Just in Case Read Free Page A

nodded. He thought he probably could.

6
    Allow me to introduce myself.
    My name is Kismet. Turkish, from Persian qismat, from Arabic qisma; lot, from qasama, to divide, allot. SYN: Chance. Providence. Destiny. Luck.
    Fate.
    I’m the one with my finger on the scale, the bullet, the brakes. The one who chooses which sperm, which egg, who lives, who dies.
    Fate giveth, fate taketh away.
    But we were talking about David.
    Poor feckless little David, holding fast to his stunted little life. It could almost be amusing.
    Almost.
    You. Come closer. Let me whisper in your ear.
    Your friend, your character, your David is a fool. A chump. A little white mouse with a pink twitching nose.
    I have my paw on his tail. Watch what happens when I lift it.
    See? Let him have his little scamper. I’m not hungry just now.
    A little later, perhaps.
    You’ll know.

7
    Justin’s parents refused to address him by his new name.
    ‘How do you expect us to change what we call you after all these years? It’s unnatural.’
    He didn’t even try explaining about his fate. He knew they weren’t really paying attention, what with all the first-time walking, talking and weeing going on in other parts of the house.
    Justin felt sure that unless they actually found him with a loaded gun in one hand and a suicide note in the other, they wouldn’t worry overmuch about the levels and sources of his anxiety. But that was OK. He didn’t expect much from them. He knew they were busy. He knew they’d tried to be good parents. They’d paid attention to him when he was younger, took him to zoos and sports days, bought him snacks. Pretended his Christmas list really went to Santa. Gave him an instructional video about sex.
    He also recognized that his younger brother was cuter, more biddable and less philosophically challenging. Underthe circumstances, his parents’ preference for the baby made sense, as did their lack of understanding on the subject of their older son’s doom. He didn’t exactly understand it himself.
    They had refrained from commenting on his recent metamorphosis, having read in the Sunday supplements that teenagers were likely to behave in an eccentric manner, but Justin noticed his mother trying to peer into his mouth sometimes when he spoke. He suspected she was looking for a tongue stud. The thought of such a piercing sickened him; it made him sad that this was the level on which she believed he operated.
    ‘Hello, David,’ she said as usual on the morning he came down to breakfast in a poppy-coloured shirt with a ruffle down the front and a pair of white trousers cinched with a belt. She glanced at her husband, and a look passed between them suggesting a subject of previous and mutual concern. Folding his newspaper, Justin’s father cleared his throat.
    ‘David,’ he began in the manner of a pronouncement.
    Justin raised his spoon to his mouth and paused.
    ‘David. I want to know, that is, we want to know, to enquire really, your mother and I, neither here nor there in any real sense, simply to access the facts, well, ahem. That is to say. You’re not homosexual, are you?’
    Justin placed the spoon in his mouth and then returned it slowly to the bowl. Across the table, his brother sucked on an apricot.
    ‘No no no!’ The little boy laughed, waving his arms emphatically to no one in particular.
    ‘Because if you are, your mother and I want you to know it’s fine.’
    Justin chewed and swallowed.
    His parents glanced at each other.
    ‘Well?’ asked his mother anxiously.
    Justin looked up, as if seeing her for the first time. ‘Yes?’
    ‘Are you…?’ She blushed. ‘You know.’
    ‘HO-MO-SEX-UAL.’ Exasperation caused his father to shout.
    Justin lifted his spoon and pondered the question. Milk dripped off it as it hovered, loaded, in mid-air. Homosexual? It hadn’t really occurred to him. He supposed it was possible. Anything was possible.
    ‘Not that I know of,’ he said finally.
    His father exhaled