I nod. “Where’s Mike?”
“Taken Becks for a walk. He’s feeling a bit groggy so I’ve let him skip school.” I start to say something when she holds up her hand. “Dylan, he’s fine. He’ll be back soon…”
So I’ve read about “pregnant pauses” in books, but I never experienced one until now. There’s this almost unbearable pressure slowly building up between me and Carol, and I have no idea what it is, but I get the feeling that whatever’s about to be delivered will be painful, for both of us.
“I’m so sorry, Dylan,” she begins, “I really don’t want to have to say this.”
My gaze is fixed on my cup. “It’s okay.”
“No. No, it isn’t okay. Not one tiny bit. Because we love you very much and we all hate what you’ve been going through. You know you’re like a second son to us, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” I croak. “Yes. Thanks.”
She grabs my hand across the table. “Don’t thank me. Thankyou, Dylan. Thank you for being the best friend Mike could ever have asked for. God.” She wipes her eyes with the corner of a tea towel. “This house is as full of you as it is of any of us. You know I still check around my feet when I’m carrying food to the table, just in case little Mike and Dylan are playing tag under me. That’s what makes this so hard.”
“It’s all right,” I tell her, because I know what’s coming. “Don’t worry.”
She takes a huge breath and exhales. “You can’t stay here, sweetheart. I wish you could. But Mike, he’s my little dude, you know?” I nod and she erupts into floods of tears. I get up from my chair and hug her as tight as I can. “He’s still got such a long way to go,” she sobs. “That last chemo was brutal on him, and he should be further ahead anyway, but he—”
“I’m not good for him,” I say, straightening up. Outside I can see Mike’s old trampoline, rusted and silvered with webs, its creaking laughter just a memory.
“Youaregood for him. Of course you are. But, Dylan, it’s taken such a toll on you. Me and Big Mike, you know we love you and we’d do anything,anythingto make this better for you, but I listen to my boy crying himself to sleep every night and I… Mike has to be our priority.” She closes her eyes. “We can’t have anything distracting from his treatment and I just—”
“Please, Carol, you don’t need to say anything. I shouldn’t have asked to stay. It was selfish.”
“Don’t be silly, of course it wasn’t selfish. And you can stay, for a while. Until you fix things up with your parents or find somewhere… And me and Big Mike, we can help with that. We can talk to your folks, contribute something towards rent for a new place for you. I don’t know. But we won’t abandon you, Dylan, not ever. It’s just right now—”
“Carol, it’s okay. Really. I’ll sort something out. Please don’t worry.”
I finish my tea and help her with the washing-up. We don’t say anything else but I can feel the guilt radiating off her. I hate it. Can’t stand it. I’m like a poison here, and she’s right, I have to go.
I’m just heading upstairs when Big Mike comes panting through the front door. He’s about the only dad I know who can pull off Lycra. He shoots me this look and I know he’s wondering if Carol and I have had “the conversation”. I give him as carefree a grin as I can.
“Hey, been for a run?”
He looks down at himself.
“Gay bar.” He winks. “Just don’t tell Carol.”
I laugh and start again for Mike’s bedroom, but Big Mike calls me back.
“I was passing your house and your dad waved me over.”
“What did he say?”
“Not much, kiddo. He just wanted me to give you this. Said it arrived this morning.”
Big Mike hands me a familiar brown envelope. Whoever our mysterious journal-sender is, he clearly isn’t keeping up with my accommodation arrangements.
“Everything all right?”
“Yeah,” I say, “all good.”
I take the envelope from him and race upstairs. In Mike’s room I turn on his desk lamp and drop into his chair. How long is this going to go on? I wonder. How many more brown envelopes containing single yellow sheets containing terrible secrets? Each step I take with these pages feels like walking on a turntable, an endless, soul-destroying merry-go-round that only appears to move me forward but actually keeps me stuck in the same place.
And then I open the envelope and unfold the sheet and look at the drawing you made, and I know, straight away, that this isn’t like the others.
Finally, El, we’ve reached the end.
