Silence Is Goldfish, Page 2

  “The fire’s getting bigger!” So were Mum’s arm flaps. They were ridiculous and I smirked as I watched the spectacle, ignoring the alarm urging me to Leave now.

  “I can see that,” Jack replied. I don’t know how. Mum was practically doing jumping jacks in front of the stove as the alarm got louder, screaming You are in danger, not that I paid any attention to it. “I can see that, but I don’t—”

  “Quick, Jack!”

  “Don’t tell me to be quick. You’re the one slowing—”

  “Just pour!”

  “No, I can’t now. We should check.”

  “We haven’t got time to check.”

  “Just check, will you?”

  And that’s what I decided to do, slipping into Jack’s study, normally off-limits, but this was an emergency. Besides, my parents were too busy arguing to notice, all this hot-faced bickering that steamed up the windows. I put on Jack’s slippers that he’d left under his desk then sat in his chair, bashing a few buttons to wake up his laptop.

  “Come on,” I said, wiggling the mouse when nothing happened, almost knocking over the framed poem on his desk—“The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost. I stared at the words without seeing them because there was a glorious picture inside my head, and it was of me saving the day, finding out the information in the nick of time.

  Pour! I imagined shouting, a split second before the pot exploded. Pour, Dad! Trust me!

  I wanted to impress my dad, that’s why I was drumming my fingers on his notepad, urging his computer to wake the bloody hell up before I missed my chance. I wiggled the mouse again, but the screen stayed black for what felt like ages. I will always remember it, the blissful darkness of not knowing before the harsh glare of reality hit me between the eyes, and the alarm beeped and beeped and beeped because there was an emergency, after all—it just had nothing to do with burned spaghetti.

  3

  Mum doesn’t look at me as she places my favorite pig mug on my sudoku book, and she doesn’t look at me as she moves my curtains to groan at the rain, and she doesn’t look at me as she takes my lunch box out of my schoolbag so she can fill it with salad now that Jack has banned bread of all types, not just the white stuff. She doesn’t look at me because for the past one thousand mornings when she’s delivered my tea, I have been dead to the world, my face buried in my pillow.

  This morning is different though.

  I am lying on my back with a rigid spine, gripping the duvet with tight fists as I stare up at her. When she finally notices, she jumps out of her skin because there are the whites of my eyes, I can feel them glowing in the darkness.

  “Wonders will never cease. Are you actually awake?” She is all smiles and long brown hair as she leans over me, checking my pulse with jokey fingers nowhere near the right place in my neck. “Well, well, well. Your body must be in shock after such an unprecedented event. Here, let me see.” She grabs my wrist, feeling the pulse there too, pretending to time it tick tock on a nonexistent watch. “Yes. Yes. A little fast. Just what I thought. Are you feeling okay?” she asks in mock concern, and here it is, the perfect opportunity to scream no at the top of my voice.

  I wait for it to happen, but the word doesn’t even nearly come.

  Mum puts her hand on my forehead.

  “Slightly raised temperature but that’s hardly surprising. All that effort it must have taken to peel apart your eyelids at this time in the morning. You must be exhausted. Do you want to lie down? Wait. You’re already lying down. Thank goodness! Don’t want you overstraining yourself.” She grins at her own joke then lifts my tea by the rim of the cup, offering me the handle. “Can you manage this for once? Go on. Make my day.”

  She cheers as I take the cup and I smile, like I actually do this massive grin, and what the Holy Crap is that about I ask myself in disbelief. I’m supposed to be causing a scene, not playing along ever so nicely, but I let Mum plump up my Star Wars pillows then take a sip of tea that tastes really good after my failed attempt to run away. I grip the mug tightly, relieved I am not in the station drinking weak tea from an unfamiliar Styrofoam cup, waiting to board a train that will take me away from everything I’ve ever known.

  But then Jack appears at my bedroom door. Tea goes down the wrong way and I start to cough. I can’t stand to look at him, but I can’t take my eyes off him either, so I gaze at him without wanting to, resenting the pull he has over my eyeballs. His red hair is wet from the shower and his pink cheeks are freshly shaved and he looks clean, too clean for someone who writes dark confessions about his so-called daughter to post on the Internet.

