Louder Than Words Page 16

Had he asked why, I wondered, and how had she got out of that one? In a normal family if friends stopped coming round, a parent noticed things like that. It was only in the weird world of the Ramseys that they didn’t.

  Josie’s dad sat with us and chatted in a way I wasn’t used to. I suppose it was regular, normal stuff like what exams were coming up at school and was Josie still struggling with her A-level choices for next year or had she made her mind up. Was there anything particular we wanted to do over the long summer break? And then he was thinking of renting a holiday cottage in the Lakes for a week or so and would I like to come along?

  ‘Oh, say yes, Rafi. It’ll be fun,’ Josie pleaded and I nodded without thinking it through because I felt so relaxed around these two. It was as if it didn’t matter whether I spoke or not. It was OK either way.

  There was no danger of Mum taking me and Silas on holiday. She might book an artists’ retreat for herself for a few days, but family holidays were another thing we didn’t do. I’m not sure it had ever occurred to her to take us on one. I couldn’t remember if we had ever been when Dad was there – though Silas might know.

  Josie’s dad said we didn’t have to help clear up when we’d eaten; he was just going to throw everything in the dishwasher anyway so to go off and do our own thing. Josie poured us a couple more glasses of juice and we headed to the gazebo. I felt a flutter of butterflies in my stomach as it got closer to the time when I’d have to hand my story over.

  I took a gulp of juice and held the notebook up.

  ‘Is this what I think it is?’ Josie asked and her mouth hung open in shock.

  Nod.

  ‘Oh. My. God. Hang on, let me get comfortable.’ She shifted about on the wooden bench so her feet were up and her back was leaning against the plank wall.

  There was no need. It wasn’t a very long story. She’d be disappointed. I was sure she was hoping for something more than my pathetic little paragraphs. It wasn’t even a story. Just rambling, repeating myself, trying to find words for why there were no words. Trying to make sense of the senseless.

  I handed her the notebook and leaned my head against the wall to let the nausea and panic wash through me as she read. If I tried hard enough I might get them to not only wash through me but right out of me again.

  I didn’t watch Josie as she read. I closed my eyes and saw my words swim in front of my face.

  Once upon not very long ago in a place not very far away, there lived a girl who just wanted everything to be nice. She hated rows and raised voices. She hated feeling stupid. And most of all she hated not being as special as the rest of her family.

  When she went to school, the other children there were more normal than her family was but she still felt like a boring oddball because she couldn’t join in with their games. She didn’t understand them and she didn’t know how to talk to the other children. At home, everybody talked about terribly important things, things she didn’t understand much about. They used big words and she struggled to follow what they were saying and no one had time to explain it to her. When she did try to join in, it seemed as if they were impatient for her to finish so they could get back to talking properly in their clever way.

  But the children at school weren’t like that at all. They said strange things like ‘You stink!’ to each other, which all of them seemed to find massively funny and she couldn’t see why it was funny at all because a) they didn’t stink and b) if they did, that wouldn’t be funny, would it? So the other children would give her strange looks when she didn’t laugh and she didn’t think they liked to play with her much.

  The teachers scared her. They would ask her questions and look very hard at her when she was supposed to give an answer. And when that happened all the other children in the class looked at her too. She realised she didn’t like being looked at so much.

  As she got a little bit older, she saw more and more how special her brothers and sisters were and how different she was. They were all so talented in different ways and so intelligent. They didn’t have any trouble understanding the complicated things that were talked about around the dinner table. Even the brother nearest to her in age could keep up with ease whereas she struggled to know what to say at all. And again, when she joined in, it wasn’t as good as the things they said and they often didn’t listen to her the way they listened to each other. From this she knew that she wasn’t very good at talking.

  Gradually she stopped trying. Also, if she didn’t talk, she realised she got told off less because people didn’t notice her so much. It was a little bit like being a ghost. At the dinner table she practised being very, very quiet and it worked – nobody noticed she was there. Except the brother closest to her in age, but she learned that if she pulled funny faces at him when nobody was looking, he laughed, but he didn’t expect her to speak either.

