Page 31 of Just Like You
“And what do you like?”
“It’s hard to answer.” He was looking straight at me. “But I like people who can deal with me.”
“Oh, Kieron, I can’t deal with you. Just look at me? I’m sat in a towel here, wondering what the hell I’ve agreed to.”
“You can because…” He scrunched up his face and hid it in his hands. Breathed out. Then looked up again like he was trying to compose himself. “I know it’s been brief, and weird and all the things I can see you’re thinking. But it’s been…perfect. You know that, don’t you? You and I, so far, have been everything. And I’ve enjoyed every little interaction we’ve had.”
“I…” I wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. I didn’t fully understand what we had here. Why he was so adamant that this was what he wanted. What we were. How this would…end. Because it would.
“So, you’re from Highgate?” I changed the subject to keep things safe. I wasn’t ready to let my head go where it was heading.
“No. Grew up in Holland Park with my mum. A bit like yours, she never told me who my dad was, and to be honest it never mattered. My mum was great. She was…fun. Lively and a little nutty, and she made my life a constant adventure. We lived in this big apartment, and I went to school, and sometimes I didn’t because we’d jump on a plane and go somewhere new, just to follow whatever was in her head. She’d read a book, and we’d go to where it was set. We watched a film about lions, and next thing I knew we were sat in a safari lodge in Kenya watching lions in the distance.”
“Wow,” I said, sitting myself up. “Proper adventure.”
“Irresponsible, bohemian and off her head was the general consensus.” He looked away, a look on his face that I knew far too well.
“She’s no longer here,” I said quietly.
“I knew you’d get that part.” Watery eyes, and I couldn’t stand it. I never could. My own grief had been violent, but I still couldn’t bear to see it in others. “You’re very empathetic.”
“I’m an idiot,” I said. Truth. “Too soft and too nice. I struggle to say no. I’m rubbish at telling people off.”
“You’re not. I watched you. I heard what you said to that woman in the back, the one who was throwing a tantrum over the backrest. You’re stern and fair. And empathetic. One of your finer qualities.”
“Bah.” I smiled through the emotion in my head. The tear that ran down his cheek. He wiped it away, suddenly embarrassed again.
“What happened to your mum, Kieron?”
“Accidental overdose. She was heavily into mind-altering substances at times. Left me a rambling, drunken note to get myselfsome dinner, a ten-pound note and then she was gone. Not something you forget…or forgive.”
“How old were you?” He shook his head.
“Tell me,” I said softly.
“Twelve.”
“Oh, Kieron.”
“Nah. It’s the ultimate stupid thing people tell for sympathy. I was just a kid. A naïve, silly child and I was so angry. I wanted everything to go back to normal. But that’s not how life works, is it?” He shifted on the chair, his arms flailing in the air. “You know how this story ends, don’t you? Family? Relatives? They want cute babies. Nobody wanted the messed-up teenager with the bad skin who kept lashing out. Nobody cared. Everyone was talking behind my back, and I didn’t understand what was going on. Things could so easily have gone wrong. So, so easily.”
“They had already gone wrong.” I tried to follow his story, slightly confused about where he was heading.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Tell me,” I demanded. “I get it. God, Kieron, I do. Get it out.”
“You don’t want to know the whole sob story.”
“Yes, I do. If we’re going to be here for another three days? I need to know what I’m dealing with. Are you a murderous psychopath?”
I was aiming for a badly placed joke. One that…strangely landed as he laughed. Tears running down his face.
Oh, Kieron. Fucking hell, dude.
“I’m a kid who survived foster care. Good enough for you?” he snarled, suddenly all defensive. “And I have no horror stories to tell there, because I was placed with this retired teacher, who sat me down at his kitchen table and fed me cheese toasties and talked about algebra. I went from enjoying sushi and watching lions to eating baked beans and memorising chemical compounds. And you know… It was… hard. But in the end things were okay. I went to uni, paid by my inheritance, and I got a job and bought a house, and I go visit Ralphie once a month at the home he’s at. He doesn’t remember who I am, but I try, you know?”
“Empathy. I think you may have that in spades. You just hide it well.”
