Self-Portraits - 20. The Firework Committee

When I wake up, the first thing I do is call Nicholas again.

Still no answer.

Then I call Harriet and tell her what happened.

“I feel guilty,” I tell her. “Really, really guilty.”

“Guilty?” Harriet exclaims. “You were trying to help. That’s far more than Darren Park deserved. You have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“I should’ve covered up that graffiti on Friday afternoon,” I say. “But I didn’t. I thought, let people find out, it’s not my problem.” Saying it out loud, I feel disgusted with myself. “So much for Never be mean, never be cruel.”

“Well, what else can Nicholas expect?!” Harriet snaps. “You were too nice to him for too long. He took your niceness and he used it up. If you ask me, you’re allowed to have one mean moment after everything he put you through.”

But it’s not that simple. Deep down, I know I did the wrong thing, and I need to come clean with Nicholas.

Eventually Harriet has to start rehearsal, but she tells me she’ll call me when she’s finished.

After we hang up, I make scrambled eggs and coffee for Mum, then we play Scrabble. Even though she has a hangover, she ends up far ahead of me within her first couple of turns. Then she puts down the word QUIZ for 66 points and I know I’ve got no hope. Still, I’m proud of the word BYGONES, even though it’s only 14 points.

“Let bygones be bygones,” Mum says.

And she’s perfectly right.

*

After Scrabble, I call Nicholas again. He still doesn’t answer, so I send him a text message. PLEASE call me as soon as you can. And this time, he does.

“Thanks,” I say. “Thanks for calling me back.”

“What do you want?” he says coldly.

“I assume Stu told you what happened last night? With Darren.”

“Obviously. Darren was the reason I was trying to get you to call me in the first place. I wasn’t aware you were with him.”

“I wasn’t with him,” I say. “I want to explain everything. But first, is Stu okay?” When Nicholas doesn’t say anything, I add, “Are you okay?”

There’s more silence. Eventually Nicholas says, “Do you care if I’m okay?”

“Of course I do.”

“That’s funny, because you’ve given me the cold shoulder for weeks and apparently these days, you’re outing me to your new friend Darren.”

“I didn’t tell him anything and he’s definitely not my friend.” I don’t want to explain it over the phone. “Can we please meet this afternoon? Maybe at Moxies?”

Another silence.

“Please,” I say.

He sighs. “If we must.”

“Is two o’clock okay?”

“Fine.” Then he hangs up.

*

The old me would’ve worried about what to wear, but I haven’t even had a shower this morning. I get to Moxies ten minutes early but I’m not tied up in knots worrying whether Nicholas will get there on time, or if he’ll get there at all. As it happens, he walks in a couple of minutes after I do.

Sitting across from him, I find it a bit strange that I was in love with him. It’s just Nicholas, with the pointy ears, freckles on his forehead, and that big grin. Not that he’s grinning today.

Maybe Nicholas made some mistakes. Maybe he should’ve realised that I was infatuated with him. Maybe he shouldn’t have stopped hanging out with me.

But now I know that he was right.

We should probably hang out with other friends, Nicholas said, that morning by the gate, instead of just with each other all the time.

He was right about that. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have become friends with Harriet. But this isn’t about me. It’s never been about me, not when it comes to Nicholas.

“How’s Stu?” I ask.

“Bad,” Nicholas says.

I nod. “It was so …” I can’t think of the word. “Bad.” I sound so lame.

Nicholas says nothing. I ask if he wants a coffee or a piece of cake. He gives me a shrug, so I go up to the counter to order.

Back at the table, I take a deep breath. Where should I even begin?

I start with seeing the graffiti after school on Friday. I explain how I stood there with a pen, trying to think about what to change it to.

Nicholas scoffs. “You said you’d stop meddling with graffiti after what happened with Mr Boyle.”

Last term, Mr Boyle walked around the back of the cricket pavilion less than two seconds after I’d finished changing MRS BRISTOL HAS NO TITS to MRS BRISTOL HAS A PHD & HER THESIS WAS ABOUT BEOWULF. After Mr Boyle left, Nicholas got the giggles for about five minutes. Right now, that feels like another life.

“I guess I had a relapse,” I say.

But I tell Nicholas that I didn’t end up changing the graffiti – and I didn’t cross it out either. I left it there for anyone to see. And because Darren had seen me standing there for so long, he naturally assumed I’d written it.

But Nicholas isn’t convinced. “Stu and I were so careful after you caught us at Lisa’s party. Nobody else knew. You’re the only one who knew and you’re the one Darren saw writing it. If you didn’t write it, then who did?”

