Louder Than Words Page 9

  An unexpected round of applause broke out again. At least, it was unexpected to me. The man at the lectern, however, seemed to take it in his stride. He smiled gently and held up his hand again. The audience fell quiet once more.

  ‘We’re fed them like mother’s milk, aren’t we?’ he said conversationally. ‘Expected to drink them down like obedient little boys and girls because really they’re good for us. Better that the masses don’t know the truth. That’s reserved for the ones in Whitehall. Our elite! The ones, my friends, that the people of this country elected and put there, and the ones the people of this country employ through the extortionate and unfair taxation system that this government has forced on us.

  ‘Today, only today, our elected representatives accepted an increase in their salaries just as foreign aid budgets are slashed. The aid that is designed to help the poorest and most vulnerable people on this planet. And the reason for this? That we need to attract high-calibre people into the role of MP. High-calibre people, my friends, high-calibre people.’

  He paused and looked around them with that gentle smile.

  ‘Let’s take a few moments to explore what some of those high-calibre people have been up to recently. Because we need to know what we’re paying for. We need to know why these high-calibre people are worth more than the life of a black child in Africa. We need to know so we can explain to the mother of one of those children dying from lack of anti-malarial drugs why it is that her child has to be sacrificed so we can keep our politicians in the manner to which they would like to become accustomed.’

  There was a lot of noise from the audience in response. The speaker nodded and continued, moving on to talk about some of the recent scandals involving government ministers, both well known and ones I’d never heard of. The man was a compelling speaker, there was no doubt about it. He had his audience hanging on every word.

  Lara sat a little forward in her seat, listening as intently as the rest. Maybe even more intently because she looked almost hypnotised. She really did believe passionately in all this stuff and it would be impossible for a boy to be with Lara without believing in it too. She cared too much to put up with someone who didn’t. That was obvious.

  The question was, did my brother believe in any of this?

  Or did he want her so much that he’d fake it even if he didn’t believe?

  To be honest, some of what this guy was saying wasn’t completely loony. He was making some powerful arguments, especially on the subject of capitalist greed and global poverty. The US, the speaker said, spent more on cosmetics than it would cost to give the entire world population a basic education. Water and sanitation for the world could be provided with less than what Europe spent on ice cream.

  There was more, much more: nearly half the world’s children lived in poverty; 22,000 children A DAY died due to poverty; 80 per cent of the world’s population lived on less than 10 US dollars a day and around half lived on less than $2.50. And it went on and on. As you listened, you felt sick. That was the only human response to what he was saying because if you didn’t feel sick and you didn’t feel disgusted with yourself that you went from day to day with a level of privilege that the people quoted in those statistics could not imagine then what did that make you?

  Silas leaned over and murmured in my ear. ‘I paid a hundred and twenty quid for my last pair of trainers. At this precise moment I want to go and throw them in the river in shame.’

  Lara glanced at him and he grimaced at her. She nodded her understanding.

  ‘Remember, this is what they don’t want us to hear,’ she whispered. ‘Capitalism thrives by trampling on the poor. For the big winners to make the bucks, there have to be big losers.’

  The conclusion of the speech was a call to action. The man demanded they rise up in protest, take to the streets, show the government they could not get away with treating the poor like this. He talked about their duty to raise this issue over and over again until finally the powerful started to listen. And finally he spoke about how they must never give up, no matter how hopeless their cause seemed in the face of so much indifference.

  ‘Remember, my friends, the words of Nelson Mandela in 1961. Right back in 1961 when ending apartheid was so far away it must have seemed like a pipe dream. And he said, “Only through hardship, sacrifice and militant action can freedom be won. The struggle is my life. I will continue fighting for freedom until the end of my days.” A call to arms has never been said better. And that is what I put to you today: take a stand against indifference. Take a stand on the side of militant action and let’s begin to make a change.’

  He stopped and took a step back from the lectern. Deafening applause broke out as the audience got to their feet. We got up as Lara did, still stunned from listening to . . . well, what was that? I’d never heard anything like it. Beside me, Rachel and Clare clapped as hard as they could and whooped their appreciation.

  How could you describe it? A call to anarchy? To protest? What exactly was this guy asking us to do?

  The man made a motion to the side of the room and a few people came forward with leaflets and handed them out to the audience as they continued to applaud. Silas took one and looked down at it.

  ‘Who are these people?’ he asked Lara as the applause began to die down finally.

  ‘ActionX,’ she replied. ‘A protest and pressure group who believe in taking an issue to the streets so it’s slammed in the faces of the public and they can’t ignore it. Neither can the government when they’re out there getting their cause plastered all over TV screens.’

  ‘Anarchists, yes?’ Silas said.

