Chapter JACK Stratford-upon-Avon
JACK
Stratford-upon-Avon
“Jack, have you really thought this through? You do realise that if you accept this offer, you’ll still need to find a job that pays well enough to support yourself in London?”
Dad’s tone isn’t quite as negative as I’d feared, but it’s not exactly encouraging either.
“I know, Dad, but...” I don’t even manage to finish my sentence before Mum jumps in: “Drew, love, aren’t you going to congratulate our Jack? He’s being modest, but only a handful of students from all over the world get accepted into that school every year, and even fewer are awarded a scholarship.”
Dad looks at her thoughtfully, saying nothing at first. He calmly finishes his glass of water, sets it down on the sink, and then turns back to me, looking me straight in the eye.
“I’m proud of you, Jack. I really am.”
Judging by the surprise on my face, it’s probably quite obvious how much, or rather, how little, I’ve felt that pride from him over the past few years. But at least right now, he’s making an effort. And for that alone, I appreciate him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he goes on firmly.
“Given my upbringing and the life I’ve led, your passion for dance is something I’ll be honest, I’ll never fully understand.
But when I say I’m proud of you, Jack, I mean it.
Even if I don’t entirely get your choices, I let you take dance lessons from when you were a little kid and even study it at university.
You know full well we’ve never had much money, but even so, I let you follow your own path. ”
I nod, stunned, not because he isn’t telling the truth, quite the opposite, but because I don’t think I’ve ever heard my father make a speech this long in my entire life, not even at my grandfather’s funeral.
But he’s not finished yet. After a brief encouraging glance from Mum, he carries on:
“The reason I did it is because, ever since you were just a little scruffy-haired bundle, I’ve seen in you the passion and determination to dance.
Even when you had a fever, when your feet were bleeding, when you had to catch up on your studies late at night after rehearsals, even when the bullies tormented you, I saw you, Jack.
I’ve always seen you, my son. And while part of me always hoped you’d choose an easier path, the other part, my stubborn, pig-headed Scottish soul, knew you never would, because you’re my Jack. And you couldn’t be any other way.”
Unable to hold back any longer, I throw myself into his arms, sobbing, and Dad pulls me close, resting his hand on my head, just like he used to when I was little.
Maybe I would’ve needed to hear these words from him sooner, but I’m still incredibly grateful he’s saying them now. I’m overwhelmed with relief, knowing I have his support, and most of all, knowing I’m not the complete disappointment I’d feared I might be in his eyes.
Mum lets us have our moment, then steps forward, her eyes glistening as she wraps her arms around us, her voice trembling: “Drew, love, I know you’re a man of few words, but when you do decide you’ve got something important to say… bloody hell, you leave the rest of us speechless!”
Dad lifts his eyes to her, looking at her with that mixture of adoration and amusement that only Mum ever manages to bring out in him. And I find myself hoping that one day, someone might look at me the same way.
Though, truth be told, that seems rather unlikely.
I’ve made it to twenty-two without ever having had a romantic relationship, neither with a girl nor with a boy.
What draws me to a person has nothing to do with their gender, but with the emotional connection I’m able to build with them.
Even though I’ve dated boys and girls and recognised they were attractive, I’ve never actually felt the desire to get to know any of them on a deeper level, let alone experienced any kind of physical urge.
With some of them, though, a good friendship was born, like with Natalie, who’s a dancer like me.
Ian, who’s already twenty-six, is still single too, but in his case, it’s entirely by choice.
My brother knows exactly what he wants, but he can’t have it. So, he’s constantly chasing the best substitute available.
The result is a never-ending carousel of boyfriends who all look suspiciously alike: petite, long dark hair, and ridiculously good-looking.
Just like a certain Sebastian.
Physically, Ian is a carbon copy of our dad, just younger. They’re both tall and lean, with thick raven-black hair, fair skin, and deep, dark eyes.
Basically, two fully formed Scottish gods.
The only thing I seem to share with them is my complexion, otherwise, I take much more after Mum.
Not that I’m complaining. Even I, as her son, can admit she’s still a very beautiful woman. But the best thing I inherited from her is definitely my personality.
Like my mother, I’ve been lucky enough to have a cheerful, optimistic nature, which has helped me get through plenty of tough moments, especially during my teenage years.
My ability to find the good in any situation and never give up is by far the quality I’m most proud of. Without it, I would never have made it this far.
Passing the audition for the London Contemporary Dance Academy might not seem like a huge achievement to others, but to me it means everything, especially considering how painfully shy I’ve always been.
