Being Emily (7 page)

WHEN SCHOOL FINISHED
for the Christmas holidays I went to meet Jemma and Monica in the café near Cowcaddens subway, where we used to come every Friday. They were waving at me fae the table in the windae, big grins across their faces.

Hi, Fiona
. Monica stood up and hugged me.
Our favourite
table
.

The three of us used tae rush up the road, praying the table in the windae would be free. If it wasnae we’d take another, then move across when the customers left.

You don’t mind, do you, Mr Giardini?
Monica would say.

For you young ladies, no problem
, he’d reply, helping us move our coffees across.

Jemma pointed.
Hey, look at you – don’t they have a uniform
at Burnside?

Monica and Jemma were wearing maroon blazers, grey skirts and white blouses. Monica’s tie was perfectly knotted, while Jemma’s top button was undone and her tie positioned a deliberately casual inch below.

No one wears it
.

You’re lucky
. Jemma sat back and crossed her legs.
Mrs
Diamond gied me into trouble for wearing black tights yesterday. I
tellt her it was freezing and they were the warmest I had but she
just goes ‘Not the regulation colours, Jemma. And remember you have
to set an example to the younger girls.’ Auld bag
.

I prefer uniform
. Monica spooned the foam neatly off her coffee.
Then you don’t need to worry if you haven’t got designer
clothes. That’s how my parents sent me to St Phil’s – it’s about the
only school left round here that wears a uniform
.

There is a sweatshirt at Burnside
, I said,
but no one wears it.
Only the wee first years
.

Sweatshirts are gross
.

Hello there – it’s the third degree
.

Mr Giardini always called us the three degrees.

Hi, Mr Giardini
.

You’ve no been here for ages
.

I’m at a different school now
.

So where is it – the moon? No excuses. You have to come back –
these two are lonely without you – two degrees is no use. Now, what
can I get you?

Hot chocolate, please
.

Jemma pushed her cup across the table.
So, how’s things, Fi?

Fine
.

Fine, she says. What about this boyfriend of yours?

He’s fine too
.

So tell us about him. Some friend you are. We only found out cause
Susie saw you with him
.

Sorry
.

I did feel bad. Monica and Jemma were my best friends, had been for years, but somehow, on leaving St Phil’s I’d swept them away with all the other things I didnae want to think about. I took a deep breath.

His name is Jas, short for Jaswinder. He’s in sixth year at Burn¬
side, in my English and Art classes. He also does Chemistry. He loves
Shelley, does photography, and is very nice
.

And nice looking, from what Susie said
. Jemma grinned.
Small
,
dark and handsome
.

Well he’s not tall, that’s true
.

What is he going to study when he leaves school?

Mon
…

It’s important, Jemma
.

She’s obsessed just now. Everybody is. If I hear one more thing
about UCAS forms or planning your future I think I’ll go daft
.

Everyone isn’t like you, though
. Monica turned to her.
You’ve
always known what you wanted to do and stuck to it
.

Jemma was gonnae be a speech therapist. She saw a TV programme about it years ago and has never wavered. And while I’d no inclination whatsoever to be a speech therapist, wasnae even sure what they done, part of me envied her certainty. When she graduated she’d get a good steady job in the health service – a job that was useful, a job you never had tae justify. Jemma was smart, sensible, got on with folk – she’d be brilliant at it.

So, what is it you’re gonnae dae with your life this week, Miss
Wu? Brain surgery, nuclear physics or biometric technology?

I spluttered on the hot chocolate.
You made that up
.

No
, Monica said, taking aff her glasses and wiping away a speck of chocolate which had travelled across.
I went to an
open day and got a leaflet on it
.

So what is it?

No, no, don’t go there!
Jemma waved her arms.
You should
see the desk in her bedroom – she has an entire file of leaflets she’s
picked up at these open days – the only thing the courses have in
common is they’re unpronounceable, no one’s ever heard of them
before and you need a brain the size of the Clyde Tunnel to do
them
.

Monica smiled.
At least I don’t have a mouth the size of the
Clyde Tunnel
.

In unison Jemma and I put our haunds to our cheeks –
Ooooooh!

We all fell about giggling.

Later, at the desk in my room, I sat staring at the forms. For years I’d hoped tae go to uni and study literature if I got good enough grades. Now, I was swithering. Even though I’d always loved art I’d assumed that Art School was only for a few special folk. Winning the competition had changed that.