  She decided life was easier when nobody noticed her.

  One day, when she was trying to answer a question her mother asked her about what she wanted for lunch, and she very badly wanted tomato soup, she realised that even though Mummy asked her what she wanted, she wasn’t listening at all to her answer. She began to stammer ‘T-t-t-tom–’ but the words wouldn’t come out and Mummy didn’t care. She felt her throat lock up as she understood that what she said didn’t matter to Mummy. After that, whenever she tried to talk to Mummy the same thing happened – her throat got so tight she couldn’t speak.

  But Mummy didn’t even notice.

  When she sat at the table with her family and they all talked about their interesting and important things, she came to understand that she wasn’t interesting or important at all. Not like them. And when she realised that, it got even harder to talk to them until, one by one, the choking thing in her throat happened when she tried to speak to any of them.

  Once she stopped talking at home, except to the brother closest to her in age to whom she still managed to whisper, it became harder to talk in school and then she found she couldn’t speak to anyone there either. They did look at her in school when she spoke, but in a scary way and that was very hard to bear. At home no one listened, but at school they paid too much attention. She knew how useless she was because she couldn’t bear either.

  And it got worse and worse. The more people realised she didn’t speak and tried to make her, the more attention was on her. Even Mummy paid attention now, but Mummy’s attention was the scariest of all because it was angry. She could see how frustrated Mummy was with her all the time. Mummy must be sorry she was ever born – that’s how it felt.

  And then one day she couldn’t talk at all. Even to Silas.

  ‘Rafi,’ Josie said with a wobble in her voice.

  I looked up.

  ‘It’s not true, you know. I understand how it must have seemed that way, but you’re every bit as special a person as any of them. You’ve got to try to get over this. You can’t spend your life feeling this way. It’s not right. Does anyone else know?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘You need to show your therapist.’

  Vigorous head-shake.

  ‘No because you’ve written it or no because of what it says?’

  I shrugged. Both probably.

  ‘What if I came with you next time and told her why it started. Then you wouldn’t have to let her read it.’

  That was a possibility, but . . .

  I shook my head again.

  ‘Don’t you want Silas to know?’ And she looked like she understood exactly why I didn’t want Silas to know. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? Then don’t take him to that session. Take me instead. I’ll talk to him about it if you want.’

  If she could get him to let me go with her . . . and if she could get him to let Mum let me go with her . . .

  Could Andrea help me if she knew the truth? Did I have the courage to let her know?

  Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.

  (Abraham Lincoln)

  CHAPTER 37 />
  Dear Dad,

  It’s OK. Everything’s fine.

  Today we went over to Dillon’s HQ. They were planning something big. Everyone said Dillon had been very secretive about it until now, but he’d invited a bunch of them around for the big reveal. From how excited Lara was, it didn’t look like she got asked into ActionX’s inner circle that much and this was a really big deal for her, so I couldn’t say no. Even when what I really wanted was to just hang out, just her and me. Isolation from the world, like we were the only two people on the planet and had forever to get to know each other.

  Everyone had congregated in the room they’d used for the sleepover last time. It was still empty, but there were cushions thrown on the floor to sit on. Lara sat close and leaned into me again. She didn’t speak much to the others. Just quiet hellos. Was she intimidated by them? I found that hard to believe, but if she really did want in to their leadership clique then perhaps she was overawed by what they did. Certainly she did seem impressed by Katrin and her uber-planning on the night of the riot.

  Tyler brought mugs of herbal tea and coffee around for everyone. Dillon was nowhere in sight at this point. Katrin was chattering animatedly to some guys I hadn’t seen before, though from what she was saying they’d been very active in the riot.

  Jez came and sat by us. ‘So,’ he said and smiled and nodded.

  I waited, but that seemed to be it.

  Lara smiled back at Jez so I decided that was the expected response and followed suit. This had to be the most laid-back guy on the planet. What did Katrin, who’s more than a bit manic, see in him?

