Ging Gang Goo Read online

  I took tea in the storage hut with Rachel, while Devon, still in a huff, attempted to teach Charlie how to roast Starburst on the campfire. I knew I’d have a couple of hours shot of them before bed, judging by Charlie’s past difficulties with cooking and crafts. Rachel had slumped down from her position of superiority, seemingly put out that she had bothered to apologise to Devon when it had been Dani and Charlie who ran for help. Perhaps I’m being cynical. She was probably annoyed because she’d just wrecked her ankle on the second day of an activity holiday with not much else going for it.

  “Harley, would you mind?” asked Rachel in her sweetest voice, after a bit of a silence. I looked up from the final pea I’d been chasing round my plate, and she was waving a tenner. “It’s gonna be well boring in here while everyone else is out tomorrow. I was thinking maybe you could get me some sweets?”

  “A tenner’s worth of sweets?” I asked, in awe. I didn’t think me and my siblings had ever had that many treats between us, even at Easter.

  “Yeah, and a magazine. You can have some if you like, but don’t tell that pikey. Go now, so I have time to hide them from Miss Winterbottom.”

  Miss Winterbottom had drawn the short straw by being born with (a precursor to) boobs. She’d be spending the rest of the trip supervising Rachel in the daytime, while the blokes and those qualified activity leaders who had been so suspiciously absent in the morning led the rest of us.

  I thanked my lucky stars that it wasn’t raining again. That ten minute trudge at lunchtime had just about done Mr Wordsworth in. Weather permitting, I was going to have a jolly good time picking out all my favourite sweets and maybe munching a Cadbury’s Caramel on the way back. I didn’t even go back to the tent for my jacket, though I regretted that by halfway there when the wind picked up. Nevertheless, I was alone, and that in itself was something. The amount of times I’d volunteered to “run” for milk and bog roll just to get fifteen minutes on my own with the portable CD player me and Charlie had shared… well, up until he broke it last year.

  Something stopped me just as abruptly as my twin had stopped Now That’s What I Call Me Time – just a few metres short of the camp shop. Of all the things I could’ve imagined putting a damper on my private sweetie jaunt, this was the least expected, and the most likely to drive me to hole up with Rachel and her Scarface-grade mound of sherbet for the entire rest of the trip. Dani and Jordy squashed up in the phone booth. Dani and Jordy…

  I huffed inwards with anger, and continued on my way. My cheeks filled up like hot air balloons, and I waffled it back out to soothe myself, lips trembling. Five more minutes and I’d be on my sugar-rushing way to forgetting this ever happened. (Right.)

  As I reached the door of the shop, there was a shuffle behind me. I turned – I couldn’t help it. Anyway, seeing them together properly would at least make it real enough that there was no question. Dani faced me on the path. Jordy was still leaning against the inside wall of the booth, now texting.

  With uncharacteristic assuredness, Dani marched up to me and grabbed my arm. “You two need to talk!”

  We needed to talk? It had never occurred to Jordy to apologise for not dating me before.

  Shakily, I approached the booth and stepped inside. It wasn’t a very secure venue for a private conversation, as the door had been ripped off. So much for Scout centres being the last quaint location in English nature.

  “Don’t tell no one.” He shivered. It wasn’t that cold, at least in the booth where the wind was kept off us from three sides.

  I twitched with annoyance. Don’t TELL anyone? Was that how he presumed upon me to react to one of my oldest friends getting cosy with him? I’d potentially have expected it from Dani (though probably not, gossip that she is), but it was completely unexpected coming from him.

  “I must’ve went nuts. My mum’s coming from Birmingham,”

  Because you snogged a fat girl?

  “I’m sorry,” he added.

  He really was just rubbing it in!

  “What for?” I asked, confused. My head was in a whirl. One minute lumpy old me wasn’t good enough for Jordy Johnson, Sports Captain and PE Teacher’s Pet – and now, now it turned out that I wasn’t curvy enough after all? Something didn’t add up.

  “Sorry I’m gay, I guess,” he mumbled, looking like he’d shrunk a foot in the time it took to say. I couldn’t find him attractive then. It felt like I was looking at Zak. This was before I actually took in what he was saying; he seemed so vulnerable.