Last week I’d had my interview with Mr Fraser, the Deputy Head who’s in charge of the fifth and sixth year, fills in the references. I felt strange going into his office as I don’t really know him – another disadvantage of moving schools when you’re in sixth year. But in some ways it’s an advantage cause he has no preconceived ideas about who I am, just sees a lassie like every other sixth year, a list of grades and reports on his desk. He doesnae know my sisters or my da or even probably what happened to Mammy. He’s no walking on eggshells, feeling sorry for me. And nae doubt he has a hundred other folk to see and wants this over with quickly.

Right, Fiona, let’s see – you already have Higher English, Art
,
Maths, History and French. Four As and a B. This year you’re doing
Advanced Higher English, Art and History
. He looked up fae the forms.
Where are you applying?

Well, I always wanted to do English at uni … but I’m wondering
about Art School now
.

Your grades are good all round – really you could do either. You’ll
need a portfolio for Art School but your teachers’ll keep you right
on that
.

It’s just, Art’s not very practical, for getting a job
.

Doing English at university doesn’t exactly guarantee a career
nowadays either. You could always teach, though I don’t know I’d
recommend it
.

He pushed his specs up on top of his heid and looked at me.

The other possible option if you want to do English and keep the
interest in Art going is to combine it with Art History – do a joint
degree
.

But that wouldnae actually be doing art
.

No, I’m afraid you’ll have to make a decision one way or another
. He looked at his watch.
But you don’t need to choose now. Why not
apply for university and Art School, see what you get offered, then decide
.

He handed me some leaflets.
I hear Dundee is very good nowadays
.

I don’t want to leave Glasgow
.

Really? You definitely don’t want to move away from home?

No
.

That was the one thing I was sure about.

Everyone in my year was desperate to leave but when I thought about next year, I envisaged mysel waking up every morning in my ain bed, walking towards the big gothic spires of the uni, or taking the subway a few stops to the Art School. When I tried tae imagine getting on a train with a suitcase, even to
somewhere no that far away, Aberdeen or Dundee mibbe, opening the door of a wee room in a Hall of Residence, everything went blurry.

Patrick tried to get me to change my mind. He was sleeping in my room and came in tae sort out his things while I was filling in the forms. When I tellt him I was only applying for courses in Glasgow he put doon the shirt he was folding and said,
Why on earth, Fiona?

How d’you mean?

Why don’t you get out?

Don’t want to
.

Is it because of this boyfriend?

No. Jas has a place in Aberdeen
.

I hope you’re no being a martyr, thinking you need to stay and
look after Da and the twins. They can manage
.

It’s no that, it’s just … this is hame
.

C’mere
. He sat on the bed and patted the cover for me to sit beside him.

Fiona, I know it’s scary but there’s a big world out there. And this
is the time to go, when you’re young. Why don’t you apply somewhere
in London – there’s fantastic art colleges there – with that prize on
your CV you’d stand a good chance of getting in. I’d show you around,
introduce you to folk. You could even come and stay in the flat with
me till you made your own friends
.

Me and Patrick in a flat. Me gaun to a trendy college in London. Jas could come and stay some weekends. I could still come hame to visit.

Have a think about it, Fi
.

I nodded, gathered the folders thegether and left Patrick sorting out his stuff. But somewhere inside I knew I wouldnae take up his offer.

* * *

Christmas. The second one. Last year we were all rid raw wi grief. Last year no one expected anything except pain.

This year we squeezed round the table in the kitchen, as close as we could so there were nae spaces between us, nae empty place where Mammy should’ve been, but the gap was as obvious as if we’d left a chair for her. Still, we got through dinner. Patrick had cooked a nice meal of salmon, tatties and veg, followed by a chocolate profiterole dessert, far different fae the traditional turkey roast we’d always had at Christmas. Janice, Angie and Evie came round and that helped. Evie was at the stage where she needed constant attention – laughing, dancing and getting intae every drawer and cupboard – so we were all kept busy.

I thought it would happen on Christmas Day. I thought it’d be my da too, the one that would break, that we’d find him in floods of tears in fronty some sentimental rubbish on TV or lying on their bed hauding her photie in his haund. He wasnae working noo, barring the odd homer, though he wouldnae admit he’d been sacked.
You know how it is, sometimes
there’s no the work gaun round
, he’d said tae Patrick.

But it happened on Boxing Day, when I thought the worst was over, and it was Mona, no my da, who was the one tae fall apart.