  The betrayal hits me again and it takes effort not to double up and hide under my duvet like I did last night before I ran away. Typing DC Network into my phone, I found that it stands for Donor Conception Network. Holding my breath, I visited their website all about sperm and egg donation where it outlined the procedure and talked about how it felt to conceive a child through assisted fertilization. Loads of people had written about their experiences, but not one of them had said anything about disgust. Jack obviously spotted a gap and decided to fill it with his story, willing to tell the world his secret, but not me, his own flesh and blood—well, not exactly, I have to keep reminding myself because the fact that he isn’t my real dad still has not sunk in.

  “Look at this!” Mum says, meaning me. “It’s a miracle.”

  “Now, there’s something you don’t see every day.”

  Jack steps into my room, drying his face, but the mask of Perfect Dad does not rub off on the towel. He uses it to grin at me as if he is just so goddamn delighted to find me wide awake in the room he painted when I was ten. I got to choose the color from a shiny brochure, and of course the only logical choice was the mystical Midnight Blue. I couldn’t wait for Jack to start, jumping up and down when he covered my furniture with sheets to make a cave that I sat in even though I was too old to pretend that I was a troll.

  “Don’t you want to be a princess?” Jack asked as I scratched my warts then belched, rubbing my belly with a hairy hand.

  “I eat princesses for breakfast.”

  Jack shook his head then shooed me outside. I climbed up on the shed roof in the backyard. Craning my neck to peer through my bedroom window, I saw Jack bend down to prepare the paint that I just knew was the exact color of magic. When he caught me spying, he waggled a finger and I laughed, leaping off the shed because I didn’t want to spoil the surprise, not really.

  It was a shock when he said voilà and I burst through my door to my new blue room that wasn’t blue at all but pale yellow.

  “It’s First Dawn,” he said as my chest constricted. “Not Midnight Blue. I thought it was prettier. Much nicer for a girl your age. Look how it catches the light, Tessie-T. That blue would have been too dark. This makes your room look so much bigger, don’t you think?”

  I nodded even though the walls were caving in, squeezing out oxygen, they must have been, because I couldn’t breathe. Tears teetered on my eyelids, globules of disappointment that I had to hide no matter what because Jack was waiting for me to be delighted. Somehow I managed it, I don’t exactly know how, keeping my eyes open until they stung and saying the words he wanted to hear.

  “Thanks, Dad, I love it.”

  “Your old man knows best, eh?”

  I have never hated my yellow walls more than I do at this moment as Jack clutches the towel to his chest and pretends to have a heart attack.

  It’s brilliant how he does it, I have to admit it. Mum is in stitches and normally I would be too, maybe even joining in with a companionable cardiac arrest of my own. It takes a lot of willpower, but I make rocks out of my eyes and keep my expression stony as Jack staggers to my desk, clawing at his heart. I watch impassively as he holds out a dying hand to grip the coat I wore to run away last night. It’s damp, it must be, and Jack is surely about to notice—but no. It’s just a prop, and he collapses on my chair and dies with his face pressed against my hood, not even wondering
why it’s wet.

  I jolt up suddenly, screwing my anger into a black ball, toying with it so dangerous and powerful in my hands. It’s a grenade that could blow up this ordinary day, shattering the image of my perfect family into a thousand little pieces. All I have to do is let it explode.

  Mum sees me sitting up in bed. She pretends to gasp then nudges Jack and he gasps too. They look at me with eyes precisely the same shade of blue—information I’ve known my whole life that now takes on brand-new meaning. Here it is, proof that someone else was involved in my conception because I might not always pay attention in Biology, but I am pretty certain that two blue-eyed parents cannot produce a brown-eyed child.

  “I—”

  “She’s talking,” Jack says. “She’s awake and she’s talking. ”

  “I—”

  “Whoa, be careful!” Mum laughs.

  Jack strolls over to my bed. “Don’t strain yourself on our account, Tessie-T.” He touches my shoulder with the fingers that typed those six hundred and seventeen words. There is contact between us, and the strange thing is it doesn’t feel strange because he has been my dad for fifteen years and Jack for only twelve hours. “Just relax, Tessie-T. Lie back, lie back. Why change the habit of a lifetime, eh?”

