronauts coming back to Earth after years in space. I’d never thought about what that must feel like before: how weird it must seem to let go of something and see it plummet to the ground when you expect it to float away, or how messed up their brains must get having to battle gravity to stay upright. One guy said his lips and tongue even felt heavier when he got home. Like just talking was something solid and awkward, more of a chore than it had been before.
That’s how waking up on Friday feels. Like I’ve spent a year gliding past the stars, and now I’ve crash-landed back on Earth.
Because I can’t do it.
I can’t choose Everland.
Over the weekend, I try and talk myself back into it. I think about how I feel there, and all the things I’ll be able to avoid there. I think about Nico a lot. Nothing works. My decision was made, but my talk with Dad last night broke it again. No putting it back together now.
Though, if I’m really honest . . . at points, I wonder if I ever really planned on leaving. Maybe part of me knew Jake would hold me back when I said goodbye to him last night. Maybe I left Megan’s letter and the presents somewhere Dad could find them on purpose. It definitely didn’t seem like that at the time. But maybe my subconscious has more control than I realized.
