Read Online Where the Moon Isn't by Nathan Filer - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nathan Filer
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isn’t—’
We went quiet then, and time stretched out, endlessly.
She had a nice long neck but a crooked nose. I couldn’t decide if she was prettier than Mum.
I don’t suppose it matters.
‘I mean—’
‘Here you go, Ma.’ Jacob came back through, placing her food onto the tray. ‘Careful, it’s hot.’
He’d seen me. Of course he’d seen me. Peeking through the window, watching him, looking at his mum, then running away. What difference does it make? Aren’t we all desperate to spill our secrets?
I was suspended for two weeks. Mum and Dad and me were on one side of the desk, and the Deputy Head was on the other, saying, ‘We cannot accept behaviour of this kind in our school, indeed in our society.’
My parents nodded.
I assume.
I was staring at my hands, too ashamed to look at anyone. Mum said how truly sorry I was, that I’d arrived home as white as a ghost, and the Deputy Head said she didn’t doubt it, how her impression, indeed the impression of her staff, was of a quiet, reflective student.
I clenched my fists, digging little crescents into my palms with my fingernails. I could feel her staring at me, trying to read my thoughts. Perhaps there was something going on at home they should know about? Anything that might be troubling me?
My parents shook their heads.
I assume.
It doesn’t matter because when I arrived back at school, and took my seat for morning registration, his grinning face appeared next to me. Jacob Greening wasn’t the sort to hold grudges.
‘Fuck it. Didn’t hurt, anyway.’
I think it took a lot of courage for him to invite me round, but that’s what he did. He said, ‘I’ve got Grand Theft Auto if you want to play it?’ So we started hanging out together after school. I couldn’t seem to concentrate on games though, even ones I used to enjoy. It was the same in lessons. One minute I’d be listening, interested, taking everything in, the next my head would be completely empty.
What I was better at concentrating on, was helping out with Mrs Greening. This didn’t happen straight away. For the first few weeks I’d wait in the kitchen whilst Jacob did whatever needed doing, but after a while I started to help out with the odd little thing, like making her beakers of tea, or helping her tune the radio to a station she wanted, whilst Jacob got on with crushing up her tablets, or whatever.
After a few months though, I helped with everything, and I suppose it was this that got me thinking. You’re going to laugh, but I thought maybe, when I left school, I could be a doctor.
I know that’s stupid.
I can see that now.
This isn’t about sympathy. I’ve made people feel sorry for me before, mostly psychiatric nurses – either the newly qualified ones who haven’t learnt to get a grip, or the gooey-eyed maternal ones who take one look at me and see what could have happened to their own. A student nurse once told me how my patient notes had nearly made her cry. I told her to go fuck herself. That finished the job off.
If I look at my hands, right now. If I look at my fingers jabbing at the keyboard, the hard patches of dark brown skin, tobacco-stained knuckles, bitten nails – it’s hard to think I’m the same person. It is hard to believe these are the same hands that helped to turn Mrs Greening in her bed, that gently rubbed cream onto her skin sores, that helped to wash her and brush her hair.
‘We’ll be in my room, Ma.’
‘Okay darling,’ she said, lifting a spoonful of hot mush into her mouth, spilling gravy. ‘Don’t make too much noise.’
His bedroom walls were plastered in old flyers from early ’90s raves like Helter Skelter and Fantazia. It was stupid because we were still babies when they were happening, but he used to go on about them, saying how dance music was much better back in the day , and how now it was too commercial. I think he liked to talk about it so he could remind me it was his big brother who had given him all the
We went quiet then, and time stretched out, endlessly.
She had a nice long neck but a crooked nose. I couldn’t decide if she was prettier than Mum.
I don’t suppose it matters.
‘I mean—’
‘Here you go, Ma.’ Jacob came back through, placing her food onto the tray. ‘Careful, it’s hot.’
He’d seen me. Of course he’d seen me. Peeking through the window, watching him, looking at his mum, then running away. What difference does it make? Aren’t we all desperate to spill our secrets?
I was suspended for two weeks. Mum and Dad and me were on one side of the desk, and the Deputy Head was on the other, saying, ‘We cannot accept behaviour of this kind in our school, indeed in our society.’
My parents nodded.
I assume.
I was staring at my hands, too ashamed to look at anyone. Mum said how truly sorry I was, that I’d arrived home as white as a ghost, and the Deputy Head said she didn’t doubt it, how her impression, indeed the impression of her staff, was of a quiet, reflective student.
I clenched my fists, digging little crescents into my palms with my fingernails. I could feel her staring at me, trying to read my thoughts. Perhaps there was something going on at home they should know about? Anything that might be troubling me?
My parents shook their heads.
I assume.
It doesn’t matter because when I arrived back at school, and took my seat for morning registration, his grinning face appeared next to me. Jacob Greening wasn’t the sort to hold grudges.
‘Fuck it. Didn’t hurt, anyway.’
I think it took a lot of courage for him to invite me round, but that’s what he did. He said, ‘I’ve got Grand Theft Auto if you want to play it?’ So we started hanging out together after school. I couldn’t seem to concentrate on games though, even ones I used to enjoy. It was the same in lessons. One minute I’d be listening, interested, taking everything in, the next my head would be completely empty.
What I was better at concentrating on, was helping out with Mrs Greening. This didn’t happen straight away. For the first few weeks I’d wait in the kitchen whilst Jacob did whatever needed doing, but after a while I started to help out with the odd little thing, like making her beakers of tea, or helping her tune the radio to a station she wanted, whilst Jacob got on with crushing up her tablets, or whatever.
After a few months though, I helped with everything, and I suppose it was this that got me thinking. You’re going to laugh, but I thought maybe, when I left school, I could be a doctor.
I know that’s stupid.
I can see that now.
This isn’t about sympathy. I’ve made people feel sorry for me before, mostly psychiatric nurses – either the newly qualified ones who haven’t learnt to get a grip, or the gooey-eyed maternal ones who take one look at me and see what could have happened to their own. A student nurse once told me how my patient notes had nearly made her cry. I told her to go fuck herself. That finished the job off.
If I look at my hands, right now. If I look at my fingers jabbing at the keyboard, the hard patches of dark brown skin, tobacco-stained knuckles, bitten nails – it’s hard to think I’m the same person. It is hard to believe these are the same hands that helped to turn Mrs Greening in her bed, that gently rubbed cream onto her skin sores, that helped to wash her and brush her hair.
‘We’ll be in my room, Ma.’
‘Okay darling,’ she said, lifting a spoonful of hot mush into her mouth, spilling gravy. ‘Don’t make too much noise.’
His bedroom walls were plastered in old flyers from early ’90s raves like Helter Skelter and Fantazia. It was stupid because we were still babies when they were happening, but he used to go on about them, saying how dance music was much better back in the day , and how now it was too commercial. I think he liked to talk about it so he could remind me it was his big brother who had given him all the
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