there’s a lightness in his head
his feet have lost their boots of lead
he shoulders his pack
and makes his way to the hall.
Becca’s standing with a pink bag
on her arm, in a group of girls,
she sees him and comes over
Hiya Frankie.
Good ter see yer back.
Sorry bout yer Nan.
And all what happened,
over Christmas, like.
Aye – thanks.
She touches him on the arm
Yer look much better.
Aye? Yeah, I am.
She smiles and goes off.
Corinne comes up, nudges him
She still fancies yer.
Frank blushes and undercover
of the clatter and clash
of three hundred people
eating lunch, he whispers
I’m gay
for the second time that day.
He beams, Corinne looks at him
his smile, infectious, spreads to her.

Frankie leans his elbows on his knees
looks at nothing, then
before he can think, he starts to talk
Last term, well, for years really
I was, like, yer kna, bullied
by lads, me brother,
like in that.. he jerks his head
towards the poster.
Homophobia?
Aye.. That. Does it mean yer gay?
It means the nature of the bullying
are taunts about homosexuality.
It doesn’t necessarily mean
the person being bullied
is gay.
I s’pose it’s easy ter see wi racism,
if the victim’s black.
It’s more complex than that,
it happens to the Irish and the Jews.
There’s a silence,
Frankie’s mouth’s a crooked line,
he feels it stretch, his eyes look sideways
at the counsellor, she looks back
with a serious and open face,
then he says:
I’m gay.

Frankie’s got an appointment,
he’s missing PE which makes him happy,
as he knocks on a door that says
Pastoral Care.
Come in! a woman’s voice calls.
She’s big, with short bleached hair
and a ring
through her nose. He stares
surprised.
Hello, I’m Julia Johnson.
Frankie, isn’t it?
they shake hands.
This is your first week back
since Christmas?
Aye
How does it feel?
Er – ok – so far.
Well, I want to emphasise
that my door’s open
anytime you feel you need
a break, a quiet place – come
along and talk, or just sit.
Frankie nods.
I got a letter from your GP.
Aye – I’m on that Prozac stuff
but it makes me feel -
I can’t think straight.
If you want to stop taking it
you’ll need to go back to the doctor.
He nods again
But we can offer
support if you do.
Frankie looks at the walls
there’s a poster about bullying:
racism, homophobia.
Julia looks at him:
Is there anything else
you’d like to talk about?

Frankie’s restless; Dad’s on at him
to get back to school. Mam
is tired, he feels in the way.

He plans to go back, after half term,
get stuck in, catch up,
do his GCSEs
like Corinne and Paddy.

They walk him to school,
Paddy’s mates will cool it -
no more jostling, calling names.

Somewhere deep inside him
something’s changed.
He doesn’t feel so weak or so ashamed,
he still feels different, but
in a different way.

In his mind he sees a blue pool
only it isn’t blue or just blue,
it’s wavering glass
with lines of gold that thread
and dance.
Water laps and slops in a lazy way
laps and slaps, slops and lops.
He cannot remember when it was
he just knows that sunshine on water
is his world – floating, flying
suspended on air,
gold slabs of sun, thick blocks of light
shafting down from the windows
all the rest in dark shadow.
A pool is a cathedral
echoey and concentrated
in its purpose, swimming
is a prayer, he reaches another place
inside himself,
a peace like nothing else.
But what he writes in the Journal is:
Swimming pools.
He kneels on his bed
chin cupped in his hands
staring at the whiteness
outside his window
lit by a ghostly full moon.
His Nan has gone,
but the world goes on;
Jubilee estate has a strange beauty
a mysterious quietness
that reaches into his troubled heart.
Inside he’s glad
he’s here to see it.

She’s brought him chocolate
they sit on his bed, eating chunks.
Frankie says
I’m not sure the pills are helping.
But then, says Corinne,
It’s not surprising yer feel blue,
everyone else does too.
We just lost Nana
and we nearly lost you.
Frankie does a wonky smile.
Will yer think about coming back
to school? It might be better
than frettin at home.
Frankie lies there, saying nowt
trying to work out what it is
that feels so hard:
It’s just like I’m all wrong.
I don’t know where I belong.
Aye. Well. Have yer tried
writin in yer book?
Frank shakes his head,
Try thinking aboot all the things yer like -
music, food, places ye were happy.
Frankie rolls his eyes at her
and lies on his back
as the world outside
turns to white.

the family are standing at Nan’s
new memorial in polished marble:
In Memory of a Loving Mam and Grandma
Called to Rest
Safe in God’s Care.
They lay down bunches of early Iris
and a pot of blue Hyacinth.
It’s a little plot in Fenham Cemetery
between low trees, looking out over
the Town Moor.
Dad and Mam are holding hands,
Corinne has an arm through Dolly’s,
Paddy and Frank stand far apart,
hands in pockets, keeping quiet.
As they walk slowly up the hill past
the General Hospital, Frank hangs back
with Dolly, tries to ask her questions:
Leave it, Frank she says
with a sigh. All are lost
in their thoughts under a white
snow-threatening sky.

Later that night it’s cold and dark outside,
there’s flowers in vases
in every room.
Mam’s got the kettle on
Dad is maudlin
he looks up as the boys come in
I’m proud of yer – it was a decent send off
for yer Nan.
Mam says nowt but hands round tea
and tabs.
She was a good woman, the best.
Mam pats his shoulder, he holds her waist.
Frankie blurts:
I met a man who knew Grandad.
Paddy hisses Focken Shut up, man.
Dad’s too lost in thought to notice, they sip their tea
and Frankie goes on up to bed.

There’s a dapper fat man
talking to Corinne and Frankie
says he’s an old pal from
Sinclair’s – knew their Nan and Grandad
and he’s asking questions.
Corinne’s tipsy with sherry:
My ma’s Dolores. It means Lady of Sorrows
mam got the wrong name, she’s always laughing
Dolly suits her better – she’ll belt out
Hello Dolly to the whole street
I say Mam be quiet, she just laughs more
she’ll do karaoke if anybody’ll let her.
Mickey’s my uncle and he’s older than Dolly
he’s Frankie’s Dad.
The dapper turns and looks at Frank in an interested way:
So Micky’s your father?
Frankie nods, the man smiles:
My name’s Bob Armstrong.
Let me get you both a drink.
He buys another sherry and a vodka for Frank
who’s feeling bold -
Did you know our Grandad?
Patrick Donnelly? Yes, I did.
Do you know what happened to him?
The dapper man looks at Frank
then away across the room,
No.
Then the singing starts and it’s too loud
for further conversation.
Late that night, as Bob shakes
their hands goodbye
they’re too far gone
to notice that he slips
a piece of paper into
Frankie’s jacket pocket.

Dad stands up, his hands are shaking
his paper flaps, he says
Psalm 23 was her favourite
and reads:
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

Dolly stands and faces the crowd
says Mam loved Handel’s Messiah,
and then plays a recording of
I know that My Redeemer Liveth
dabs a hankie to her nose.

The Priest pays personal tribute
to Mrs Donelly – as mam and Grandma
then reads the traditional
Ashes to Ashes Dust to Dust

and Nana’s coffin disappears to the tune of
My Way by Frank Sinatra