We’d been sitting in the living room, Da flicking through all the crap on TV, when he came across some talent competition. Two lassies daeing a routine tae an eighties pop hit, dressed in what looked like bikinis wi glittery fringes attached to them.

Would you look at that? he said. And there’s the twins can dance
far better than them
.

Do yous still keep up the dancing?
Patrick asked.

Aye. The Dance School has a show in January. In the SECC
.

Let’s see some of it then
.

Aye, right
. Mona flicked her hair back fae her face.

I havenae seen you dancing for ages
.

Well you should come up mair often
.

You’re bound to be better than that lot
.

C’mon, Mona
. Rona tried to pull her to her feet.

Naa. Don’t want tae
.

C’mon. Let’s go and get changed. Patrick – you get the CD
.

They returned a few minutes later, in short fringed skirts and sparkly tops. They giggled and nudged each other, missed the start of the music.

C’mon, Mona
.

Okay, okay. Patrick, start it again
.

This time they went through their routine flawlessly. The fringes swung in unison, the identical heads of straight hair rose and fell as if they were one person. Even the smiles that seemed pasted to their faces were the same. Nae matter how often I’d seen them it amazed me. They finished with a little curtsy and posed for a moment while Patrick, Da and me applauded. Then Mona stumbled and tripped against Rona, falling over. Patrick reached to help her up.

You okay?

Aye
, she said.
It’s just
…

The seam of her skirt had ripped when she fell. Mona held the pieces of fabric in her haunds, staring at them, then sank tae the flair and suddenly began tae sob, great big shuddering sobs that made her shoulders heave up and doon. Rona flung her airms round her.

I didnae understaund.

We can mend it – it’s just a skirt
.

The words hirpled out.
Mammy – made – it. She – made – it
.

Then Rona began tae greet too, her shoulders heaving in time to her sister’s, the pair of them entwined thegether like some classical sculpture of grief.

NAE MATTER HOW
still I tried to keep, the seat squeaked at the slightest wee movement. Jas squeezed my haund, breathed in my ear.
Sounds like you need oiled
.

Fortunately the music was that loud and there was so much noise in the auditorium anyway – rustling sweetie papers, girny weans, folk pointing out their children on stage – I wasnae gonnae disturb anyone. It was always like this at the dancing displays but this year the teacher had hired a bigger hall so the buzz of excitement was even greater. All her classes, fae pre-schoolers tae adults, done at least one routine, while some, like the twins, were involved several times. It was gonnae be a long evening.

Not only had Jas volunteered tae come, he’d also got a ticket for his ma. She was two seats along, next tae my da,
nodding and smiling as he listed the twins’ achievements. Patrick sat next tae Jas. It was the first time they’d met and it gied me a warm feeling to see my tall fair brother shaking haunds with Jas, small and neat and dark. I was sure they’d get on with each other, hoped there’d be time for them to talk properly afore Patrick had tae rush back tae London.

The twins still done line dancing but they’d learned other kinds too. The show was a mixture of everything: wee moppets prancing around dressed as fairies, middle-aged women with top hats and canes tripping through tap routines, lumpy teenagers in skimpy tops thumping about tae hiphop. The audience applauded enthusiastically after every set.

When are the twins on?
said Jas, peering at the programme in the hauf-light.

Next – Big Spender. Jemma’s in this too
.

There were five of them, dressed in fishnet tights and spangly leotards; the dance involved a lot of draping themselves round chairs and wiggling their bums in the air but the twins, wi their deadpan expressions and perfect timing, somehow managed tae make it look almost classy. Jemma looked mortified but got all the moves right and her long legs looked great in the fishnets.

At the interval we went tae the bar, well what passed for one. A barn of a place wi one guy doling out drinks in plastic cups and naewhere tae sit.

What’re you having, Mrs Kaur?

I’m fine, Mr O’Connell
.

C’mon, no even a wee lemonade or something?

No, really
.

What about yous kids – Patrick?

I’ll get them Da
.

Naw, I’ll get them, son
. He waved his wallet about and notes started tae drop fae it. Jas and me crawled about on the flair retrieving fivers, while Patrick steered him towards the bar.

Coffees okay for you, Fi? Jas?

Fine
.

Da?

Double whisky. Celebrate the twins’ show
.

Aye, but you don’t want to be seeing them double
.

We stood in a circle, plastic cups in haund. Da grew even mair talkative.