  Dillon entered and the room quietened in a moment. Something about that irritated me, but if I’m honest it scared me a bit too. To have that kind of power over people . . .

  Dillon looked round and smiled. ‘You’re all here. Very cool. OK, let’s get on with it.’ He sat down on a floor cushion against the back wall, everyone else seated round him like he was some guru or something. But at the time I found myself sucked into hanging on Dillon’s every word like all the rest.

  ‘Some of you know I’ve been planning a direction change for ActionX. Since we lost Deef, I’ve been re-evaluating what we’ve been doing. And you know, guys, there are things about what we’ve done and how we’ve done it that don’t sit well with me.’

  It was as if the whole room leaned forward to hear as his voice fell lower.

  ‘There are things we’ve done I’m ashamed of. Oh, I know when you’re caught up in the moment that it all seems OK, but is it really?’ He looked round them, one by one in turn, his face serious. ‘Is it really OK at 2 a.m. when you think about who got hurt and how? A lot of you here have got good reason to hate the police after the way you’ve been treated on demos. Even in the street you’re picked up for stop and searches. But what we need to remember – and I think I’ve forgotten this at times too – is that the police are not who we are fighting. They’re simply the instruments of the people we’re doing battle with. The people in power are the ones we want to hit and they hide behind the riot squads like they hide behind the armies they send out to be butchered for them.’ He leaned back against the wall. ‘We’re hitting the wrong target.’

  There was complete silence and then a wave of agreement spread round the room, some vocalised, some nodded. I nodded too because wasn’t that more or less what I’d been thinking after the riot?

  ‘So where I’ve got to with this,’ Dillon continued, ‘is that we need a change of plan badly. We’re still at war here, my friends, but we’re taking our battle out into a new arena. And this is where I need your help.’

  Again everyone listened intently.

  ‘Let’s fight where there are no casualties. Let’s cause maximum disruption and economic loss, but no loss of blood. I’m talking war, my friends, but I’m talking cyberwar.’

  The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

  Dillon reached over and slung his arm round Tyler’s neck. ‘Now most of you know Tyler has some mad skills with computers, and he’s given me a lot of advice over the last few weeks. But the scale of the hit I want to make and keep on making is not something he can do – he’s told me that. He knows all about where to hit, but the how is where we’re stuck. This is why I’ve asked you guys round today, partly to talk to you about this change in focus, but also to ask for your help. Do any of you know of anyone who’d be sympathetic to our cause who could team up with Tyler on this stuff? It needs some seriously crazy technical skill –’

  He broke off and looked across the room . . . to where I’d raised my hand.

  I don’t know now why I did it, Dad. There’re things about Dillon I like, but there’re things I don’t. Maybe you think it was to impress Lara. Maybe it was a bit, but that’s not all of it. I think most of it was because I believe in a lot of what they do.

  It’ll be fine though, Dad. Really. If there’s one place I understand totally what I’m doing, it’s out there in cyberspace. Wish me luck!

  Love, Silas

  CHAPTER 38

  ‘So how did it go?’

  Josie met her dad in the hall, one hand on her hip and an expectant expression on her face. He laughed and gently scooted her to one side and came through to the kitchen.

  I had been flopped on their big sofa, idly watching TV with Josie, and I quickly got up to go. If they were about to have a frank father–daughter conversation then I should leave. Immediately.

  Josie shook her head at me vehemently and I shrank back down on the sofa. Oh God, they weren’t going to row, were they? From what Josie had said before about their ‘Dad dating’ chats, it hadn’t sounded bad, but if she was going to get huffy about it now I didn’t want to be caught up in the middle of it.

  It was hard to think of anything I’d hate more, short of obvious things like Silas dying or something.

  Her dad sat on a kitchen stool. ‘Make me a coffee, please, Baby D. I’ve had too much wine.’

  Josie didn’t show a shred of embarrassment over the pet name. I liked this about her.

