I’m tempted to leave one of the windows slightly open, to try and stop the car turning into a furnace, but the young people milling around make up my mind for me. The car empties in a mad rush and we’re all standing, looking at the college.
‘I think it’s this way, Moira,’ I say.
‘Yes, it is. It’s in the big assembly hall. I know where it is. I’ve been here before, you know.’
I look back at the car, as we make for the entrance.
‘You don’t think I have to pay, do you?’
‘No, Mike, it’s a free car park.’
‘You always worry about your car. Why don’t you just relax?’ says Joanne, blowing a bubble from her glossy-lipped mouth.
The inside of the building is much cooler; people push past, their busy lives colliding with ours for the first and last time. We stand and look around.
‘So, this is where he’s been then?’ says Sean.
It’s impressive; we’re staring at everything like foreign tourists on holiday.
‘Excuse me?’ Moira asks at reception. ‘Can you tell me where the assembly hall is?’
‘Which one?’ asks the middle-aged lady, adjusting her half-moons.
Moira blinks and squints her eyes. ‘Drummond. The Drummond Assembly Hall.’
‘Follow the signs,’ says the lady, pointing at a collection of arrows etched into the walls.
The assembly hall is crowded and noisy, but thankfully air-conditioned. We are fortunate enough to find four empty seats in a row. We have to disturb some people to get there, before we can settle down. Moira starts fussing in her handbag, Sean searches the rows of people for young girls and Joanne is looking at the stage, chewing her damn gum like the pistons of an engine. I wonder how Pete is bearing up.
The man to my left elbows me. ‘You here to see your son, are you?’
I smile. ‘No, here to see my nephew. His name is Pete. Pete Smith.’
The man nods. ‘That’s nice,’ he says. I look away, but he starts up again. ‘I’m here to see my son, Alexander. Alexander Harrington.’ I look away. ‘That’s his name.’ I turn back and nod, wait for any more, then turn away again. ‘I’m very proud of him.’
I turn back and smile. ‘You must be.’
He starts to say something, but I turn to Moira and ask her when it starts. She thinks it’s about five minutes. I scan the crowd and look at the faces, turning this way and that; the hall is filled with a low-pitched continual collective mumbling.
‘I might quickly go to the toilet,’ says Moira. ‘So’s I’m back in time.’
‘Good idea,’ I say. She disturbs everyone again and edges her way out.
‘I wonder if Pete’s nervous?’ I ask Sean.
‘Fucked if I know,’ he says. ‘Can’t see why. He’s known about it for ages.’
I roll my eyes. This boy is such a piece of nothing; he’s empty. He downloaded his soul from the internet. He’s nineteen and interested in girls, cars and money. I suppose a lot of kids are, but it doesn’t make it easier when you try to talk to them.
‘What do you think, Joanne?’
She doesn’t hear or chooses not to answer. I repeat it more forcefully, leaning into Sean a little.
‘Eh?’ she says, blowing a bubble.
‘How do you think Pete is feeling? What do you think he’s thinking about?’
She shrugs and moves her lips into such an odd position, she looks deformed. We look at each other until she blows another bubble, which deflates across her shiny lips. She pulls it in with her tongue and smiles.
‘Don’t you fucking people think anything? Don’t you care about your brother?’
She looks surprised. Sean keeps his eyes on the stage, but they’re more focused now.
‘Don’t you give a fuck about anything except yourself? You make me fucking sick!’ I tell them, pausing before I sit back and look away. There’s some bloke on the stage in a suit; he’s messing about with a microphone. I concentrate on him.
‘Well,’ says Joanne, after a while, ‘I think he’ll be quite nervous.’
I shoot a look at her. ‘Is that what you think?’
The man is saying “Testing” into the microphone.
‘He’s probably counting something,’ mumbles Sean. I look at him and he’s smiling.
‘You think that’s funny do you?’
He doesn’t move and the smile remains.
‘You’ll never be half the man he is,’ I tell him. I’ve sprayed the side of his face with some spit. I don’t care. His smile slowly goes; he keeps watching the man on the stage.
‘Counting helps him … though … doesn’t it? Maybe he is counting?’ says Joanne.
‘Maybe,’ I say. I turn to her. ‘Maybe he’s just sitting there, nervous like the others. Maybe they’re all counting. Who knows?’
Sean sniggers.
I dig my elbow in his ribs. ‘Do you know what I’d like to do to you?’ He doesn’t look. I elbow him again. He looks. His mouth is making little jerky movements. ‘I’d like to take you into the car park and give you the thrashing my brother should’ve given you years ago.’
The row of people move as Moira returns. She asks if she missed anything. No one answers until I look up and tell her she hasn’t. She asks what’s going on.
‘You tell her,’ I say to no one in particular. I watch the stage. No one speaks.
‘Is someone gonna tell me?’
‘Uncle Mike wants to beat me up!’
‘He wants to what?’
‘Beat me up!’
‘What the hell’s going on?’ she says.
‘Nothing.’ I wave my hand in her direction. ‘I’ll tell you later.’
‘Tell me now, if you don’t mind!’ She is leaning across Joanne, her eyes burning.
‘I’ll tell you later.’
‘You’ve upset Sean on this big day and I want to know what the hell’s going on! I’ll speak to John about this!’
‘Oh you will, will you? John. My brother. The loving father. Where’s John now?’
