I lean my head against the wall behind me, staring at the birds. I start to understand why Al liked it here so much. Why he was always disappearing off to the museum. It’s quiet and there’s so much stuff to look at, it kinda makes you think. It doesn’t even feel like you’re in Manchester. It doesn’t feel like you’re anywhere. It’s somewhere to escape everything.
I stare at one of the paper birds and I feel bad that I never tried to understand why Al liked this stuff before. I just hated him for it cause it made me feel thick. I never even questioned or thought that he might be doing all this stuff to get away. Maybe that’s wot the caption was about: Some birds are not meant to be free. Wot if Al felt trapped? Wot if someone, or something, made him feel like there was no other way out? I need to find wotever pushed Al to do this. Whoever pushed him to do this.
*
I turn my key in the front door, closing it firmly behind me. It’s quiet and the house is all dark. I push open the kitchen door and see Saul standing beside the microwave, heating some food up. It pings and he pulls the plate out, carrying it to the kitchen table with the sleeve of his hoodie covering his hand. I notice another empty wine bottle beside the recycling pile.
‘Where’s Mum?’ I ask.
Saul bends over his plate, shovelling some food into his mouth. ‘Gone Carol’s,’ he says. ‘You hungry?’
I shrug. ‘Could eat,’ I say.
Saul pushes his chair back. ‘Can’t you always,’ he says, ruffling my hair as he passes me. ‘Got a stomach like a pit, you.’
‘Well, at least I don’t look like I fell down one.’
‘Funny!’ he says. ‘You should be at the Apollo, not in Benchill.’
I shake my head and sit down as he puts another plate of food in the microwave for me. I see an open letter next to Saul’s plate. I can’t read wot it says properly, but the words FINAL NOTICE are scrawled across it in red letters. The microwave pings and Saul puts a plate down in front of me. He picks up the letter and shoves it in his pocket.
‘I’m handling it,’ he says. ‘Y’know Mum hates asking for money. Rather let these pile up than ask for help.’
I pick up my fork. ‘Yeah,’ I say.
To be honest, I don’t know wot we would’ve done all this time if it hadn’t been for Saul. He stepped up when Dad left. He dropped outta college and started working on a building site, so that he could bring in some extra money to give to Mum. So that she wouldn’t have to do it all on her own.
I eat some of my tea, tho it doesn’t really taste of anything. Most things stopped tasting the same after Al. Saul picks at some meat that’s caught between his teeth with his knife.
‘Where’ve you been?’ he says.
I shrug. ‘Just out,’ I reply. ‘Went to go and see Kyle and that.’
Saul watches me carefully, and I hope he won’t push me any more than that cause I don’t wanna explain that I’ve been wandering round some stupid museum, tryna get into Al’s head.
Saul pushes his plate away. The love bite on his neck has turned a different colour and looks more like some sort of bruise now.
‘Nate,’ he says. ‘I’ve been looking some stuff up, online and that. These nightmares . . .’ Saul pauses. ‘I think you should talk to someone.’
I stop eating. ‘I’ve spoken to you.’
‘I know,’ he says. ‘But I ain’t enough. You need to talk to a doctor or someone who can help you. Who’s better at that stuff than me. I can’t do nothin. You’ve been through a lot.’ Saul pauses again. ‘Coming home to Al and . . .’
I stand up and try not to think of Al’s face when I found him.
‘I’m all right,’ I say. ‘I’ve been out. I’m seeing me mates . . . I’m fine.’
I make my way to the other side of the kitchen. Would Saul still care this much if he knew about the phone call? That things might be different if I hadn’t ignored Al? Would he and Mum blame me for not helping Al?
‘Nate,’ Saul says. ‘You ain’t listening. You can’t keep ignoring stuff. Don’t run away from this . . . don’t be like Dad.’
I pick my rucksack up off the floor. ‘I ain’t nothin like him!’ I snap.
I leave the kitchen before Saul has the chance to say anything else.
In my room, I peel off my hoodie and unzip my rucksack. I’m mad at Saul for saying I’m like Dad just cause I don’t wanna talk about shit. Wot good would it do? Nah, I need to find whoever’s to blame for making Al kill himself. That’s how I make things better.
I take out Al’s drawing and place my thumb next to the Al on the paper. I look again at all the people surrounding him. Even tho their faces aren’t there, I now see that Al’s still managed to get the details of their bodies in. Some of them are broad and muscular, and one of them is long and skinny. Wot if this ain’t just a drawing? Wot if it actually happened? If someone – or more than one person – had given Al a hard time? But he never said nothin. And wouldn’t I have seen summat in school?
Frustrated, I throw the drawing down and climb on to my bed. I close my eyes for a minute, and, for some reason, I think about that Megan. I can hear her voice in my head, loud and clear, all high-pitched and a bit shaky: ‘I wanted to do something to remember Al by. I’ve set up a memorial page on Facebook. I just thought people could post stuff. It might help.’
I sit up, pull my phone out of my rucksack and open Facebook. I’ve got even more notifications now, but I ignore them again and type Al Bryant into the search bar. I wait and I watch as the grey wheel appears and the page starts to load. Al’s profile comes up, then beneath it I see the memorial page. The picture is one that’s been taken from his profile. I click into the page. There’s also a picture of some stars uploaded as the cover photo and the caption underneath Al’s picture says:
RIP, Al, the brightest star in the sky. This is for anyone who knew him, friends and family. 2003–2020.
It’s actually kinda nice and I feel a bit bad for being so rude to Megan on the bus. I scroll down the page. Megan only set it up a few days ago, and it’s already got 700 likes. The first person to comment was Megan and I stare down at her picture, filtered and posing for the camera, the brightness adjusted so that the blue in her eyes stands out. I look down the wall, past posts and YouTube clips, sad faces, song lyrics:
RIP
Gone but not forgotten
I’ll miss u m8
Rest in Peace
Dnt kno wot 2 say
It won’t b the same wivout u
There’s a few comments from people that I know – there’s one from big-gob Lauren:
RIP. I’ll miss u. xxx
One from Kyle:
RIP m8. So sad . . . hope ur resting easy
I scroll through comment after comment, past pictures and posts, all of them tagging Al. People have reacted with a like or love or wow. As if there’s summat to like or love about Al being dead. Other people have commented underneath some of the posts, not even bothering to write their own. There are all these stories of Al being so smart and clever and talented. I keep scrolling till my eyes get sore and my head is crammed with comment after comment.