I hold my hand out. “I’m Kyle.”
He stares at my hand for several seconds before shaking it. “Ha—Harry.”
“Nice to meet you, Harry. Want me to hang around with you for the rest of lunch? I could be your personal bodyguard.”
He cracks a smile. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. And hey, if they bother you again, find anyone in the sixth form, tell them you know Kyle Scott, and they’ll take care of you.”
He repeats my name a few times as though he’s trying to consign it to memory. “Thanks.”
“No problem. You should get some ice.” I gesture to his eye, which is getting puffy. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”
His shoulders slump, but he nods. We walk side by side out of the bike shed. The boys who were hassling him are peeking around the corner of the school building. I narrow my eyes into a glare. They say something to each other and then scarper. Yeah, think twice before bothering Harry again. Idiots.
I take Harry to reception, where Miss Michaels barrages him with questions about what happened to his eye. He stays quiet, so the beleaguered receptionist looks at me.
“A group of boys were bullying him. I don’t know who they were.”
“Do you know who they were, Harry?” Miss Michaels asks.
He shakes his head.
She looks at me. I shrug. I can’t force Harry to tell her who’s bullying him. If I knew their names, I would tell on them, but I don’t, so I can’t.
“Thanks, Kyle. I’ll take it from here.”
“Hey, kid.”
Harry looks up.
“Remember what I said?”
He nods.
“I meant it. You’re my friend now, got it? And I take care of my friends.”
* * *
KYLE - TEN YEARS LATER
It’s been one hell of a day. Normally I’d come home, shower, crack open a beer, watch TV, or play a game. I’m not in the mood for any of that. I need to get all the confusing thoughts out of my system. But how? Where? The Internet, of course. My laptop is where I left it this morning before my life got turned upside down, abandoned on the sofa.
I grab a bottle of beer from the fridge, open it, and sit with my laptop on my knees. It takes about thirty seconds of searching to find a forum I can vent in. After creating an account, my fingers fly over the keys as I pour every emotion I’ve felt over the last twelve hours into a post. I title it ‘Twenty-eight and just discovered I’m adopted’ and then spend twenty minutes agonising over whether or not I should post it. In the end, I hit the big red button, so to speak.
I finish my beer and walk away. I have a shower, make dinner, and watch an episode of a whacky comedy show while I’m eating. I can’t resist any longer. I open my laptop and check my post for replies. I raise my eyebrows. Twenty-three responses. Wow. Most validate my feelings. Some tell similar stories to my own.
My phone buzzes. I want to ignore it. It’ll be Mum checking up on me. She’s texted half a dozen times already since our ‘talk’ earlier.
Mum: Do you want to talk? If you’ve got any questions, we’ll do our best to answer them. We love you.
I knock my phone against my forehead. I do want to talk, but not to them. Not yet anyway. I need to get my thoughts in order before I do. I don’t want to hurt them by ranting and getting upset. Besides, they should be worrying about Dad, not me.
Me: I love you too. Give Dad a hug from me. I’ll visit tomorrow.
I want to turn my phone off to give myself some peace, but what if something happens to Dad? What if his condition deteriorates? I put it on the table, ignoring the ping of a text message. Mum will call if it’s urgent. Text messages can wait.
I carry on reading the comments on my post. None of them are what I was hoping for. What was I hoping for? Someone to wave a magic wand and make this mind-numbing situation go away? I reply to the first half dozen comments to thank them for taking the time to reply but then give up. I should watch more TV to relax before bed. I could go to the gym or text some of the rugby lads to see if they want to go out for a drink.