Moira’s eyes scan the immediate locale to see who might be listening. They’re all listening, but at a very discreet distance. ‘He’s at work, he can’t make it. You know that.’
‘Can’t make it, eh? His son ran through brick walls to get to this day and John’s working – can’t get time off. Is that it, Moira?’
‘You know that’s it.’
‘Do you believe that, Moira? Do you really believe that?’
She pauses, then says: ‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
‘I’ve known my brother for a long, long time. I know him well. I know he’s never let Sean down. I know he’s never let Joanne down. I know he’s never likely to let them down. Never. That’s my brother. He’d run through brick walls for his family. Pete? Pete’s different.’
She pauses. She quickly looks around. ‘No he’s not,’ she snaps.
‘Yes he is. We all know he is. He knows he is.’
‘No, he’s not. He’s the same as any one of us. Hell! The proof is here and now. He’s graduated today and we’re all here to support him. He’s a good a man as the rest of them.’
‘No, he’s not. He’s better. I’m more proud of him than the rest of you put together.’
‘No you’re not! How dare you!’
‘Look at Sean here. What you gonna do, Sean?’
He looks at me as if I’m going to lamp him one. He shrugs. ‘I’m a plumber.’
‘Yeah, but what are you going to do, Sean?’
He looks at me and blinks. ‘I’m gonna … plumb.’
‘You’re gonna plumb. With your life, you’re gonna plumb. Good for you, Sean.’
‘Joanne?’
Her eyes widen.
‘What are you gonna do?’
‘Beautician.’
‘How … beautiful. A beautician.’
Moira’s face is like thunder. ‘What … is your point?’
We look at each other for a few moments, neither person blinking, before I shake my head and look at the stage.
Each student is called. They come up, shake hands, take their diploma, receive applause and sit at the front. Pete is in the middle of the list somewhere, he looks no different to the rest. When that is done, they all get back on the stage and the Dean makes a speech.
I watch Pete standing there, just behind the Dean. He’s turning the paper over in his hand, smiling, looking around the audience, looking down, fidgeting.
I’ve spent a lot of time with Pete. I’ve watched him grow from a baby into a man. It’s been an enormous effort to make it this far. I remember sitting with John one evening in a pub; I remember him asking if I thought Pete was normal. Pete is their eldest child, so they had nothing to compare him to. I remember saying that I thought he was fine, “probably average”. I remember not believing my own words. I remember John’s face. He tried, but John is not a patient man. If things go wrong, he gets angry and he wants to fix them there and then. Sometimes you can’t. John could never understand that. He could never understand that Pete wasn’t like a bit of guttering that came loose or a lawn mower that could be replaced. As soon as the seeds of doubt were planted, he seemed to put as much distance between himself and his son as possible. Sean was good at sport, Joanne was into dance and modelling – all the wholesome things that dads enjoy involving themselves with, those last opportunities to experience life through their children’s eyes. Pete would be trying to read, trying to write, trying to catch up, trying to keep his head above water. You can’t go to the pub and tell the boys about your kid reaching stage two reading books, when they were talking about football team captains and cricket. Pete made me proud. I bought the celebration cakes, organised the parties, read with him, guided his hand across the exercise books. I never had a family of my own. I never had a son or a daughter. I look at Pete standing there now and I feel such a burst of pride, that I imagine this is the nearest thing possible to being a father.
The speech is over and the students are applauded and cheered. They break their lines and make their way down in front of the stage. Everyone moves into the crowd to meet them.
‘Pete!’
‘Mum!’
He’s almost crying as he embraces his mother. I take the diploma as it’s getting squashed.
‘Sean!’
Pete grabs hold of his younger brother.
‘Hey!’ says Sean, pushing him away playfully. ‘Alright, Pete?’
‘Joanne!’
She leans forward so they can hug; she pulls back.
‘Uncle Mike! Thanks for coming!’
I take him in my arms. ‘Well done, Pete,’ I tell him. ‘You should be so proud of yourself.’
‘I am. I am!’ he says. ‘Where’s my?’
I hand him the paper. He laughs.
‘What about Dad? Could he make it in the end?’
‘Ohhhh … Pete. He’s so sorry he couldn’t make it. He did try,’ says Moira.
Pete bites his bottom lip. ‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘That’s a shame. I wanted him to be here.’
From the corner of my eye, I catch something familiar. I tell them I’ll be right back. I move past some people and I’m confronted by my brother.
‘John!’
‘Hello, Mike.’
‘What are you standing here for?’
He shrugs.
‘Come on!’ I pull his shoulder, but he resists.
‘I’ll be there in a minute. I just wanted to watch.’
I screw up my face. ‘Why?’
He shrugs. ‘Just wanted … to watch.’
‘Well, now you’ve watched, you can come over, can’t you?’
He looks down and swallows; he jams his hand into his jean pocket, shaking his head.
‘John?’
‘Yes? Right!’
He pats my shoulder and walks past me, pushing through the crowd. I follow behind. As I catch up, the people part and I see Pete holding onto his father’s neck. The diploma is being squashed again. I feel like I’m too far away to take it from him this time. Sean ruffles Pete’s hair; Moira and Joanne exchange smiles.
A CLOCKWORK ORANGE - Anthony Burgess
THE ALCHEMIST - Paulo Cuelho
THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA - Ernest Hemingway
