The front door slammed hard behind him, much harder than he'd intended, catching his fingers, he winced in pain as he withdrew his hand. He was surprised to find that it felt good, some of the tension released from his body. He'd left his jacket behind and the cold wind lashed him like a whip. Well he wasn't going back that was for sure. He strode off along the lane his head bent down.
It was Joe's birthday and he was seventeen.
The day had started out alright, with his mother Gilly and his step-father Nick coming into his room singing and bearing brightly wrapped gifts. His mates at school had wished him happy birthday and Sonia Marshall had given him a saucy card. Grandma had said she'd pay for his driving lessons. It had made him feel sad to think that grandpa wasn't alive anymore, he would have loved Joe to have driven him around the countryside.
When Joe had got home from school though, everything had gone wrong.
They'd tried to skype his father Ben in China but he didn't answer. There was no message or card from him at all.
Maybe if Nick hadn't patted him on the shoulder in that condescending way it would still of been alright, but Joe had stood up abruptly, brushing him away and knocking over the chair.
His mother had looked at them both in alarm and started to speak but Nick had put out his hand and said,
'It's alright Gilly, he's understandably upset, I'll deal with it.'
Joe was seventeen now and didn't want to be 'dealt with'.
He had yelled at his mother,
'It's all your fault, you weren't good enough for him, '
Then he had reeled in shock as Nick raised his hand as if to strike him. His mother had stared at them both in horror,
'Hey, hey, hey, calm down everybody, this is a special day.'
She had tried to put her arm round Joe but he had shrugged her off.
'Come on Joe, maybe you've even got a point,'
She had grinned and shrugged her shoulders.
' I wasn't what he wanted, otherwise he wouldn't have gone off and married a Chinese girl would he? '
She had paused, then her voice had softened, 'I'll always be grateful to your dad because I've got you, and we've both got Nick to look after us now.'
Joe couldn't calm down though, he had felt such anger rising within him, he had glared at his mother and Nick,
'Well I don't want you. I want dad. I'm going to live in China.'
He couldn't believe it, when he heard his mother had started to giggle. No-one ever took him seriously. He was just a victim. He had marched to the front door and spat the words.
'That's it, I've had enough.'
Joe looked up and was surprised to see he had walked as far as the woods at the edge of the common. He turned off the lane into the woods. He'd go as far as the cottage at the end of the footpath.
Someone famous had moved into it. He'd heard his mother talking to his grandma about it, all excited, saying it was a singer from her youth and she wanted his autograph. Stupid music no doubt, all bouncy and cheesy, the sort she danced around to when she was doing the housework. He sniggered.
He looked across at the cottage. There was a washing line strung across the garden and some underwear was hanging on it, boxer shorts with bananas and black lace thongs. For a brief moment Joe imagined him and Sonia Marshall living together in a cottage like this. Then his anger returned.
The other day he'd overheard Nick telling his mother that Joe should get a Saturday job and earn some money, that maybe she mollycoddled him and that it was time for him to accept that life knocks us down sometimes and we have to get up on our own feet.Well, thought Joe, remembering how hurt he'd felt, listening to them talk about him like that, if this was life then he didn't want it. His father going to the other side of the world and having two Chinese daughters, his mother marrying Nick just a year later, and Joe? Who wanted Joe?
The cottage was in darkness and there was no car in the drive. Joe crept round the back of the house, trying not to make a noise on the gravel. He tried the back door handle but it was locked. He thought of his mother's giggling, well he'd knock that smile off her face, he'd get into trouble, that's what he'd do. Then his father would have to come back from China to sort him out. He scrunched up his hand into a fist and punched it through the glass pane on the door. It shattered into pieces and a sharp pain went up his arm. It felt good. He wanted to feel pain. He looked down at the blood on his knuckles.
He leaned in and opened the door and crept in the house. There would be things to steal from a famous musician surely. He waited until his eyes had adjusted to the gloom and then tiptoed to the far door and entered a sitting room.
Joe jumped in horror as he realized someone was sitting on the floor, crossed legged, wearing headphones and strumming a guitar. The floor was littered with beer cans and bottles, take-away cartons and brimming ashtrays. The person playing the guitar must be the famous musician his mother was talking about. He had long unkempt hair and a beard, scruffy old jeans and what looked like a white t-shirt. He looked up at Joe and coughed.
