Chapter 34 #2
“Uncle Aiden, I dare you to get your face painted,” Logan says once we get out of the pool changing rooms into the larger area of the clubhouse.
There’s an old-fashioned market cart displaying an array of photos showing kids with their faces painted.
A Spider-Man, an Iron Man, a pirate, a dragon, a butterfly, unicorn, et cetera.
A woman stands beside a stool with a child perched atop, as she dabs their face with a sponge covered in orange paint.
“Aiden has four dares left and four vetoes left,” I say, and Logan counts them out on his fingers. “He can veto every single dare from now on. Also . . . eight pounds to get your face painted? That’s criminal. It was like two pounds when I was your age.”
“Okay, grandpa,” Pi says, putting his arm around my shoulder. “I’ll have my face painted if you both get yours done too.”
“I’m gonna be Spider-Man!” Logan says without hesitation. “What are you getting, Dad?”
“Wolverine, duh,” I reply.
“What about you, Aiden?” he asks.
Pi scratches his moustache, pretending to think. “Since you dared me, I think it’s only fair if you pick for me.”
“Bruhhhh,” Logan says, his eyes widening with scheming mischief. “You just made a huge mistake.”
Eventually, when our time comes to sit in the chair, Logan cups his palm around my ear and whispers to me. “What’s Aiden’s favourite movie?”
“You’re gonna get something he’ll like? Not a unicorn, or a butterfly, or Elsa?” I saw him eying up the princess board.
Logan shrugs. “I just want to do a nice thing for him.”
My nose prickles in that way it does when it wants to alert me that I’m having feelings. “Well . . . he really likes Star Trek, but I’m not sure you can get a Star Trek face paint.”
“Does he like Guardians of the Galaxy?” he says, the words tickling my ear.
“He loves it, yes.”
“Okay, we’ve decided,” Logan announces, and Pi closes his eyes, puts his fingers in his ears, and starts singing a tune I vaguely recognise as “Overload” by Sugababes. “Can you do Groot?” he asks the face-painting woman.
“Of course. Would you like a full face or a little one on the cheek with some leaves and twinkles as decoration?”
“Twinkles!” Logan shouts.
Pi opens an eye and swings it round to him. “I heard that last part,” he says, taking his fingers out of his ears.
“What’s your name?” the face painter asks Pi.
“Uh . . . Aiden,” he replies.
“Okay, Aiden luv, I’m just going to lower the seat. If you can close your eyes for me . . . Would you like glitter?” she asks once she’s nearly finished with Pi’s cheek Groot.
“Yes!” Logan answers on Pi’s behalf.
“Sure,” he says.
She applies green and yellow glitter and sprays it with some kind of setting spray, then passes him the mirror.
“Bloody ripper. I love it. Thanks, Logan,” he says.
“Me next.” Logan practically pushes Pi out of the seat.
“Spider-Man, is it?” she asks, then gets to work. My child is both the model pupil and a colossal pain in the ass. He’s as statuesque as he’s asked to be, but will not stop throwing random questions at the poor woman.
“Are the face paints vegan?”
“What would happen if you ran out of red paint forever?”
“Who’s your favourite Superhero?”
“Why is it raining so much?”
“How long do you have to train to become a professional face painter?”
By the time she’s moved on to me, I can see the jet lag setting into her features. “Would you like glitter?” she asks me at the end.
“Absolutely,” I reply.
She takes a few photos of us together, and we snap some selfies.
Logan grabs Pi’s hand, and we walk to the chippie.
The rain has slowed considerably, now it’s bordering on mizzle.
“You have three dares left, Aiden, and Dad has three too, but he only has one veto. What should we make him do? Ooh, I know. Dad, you need to order the fish and chips, but do it with Aiden’s voice. ”
“So, you want me to offend an entire nation of people? Nah, veto.”
My kid gasps. “Oh my god, you don’t have any vetoes left! Aiden, I dare you to do it, but say it like Dad would say it.”
Pi looks at me. “What could go wrong? Fine, okay.”
I get my phone out in preparation to film this.
“Can I help you, darling?” the woman behind the chippie counter asks, waving Pi and me over.
“Alright, pard. Wasson?” Pi says, walking up to her. Logan screams with laughter. “Uh, ’orrible mizzly weather today, luh. Please may we have one kid’s cod and chips and two large cod and chips?” He looks at me. “And one mushy peas and a curry sauce?”
“And . . .” I say, like the unhelpful bastard I am.
“Shit yeah, and an extra-large battered sausage.”
