was to me’—Ortie’s voice wobbles only slightly—’because I don’t have the right to ask you to do anything. You don’t have to do any of this.’
She’s wrong. How can I tell her that I do have to do this, I do want her and Diana to depend on me, after I let her down?
‘I don’t mind if you don’t want to help out, but if you say you are going to do something, then I expect you to do it.’ The last sentence has exhausted Ortie. Her shoulders droop inside her oversized jumper. ‘You should go home, Jethro.’
Diana is sucking her thumb. She’s almost outgrown the habit and only does it when she’s really upset.
‘Okay,’ I say. Looking at Ortie again is not an option. I wait a few seconds to see if I miraculously have something useful to say, but I don’t.
I’m halfway down the stairs when Ortolan calls out. ‘Are we still on for dinner tomorrow?’
Ortolan doesn’t take up much space in the frame of the doorway. Sometimes she doesn’t look much older than me, even though there’s six years between us. But she’s light years ahead of me in knowing how to live properly.
‘I have a gig. Is early okay?’
‘Early is fine.’ Ortolan is unsmiling. ‘Go home, Jethro. I know you won’t, but I have to say it anyway: go home.’
She’s right, I don’t go home. The night in my veins keeps me awake, keeps me moving. I’m full of the things I should have said, all the things I couldn’t say without feeling like I was making excuses. How can I be sure I won’t keep letting her and Diana down? I didn’t mean to ruin her night but it didn’t stop it from happening.
I cross Grey Street, straight back into Shyness, looking skywards as I walk. The roofs are clear and the lampposts are empty too, so maybe all the tarsier are dying. I think about Ortie standing at the stop of the stairs. This is what I’m scared of. If you don’t promise anyone anything then you can’t disappoint them. I don’t know how many things I can juggle and not fuck up.
I keep walking past my house. It’s only a short distanceto the cemetery. The cemetery is one of the few places in Shyness that hasn’t been vandalised. Even delinquents have their limits. I never see anyone else here. I don’t know why. There’s nothing scary about it. It’s no darker than anywhere else. In here there are only narrow paths and headstones, tinder-dry pine trees, barely standing, and monuments to the past. There’s no life in this place. I’m only scared of the living.
Gram’s ashes are stored in a wall, stacked together with the ashes of hundreds of other people. A filing cabinet for the dead. I close my eyes. My other hand goes to my chest, where his lighter rests at the end of a chain. Ortie soldered it for me after I told her how close I came to losing it.
In movies people always crouch by graves and have conversations with their dead loved ones. I don’t do that. I cough instead, feeling a howl rise in my throat. I didn’t keep trying to call Wildgirl. Thom is too busy for me. Lupe has left. Ortolan is angry. And if Lupe is right, Paul is as lost as I am.
I swallow against the howl, forcing it down, and distract myself by running through my promises to Gram and myself in my head. I’m fooling myself, but the plaque feels warm under my fingers. I promise to take care of Diana, I promise to look out for Ortie, I promise not to make the same mistakes he did. I promise not to let life beat me the way it did him. The whole time I make these promises Iwonder if I’ll be able to keep them.
The rickety sound of wheels on tarmac jolts me out of my reverie. I follow the sound to the edge of the cemetery, leaning over the low stone fence. A long procession of Kidds travels down the road, maybe fifty of them, with stolen shopping trolleys. The older Kidds push the trolleys and the younger Kidds ride inside, sitting on cardboard boxes holding clothes and toys and games consoles, all their worldly possessions. There are no tarsier
She’s wrong. How can I tell her that I do have to do this, I do want her and Diana to depend on me, after I let her down?
‘I don’t mind if you don’t want to help out, but if you say you are going to do something, then I expect you to do it.’ The last sentence has exhausted Ortie. Her shoulders droop inside her oversized jumper. ‘You should go home, Jethro.’
Diana is sucking her thumb. She’s almost outgrown the habit and only does it when she’s really upset.
‘Okay,’ I say. Looking at Ortie again is not an option. I wait a few seconds to see if I miraculously have something useful to say, but I don’t.
I’m halfway down the stairs when Ortolan calls out. ‘Are we still on for dinner tomorrow?’
Ortolan doesn’t take up much space in the frame of the doorway. Sometimes she doesn’t look much older than me, even though there’s six years between us. But she’s light years ahead of me in knowing how to live properly.
‘I have a gig. Is early okay?’
‘Early is fine.’ Ortolan is unsmiling. ‘Go home, Jethro. I know you won’t, but I have to say it anyway: go home.’
She’s right, I don’t go home. The night in my veins keeps me awake, keeps me moving. I’m full of the things I should have said, all the things I couldn’t say without feeling like I was making excuses. How can I be sure I won’t keep letting her and Diana down? I didn’t mean to ruin her night but it didn’t stop it from happening.
I cross Grey Street, straight back into Shyness, looking skywards as I walk. The roofs are clear and the lampposts are empty too, so maybe all the tarsier are dying. I think about Ortie standing at the stop of the stairs. This is what I’m scared of. If you don’t promise anyone anything then you can’t disappoint them. I don’t know how many things I can juggle and not fuck up.
I keep walking past my house. It’s only a short distanceto the cemetery. The cemetery is one of the few places in Shyness that hasn’t been vandalised. Even delinquents have their limits. I never see anyone else here. I don’t know why. There’s nothing scary about it. It’s no darker than anywhere else. In here there are only narrow paths and headstones, tinder-dry pine trees, barely standing, and monuments to the past. There’s no life in this place. I’m only scared of the living.
Gram’s ashes are stored in a wall, stacked together with the ashes of hundreds of other people. A filing cabinet for the dead. I close my eyes. My other hand goes to my chest, where his lighter rests at the end of a chain. Ortie soldered it for me after I told her how close I came to losing it.
In movies people always crouch by graves and have conversations with their dead loved ones. I don’t do that. I cough instead, feeling a howl rise in my throat. I didn’t keep trying to call Wildgirl. Thom is too busy for me. Lupe has left. Ortolan is angry. And if Lupe is right, Paul is as lost as I am.
I swallow against the howl, forcing it down, and distract myself by running through my promises to Gram and myself in my head. I’m fooling myself, but the plaque feels warm under my fingers. I promise to take care of Diana, I promise to look out for Ortie, I promise not to make the same mistakes he did. I promise not to let life beat me the way it did him. The whole time I make these promises Iwonder if I’ll be able to keep them.
The rickety sound of wheels on tarmac jolts me out of my reverie. I follow the sound to the edge of the cemetery, leaning over the low stone fence. A long procession of Kidds travels down the road, maybe fifty of them, with stolen shopping trolleys. The older Kidds push the trolleys and the younger Kidds ride inside, sitting on cardboard boxes holding clothes and toys and games consoles, all their worldly possessions. There are no tarsier
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