  ‘Yes. They’re anarchists. They believe any government is inherently corrupt, but while there’s one in power, it’s their job to expose the stuff that is whitewashed and make the sheeple think about what’s happening out there. What’s really happening, not just whether there’s another penny in tax on a bottle of wine or petrol has gone up. Which, if you watch the news reports on budget night, is all anyone in this country seems to care about. If it doesn’t hit their pockets, stuff the rest of the world.’

  The man turned away from the lectern and began to walk out of the hall.

  ‘And who is he?

  Lara gave a half-smile. ‘Oh, him – his name’s Dillon.’

  There is a pleasure sure

  In being mad which none but madmen know.

  (John Dryden)

  CHAPTER 19

  Hey Dad,

  I guess you’ll never get this email, but I found myself needing to write it anyway. Maybe it’s easier because I know you won’t see it. I can’t talk to Rafi about this. Odd, because I can talk to her about everything else, but for this I need to talk to a guy. I’ve no idea whether you’d understand or not – it’s been so long since I’ve seen you that I don’t know what you’re like now. But I hope you would. I’ve sort of built it up in my head that you’d understand.

  I’ve met someone. I wish I could talk to you about her because I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s amazing. She has opinions on things I never even knew were happening. She knows so much. But most of all, she makes me feel. Really feel.

  Her name’s Lara. She took me to a meeting today, me and some friends and I took Rafi too. I know you’d be glad about that. I’m making her go out and do things like I know you’d want me to.

  Lara sat next to me in the meeting and . . .

  . . . there’s no easy way to say this to your dad. It’s hard for me to be grown up in front of you when the last time I saw you I was just a kid. But I know you’d get this. I think all guys would once they’ve been through it.

  She sat next to me in the meeting. I looked down at her – she’s only tiny – and my stomach did cartwheels at her closeness. Just a bit nearer and our arms would’ve been brushing. My face felt flushed and my fingers tingled at the thought of touching her skin. If I’d reached out, I could have traced the curve of her neck, touched the pale skin. I wanted so much to do that.

>   When she talks to me, it’s like a challenge. It’s never easy understanding what she means or what she wants to hear. I can’t predict her.

  If I could think straight about anything other than her, I would have been looking forward to tonight anyway, to be exposed to new ideas. But more than anything though, I wanted to please her. So she’d agree to see me again when I’ve worked out how to ask her on a real date. But even now, sitting here at the end of the night, how to please her is as elusive as ever. She’s still a mystery. A beautiful, puzzling, complex mystery that I would do anything to solve.

  I know so little about her, where she’s from, why she moved here. What is it that draws her to these anarchists? She’s just layer after layer of cool impenetrability.

  I knew I needed to give this whole political scene a chance. If I switched off from it now, I’d lose her. When she’s talking about the things she’s passionate about, she’s more beautiful than ever. I could sit and watch and listen to her all day and still want to drink in more and more of her. I knew tonight that I’d do anything to make her laugh, anything to win that smile, the one that warms her eyes.

  The chairs we were sitting on were so close together that her knee was only millimetres from mine. I could feel it pulling to mine like a magnet. I wanted to touch her so badly my hands were shaking.

  So this is what it’s like to really want someone.

  Not that pale, feeble imitation I’ve felt with other girls where I’ve kissed them mostly because I knew I should. Just hormones and nothing more. This is so different. All-consuming. I didn’t have the faintest idea what was going on in the room around us while we waited for the speech to start. All that mattered was that her skin was so close to mine. Nothing else. Nothing.

  And this is what it’s like to be in love. For it can’t be anything else, this kind of madness. I wanted the whole world to go away and just leave the two of us so that I might find the courage to reach out and touch her. Even a finger brush. Anything. Anything just for my skin to touch hers.

  Does she feel anything of what I feel? Even a faint shadow of it?

  Did you ever feel this way about anyone, Dad? I wish you could tell me.

  Silas

  CHAPTER 20

  I relaxed on Josie’s giant, squashy couch and shuffled through the choice of five DVDs she’d handed me. She’d announced it was Film Night and that apparently meant her dad was working so we had the place to ourselves and could have a film-watching marathon with plenty of snacks to support us. Josie was currently getting these ready. She took a packet of frankfurters from the microwave and replaced it with a bag of popcorn.

  ‘Gotta love the hot dogs,’ she said, ramming the frankfurters into buns and squirting mustard and ketchup on to them. ‘Have you picked yet?’

  I held up a romcom.

  ‘Put it on, will you? This food’s nearly ready and the trailers will run while I’m getting everything together. I never watch them – they do my head in.’

  I put the film on, then helped her bring the food over and arrange it on the huge footstool that doubled as a coffee table.

  Josie flopped on to the sofa beside me. ‘Annnnddd PIG OUTTT!’ she cried, grabbing a hot dog.

  I didn’t know how hungry I was until I started eating, or maybe it was because I was so relaxed there that my hunger let loose. I loved this room, loved chilling in it. I was going to have a room just like this when I was older.

