Chapter 28
Arthur
Somebody needed to pinch me right now because I must be dreaming.
Ow!
“Thought I’d just prove that it was really happening,” my sister Libby chuckles after pinching my bare forearm and clearly reading my thoughts. I rub my arm up and down before rapidly blinking my eyes. Was I seeing this correctly? I’d been home for a week already and was somehow the calmest I’d ever been. I know that Christmas holidays are supposed to be the epitome of calm and you know, the festive-cheer-and-singing-loud-for-all-to-hear (or whatever that phrase from Elf is), malarkey. However, trust me when I say that every Christmas holiday I’d ever had off school was never 100% breezy. Sure, I enjoyed filling my stomach with nothing but celebrations and pringles every day, watching endless movies and opening presents, but there was always something in the back of my mind. Even if I objectively had nothing to be worrying about, I’d still find something to fret over. Last Christmas, it was the looming fear of A levels, the Christmas before that, it was my AS’s, the Christmas before that, it was GCSE’s, and well, you get my point. Even as a kid I remember mum having to reassure me that I wasn’t going to end up home alone like Kevin McAllister because I immediately started to panic that the same turn of events would happen to me. Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that for once, this holiday felt different. The world finally felt on my side. I could feel the grin spreading to my ears as I stared at the screen of my phone.
Arthur Kirby.
Introduction to Developmental Psychology.
Individual Project Result: 75%
75%! That was a first class. It was the top score you could achieve at Uni. Everyone wanted a first.
And I did it.
“You know you can stop staring at it right? It’s not going to magically change,” Libby says with a nudge that brings me back to reality.
I know you should never base your self-worth by the level of your grades, but I still felt so happy. I’d worked my ass off for this. Day and night, bloodshot eyes, dry throat and hungry stomach. Technically, first year didn’t count, but obviously you needed to pass every module in order to pass the year, unless you wanted to carry over some modules. But I knew that I wanted to prove myself, to see what I could do and I could do it. I’d just proven that I could. Even after the most dire feedback I could ever have imagined for a formative proposal, I did it. Granted, it was only the first result I’d received so far, I was due to get all of the rest this holiday too, but I could actually find myself slowly putting those other grades to the back of my mind because I was on an absolute high.
“What are you up to smiler?,” mum says cheerfully as she stumbles into the kitchen, struggling to carry a basket full of washing. I put my phone down on the table and pick up the rogue socks and pants that had fallen onto the floor.
“Well?,” she reiterates, “has he finally decided to tell Ember how he feels?,” she turns now, grinning towards Libby. I should really be mad that my sister and mum have been discussing my love life, but I honestly don’t even care to argue about that right now.
“I got a first in my psychology project!,” I shout, even surprising myself with how loud I was.
Immediately, mum stops sorting pairs of odd socks and comes running over to engulf me in a hug, “aw darling, I’m so proud of you!,” she says into my hair. I know that mum has always been proud of me no matter what, I could sit and do absolutely nothing and she would still very much feel the same way because I’m her son, but this felt so much more warranted.
“Adam!,” mum shouts towards the living room, “come here a second, Arthur has some news.” Although I was absolutely loving this little bubble of pride and happiness, I didn’t fancy dad coming and abruptly bursting it.
I’d told him that I got the job at Waterstones and his response was a dry, “are you going to have time for that as well as your studies?”
There was no ‘well done,’ or ‘congratulations,’ it was as if he was biologically programmed to be anything buthappy for me.
“What is it? I’m missing the game,” dad moans, trudging into the kitchen in his favourite Christmas attire, a dressing gown and slippers.
Mum rolls her eyes at him, “you can pause it, anyway, tell him Arthur,” she now says, eagerly squeezing my shoulder.
“I- I got a first,” I smile, more at the floor, rather than him.
“Really?,” dad squawks. I desperately try to ignore the tone of surprise in his voice, so I simply nod.
In that moment, his face changes. His lips stretching from a thin line into a crescent moon shape. He’s smiling. I even spot mum and Libby’s shared look of confusion. He edges over to me, and places a hand on my shoulder, warm and firm.
“Well done mate,” he says with a low purr, and with that, he heads over to the fridge, grabs a beer, pops the cap off and walks back into the living room.
Now, I know for some people, that would be considered the bare minimum level of parental affection. But for me, that meant everything. Dad was happy for me, for once in his life. It sounds pathetic, but I don’t remember the last time we’d even shared an encounter like that. I knew exactly who I wanted to share the news with, but I didn’t want to give mum and Libby the satisfaction if they saw me smiling gawkily at my phone, so I take my phone and head up to my bedroom. I hover over her name and start typing, I can tell that I’m excited because it feels like I’ve already hit send before I’ve even had time to notice what I’ve written. Almost immediately after hitting send, my phone starts vibrating, she’s calling. I delay answering it for a solid 3 seconds, not wanting to appear too eager, (real smooth I know), before finally clicking accept.
“Congratulations! I knew you’d smash it!,” she squeals over the phone, almost deafening me in the process. I can’t help but feel that swell in my chest when she speaks, I can tell that she’s genuinely happy for me.
“Thank you! I couldn’t believe it, especially considering she absolutely roasted me in that formative proposal,” I say through a breathy laugh.
She snorts on the other end of the line, “well, I say fuck her. You’ve clearly proven her wrong.”
We actually don’t end up hanging up for another hour. We talked about anything and everything, laughing hysterically for most of the call. I hadn’t even realised how long we’d been talking until mum shouted at me from downstairs telling me that my dinner was getting cold. I guess time really did fly when you were having fun, or should I say when you were talking to Ember. I don’t know how she did it, but she seemed to have the ability to make you forget time was even a concept, you just couldn’t help but want more from her. Uninterrupted, I could have easily talked to her all night, a phrase the Arthur from a few months ago wouldn’t even comprehend. I feel so far removed from that version of myself now, it’s really strange. As I put my phone on the desk and head downstairs, I feel almost refuelled. I don’t know she does it, but I’m certainly not complaining.