I think about that for a moment. “Maybe whoever wrote it didn’t know. It’s the sort of thing people say when they see two guys are close. They said it about you and me, without any proof. Sometimes idiots write stuff on bathroom walls – or shout it at you from cars. They don’t have a clue if they’re right or not.”

“How do you explain last night, then? You basically tricked my boyfriend into coming down the alleyway so Darren could beat him up.”

And so I explain to Nicholas how the three of us ended up there. “I was trying to help,” I conclude, “but I made it so much worse.”

“Yeah, you really did. I wanted to come out of the closet, not be forced out.”

“You don’t deserve any of this. I’m sorry.”

“Well, we’re even now, right?” Nicholas says. “I ditched you when your parents split up. I wanted us both to hang out with other friends, even when I knew you didn’t have any. Fair’s fair. That’s why you’ve been avoiding me all month, isn’t it?”

“No, that’s not why.”

“Then why?”

I take another deep breath. “I wanted to be your boyfriend. The truth is that, right up until I saw you and Stu kissing, I thought you and I were going to become boyfriends. I had been misreading things for ages.”

Nicholas stares at me for a moment. He leans back in his chair. “Wow. I didn’t realise that. I thought you might’ve been getting the wrong idea a few months ago, but then you said we were on the same page, so I figured we were fine. But … wow. Okay.”

I push on. “That was why I needed time away from you. That’s what the last month has been about. I needed to get over you. And it worked.”

“So, you don’t feel that way anymore?” he asks.

“Definitely not.”

Nicholas laughs drily. “So, a few weeks ago, everyone was in love with me. Now, everyone hates me.”

“I’m sure not everyone hates you,” I say.

“It feels that way. I woke up to so many messages from Lisa and Carrie this morning. My so-called friends are all showing their true colours this weekend, that’s for sure. I actually don’t think I have any friends right now.”

“I’ll be your friend,” I say. “I’d completely understand if you never want to talk to me again too, but the offer’s there. For you and Stu.”

As I say it, I know it wouldn’t be easy, spending time with them. But I also know that, right now, Nicholas and Stu need friends more than I need things to be easy. Harriet can help me with a Nicholas-and-Stu-Friendship Plan.

Nicholas sips some coffee and thinks. “I’ll ask Stu what he thinks. Last night, we both totally thought that you told Darren about us.”

“I promise I didn’t tell him. I honestly was standing in front of that graffiti because I was trying to figure out what to change it to. NICHOLAS is a tricky word.”

“That part is weird enough to sound like something you’d do,” Nicholas concedes. “And Darren does smoke half a cigarette in that cubicle after the last bell every day. But ... I’m still not sure. Everything is such a mess. Stu and I have no idea who to trust yet.”

“Of course. But like I say, the offer’s there.”

Nicholas sits there, poking his cake with a fork.

“It’s weird,” he says after a minute. “You feeling that way about me this whole time. Because I’ve actually been jealous of you.”

I’m not sure I’ve heard him correctly. “Wait ... what?”

“Yeah. Because if you decided to come out, and everything went to shit, you would still be okay.”

“But ...” I try to make sense of that. “I did try to come out – and everything did go to shit – and ...”

“Yeah, and you were okay. Your family cares about you. Even when your parents were in the middle of splitting up, you were still going on cute little outings with your mum and bike rides with your dad. You get to hang out with Vicky all the time. No matter what, you’re going to be alright. You don’t need to worry about what anyone at Crampton thinks of you.”

“But I do worry.” I’m so baffled. “I worry all the time.”

“You don’t,” Nicholas insists. “Not deep down. If you did, you’d spend a lot more time trying to look cool. You’d have a better fashion sense. You wouldn’t spend every lunchtime in the library with Harriet Hayes. You’ve never really worried about looking like a loser.”

It doesn’t hurt my feelings, hearing Nicholas call me a loser, because it’s the type of thing he’s always said. And even though it seems like an insult, I don’t think that’s how he means it.

Then Nicholas tells me he’s going to have to come out to his parents, before they hear it from someone else. He lists all the ways they might react: disgust, embarrassment, denial, indifference. Nicholas says he’s really worried his parents are going to hate Stu.

“Nobody hates Stu,” I reassure him.

Nicholas gives me a withering look, like I know nothing. He’s convinced that school is going to be terrible tomorrow. The whispering, the looks, the jokes. Having to see Darren Park – who, according to Lisa’s texts this morning, says he can’t remember anything about last night.

For the rest of the afternoon, Nicholas and I talk about things to do with Nicholas, because that’s how our friendship is. That’s how it’s always been.

“One good thing came out of last night,” Nicholas says. “Afterwards, Stu and I said I love you to each other.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” There’s a mustard taste in my mouth. “I’m happy for you.”