  He pushes me down onto my Star Wars pillows, and I disappear into the familiar universe of them like nothing at all has changed.

  4

  I go through the motions, pretending everything’s okay, which is what I need to do until I can work out what I want to do. I eat the porridge Jack makes every morning as he checks my homework, moving a thin finger across my math book, not finding any errors even though it only took me twenty minutes because I am that good at trigonometry. He hands it back with a smile that normally I would return then reminds me to pack my flute for a lesson I might not attend if I decide to run away. It’s still a possibility, I tell the goldfish inside my head, even though the plan seems ridiculous in the cold light of day. I picture him impatiently darting about beneath my bed, chanting the address of the Human Fertilization and Embryology Authority where information about sperm donors is stored. Finsbury Tower, 103–105 Bunhill Row in—

  “Tess?”

  I look up to see Jack finish the last of his porridge then lean back in his chair.

  “What do you think?”

  “Yes?”

  Nine times out of ten yes is the right answer. Sure enough, Jack nods then takes our bowls to stack in the dishwasher, strictly his domain. He takes great pleasure in it, putting the plates and the cups in the right order so we can fill the dishwasher completely, twisting his head this way and that, trying to work out where everything should go.

  Today it’s a plastic jug that’s proving tricky. Jedi races in, scampering across the kitchen floor so he can thrust his nose in the cutlery.

  “Out of there, boy. Come on. Yes, that’s what I thought, Tessie-T. Ask her about it. There’s not a lot of point learning the flute if you don’t gain any certificates of progress, is there? Suzie from next door has just done a music exam. Do you fancy having a go? We don’t want to hide your light under a bushel, do we? We want to give you the chance to shine. Really show what you can do, you know? Stand out.”

  “I thought I was supposed to be trying to fit in,” I say, surprising myself, but not as much as Jack. He dumps the jug then straightens up.

  “Who wants to fit in? Who wants to be ordinary?” he asks, sounding genuinely shocked. It’s exhausting, trying to keep up with him, and it’s a relief I don’t have to do it anymore. “Do you want to blend into the background, Tess? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  I mumble the appropriate response, but it’s harder than usual. There’s a scream of protest in my chest where there used to be silence and my eyes are ablaze. This is new, this heat, burning into Jack’s back as he shakes his head then disappears upstairs.

  I go to my room to get dressed, grabbing an old school skirt because my trousers are in the wash, holding it up against my legs to see if it will still fit. Probably not is my guess, given that it was a squeeze six months ago, but with a few pulls and pushes I just about manage to get myself into the green fabric. Shoving my feet into the pair of black Doc Martens that I wear for school, I gaze down at my bottom half, telling myself that curves are beautiful until I love the way my bum juts out of the emerald material like some sort of epic green mountain. I am big and I am strong and I am powerful—a girl of Everest proportions who won’t easily be conquered. I brush my hair vigorously then give my teeth an extra-fierce scrub, looking in the bathroom mirror at my face so full of fire.

  Something’s coming. I don’t know what or when, but it’s going to be huge.

  “You ready, Tess?” Jack calls from the hall. “I’ll give you a lift. It looks like it might rain.”

  I get my flute and my bag then pick up my salad from the kitchen before slipping on my coat, still wet from an adventure that already seems a million years ago.

  “Miserable, isn’t it?” Andrew mutters as he emerges from the house next to ours. “But look at you, Mr. Turner,” he says, taking in Jack’s suit. This working gig becoming something of a habit, is it?” He locks his door with a quick turn of a key.

  “Not really,” Jack replies, locking ours with more of a fumble.

  “Life not beaten you into submission then, mate?”

  “Not at all, mate.”

  Andrew’s genuine laugh jars with Jack’s false one. “Glad to hear it. So you’ve not yet given up on the great acting dream?”

