The End is Where We Begin by Maria Goodin (open ebook .txt) 📕

“I can’t imagine working with my dad,” said Tom, sitting up and taking a swig from one of the bottles. “What a nightmare.”

“Your dad’s all right,” I said.

“Yeah, but his job… God, man, I would die sitting in those fucking council offices all day, pushing papers around a desk. And then coming home to us lot. It’s no wonder he’s friggin’ nuts.”

“Well, your dad’s gotta pay for all you kids somehow,” said Max. “’Specially with another one on the way.”

“Or my parents could just stop having sex. Which they should have done a long time ago. I mean, they’re both forty, for God’s sake. It’s disgusting.”

“You might finally get another boy to add to the Wilson clan,” suggested Max.

“Screw that, then I’ll have to share my room. I’d share a room with Jay’s sibling, but not mine.”

“Dream on,” I muttered.

“I do, my friend, every night.”

“My sister would eat you for breakfast.”

“That’s what I dream about.”

“Plus she has a boyfriend now.”

“Oh, no way!” cried Tom, disappointed. “Who?”

“This bloke that’s living opposite us. He’s moved in with his uncle across the street for a while. Got into some kind of trouble back home so his parents sent him away for a bit. His name’s Rocket.”

“Rocket? What kind of crap name is that?” asked Michael.

“I dunno. A nickname, I guess. He’s all right actually.”

And by “all right” I meant he was the coolest bloke I had ever met. He’d started taking Laura out to the big clubs in London, where he somehow knew all the DJs. He high-fived me whenever he came round and said Hey, dude! with a chilled-out grin. He gave me cigarettes without anyone knowing, including Laura. He normally wore a beat-up biker’s jacket and red chequered shirt, and he had black hair that hung just past his collar. He was that cool that I didn’t even mind the thought of him shagging my sister.

“No one’s parents should have sex,” chirped up Max. “Once they become parents that should be it. It should be the law.”

“Yeah, although Jay’s safe,” said Tom, “there’s no way his dad will be able to get it up anymore.”

“Or if he can he won’t be able to keep it up for long,” added Michael, “not at his age. One benefit of having an older dad – you don’t have to worry about him having sex.”

“Out of the things I worry about, that’s honestly not one of them,” I told him.

“He could be using Viagra,” suggested Max, helpfully.

“That’s true. He could be keeping it up for ages with Viagra,” said Michael.

“Could we please stop discussing my father’s erections?”

“I sometimes hear my parents having sex,” piped up Max. “My dad makes these weird hooting noises, like an owl.”

“What the hell?!” I cried, and we all laughed loudly. “That’s so disturbing.”

“You mean he doesn’t call out to Jesus?” asked Tom, referring to the family’s involvement in the church. “JESUS! JESUS! JESUS! OHHH, JESUS!” he yelled, his voice echoing across the night sky, making us laugh all the more.

Gradually we fell silent, and after a while a conversation about music started between Michael and Tom.

“You okay, Jay Boy?” asked Max. “You’ve been kind of quiet tonight.”

I’d tried to enjoy the evening so as not to drag anyone else down, but I wasn’t really feeling it.

“I’m okay. I just… I had a bit of an argument with Libby yesterday, that’s all,” I admitted reluctantly.

“Oh yeah? A lovers’ tiff?”

“Yeah,” I sighed, “and it was so stupid. I mean, it was about nothing, really. But somehow it all got blown out of proportion. I don’t even know how. I’m sure it’ll just blow over, but I don’t know. It feels a bit shit.”

Part of me was yearning to tell Max all about it. Just like a part of me was yearning to tell him that Libby had said she loved me, and that I’d said it back, and that we’d spent a cold evening in the bow of her boat huddled under a blanket whispering about our imagined future together, and that I’d been both freaked out by the seriousness of it and genuinely excited, and that I really wanted to take things further with her but I was too nervous to try, and that sometimes I felt overwhelmed by the fear of losing her… But I knew that if I shared any of these things I’d be laying myself wide open to my friend’s mockery.

Maybe, just maybe, Max might say something sensitive and supportive – after all, he was a genuinely kind person, a Christian, a scout, and a lifelong friend – but it was just as likely he’d shout over to the others and within seconds I’d be the butt of their jokes. Because our friendships, as tight as they were, were forged on a mixture of fun, laughter, derision and humiliation. The ways we expressed our loyalty and affection for one another – an arm around the shoulder, a bear hug, some humorous words of wisdom – all fell safely within the age-old guidelines of male bonding. But venturing beyond those sacred boundaries? Sharing our fears, anxieties and emotions? Putting something genuinely personal out there and not knowing what you would get back? It was all too much of a risk.

It feels a bit shit.

That was about as emotional as any of us liked to get.

“Girls can be a bit mental, can’t they?” said Max, confirming that a deep and meaningful discussion about the nature of relationships had probably never been on the cards. “They get angry at the stupidest things, turn even the littlest thing into an argument.”

“Well, it wasn’t all her fault,” I conceded.

“It’s periods and stuff, isn’t it?” continued Max. “Makes them go bonkers. Every month my mum loses the plot. Last week, she hit my dad over the head with her copy of Caravanning Monthly just because he didn’t offer her a cup of tea. I mean, talk about overreaction.”

I smiled, comforted by the fact that there were households