Not that I’ve completely outgrown it; I never will.
But performing on stage has helped me manage my shyness and even turn it into something of an ally at times.
“Mum and I can help you out at the beginning,” Dad continues. “But after that, you’ll have to manage on your own. How do you plan to do that? Do you have any ideas yet?” he asks, slipping back into his usual practical mode.
His little emotional wobble has lasted long enough, and I’ve no intention of embarrassing him further, so I quickly go along with the change of subject.
As we start setting the table for lunch, I reply confidently: “Classes at the academy run Monday to Friday, from ten till five. That means I’ve got the evenings, late afternoons and weekends free to work.
I’m planning to look for a part-time job at a dance school as soon as possible, and if I don’t find anything right away, I can always do some waiting or babysitting.
Don’t worry, Dad, I’m sure something will turn up one way or another! ”
“When do classes start, Jack?” Mum chimes in.
“In about a month,” I reply. “Mid-October.”
“You haven’t got much time to find somewhere affordable in London...” Dad cuts in, and right on cue, Mum tries to bring up her plan again.
“Jack could stay with Ian, at least to start with, couldn’t he, Drew?”
“Well...” Dad says, not entirely convinced. “Where exactly is your school, Jack?”
“Euston!” I reply quickly. “Ian’s place is in Soho, and…”
“Exactly!” Mum interrupts. “That’s barely a thirty-minute walk, or just a few stops on the bus, see? It would be the perfect solution.”
It’s not entirely clear whether she’s trying to convince me or Dad, but he starts nodding in agreement.
“Your mum has a point, Jack, it’s probably the best option.”
“But Dad!” I groan, giving him a pleading look. “Ian’s not exactly going to be thrilled...”
“And why not?” he asks sharply, furrowing his thick eyebrows.
“Exactly...” Mum chimes in. “Why wouldn’t your brother want to let you stay at his place? It would only be temporary, after all.”
I widen my eyes and automatically throw my hands up in an obvious gesture, as if the explanation should be perfectly clear, but they just keep staring at me, waiting.
So, I realise I’d better spell it out for them: “Ian doesn’t want me getting in his way, why can’t you understand that?!”
OK… maybe I could’ve phrased that a bit better.
“What are you talking about?” Dad snaps.
“That’s not true!” Mum insists.
I pull out a chair from under the table and sit down, folding my arms and mentally preparing for what’s clearly going to be a long discussion.
My parents just don’t want to accept the fact that Ian would rather live his life without any weird extra baggage, like his younger brother, the dancer, who’s been teased about it for pretty much his entire life.
I’ve always been a bit of an embarrassment to Ian, and in some ways, I can even understand it. Who wants to be stuck at school with a family member who’s considered the class laughingstock?
Still, I guess I always hoped he’d stand up for me a bit more, take my side every now and then when the bullying got rough.
But Ian always preferred to keep his distance in those situations, stepping in only when things crossed a certain line.
I’ve never held that against him. And when he came out publicly in his first year at uni, I stood by him and supported him with all the affection I had.
Our parents did the same. Their unconditional love has always been a given for both of us, something solid and unquestionable, and for that I’ll always be deeply grateful, because as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to realise just how rare it actually is.
When Ian came out, Mum and Dad offered him their complete support, no ifs, no buts. They did the same with me, too, even though I haven’t given myself a definition yet, when I started dating both girls and boys. And that’s one of the many reasons I’m proud to be their son.
I know that’s how it should be, but I’m not na?ve enough to believe all parents are as wise and loving as mine. Sadly, experience has shown me that it’s often quite the opposite.
Since Ian moved to London for university, though, it feels like he’s gradually distanced himself from the family, not so much physically, but emotionally.
My parents either don’t seem to notice, or perhaps they simply prefer to protect themselves from an uncomfortable truth. But I don’t have any magic filter that softens the edges of reality, not when it comes to this.
In any case, it seems they’ve already made their decision, with or without my approval.
“After lunch, we’ll give Ian a call. Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve heard from him; it’ll be a good chance to catch up on his news as well as let him know you’ll be coming,” Dad says, pausing briefly to exchange a knowing glance with Mum, who nods in satisfaction.
I stare at them, mouth open, ready to object, but deep down, I know it’s a lost battle.
I might as well save my energy for when I actually have to face my brother.
I press my lips together and give a small nod, though I can’t quite suppress the little groan of frustration that escapes my throat.