“Salt and vinegar on the chips?” she asks.
“Ooh, yes. I mean . . .” He clears his throat. “Right on. Bewty.”
“Be about ten minutes, is that okay?” she asks, scribbling his order on a tiny notepad.
“’Ansum.” Then he looks at me and laughs. “That was terrible. I’m very sorry about that,” he adds in his normal Australian accent.
We take our fish and chips and my extra-large battered sausage back to the caravan, and the heavens open again when we’re twenty metres from the door.
By the time the key is in the lock, we’re soaked through to our underpants.
I shelter the most important things: my Wolverine face paint and the scran, which is tucked safely inside its plastic carrier bag prison.
I get Logan dressed in dry PJs and pull a dry pair of joggers on myself whilst Pi sorts out plates and cutlery.
He bursts into the bedroom a few moments later, tearing his wet T-shirt from his body. His shorts are next to go, and I just stare at him until he throws the sodden things at me. Even though the radiators aren’t on, and most likely won’t be needed for months, I hang our damp clothes over the top.
“Come on, come eat your battered sausage,” he says, laughing.
“What shall we do now?” I ask, clearing the plates away after our fish and chips, which were fucking gorgeous by the way. “We could watch a movie, or see what games the caravan has? It’s still pissing down outside, so probably best if we stay in.”
“Can I have another Coke?” Logan asks.
It’s almost seven—not bedtime for him, even though the stormy sky is making it seem a lot later—but it’s also much too late to be giving my auDHD son any more sugar.
“No, sorry, squash or beer only.”
He squeals with laughter. “Squash, then. I don’t like beer.”
“When did you try beer?” I ask.
“When we went to Minehead at the beginning of the summer holidays. Mum went to the toilet, and I drank some.”
“You drank some of Mum’s beer?” I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth.
“No, it was Bran’s beer. Mum’s not allowed to drink booze any more for a bit.”
I look at Pi, who raises his eyebrows at me.
“Tell me, son, is Mum getting sick a lot recently?”
“Yeah. Like every morning. And evening. It’s probably because she only eats crackers and celery and pickled beetroot and Marmite. Wait, how did you know?”
“Oh my god,” I silently mouth to Pi. Jody’s pregnant. When she was pregnant with Logan, she suffered from terrible morning sickness. Apparently these things are supposed to ease after the first twelve weeks, but Jody was still throwing up until the day he was born.
“Right,” I say to Logan, mostly to distract myself before I get too excited for her, and him—he’s going to be a big brother—and accidentally let something slip. “I dare you to find the board games in this godforsaken hellhole.”
“Oh, that’s easy,” he says, rolling his eyes and running over to the cupboard next to the TV.
It turns out the caravan keeps an array of standard British holiday entertainment resources. A pack of cards, a two-in-one draughts and chess set, Guess Who?, Mousetrap, and Kerplunk with only four marbles remaining.
“We can’t play Kerplunk, and I don’t want to play Mousetrap. I don’t know how to play either chess or draughts, so Guess Who? it is.”
“I can play draughts,” Logan says, extracting the games.
“Me too,” Pi adds.
“Of course you nerds know how to play it.” I sit on the floor beside the pouffe where Pi is setting up the board. “You two can teach me, then.”
Logan and Pi play two rounds, and I can tell that Pi is going easy on him, but ultimately he ends up winning both games.
“I dare you to let me win,” Logan says.
“Veto,” Pi replies without even looking up.
Logan’s shoulders sag. “You only have one dare left.”
“And I still have a veto.”
My kid turns to me. “Dad, I dare you to let me win, and you can’t veto because you used them all up.”
“I mean, I’ve just seen you play. There’s a good chance you’d beat me with your eyes closed.”
Logan puffs out his chest, and does this movement where he rubs his finger down his jaw. I ruffle his hair. He sets up the board for our game. “I’m brown, you’re cream. You go first.”
“Like this?” I move my piece, then look at Pi.
Pi see-saws his hand. “Yeah . . . you could.”
Logan moves. “Are you and Uncle Aiden boyfriends now?”
As it does every time he asks this question, my heart leaps into my throat. “Spider-Man, we spoke about this. No, we’re not boyfriends. We are just good friends who are boys,” I say, moving another piece and cocking an eyebrow at Pi to check the legitimacy of my move.
“But you sleep in the same bed, and Mum said grown-ups only sleep in the same bed when they love each other.”
“Is that so? It’s your turn.”
He moves. “Yeah.”
Pi gets to his feet and moves to the kitchen, and I can’t blame him for wanting to abandon the intensity of my son’s grilling. “Wanna beer?”