  Instead she looked at him, narrow-eyed and assessing. ‘That good then?’

  He laughed and waved her to get into the kitchen. ‘Coffee first!’

  She grinned and started the machine up. They had one of those huge coffee makers that looked as if it would be more at home in a café, but their kitchen was so vast that they got away with it. It confused me with its dials and levers, but Josie seemed to be able to get it to do anything she wanted – espresso, latte, cappuccino . . . it did the works.

  She made me a cappuccino with extra froth without asking, just a wink, and her dad a long, strong Americano. Her regular hit was latte with a dose of hazelnut syrup and she made hers as she began her dad’s interrogation.

  ‘So come on, give! How did it go?’

  Her dad sipped the coffee and closed his eyes and sighed. ‘Oh, that’s good!’

  ‘DAD!’

  He shook his head, eyes still closed. ‘Peace, child. Everything in good time.’

  She growled. ‘You are so infuriating sometimes.’

  I laughed inside as she sat down on the stool opposite him and pulled it close. She was right up in his face.

  He laughed too when he opened his eyes, but out loud.

  ‘Baby D, you have no patience, this is your trouble.’

  She tapped the counter, nails clicking on the granite. ‘I think I’ve been very patient, Daddy. Now do you think you can get round to telling me before my eighteenth birthday?’

  I cowered against the sofa cushions, trying to be invisible. I would never dare speak to my mother that way. Not that I dared speak to my mother at all.

  To my surprise, Josie’s dad – despite his formidable reputation according to Silas’s friend Toby – didn’t seem to care at all, even though I was there to hear it. Or did he forget I could hear, in the way that people did?

  ‘OK.’ He set his coffee down on the counter. ‘We went to see the film. It wasn’t bad. Maybe wouldn’t w
ant to see it again if it came on TV, but, you know, watchable. I think the lead guy is overrated though –’

  ‘DAD!’

  He laughed. ‘Yeah, all right. We went to see the film and then we got dinner at this fancy Japanese place that’s just opened. Now that was good – I’ll take you sometime.’

  I was momentarily stunned. I’d read about fathers taking their daughters to dinner, about whole families going to dinner together too, but I suppose I thought it was something that just happened in books, having no experience of it myself. I had a sudden picture of me and my mother sitting together in a hypothetical Japanese restaurant. It was just too absurd for the image to last more than a few seconds. I tried to picture it with my father instead and then realised I couldn’t remember what he looked like well enough any more.

  ‘What about her?’ Josie asked. ‘Angelica.’

  She hadn’t told me the woman’s name before. I tried to visualise what an Angelica might look like. Tall, I decided. It was definitely a tall person’s name. But I couldn’t decide if she’d be black or white. Hmm, either . . .

  ‘Well, it wasn’t the worst time ever. You know, we talk easy enough. But . . .’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t think we’ll be more than friends.’

  For a second I wanted to laugh. Most inappropriately. But really the way he was getting round to where he was really going with this reminded me so much of Silas and those conversations about the girls pre-Lara.

  I stifled the urge.

  Josie could have been either immensely relieved or slightly regretful. It was difficult to say, and looking at her I couldn’t guess which feeling was winning.

  ‘Dad, have you really given her a chance?’

  It cost her to ask that, but she did anyway.

  He sipped the coffee slowly and thought. I liked this about him, the time he took to give an answer. It made me think there’d be truth and importance in his words when he did speak them.

  ‘I think so. It’s like this, Baby D, and I guess we haven’t talked much about this stuff . . . we should have because your mum would have had these talks with you and I should have tried . . . but that kind of attraction you get to someone you want to carry on dating . . .’ He gave a little shake of his head as he tried to find the right words. ‘It can’t be created from nothing. It’s there or it’s not. And with Angelica, I told you I hadn’t thought of her like that. Maybe if we weren’t at work, a different environment, then that something might have sparked a little. That’s what I thought. I should have known better, but it’s been a long time for me. And it was so different with your mother anyway.’