  Oh yes, I’d forgotten. Not much of a future out there for a basket case who won’t talk. Not one that would finance a house and furniture like this anyway.

  LOL. What did I think I was going to do? Live off Silas forever?

  ‘What’s up?’ Josie said, pausing as she took a bite of hot dog.

  I shook my head and she gave me her ‘don’t even try that on with me’ look. She got up and took my phone off the arm of the sofa and dropped it into my lap.

  I sighed.

  ‘Doh, yes! About what?’

 

  She gave me that hard stare again.

 

  She hit pause on the video. ‘We can wait to watch this. So you do want to talk again?’

 

  She laughed. ‘You know I totally get what you mean by that. I don’t understand why obviously, but that is so cool – YesNo. I love it!’

  She won a smile from me.

  ‘So let’s do this! What is “Yes” about it?’

  Even this was so hard. Couldn’t we just watch the film?

  ‘No, we can’t just watch the film. Answer the question.’

  How transparent was I?! Embarrassing!

  Josie tapped her fingers expectantly on the arm of the couch. ‘Any time now, you know, before the bread buns go mouldy . . .’

  I stuck my tongue out at her and began to type.

  She smirked. ‘You forgot “Boyfriend”. And don’t look at me like that. You will so be having one. When you feel ready and there’s no rush. Don’t be dumb like me – wait for a good ’un. OK, so give me the “No”.’

 

  ‘Yeah, that is going to be a bit of an issue. People are bound to make a big deal of it, there’s no way round that. But we can get a plan together, you know, to cope with that part.’ She passed me another hot dog. ‘Come on, I can’t eat all these on my own. Um, can you actually talk? You know, if you want to . . .’

  I shook my head.

  ‘So what stops you?’

 

  ‘And have you been to see people about this?’

 

  She frowned. ‘When was the last time?’

 

  ‘You are joking me,’ she said with a gasp. ‘You haven’t been to get help in all that time. What is your mum thinking of?’

  I shrugged.

  ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. But why?’

 

  ‘Silas said you had progressive mutism so obviously I looked that up. It said it’s usually at school where kids clam up.’

  Nod.

  ‘But most of those kids still talk at home or they only stop for a short period, whereas with you it’s been years.’

  Nod.

  ‘But this progressive mutism you have is where gradually someone stops talking to everyone?’

  Nod.

  ‘I read this blog by a dad whose daughter has had it for as long as you but he says most kids get over it much quicker.’

  Yes, I was a freak, wasn’t I? I knew this. I’d read all those internet articles myself, over and over. There was nothing googlable on mutism that I hadn’t seen. Including how it used to be called elective mutism because the doctors, much like my mum now, believed at the time that we chose to be this way. I’d read about the treatment options available now, and how it had changed even in the years since I was tiny and first began to falter with speech. But I’d also read about how a lot of health professionals still didn’t understand it and I didn’t want to face more of that.

  And the most infuriating part of those articles? The advice to parents on how they should act. Because it would never, never happen like that for me.

  ‘So did this kick off when you started school? Is that where you first stopped talking?’

 

  Josie paused in taking a bite of her last hot dog. ‘Really? I never read anything about that. They said it’s a social phobia and usually kids can talk OK in the family, or at least more than they do outside it. I’m sure I read that they use the parent to get t
he child’s answers to questions while the therapist is out of the room if that helps.’

  Yes, I’d read that bit too. Ha!

  ‘So who was the last person you spoke to?’

 

  ‘Yeah, I thought it might be.’

  He’d been too young when I began to stop talking to be taken to therapy with me. I often wondered if they would have been able to halt the progression if he hadn’t been. But no, I had to have Mum there as my attempt to have a voice. Which was kind of funny considering she was the one I stopped talking to first.

  I never knew what that last therapist said to her that time she stormed out, dragging me back to the car by the arm and saying she’d never take me back there again. And she never did.

  ‘Did you ever write that story, Rafi, the one I asked you to?’

  Nod.

  ‘You don’t want me to see it yet, do you?’

  Shake of head.

  ‘OK. But you know why you stopped, don’t you?’

  Now it was a very strange thing but absolutely nobody had ever asked me that question, not even my brother. It’s incredible how the most obvious things are the ones we overlook. That’s a truth I kept in my notebook with the rest.

  Nod. Because I really thought I did know. I thought in all these years I’d managed to suss it out.

  Josie nodded back slowly. ‘Then if you know that, I reckon one day when you’re ready someone will be able to help you fix it. But you have to want it fixed. It has to come from you.’ She sat up suddenly very straight as if a realisation had hit her. ‘You control this. No one else. Maybe that’s part of it. Having something to control when so much seems beyond control. You know?’

  Yes, I knew. That wasn’t how it started, but a journey takes us along many different paths from the one we began to walk on.

  I grabbed the remote control from her and pressed play. Conversation over.