  “It’s… well, it’s not your fault.”

  “Only had two friends,” Jordy snapped. “I know it don’t look that way, but I never trusted no one but them. If they can’t take it, I’ve got no hope.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’re lucky. You don’t need a… a boyfriend on the footie team, or whatevz. Your mates might say shit, but they’d never leave you over summin’ like this.”

  Debatable… What was it, six times Chantalle had called me a lez during the last week of school? I couldn’t imagine her reaction if she’d been right.

  “Boys suck. You have to be, Andy with the Asthma, or – Justin the Chode, or Munter, or Dirty Little Grunge, or Bum Boy.”

  That was about right, but it went further than that. It had been awful when mine and Charlie’s entire, joint, social identity revolved around being poor, two for the price of one; when people at school said they’d heard that we lived in a discarded Wotsit packet and had to take the rubbish in on a Wednesday night; when overpatriotic kids who lived on council estates misguidedly decided that we were the scum of the earth for actually claiming free lunches. When Keisha had first come back to our house and assumed based on the above that we were actually squatters. I understood how he must feel now that people had a thing to think about him, too.

  “Bum Boy,” I tittered, realising the silence. “Sorry. I know it’s… ugh. You’re right. Boys. But girls are worse, trust. Chan will call someone a slut and then hug her. Or Keisha, she’d tell you you’re beautiful and be laughing at the same time.”

  “I know; we went out in Year 6.”

  My mouth hung open. She’d dated Jordy and never bothered to make me feel terrible about it? Wow… maybe Keisha really tried sometimes, not to be a cow. I hadn’t given her enough credit.

  He misinterpreted my expression. “You shoulda come along when I want sure.”

  I should NOT have! I thought. Back in Year 7 I’d looked like a rabbit in a bad hippie wig. As recently as last week, Jordy had gone around saying things like that – when he was sure.

  “Look, I didn’t mean to be mean to you. You’re just s’posed to go along with it if you’re mates with a twin.”

  “No you’re not,” I couldn’t help arguing. “That’s between the twins; not you. You don’t see Andy taking the mickey out of me, and he’s known us since we were four.”

  “Yeah, well, Andy’s… forget it.”

  “Andy’s a good guy.” (I couldn’t believe I was defending Andy in all this. After all, what had he said to Jordy about the gay thing? In my mind, it had to have been Andy, because Charlie was the campest person going. Which Andy was OK with. It hurt my head!) “Siblings argue. We’re horrible to each other but we don’t mean it. If you come between us, you have to realise it won’t end well.”

  There was an awkward silence. I watched as the gift shop sign turned from “OPEN” to “CLOSED”. Rachel wasn’t going to be happy.

  Jordy seemed to realise it was getting late. “You can go back if you want.”

  “I should, and so should you.”

  “My mum’s coming.”

  “From Birmingham?”

  “Yeah. Ant seen her in five years. Or my sister.”

  I had to assume that they’d been the ones to move. I knew Jordy lived with his nan, but he had a proper Portsmouth accent.

  “That’s ages. I can explain to Mr Wordsworth. They’ll send out a search party if you’re not there for last register.”

  He shrugge
d. “Let ’em search.”

  “I don’t want to get in trouble for this,” I dithered. “But neither should you.”

  “Will you go if I give you this?” Jordy asked, leaning in.

  I couldn’t believe it. After three years and two birthday wishes, I was finally getting a snog from the boy of my dreams. Only he fancied men. Did I look like a man? I let our lips meet, not wanting to reject him in his time of need. (Or any time, if I’m being honest.)

  Jordy pulled back, sheepishly, and said, “Tell Charlie I was thinking of him.” He smirked, nodding for me to take off.

  Ugh. There was always a catch. Always, always a catch. The kiss of a lifetime, forever sullied by the thought that Jordan Johnson had got the wrong twin.

 

  #7 Ging Gang Goolie Goolie Goolie Goolie Watcher…

  “No more earwagging for Rachel,” warned Miss Winterbottom, who met me at the door of the hut. She must’ve meant chinwagging, the butch old bird.