I’m not really happy, of course. It still hurts.

But I’ll live.

*

Back home, there are three cars in the driveway – Dad’s, Cheryl’s and Rosemary’s. Inside, I can hear Cheryl loudly dictating cocktail ingredients, over the sound of baby Olivia wailing. Everyone’s crowded in the kitchen.

“You’re doing so well,” Rosemary’s marvelling at Maggie. “You don’t even look tired.”

“It’s ninety per cent make-up,” Maggie insists. “We haven’t slept a wink.”

“Will you have a cocktail, then?” Cheryl asks, already spilling vodka on the counter.

Maggie laughs. “Perhaps I’ll hold off on the cocktails for now.”

“I’ll have Maggie’s cocktail!” Vicky says.

“You’ll have no such thing,” Mum says. “You’re supposed to be making a salad.”

“I did!” Vicky insists, pointing to a bowl of impatiently torn lettuce.

Dad’s pacing back and forth with his screaming red-faced newborn, looking equally red-faced.

“The resemblance is uncanny,” I tell him.

“Oh, thank God you’re here,” Dad says. “Can you take her for a second?”

“Of course,” I say. “But what are you doing here? What’s going on?”

“Sorry, I’m dying for a pee!” I take the baby bundle in my arms and Dad makes a run for it. Within a few seconds, Olivia’s screwed-up purple face goes still and silent. Olivia stares at me with black eyes. She looks suspicious.

“You’re a baby whisperer,” Maggie says, visibly relieved. “You’re not letting go of her until we leave. In fact, you’re coming home with us.”

“Take him, he’s yours,” Mum says.

“Oh, thanks a lot,” I mutter.

“We’re having an impromptu dinner party,” Mum says.

“Oh, um, great – can I help with anything?”

“Absolutely not,” Maggie says. “Sit there and don’t move a muscle.”

So I sit in the corner of the kitchen being stared at by baby Olivia, while the others make cocktails and salads. The doorbell rings.

“Vicky, answer that, please,” Mum says.

“I’m making a salad.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just standing there trying to steal sips of cocktail.”

Vicky drags her feet to the front door.

At first, I don’t recognise the booming voice. “Young lady! You’re a lady full of character, I’ve heard. Full of character! Victoria, I believe, also like the Queen. The second longest-ruling monarch, did you know? It’s an honour to meet you, Your Majesty.”

“Mum!” Vicky screams. “Help! There’s a crazy man at the door.”

“Invite them in,” Mum says.

Them?

I’m surprised to see Barry Hayes stride into the kitchen, having to stoop to miss the doorframe. He’s followed by Kevin, bespectacled and polite, then Harriet, who looks as though she’s ready to murder her parents.

“Harriet?” I say. “What …”

“Harriet called looking for you,” Mum explains, “and I told her you were out with Nicholas, but that you’d be back for dinner, and I thought, why not invite them all over? There’s going to be plenty of food and it’s been so long since we had such nice weather.”

Harriet gives me a look that says: How did it go?

I’ll tell you later, I mouth back.

“Your kitchen is charming!” Barry booms.

“Hello,” Kevin says.

“Who are these gorgeous men?” Cheryl demands, momentarily forgetting her cocktail. “And why haven’t we been introduced?”

“I think you’re barking up the wrong tree, darling,” Rosemary mutters.

Mum, Rosemary, Cheryl and Maggie meet Barry and Kevin. Then Dad comes back from his pee, and Kevin, Barry, and Harriet meet Dad. Then Kevin and Barry meet Olivia.

Barry insists on holding her. To everyone’s relief, Barry’s a baby whisperer too; Olivia remains silent.

“Harriet was an extraordinarily silent baby, too,” Barry says. “Except for the farting.”

“Dad!” Harriet looks mutinous.

Baby-free, I escort Harriet out of the kitchen into the living room. I tell her what happened with Nicholas.

“Do you still feel guilty?” she asks.

“I do,” I say. “But it’s a feeling. It’ll pass.”

“And how do you think you’ll feel if Nicholas and Stu take you up on your offer to be friends again?”

“I’ll need all the help I can get,” I tell her.

It hits me, then, just how much Harriet has done for me. Months ago, she saw what nobody else saw – that I was adrift and alone – and she reached out to me.

“I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through this term without your help,” I tell her.

She scoffs. “You’re just not used to having a proper friend. Nicholas only ever wanted to be a friend to himself.”

I laugh, a bit awkwardly. Harriet digs a fingernail into the weave of the sofa.

“But I should thank you,” she mutters. “I’d been getting way too serious about everything. Dads were starting to get worried about me. But then you came along and suddenly you’ve got me doing crazy things like trespassing onto your dad’s girlfriend’s—”

“I never told you to do that!”