  “’Fraid not.” Jack points at his suit. “This is nothing serious, just a temp job over in Ashton. A bit of pocket money in the run-up to Christmas while I wait for my agent to find me a new role.” All of a sudden it seems pathetic, a forty-five-year-old man answering phones for a Volvo car dealership, scornful of anyone in the rat race, turning up his nose at people with theirs pressed to the grindstone as he waits for auditions that never seem to come. “Anyway, best be off. Have a good one, eh?”

  We walk to our car parked in a space on the other side of the road. “You spoil her!” Andrew shouts. “School’s only two minutes away. I never give my Suzie a lift.”

  “Yeah, well.” Jack points at the sky. “It’s threatening.”

  “The fresh air does them good! Toughens them up. Bit of exercise before school and all that.”

  They both glance at me, the same thought pinging into their minds as the button of my skirt almost pings off onto the pavement. The look on Jack’s face makes me feel big, bigger than this car and bigger than this street, bigger even than a country, pretty much the size of Africa if famine had been eradicated.

  “So, what’ve you been auditioning for recently?” Andrew asks, ambling over to us. “Will we see you in that detective thing again? Morse, was it?”

  “Lewis,” Jack says, unlocking the car.

  “Lewis. That’s right. They’re going to write you back in it, are they?”

  “Nah, I don’t think so. But whatever. It’s good to get some variety on the old résumé. I’d turn it down even if I was offered it again,” Jack lies.

  “What will it be instead?” Andrew asks, not taking the hint as Jack climbs into the car and starts the engine. “Commercials or something?”

  “Commercials aren’t my thing, really, to tell you the truth. Soulless. I’m concentrating more on theater at present. I joined this local troupe. Helping them out, you know? Our show starts this weekend, actually. Tomorrow at seven, and then three Saturdays after that. You should check it out, if you get chance. Didsbury Players. Peter Pan. Got myself roped in as Captain Hook, didn’t I? Tess is in it too. You’re loving it, aren’t you? I mean, it’s an amateur dramatic thing but it’s quite impressive, isn’t it? High quality?”

  “Mmm.”

  Jack looks at me funny because this is not at all how I usually respond.

  “Half-dead this morning,” he says to Andrew in a voice full of exasperation at the lethargy of teenagers. “You know what it�
�s like.”

  “Suzie’s a morning person, actually. We struck gold there.”

  “Yeah, you did,” Jack says in a way that makes me feel distinctly bronze. “Anyway, there might be one or two tickets left if you’re interested.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll definitely try to make it,” he says, even though he won’t.

  “Brilliant,” Jack replies, meaning the total opposite. “See you later, mate.”

  “Yeah, mate. See you later. And you, Tess. Enjoy the lift with your chauffeur—I mean your dad.”

  5

  We wave at Andrew but it’s not him I’m looking at. I can’t take my eyes off our hands. Mine’s broad with short fingers and Jack’s is narrow with long fingers and they make contrasting patterns as they fly through the air like birds definitely not from the same species. There’s a fresh shaving cut on Jack’s chin the complete opposite of my chin that’s too large according to these girls at school. Man Skull they call me on account of my heavy jaw and big nose, bigger than Jack’s I am suddenly realizing because nothing about us is similar. He’s thin to my fat, small to my tall, and ginger to my natural blond.

  Panic flutters in my chest. We’re moving now so I can’t leap out of the car, but I lean away from Jack as far as possible then stare out the window with eyes that don’t blink. He isn’t my dad. I’m sitting next to a stranger. An impostor. The flutter becomes a swoop that makes the whole world lurch. I grip the seat and try to focus. There’s a sidewalk. People. Puddles. I see all of it and none of it. Jack tuts and I jump.

  “That’s one thing Andrew and I do agree upon. This weather’s miserable.” I open my mouth to reply, but no—I am not going to make small talk with the enemy, let’s be clear about that. I bite my tongue, sitting on my hands until they start to tingle. “He won’t come tomorrow, mark my words. Men like Andrew hate the arts. Well, screw them, right, Tessie-T? You did ask Anna if she wanted a ticket, didn’t you? Gran’s too old to cope with it, but I mentioned it to Uncle Paul and Aunt Susan so that’s a couple more if they can make it. You okay, Tess? You’re quiet.”