The Man on the Moon (The Man Duology)

Chapter 11

My father was always a racist pig. Although his opinion didn't matter, he would make fun of boys like Deion. They would gather outside of the primary school (weird place to hang out if you ask me) and roll around our estate on push bikes. Although they never officially threatened me, Julia always made a massive deal when they would ride past us, or even breathe in our direction. As I expected, Deion's presence did not make me feel uncomfortable. In fact, I let go of my held breath and placed my palm into his. He had a steady, firm handshake. It's funny because Dad always liked a man with a good handshake. Too bad he would never have given him a chance due to something he couldn't change.

"I'm Deion," His voice still shook, as it matched his body language.

"Nice to meet you, Deion," I smiled, stepping in front of Harvey. I tried to make him feel as welcome as possible, and shook his hand. "I am Eleanor."

"Alright, home boy," Harvey protested, arming himself with the key once again. "Back away from the pregnant lady."

"No, Harvey, it's okay-" I bit my lip. Did he have to tell everybody we met?

"Wait, you're pregnant?" Deion's face lit up, like a warm candle. "That's awesome, man. Good for you!"

"Far from a man if she's pregnant," Harvey snapped through gritted teeth.

"Harvey, leave it-"

"Deion's my name," His voice became quiet; different to the one that had just greeted me. To convince him, Deion offered Harvey his hand. "Look, man, I don't want to cause any trouble."

Before Harvey could speak, I interrupted. "You aren't causing any trouble, Deion, don't worry about it."

Although not convinced, Harvey shook his hand. "Where are you from, Deion?"

"Bristol. I mean... If you're asking originally," As he spoke, I studied his face. The bags under his eyes were almost florescent, as they highlighted his face. His wrinkles clung to his rough skin, showing signs of deep struggle. "I've just made my way up from down South. I need to get home..." Glancing at Harvey, I felt a surge of guilt run through me. "It's my Mama, she's in trouble. I have to help."

"We'll do anything to help. What do you need? A lift?" As the words fell from my mouth, Harvey instantly grabbed my arm and tugged at my sleeve. I looked down, and whispered. "What?"

"Can I talk to you, please?" He begged, his own pair of puppy dog eyes were the size of Jupiter.

Excusing ourselves from Deion, we edged to the other side of the pickup truck. In hindsight, it wasn't that far away from where Deion was stood.

"What are you doing?" Harvey harshly whispered, once we were out of sight.

"He needs our help -- just like you decided I needed your help," I stood my ground. Hands on my hips; eyes staring straight into his -- I was so shocked that I didn't crumble under pressure.

"That was different, Eleanor," He dismissed, folding his arms.

"How is that any different from this?" Mocking his actions, I genuinely wanted answers. "Harvey, stop throwing a tantrum and let us help this poor man. You never know, he could help us, too."
As he was about to spit his dummy out of his pram, I strutted over to Deion and welcomed him to the pickup truck.

Harvey stood, leaning up against the car with his arms folded.

"God, thank you so much!" Deion kept saying, rubbing his face in disbelief.

"Don't get too excited, man," He spat. "You're riding in the back."

As me and Deion sat at the back of the pickup truck, we watched the sun steadily continue to rise. Welcoming its rays, we basked in the golden light.
Harvey wasn't happy that we had picked him up, but me actively choosing to sit with Deion made him ignore me for the rest of the trip to Bristol. Harvey's plan was to follow the motorway signs until he touched down in Bristol, and then Deion would direct him to our designated hotel (all expenses paid by his feminist aunt) and then, and only then, could we drop him off at his mother's house.