I think about Dad and how sad a garden like this would make him. “There’s nothing growing. There are no birds,” he’d say. There are hardly any flowers; instead, there are some reeds and grasses that make it look a bit like a desert.
Every year post-thirty, Mum has seemed more agitated by what she sees in the mirror. “You look great for your age,” Drew says, “especially considering you’ve had twins.”
“I don’t want ‘considering,’?” Mum says, and he looks mystified. Often, like tonight, it falls to me to cobble dinner together while Mum’s at the gym. I’ve been trying to get better at cooking, learning more dishes that Drew might like. Recently, I made macaroni and cheese and put tuna in it, like I’d seen on TV.
Drew insisted on calling it “a fine Italian meal” and ruffling my hair. The Drew I’d first met in England would never have dreamed of eating something bright orange like this. I was touched by his flexibility. “Don’t tell your mum,” he said, as he poured a slug of red wine into my glass. “It goes with pasta after all.”
After a few more glasses of wine himself and another shot of it for me, my stepfather was talkative and my cheeks were pink.
“Angela’s lost her spark, Sarah. I’m worried about her.”
I didn’t say anything.
“All she talks about is the way she looks. She’s still an attractive woman though, Sarah. I mean, she’s got a few years on her since we met, but she dresses very well and she’s always made up. I said to her the other day, I said, ‘You’re so beautiful now, Angela, I can only imagine how gorgeous you were before having children.’ You’d think I’d insulted her.”
He was getting more animated then, red-faced and frowning. “I’m walking on eggshells in my own house here,” he suddenly exploded, and I’d jumped.
“Oh,” he’d said, rubbing my arm, “don’t mind me, don’t mind me. I’m just worried about your mum.”
He’d opened another bottle by then and he poured himself a big glass and took a gulp.
“Maybe she’s homesick,” I said.
The corners of his mouth twisted down and he shook his head. “Oh I don’t think it’s that, I don’t think it’s that at all.”
“Maybe she’s missing Robin and…” I ground to a halt.
“She loves your sister, but last time Robin was here, your mum was as relieved as I when she left. She’s a handful,” he said, “not like you. And as for that son of mine, well…” Drew took another big swig, his lips purple when he pulled the glass away. “Anyway, don’t you worry about it. I’m sure your mum will perk up. We’ll just have to give her some time.”
ROBIN|1996
They’re on their favorite spot: the wall behind the cricket pavilion, lined up like crows on a wire. Alistair and Robin, John and Callum. Smoking crumbly green weed in loose paper and laughing about nothing.
Callum is telling a story about John’s mum nearly catching them together.
“We’d just, y’know, finished what we were doing, and we hear footsteps up the stairs.” Callum’s shoulders shake and John takes over.
“Cal was like,” John stage-hisses, “?‘You promised me, John! You promised she’d be out!’ and I really did think she’d be out for longer. Anyway, I’m lying there like a wally, butt naked and fumbling around for my things, Cal’s hopping about, struggling to get his clothes on, and just before the door opens, he leaps into the wardrobe like something out of a sitcom, one leg in his trousers, and collapses on a pile of my clothes.”
“My heart’s going like the clappers,” Callum says, taking over, “and I’m hiding in all his dirty clothes and trying to be silent while his mum walks over to him, puts a cup of tea down on the side and totally ignores the fact that John’s lying there in bed, wearing just a T-shirt and covering his bits with a cushion at three in the afternoon.” They collapse into giggles, Callum leaning his head slightly onto John’s shaking chest.
“She thinks I’m really lazy,” John adds.
“Teenagers!” Callum says, in a mock shrill voice.
Alistair and Robin laugh but Alistair looks away first. He and Robin still haven’t done “it,” but now is not the time to bring that up. Especially in front of John, who is in the year above.
“Seriously though, what would she do if she caught you?” Robin asks. “I mean, you’re practically an adult.”
“Yeah, but he’s not.” John stops laughing and frowns as he grabs the joint from Callum and takes a deep drag. “And my mum is very traditional,” he says, as he blows out the smoke. “She might not mind semi-nudity in the afternoon, but she certainly minds the idea of two men being together. Two boys. Whatever.”
“She’s a massive homophobe,” Callum adds, shrugging.
“Yeah, she is.”
—
Robin is passed the floppy damp paper and takes a lungful, coughing the smoke back out in bursts until Alistair thumps her on the back to help. They’ve been going out for a couple of months now, just a few weeks less than Callum and John.
Callum and John’s friendship bloomed from a shared love of the same books and films and into something deeper. They can’t hold hands in public, they can’t kiss, they can’t really tell anyone outside of Robin and their closest friends.
When Callum first got together with John, he would spend hours lying on his bed, rambling to Robin about the various things that John had done or said. Analyzing his own performances in the conversation, worrying that he’d revealed his younger age or put John off. As the weeks passed, the analysis decreased and so too did Callum and Robin’s time with each other. They played guitar together less, and she often practiced alone instead. She tried not to be hurt and decided she needed to act. It was time to get a boyfriend of her own.
Alistair is in the same year as Callum and Robin, a short, baby-faced boy with a serious expression but a kind manner. He’s not exactly Robin’s type, which is more in the region of Michael Hutchence, but he’s an unassuming, easygoing lad, funny, trustworthy and willing to change. At her suggestion, he’d signed up for guitar lessons but has since switched to bass. It’s a little easier to keep up with her that way.
They walk home from the park arm in arm, stoned and sleepy, singing songs with patchy lyrics. As they reach a triple drain, they all sidestep it. It’s unlucky. Although none of them understands why.
Robin had seen Alistair’s look earlier. A look that she’d been ignoring for a while. But why not get it over with?
“I think I dropped my key behind the pavilion,” she mumbles.
“I’ve got mine,” Callum replies.
“Yeah, but I still need to find it or I’ll get bollocked. Come with me, Al?”
“Okay. But I need to get home soon or I’ll be—”
“You want to come with me,” Robin cut him off, lowering her voice as they drop back from the others. “Before I change my mind.”
“Oh,” he says.
“Yeah,” she says. “Why not?”
He presses his hand into hers and they jog, giggling, back to the park.
—
A week later and it’s all collapsed. Robin stares in disbelief as Callum hides his face and recounts the story.
“You just ran all the way home?” she asks.