Non Pratt - Trouble

“Whatever,” I say and slump back in the chair and gingerly touch the bridge of my nose. My face hurts. So does my hand. “It’s not mine.”

Did I really just say that? I open my eyes to see whether Neville heard me, but there’s nothing wrong with his hearing aid and he’s looking at me keenly, waiting.

“You absolutely cannot tell anyone this. Not the pretty nurse you gossip with when she checks your blood pressure, not the receptionist when you try and charm your way outside.” I look at him seriously. “And especially not Hannah’s gran.”

Neville’s looking at me under lowered brows. White wiry hairs emerge from the tangle like antennae and they quiver as he stares at me.

“I know how to keep a secret.”

Possibly — provided he remembers it’s a secret he’s meant to be keeping. I guess it’s too late now anyway.

“We’ve never had sex.” Neville frowns, waiting. “I offered to pretend to be the father to help her out — to protect her from everyone at school, to give her support in front of her family.” But that’s not why I offered. “I offered because I wanted to help her. I wanted to do something meaningful.”

Neville slurps his coffee, working his jaw as he thinks over what I’ve just said. “‘Meaningful’. That’s a telling word.”

“What do you mean?” I expected him to ask about the real father. I didn’t expect this.

“You think there’s something meaningful in helping out a girl in a way no sensible boy ever would. You two barely knew each other at the start of the year and yet you signed up for this?”

“Hannah needed helping and I need to help — I need to feel like I can do something that matters, like there’s a reason—” I stop myself.

“A reason for what?”

I can’t tell him. I can’t tell anyone.

“Nothing,” I say. “I just wanted to help her out. I like Hannah. A lot.”

Neville raises his eyebrows and I tut.

“Not like that.” Probably not like that. “She’s special.”

“Not special enough if she don’t know the daddy of her babby.”

“Stop it.” I know he was only joking, and I don’t mean for my voice to sound so harsh, but after last night… I’m glad it’s half-term. Dad asked if I’d help him fix the fence and there’s my cousin’s wedding at the weekend. I’ve enough excuses to avoid Hannah until I can get my head straight and be the person she wants me to be.

Neville stands up, joints popping, his movements stiff. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, boy.” He looks down at me. “But one day you’ll realize she’s not the only one who needs a friend. And, when you do, you’ll know I’m here for you. You might think you’re good at hiding whatever it is that’s troubling you, but you’re not as good as you think.”

“There isn—”

“Now get off your arse and help an old man walk to the toilet, will you? I need a piss.”

We get lost on the way there. I’m not surprised since Mum refuses to buy a satnav and Dad gets so carsick he can’t read a map. So it’s down to me to look up our location on my phone and navigate us to the church.

Cousin Sarah’s wedding. Had Dante experienced any of my mum’s family get-togethers, I’m sure that he’d have allocated a tenth ring of hell for such occasions. Mum is stressing out so much that the steering wheel is less a tool with which to direct the car and more a prop around which she can curl her shoulders as she snarls at hedgerows and passing pheasants. Dad has wisely reverted to silence after the map debacle. All three of us are aware that we are walking into an afternoon of whispers and “concern”, when distant relatives will stare at me as if I’m about to break down on the spot.

It has been agreed that no one needs to know that I’m a pseudo-sire to a school friend’s child as well. My parents know that I know who it is, but I’ve not given them his name.

Jay.

I want to be angry with him. I want to think that he took advantage of Hannah. But this is Hannah and I remember very clearly what she said the night I pulled Tyrone off her: No one can make me do anything I don’t want to do… least of all that .

In all the time I’ve known her, there hasn’t been a single time when I’ve questioned that statement. Not even now.

A week after I found out, instead of being angry with Jay, I find that I’m angry with Hannah.

“Aaron’s here!” Robert calls up the stairs.

“Aaron!” Lola screeches from inside the bathroom and comes running out in her bathrobe, all pink from the bath, leaving Mum kneeling by the bathtub, giving me a look as if I was supposed to stop her. I hear Lola launch herself at Aaron and I peer over the banister to see him hugging her before putting her down and shooing her back up the stairs before him.

“…past your bedtime?” I hear as he gets nearer.

“It’s story time now,” Lola replies, then she turns and grabs his hand. “You can read to me. Two chapters of Mr Gum .”

“One chapter, Lolly,” Mum says and looks at Aaron. If you drew a fat black question mark above her head her thoughts couldn’t have been clearer.

“Mum, Aaron’s—” I start to say, but Mum cuts me off with a look and Lola wins, as always.

I go and wait in my bedroom, notes spread out on my bed and Post-its ready to be peeled off and stuck in the right pages of my study guide. I shouldn’t resent him spending time with Lola, but I do. Aaron was someone who was meant to be mine. He’s my friend, doing something amazing for me , not a stand-in brother for Lola, not another person to help Mum out. By the time he comes in I’ve worked myself into a pretty dark mood.

“Sorry. She insisted on another chapter. I didn’t know what to do so I just carried on for one more and then she was half-asleep anyway.”

“Explains why you took so long,” I say and turn away.

“Yes, that’s why I just said it — I was explaining.” He sits down on my swivel chair and looks at my notes scattered everywhere. “Where do you want to start?”

I shrug. Now Aaron’s here to help with my revision, all I want to do is strop at him. I want a fight with someone.

Actually, I want a fight with Aaron since he avoided me all last week. When I told him how things were with Jay — and when it all started — it was down the phone. Not exactly ideal. I expected him to say something. I don’t know what. Maybe I thought he’d tell me that he was there for me? Or that he understood? That it didn’t change things? But he said nothing at all.

Then he went away to some wedding and, now he’s back, it’s as if we never had that conversation. And he’s here for me. He seems to understand. As if nothing’s changed at all.

“What have you got so far?” he asks.

When I hand him my latest notes, half of them slide out of my hand so he has to pick them up from the floor and I resist the temptation to scuff them about with my foot. Aaron skim reads what I’ve done.

“It’s a good start, but I think you need to explore the relationship between truth and belief a little bit further.” And he’s off on one, talking about the book like it’s something he really cares about.

I glower at him as he talks. He’s really good-looking, which annoys me. I thought he was quite cute when he started, but he’s had a haircut since and the more you know him, the better he looks. Some boys are like that, aren’t they? I guess personality has a lot to do with attractiveness, which is why when you get to know half of them they instantly become less fit.