Page 90 of Glitterland
“Yeah. She left when I was little. I don’t remember like anyfing abaht ’er.”
“I’m sorry.” Sorry for not listening. Sorry for not caring. Sorry for being too afraid to care. Sorry for being selfish. Sorry for being cruel. Sorry for being me. Sorry for not being one-tenth of the man you thought I was.
He shrugged. “Just one of ’em fings.”
“Did you ever think of looking for her?”
“Course.”
“What happened?”
He gave a strange sort of laugh. “Nuffin ’appened, babes. Life don’t work like a storybook wif a proper ending.”
“You couldn’t find her?”
“Didn’t look. We ’aven’t gone anywhere, she knows ’ow to find us. I reckon if she wonnid to be ’ere, she’d be ’ere.”
I didn’t know what to say to him. “Well,” I tried, “maybe she couldn’t. For whatever reason.” As comfort—or platitude—it might have been more effective if I’d actually been able to come up with a reason.
But he nodded. “That’s what I like to fink. It’s better than finking she just doesn’t want me, janarwhatamean?”
I thought I’d long ago lost both the capacity and the desire to deal with the everyday pain of other people. There was nothing I could do that would make it better for him, but I wanted to stand at his side and let the world come, with all its minor setbacks and arbitrary cruelties. Maybe, in my frailty, I would flinch; maybe my strength would buckle; but maybe it didn’t matter as long I was there.
And maybe it was all too late.
“I can’t imagine anyone not wanting you, Darian.”
His eyes met mine, clear as the sky, and he gave me a bitter little smile. “Course you can, babes.” But before I could protest, he added, “D’you want anyfing. Like some tea or whateva?”
“No. Thank you.”
We stood in the middle of the living room, suddenly looking at everything but each other.
“D’you wanna like sit down or summin?”
“I need to talk to you about what happened,” I blurted out, finally managing to meet his eyes. “I need you to know I didn’t mean any of the things I said, and I’m so sorry I said them.”
Darian’s gaze skittered away. “Aw, babes, that’s ahwight. I mean, it was well ’arsh. But it’s ahwight.”
Chloe had been right. He was over me and had been for a long time. I tried to think of something to say, stuttered into helpless silence, and, this time, Darian did not help me. Locked outside his eyes, held at bay by his politeness, it felt like a cold and vast eternity. I tugged at my cuffs, mustering what remained of my dignity. “Oh, well, it’s just, I wanted to—” It was all so completely hopeless. I was beached by his indifference. I had expected it. It was a fitting conclusion. But, God, it hurt. The true, pure sting of loss, untainted by depression, madness, or denial. “It’s not even remotely all right.” I swallowed what felt like a sodden lump of words and tears. “You don’t have to be nice to me about it.”
“Well, my nan always says it don’t cost nuffin—”
“—to be polite,” I finished.
“Yeah.”
“Aren’t you angry with me? You should be.”
“Oh, I was, babes. I ’ad the ’ump like you wouldn’t believe. But it don’t matter now.” He fiddled absently with the zip on his onesie.
And that was then I realised: he was lying to me. Something else I had apparently taught him.
“Darian.” I tried to catch his eye, but he wouldn’t turn his head, and I knew it for the rejection it was. “Darian, please. I know I behaved unforgivably, but you have to believe me when—”
“Mate, it wasn’t a big deal.” Finally he turned. His mouth was tight, and in the depths of his eyes, like a wisp of cloud, there was a piece of fresh pain I had put there. “Not ’til you made it one. I mean, I was well narked at first, but then I ’ad a fink abaht it, and I knew you didn’t mean nuffin.”
My mouth dropped open. Something brash and joyous filled my heart like fireworks. “You knew?”