  I could just make out Rachel’s look of resent, even though Windy had already switched off the light. Fab. There was still time for the eternally lazy Snobgoblins to wriggle their way into her favour, even if it was just as an excuse to ditch activities.

  Most of the group was still about, merrily chatting and chanting in a circle of chairs around the campfire. Gaggles of girls were sat around their tents, already pyjama’d, and some of the boys were chasing each other around the perimeter of the field. I didn’t fancy any of that.

  I turned to head for the kitchen tent, supposing that a little hot choccy might help with my nerves, to find Charlie haring towards me from that direction.

  “DID YOU KNOW JORDY’S GAY?!”

  I nibbled my lip, wondering how to answer that. “Did” suggested the general past, and not like, the last twenty minutes or so. “No. Wouldn’t you be the first to know something like that?”

  “Why is everyone calling me a homosexual?!”

  “…I meant because he’s your second-best friend.”

  “We can’t be friends!” he protested, looking like an electrical current was running through him.

  “Why not?”

  “Because… because he fancies me!”

  “Calm down,” I managed, steering him back towards the hot chocolate. “It’s not the end of the world.”

  “It is! I’m glad he’s leaving. I can’t deal with that.”

  “Deal with… what?”

  Charlie collapsed into someone else’s chair, upsetting what was left of a drink in the cup-holder. “Well when you fancy someone, it’s creepy, right? Like, you follow them home from school, and buy the same shampoo they said they have, and wonder what they look like…” He tailed off. “You know. If you’re already friends with the person, they already know all that!”

  I sat down also. “I don’t think there was ever any risk of Jordy rushing out to buy TRESemmé.”

  “Why not? He’s gay.”

  Sigh. “Well, for starters, you used it first and you’re not gay. He can be gay and not use it.”

  “But I bought it because Malice used it, and she has perfect hair.”

  “Malice probably bought it because of the black and white bottles.”

  “That’s not the point! You can’t be friends and fancy someone. Not unless they fancy you back. And then you might as well be…”

  “Might as well be what?” asked Devon, who had popped up out of nowhere.

  “Devon, did you know Jordy was gay?”

  I shook my head in disbelief.

  Devon frowned with confusion. “Well that’s… good news…?”

  “Good news?!” he spluttered.

  “You gays need to stick together.”

  The look on Charlie’s face was priceless.

  “Oh God!” she whispered, in mock-horror. “Harley doesn’t know you’re bi!”

  “I never said that!”

  “Do I need to list the reasons?” she threatened.

  I was just confused. The Little Britain-watching tween in me would’ve been so tempted to infer what she had, but hadn’t we all grown up a little since Year 8? Devon of all people surely couldn’t be running on stereotypes.

  Charlie looked at me helplessly.

  “Zach Braff, Matt LeBlanc, Johnny Depp, Zac Efron, Zacky Vengeance, Synyster Gates, M. Shadows, Matt Tuck, wiL Francis, Billie Joe Armstrong…” She grinned triumphantly.

  “Those are my heroes and I don’t want them in my bed!” he whinged.

  “Yeah, and I bet Jordy wouldn’t want you in his bed if he knew what you’re really like,” I couldn’t help adding.

  “Fancying someone doesn’t have to be all rapey,” said Dev. “That’s just you.”

  “Looks like you got told,” snarked Andy, from the doorway of the kitchen tent. I had no idea how long he’d been there. “Hot drinks for three? Best not invite you, Chuck; you know how it is.”

  I checked the time. “It’s gone half nine. Where is everybody?”

  “Balls and Windy just went looking for Jordy. Mr Wordsworth’s smoking pot with the Matts,” Devon supplied.

  Andy caught the look on my face. “He is on holiday too, you know.”

  “I’m going to bed,” Charlie sulked. “You’re all horrible.”

  “Suit yourself, WhingeBob HuffPants,” said Dev. “Nighty-noo!”

  “For you, m’lady,” crooned Andy, who had got down on one knee without me noticing. He was holding a plastic cup of steaming hot chocolate, specially for me.

  “Thanks,” I managed, thinking that maybe he really wasn’t so bad after all. He’d been through about as much Charlie as I had, and voluntarily at that.

