We’re catching a quiet five minutes in Mike’s kitchen, sitting around the breakfast table that’s been the scene of a kajillion Marvel vs DC action-figure wars. Because practically everyone he has ever met loves Mike, there are about two hundred people in the Berringtons’ huge garden, all bearing gifts for the birthday boy. As it’s weirdly warm for mid-March, no one’s even close to the house, so I lean in and grab a kiss.
“Don’t push your luck,” I tell El. “I agreed to you meeting my incredibly lame kinfolk today on the basis we’re friends.”
“And I agreed to leave the pearls at home. Which feels all kinds of weird, by the way.”
I hold his hand to my cheek. I hate this. Asking El to adapt because I’m too much of a coward to allow him to be himself in front of the people I love. It’s wrong and selfish, but I can’t seem to get past this pathetic version of myself. Other than this, things couldn’t be better. It’s two-and-a-bit months since the Christmas weirdness, and although it still bugs me that El won’t fully confide, I’m ridiculously happy. Just spending time with him is sort of magical (I know, barf bags ready) and the sex is pretty freaking awesome!
So okay, it was awkward and klutzy at first, but the second, third and every other time has been amazing, mainly because El is a very tender teacher, and I guess a slightly embarrassing and slightly painful first experience goes for straight sex as well as gay (not that I ever plan on finding out). Anyway, last night is still playing on a loop in my mind, not because it was ultra-romantic or anything – the gearstick stuck into my backside and left a bruise – but it was still pretty hot for a Friday night in an abandoned supermarket car park.
At that moment Mumzilla and Big Mike bustle in, bickering in that adorable Berrington way of theirs. Seeing them laden down with boxes of burgers from the freezer in the garage, El jumps up to help.
“Thanks,” Carol smiles, then turns to her husband. “I swear to god, Michael, you didnottell me you’d invited your idiot running-club friends. Now it’s going to take at least an hour to get all these extra people fed, and I just…”
Big Mike plants a kiss on Mumzilla’s brow. “Light of my life, can we agree to differ? We have company. So, Dylan, are you going to introduce us?”
I turn from unpacking a stack of burgers. “Oh. Course. This is El. Ellis.”
Big Mike grins. “I’m kidding. I know this guy. Carol, I want you to meet one of the most spectacular strikers ever to grace Ferrivale High. Honestly, bit of a rough patch before Christmas, but you guys really pulled it out of the bag in the new year. It’s just a shame Mike couldn’t…”
His smile becomes tight and the crinkles around his eyes deepen. Carol steps forward and rubs his arm.
“Mike’ll be out there with us soon enough,” El says. “We actually really need him, so after his last chemo session, I’m not accepting any excuses. It’s practice with me, one-on-one, every day after school.”
Big Mike rubs his eyes, then slaps his hands together. “Right,” he announces, “burgers.”
El and I pitch in with Mumzilla cutting rolls, while Big Mike hooks hisHot Stuff Comin’ Thruapron around his neck. There’s a picture of these impossible abs on the front, and Big Mike knows his son finds this mortifying, so of course it has to make a birthday appearance every year. El chatters away to Carol as we slice, joking and lifting the mood. When he goes to the bathroom, Carol nudges my elbow.
“I love him.”
I stare at my pile of rolls. “Oh, you mean El? Yeah, he’s cool.”
I can feel her watching me, and when I dare a sideways glance she wrinkles her nose and gives me this impish smile. So my surrogate mum knows, and I’m one hundred per cent certain Mike hasn’t told her. Mumzillas have psychic powers, it seems. Anyway, she’s sensitive too, so changes the subject.
“How’s my little dude doing?”
Mike is now a head taller than Carol, but he’ll always be her little dude.
“He’s playing Subbuteo with some of the footie lads. He seems in good spirits, doesn’t he?”
She stops handing me rolls and places both palms flat on the counter, then nods, head down. “Thank you, Dylan.”
“Don’t be silly.” I nudge her. “I’m only cutting bread. Although it is cool you trust me with a knife again after the ninth birthday A&E incident.”
“You daft apeth. I mean thanks for coming to his chemo sessions. They’re hard days for him, for all of us, and you sitting with him all that time, making him laugh…really, I don’t know what we’d do without you.” El walks in at this point to find both me and Mumzilla blinking hard. Carol gives this shivery laugh and holds out her hand to him. “Thank you, both. Mike told me how you’ve been a good friend to him too, Ellis.”
She draws us into a huge hug. And with my arms wrapped around my boyfriend and my second mum, I take a moment to imagine how easy everything would be if I really was a Berrington. I certainly wouldn’t waste another minute of my life pretending. I’d tell Carol and Big Mike everything and I know there would be zero awkwardness, just laughter and love and support.
“Anyway,” Carol giggles, “stop helping. Go play.”
“You know we’re not eight any more, Mumma Z?”
“You’ll always be eight to me, Dylan.”
We’re about to head out the patio door when Big Mike sticks his head in for more rolls. I say I’ll grab some and tell El to go see how Mike’s doing. He gives me a scout’s salute and I walk with Big Mike onto the terrace.
“How’re your folks, Dylan?” BM asks. “Has Chris got a job yet? You know, I’d kill that boy if he was mine.”
“The position of Chris-assassin is open and very well paid,” I tell him.