“What I mean is,” Harriet says, “that being kicked out of the library once in a while is good for me.”

“Well, I’m glad.” I hesitate, before I ask her, “Harriet, who do you think the hero is in your life?”

If I asked anyone else in my English class that question, they would laugh at me, but Harriet takes it seriously.

“I’m the hero of my own life, of course. Why do you ask?”

“Because I didn’t really feel like the hero of my life,” I admit. “Not for ages, because everything was about Nicholas. But now ... I don’t know. I don’t feel that way about him anymore, but I still feel like there’s a big empty space right in the middle of my life.”

“That’s your space,” Harriet says. “You can start filling it up with yourself.”

Before I can ask her how someone goes about filling up an empty space with themselves, Vicky comes into the lounge to join us, having successfully stolen a cocktail from Cheryl.

“Mum is policing the alcohol harder than Mr Jane at the Year 11 Ball!” Vicky declares. She does a near-perfect impression of Mr Jane. “Alcohol is prohibited at all Crampton Collegiate functions! And in the privacy of your own home!”

Harriet responds with an actually perfect impression of him. “Silence, students! I said silence!”

The two of them swap impressions of their teachers. I do an imitation of Mr Boyle encouraging us to show school spirit for yet another sports team, but they both shake their heads at my dismal effort.

Soon, I hear Olivia start crying again. Rosemary marches into the living room with her.

“You’re back on duty.” Rosemary plants Olivia back in my arms, where she again falls quiet.

Outside, Rosemary, Dad, and Kevin all hover around the barbeque, assessing the cookedness of sausages and steaks. Inside, Mum finds our old baby clothes to give to Maggie. Cheryl spills her cocktail over them.

After dinner, we hear a rapid series of sharp bangs, snaps and crackles in the distance – one of our neighbours is setting off some fireworks. We run outside and watch the sprays of colour in the sky. It only lasts a minute and, when it’s over, we’re all a bit disappointed.

“I was hoping they’d keep going,” Rosemary says gloomily.

Dad asks Mum, “What happened to that box of fireworks we never opened?”

“It’s still in the shed near the bikes,” Mum says. “But they’ll be ancient by now.”

At everyone’s insistence, Mum finds the box and brings it out. “I doubt they’ll even light,” Mum warns everyone.

“Let’s tie all of their fuses together,” Vicky insists, “and set them all off at the same time!”

“That would be extremely dangerous,” Harriet says. Then adds, “But I am curious.”

Maggie, Mum and I sit on the back porch, watching the others trying to twist all the firework fuses together. Olivia’s fallen asleep on me. Maggie begs me not to move.

After half an hour, Dad declares, “Alright, we’re as ready as we’ll ever be.”

There’s a bouquet of about twenty fireworks, all sticking straight up.

The sky has gone dark. It’s a clear night with millions of stars.

“Let’s get this disaster over with!” Barry says.

“You’d better step back,” Vicky warns Cheryl, “or you’ll catch on fire with all the alcohol in your system.”

Dad bends down and strikes a match. Everyone rushes back to the porch.

“If we all die in this explosion,” Rosemary says solemnly, “then I’d just like to say, I’ve never liked any of you very much.”

“Look!” Harriet cries. “It’s about to go off!”

The spark curls its way up to the bottom of the firework bunch, then vanishes.

We’re all holding our breath. Nothing happens.

After a few seconds, there’s a faint whistling sound, followed by a wet sort of snapping.

Then nothing.

“Is that it?” Vicky says.

“Well, what did you expect?” Mum says. “I told you they were old.”

“That was disappointing,” Cheryl slurs.

There’s a sudden pop. We all shriek.

A jet of yellow sparks shoots into the air, a single burst of colour. The sparks barely reach the height of the roof, before crackling away into darkness.

“All our preparation for that?” Vicky cries.

For some reason, the monumental failure gives Rosemary and Barry a case of the giggles.

“Perhaps the fuses weren’t tied together properly,” Harriet says.

“I think you’re right,” Dad agrees. “Let’s take another look.”

“Be careful,” Maggie begs him. “You’ve got a newborn to take care of.”

Cheryl waves her empty glass. “I’m making another drink!”

“Wait for me!” Vicky follows her inside.

“No, Vicky, you’re not drinking anything else!” Mum shouts after her. Mum turns to Maggie and sighs. “Honestly, I never thought daughters would be naughtier than sons.”

Despite the noise, Olivia remains asleep.

The firework committee reconvenes, even though it’s clearly a doomed effort. One small bang and one burst of colour: tonight, that’s all we’ll get.

But for now, this is all I need.