“Heck yes,” I say.
“So . . .” Logan leans over the board and drops his voice to the barest hint of a whisper. “Do you love him?”
Thankfully, Pi can’t see my reaction. My back is facing him, but I hear and feel him pause his movements. I’m subtly trying to command my nosy parker child to shut his tiny cake hole before he ruins what’s left of our otherwise perfect day.
“Well, do you?” he whispers.
“Ssshhh,” I mouth.
Logan stands, walks over to me, bends down, cups his hand around my ear, and says breathily, “Have you ever told him?”
“Logan.” It’s a warning. He sits down, and I hear metal bottle caps being doffed.
“Uncle Aiden,” he says, and I flash him the warning look again. He promptly ignores me. “I dare you to tell my dad you love him.”
Pi freezes in the kitchen space, a bottle of beer in each hand.
I’m on my feet already. “No, Logan, that’s enough. I told you to leave it and you’ve ignored me. You can’t go around saying things like that to grown-ups. Apologise to Aiden, please.”
“I’m sorry?” It’s a question. He doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong, and I can’t blame him, but I can’t explain it right now in front of Pi.
I turn to my friend. “Pi, mate, I’m really sorry. He doesn’t—”
“It’s alright,” Pi says cheerfully, but the furrow in his brow betrays his chipper tone. “If it’s okay with you, Logan, I’ll veto that last dare.”
My heart sinks.
Lower than low. Lower than the floor of the caravan. Lower than the asphalt it’s sitting on even. I would never have expected him to go through with the dare, but I also wouldn’t have expected it to hurt this much either.
But I mean, of course he’d veto it. Like I told my kid, we’re just very close friends. Friends who bump uglies, but friends nonetheless.
“But . . .” Pi says. He looks right at me, and the breath vanishes from my lungs. “I’m only vetoing it because I don’t want the first time I tell your dad I love him to be done under duress.”
Holy shit.
Wait.
Holy fucking shit.
“What does duress mean?” Logan asks.
Pi steps in front of me and takes my hand in his. “So I’m saying this of my own free will, okay? I . . . love you, Eggo. A lot, actually. A whole freaking lot.”
“Okay. Thank you. I love you too.” I’m laughing. “I love you. Wow, I was not imagining this would happen today. Or ever, to be honest. But definitely not today.”
“I dare you to kiss!” Logan screams.
And even though neither of us has any dares left, we still kiss. We keep it family friendly. No tongues or groping.
“What does duress mean?” Logan asks again. “So, are you boyfriends now?”
“Uh . . . I think that maybe Uncle Aiden and I need to have that conversation privately, okay?” I say, and Pi nods in agreement.
I take a beer from him. He still has a slightly melted but enduringly sparkling Groot on his cheek.
I smile at him, then turn to my kid. “Right, my move is it?” I pull the pouffe closer to the sofa so Pi and I can sit side by side.
He places his hand on my thigh just above my knee and squeezes three times in quick succession.
“Are you okay?”
Or it could even be, “I love you.”
I squeeze him back three times. I mean it like, “I love you.”
“Dad, are you crying?”
Jesus, does nothing escape this kid’s notice? “Lol, no. I’m just happy because I reached the other side, so you need to put a crown on my piece.”
Later, I tuck Logan into bed. He rubs his hand over his tired Spider-Man face—probably should have washed it off before letting him get between the sheets, but we put a towel over the pillow to stave off the worst of the potential staining.
“Goodnight, son. Sleep well.” I kiss his forehead.
“What does duress mean?” he says with a yawn.
I sigh. “It’s like when someone forces you to do something through coercion.”
“What does coercion mean?”
“Goodnight. I love you. See you in the morning.”
“Dad?”
“Yes?” I say, my finger already on the light switch.
“Tomorrow, can we go to the beach?”
“Okay.”
“Even if it’s raining?”
“Sure. Even if it’s raining.”
He smiles and wiggles down under the duvet.
“Dad?”
“What is it?”
“I love you.”
“Love you too.”
Pi’s just finishing his shower when I finally reach the bedroom. He’s wearing only a towel, his curls drip steadily onto his shoulders, and his face has been scrubbed Grootlessly clean.
“I didn’t even get to say goodbye,” I say, thumbing his pink cheek.
He responds only with a smile. His gaze falls to my lips.
“I’m going to have a shower.” A lightning-speed shower because I can’t bear to be away from him for much longer. “I love you.”
Pi still says nothing, but his grin slips further across his cheeks.