See, Mrs Kaur, the twins have always been brilliant dancers. Even
when they were two year auld
.

I can see how talented they are. And they must work very hard.
Things which look easy don’t come easy
.

Aye practisin so they are
.

My Amrik is just the same. Sitar never out of his hands. Of course
Jaswinder is more artistic
.

Our Fiona too. And Patrick
.

I couldnae take any mair of this parental pridefest so I heided aff to the toilet. When I returned Patrick and Jas were talking away thegether.

I touched Jas’s airm.
Let’s go in – the bell’s just gone
.

I thought the second hauf was never gonnae end – my bum was numb with the effort of trying tae keep still so the seat wouldnae creak too much. I knew the twins were in the finale so when the curtains opened on a tableau of rockabilly lassies in flared skirts, hair tied back in pony tails, I perked up. ‘Blue Suede Shoes’ blared fae the crackly speakers and the audience bounced in their seats as the lassies jived and hopped, slid through each other’s legs and done acrobatic tricks. Of course the twins were pure stars. Their high kicks were higher,
their splits wider, their footwork neater and mair precise, and, as always, they moved as one, even their pony tails flicking at exactly the same angle.

The audience went wild, jumped to their feet tae gie them a standing ovation. The dance teacher came on waving at the crowd to quieten them, then said,
You want more?

The crowd let out a huge roar and the girls repeated their final routine. Then there was an endless parade of everyone that had been in the show, class by class, for their bow. Finally we heided out intae the mad crowd. Fortunately Patrick had taken charge and ordered two taxis. He put my da and Jas’s ma intae one, looking round for Mona and Rona.

Hope the girls don’t take too long tae get changed. Mibbe you
and Jas could go in this taxi instead and I’ll wait for them?

Naw
, says my da.
Ah want tae see my wee lassies
.

Da had been like a man possessed during the final number, dancing and clapping and shouting out, and the energy he’d expended and the drink he’d taken seemed tae have hit him all of a sudden, like a wean suddenly felled by tiredness after a party. He shrunk intae a corner of the taxi, leaning on the armrest.

How much has he had?
I whispered to Patrick.
Two whiskies
at the interval wouldnae of had that effect
.

I think there was a hipflask in his pocket
.

Just then the twins appeared, dressed in their normal clothes. The heavy stage make-up on their faces made them look like dolls.

Ah’m that proud of yous
. My da lurched forward and tripped, steadied hissel on the handrest, then turned towards Mrs Kaur.
Sorry, hen, sorry
.

Are you all right, Mr O’Connell?

Ah’m fine, just fine
. He made tae get up again and this time
collapsed on the taxi flair. Patrick and Jas scrambled to help him up.

The taxi driver, who up till now had sat with a deadpan look on his face, listening tae heavy metal music on the radio while the meter ticked away, turned and addressed Patrick.
Now look son, I can put up wi folk having wan too many but if he’s
sick in ma cab, somebody’ll need tae pay for it
.

It’s okay
, said Patrick.
He’ll be fine
. He thrust a tenner in my haund.
I’d better get in with them. You and Jas go in the other
cab by yourselves. See you back at the ranch
.

With Jas close beside me as the taxi sped through wet streets, it felt peaceful after the chaos of the night. But my cheeks were burning at the thought of what Jas’s ma might think of my da. Jas was quiet, looking out the windae for a few minutes, then he said,
Why did you never tell me Patrick’s
gay?

Dunno. We just never talk about it. Did he say something to you?

Hello, I’m Fiona’s brother and I’m gay
.

I giggled.

Jas put his haund on my knee.
When did he come out?

He never really did, not at hame. I always thought that was why
he left, but mibbe he’d of left anyway. Cannae mind when I first
realised. It’s hard with your brother cause he’s just …

Your brother. I know
.

We never had any big discussions about it. One time about three
year ago some guy he’d been at school with had just got married
and there was the usual jokes about who would be next. Later, when
we were on wur ain he said, ‘You do know I won’t be getting
married,’ and I just said, ‘Yeah, I know,’ and then we changed the
subject
.

We were silent for a few moments, then Jas spoke.
I guess
you just take them the way they are, the way you never accept anyone
else, even your parents. Like Amrik – it’s not just his music – it’s
him that’s special. I cannae explain – you’ll need to meet him. He
does things differently and somehow gets away with it. Other folk
think it’s because he’s an artist, but to me, he’s just Amrik
.