  #8 The Second

  One hot chocolate later, I was still no closer to sleep. Rain beat down heavily on the canvas above me, and it wasn’t cosy like sleeping under a skylight. Balls and Windy had reappeared, which brought me no comfort, especially as they claimed not to have found Jordy. Even when I decided for the sake of my own mental health that he would’ve gone to the well-lit very front gate to wait for his mum, and wasn’t cowering in the woods somewhere, I couldn’t settle. Twice I got up for a wee, making Devon and Dani grumble as I shakily attempted to step over them and unbutton the tentflap.

  Things just didn’t feel right.

  Not because I wondered if my twin brother really was secretly bisexual. That didn’t bother me at all. In fact, the less I was forced to hear about his personal matters these days, the better I felt. Not because Jordy had gone out with Keisha, or because he had for some reason trusted Dani – that also didn’t bother me, when I thought rationally. If I were a boy I’d surely want to go out with Keisha – enough of them did that it was statistically probable – and I definitely trusted Danielle myself.

  No, the thing that was really bothering me was what had got uprooted when Jordy moaned about names and labels. Not so much how we used to be so poor that I could sometimes only wash my hair once a week, or how people whose parents worked less than Dad gloated about how many stations they got on NTL, or how Charlie had to get his braces after me because we wanted to be less similar and then that backfired because Jordy thought it was the same set. Not even how Andy’s dad used to buy us Christmas presents because he felt guilty for being rich even though he worked hard for his money, or how Zak thought that Santa was unfair because he gave better stocking fillers to Ryan, or how being able to use the central heating when Harry moved in came as such a shock that I felt like a slowly cooking lobster every night for a month as I tried to sleep.

  It wasn’t that; it was something else entirely. Everyone knew their place. Jordy was the closest thing to a “jock” that we had in this country, and Charlie and Andy dreamed of being rockstars. Devon had her knitting, or cardmaking, or hairdressing, or whatever it was that week. Rachel was posh, but so athletic that she always walked everywhere, and Fern was shockingly good in Food Tech for someone who looked like the beanstalk Jack climbed in from. Rindi was rational, and brilliant at writing articles that didn
’t ramble, and Dani was… well, Dani was pretty damn nice for someone who had spent fourteen years with Chantalle, and got constantly bullied into joining her mum on diets that didn’t work. Chan was beautiful, and uber-disciplined with her swimming; Keisha was cheeky and funny, and much smarter than she wanted us to think. Zak had his football, and even Kitty had her acting now. Everyone had something to be identified by, even if it didn’t fit into any of the stereotypes we saw on TV.

  What was I? Harley the Nothing, and not to sound ungrateful, but going so unnoticed sort of hurt more than being bullied. Whenever I was mentioned by someone I didn’t know well, it was in addition to Charlie, who couldn’t help but be noticed because he found so many things difficult that he stuck out like broken middle finger to society’s expectations. I’d loved Brownies because he wasn’t allowed to join in, which I knew I couldn’t ever say, because it’s bad enough to admit to leaving your siblings out on purpose, even when they’re not practically challenged. Even then, it was Shelley and Harley, because I dithered while you got to be Sixer, and I was the Second.

  I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to make myself happier, but I was alright at solving other people’s problems. I knew that if I was a lesbian, I could go to prom with my best friend to make a statement. If I was blind, I could try to set a world record for something nobody thought I could do. But it wasn’t that nobody thought I could do some things; not like Charlie. People seemed to think I could do everything, and expected not to have to explain twice. It was horrible, but I couldn’t help thinking – if I was a bully… if I was a bully, I’d be remembered. Jordy had picked that over being “that gay guy”, and he wasn’t particularly horrible, but any time something slipped out, it was hard to forget about. Or maybe that was just me, considering that I paid so much attention. At the rate I was going, my own kids would forget who I was to them before my funeral. It was hard to face, but all I did was bitch and moan, and I even kept half of it to myself. I never did anything to be proud of. I didn’t deserve a medal for doing what I was supposed to do, when other people couldn’t. I never did anything worth defending. I was indefensible.