'Hey man, come and join me, I could do with company.' He smiled and gestured to the floor.
Joe pushed away some of the mess on the floor and sat down, imitating the singer's cross-legged pose. The singer took off his headphones and plugged his guitar into the amplifier. He started to a play a tune that Joe recognized from his mother's CDs. There was a tambourine near the beer bottles and Joe picked it up and tapped out the beat.
It sounded different played like this and something in the haunting melody made Joe feel lighter. As he shook the tambourine he started to sway and move his head in time to the music. It felt good. The music changed, the tempo quickened and together they broke into song, Joe knew all the words and they smiled at each other as they sang.
The singer stopped and put down his guitar. He held out his hand.
'The name's Frank, nice to meet you.'
Joe hung his head. He felt ashamed, so ashamed. Here he was, seventeen, breaking into someone's house. The realization of what he'd done hit him and the shame washed over him. He blurted out,
'I'm so sorry, I really am so sorry, please don't tell my mum, she thinks you're wonderful, she'd be so ashamed of me.'
Frank nodded, 'I ain't telling no-one, but let's see your hand, go and wash it and get rid of the blood. There's some plasters in the bathroom cabinet.'
When Joe came back with his hand bandaged, Frank handed him a beer.
'You old enough to drink? '
Joe sat up straighter,
'I'm seventeen today,'
Frank raised his can,
'Happy birthday! seventeen's a wonderful age. It has to be my favourite so far, learning to drive, guitar lessons, first girlfriend, make the most of it mate. Anyway what are you doing on your birthday all alone, breaking windows?'
As he gulped down his beer, Joe told Frank all about his dad and the new Chinese family, his stepfather, his mother giggling and never taking him seriously, his grandfather dying just a few months before.
Frank nodded and listened.
'Sounds like we're both in a mess. My girlfriend left me last week. She said she can't take anymore of living in this cottage, she wants to go back to the city.'
His hand swept over the litter on the floor.
'Funny thing is that since she left I've already written a new song. Seems like being down makes me more creative. Want to hear it?'
As the opening chords of the song washed over him, Joe reached out for the tambourine and tried gently to join in. Frank's voice was low and husky as he sang out about the pain of losing someone, of letting them go and forgiving and accepting, The music poured down on Joe, reaching into the corners of his heart, flowing over him and removing all the darkness, a brightness flooded over him, renewing him and filling him with what he knew was happiness and joy.
As the music die away, Frank put down his guitar and peered at Joe.
'Music's like life see, we have to make our own music, just for the fun of it.'
He sounded like he was talking to himself and Joe waited for him to carry on.
'Hey what if I take you home and sing you happy birthday on my guitar, think you're mum would like that?'
Joe threw back his head and laughed. He laughed and laughed. It felt good. He hadn't laughed like that for ages, he couldn't even remember.
'Oh she'd love it. She'd just love it. Let's go.'
Frank lay down his guitar on the floor like a baby being put in his cot. He stood up and ran his fingers through his hair and grimaced,
'I'll quickly go and make myself presentable first.'
While he waited Joe shook the tambourine, a slow, gentle rhythm. It would be the beat of his life, he could see so many wonderful possibilities, but he'd take it gently. Maybe he could take Chinese A level and surprise his dad, he' act as chauffeur to Nick and his mum when they went out for a drink, he'd ask Sonia Marshall if she'd like a lift to school, he'd take his grandma shopping , he'd get a Saturday job and earn some money to buy a guitar and he'd ask frank if he'd give him lessons.
Joe couldn't wait to get home now, to see the relief he knew would be on his mother's face when she saw him and to apologize to Nick.
Frank appeared at the door, transformed, his hair combed and pulled back, clean shaven and smartly dressed, he was holding a bottle of wine tied with a ribbon.
He smiled at Joe,
'Let's go Joe, we've got a birthday to celebrate.'
As they were walking back along the lane to Joe's house, Frank stopped and turned to Joe,
'Just one thing, next time you come and visit me, please knock.'
