A Spot Of Bother

19

Jamie pulled into a layby at the edge of the village.

I think you should bring someone.

Christ. You avoided the subject for twenty years then it flashed past at eighty and vanished in a cloud of exhaust.

Had he been wrong about his father all along? Was it possible that he could’ve come out at sixteen and got no shit whatsoever? Totally understand. Chap at school. Keen on other chaps. Ended up playing cricket for Leicestershire.

Jamie was angry. Though it was hard to put a finger on precisely who he was angry with. Or why.

It was the same feeling he got every time he visited Peterborough. Every time he saw photographs of himself as a child. Every time he smelt plasticine or tasted fish fingers. He was nine again. Or twelve. Or fifteen. And it wasn’t about his feelings for Ivan Dunne. Or his lack of feelings for Charlie’s Angels. It was the sickening realization that he’d landed on the wrong planet. Or in the wrong family. Or in the wrong body. The realization that he had no choice but to bide his time until he could get away and build a little world of his own in which he felt safe.

It was Katie who pulled him through. Telling him to ignore Greg Pattershall’s gang. Saying graffiti only counted if it was spelt correctly. And she was right. They really did end up leading shitty little lives injecting heroin on some estate in Walton.

He was probably the only boy at school who’d learnt self-defense from his sister. He’d tried it once, on Mark Rice, who slumped into a bush and bled horribly, scaring Jamie so much he never hit anyone again.

Now he’d lost his sister. And no one understood. Not even Katie.

He wanted to sit in her kitchen and pull faces for Jacob and drink tea and eat too much Marks and Spencer date-and-walnut cake and…not even talk. Not even need to talk.

Fuck it. If he said the word home he was going to cry.

Maybe if he’d been better at staying in touch. Maybe if he’d eaten a little more date-and-walnut cake. If he’d invited her and Jacob over more often. If he’d lent her money…

This was pointless.

He turned the ignition on, pulled out of the layby and was nearly killed by a green Transit van.