Chosen Family Theme Analysis

His mum was pretty. And Will seemed quite well off, they could go and live with Will and his kid, and then there’d be four of them, and four was twice as good as two. And maybe, if they wanted to, they could have a baby. His mum wasn’t too old. She was thirty-eight. You could have a baby when you were thirty-eight. So then there would be five of them, and it wouldn’t matter quite so much if one of them died.

‘How often do you think about it?’

‘I dunno.’ All the time, all the time, all the time. Could he say that to Will? He didn’t know. [...] All he wanted was a promise from someone, anyone, that it wouldn’t happen again, ever, and no one could do that.

‘Fucking hell,’ said Will. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t say that in front of you, should I?’

‘It’s OK. People say it at school all the time.’

And that was it. That was all Will said. ‘Fucking hell.’ Marcus didn’t know why Will had sworn like that, but Marcus liked it; it made him feel better. It was serious, it wasn’t too much and it made him see that he wasn’t being pathetic to get so scared.

The following day Marcus turned up at Will’s door, tearful, a pair of soggy black socks where his Adidas basketball boots should have been; they’d stolen them, of course.

‘Give me a good reason.’

He could give her a reason. It wouldn’t be the right reason, and he’d feel bad saying it, and he was pretty sure it would make her cry. But it was a good reason, a reason that would shut her up, and if that was how you had to win arguments, then he’d use it.

‘Because I need a father.’

It shut her up, and it made her cry. It did the job.

He gave Marcus a vinyl copy of Nevermind, because they didn’t own a CD player, and a Kurt Cobain T-shirt, so he could keep in with Ellie; he gave Fiona a pretty groovy and pretty expensive plain glass vase, because she’d complained after the hospital business that she didn’t know what to do with the flowers. Marcus gave him a crossword-solver’s book to help him with Countdown, and Fiona gave him The Single Parent’s Handbook as a joke.

Even though what they were talking about was miserable, Marcus was enjoying the conversation. It seemed big, as though you could walk ‘round it and see different things, and that never happened when you talked to kids normally. [...] his mum must have conversations like this with Suzie, conversations which moved, conversations where each thing the other person said seemed to lead you on somewhere.

‘How do you know? How do you know he wasn’t just messing about? I’ll bet you he never does anything like it again.’

‘You don’t know him,’ Ellie said.

‘Neither do you,’ Marcus shouted at her. ‘He’s not even a real person. He’s just a singer. He’s just someone on a sweatshirt. It’s not like he’s anyone’s mum.’

‘No, but he’s someone’s dad, you little prat,’ said Ellie. ‘He’s Frances Bean’s dad. He’s got a beautiful little girl and he still wants to die. So, you know.’

Marcus did know, he thought. He turned around and ran out.

Some of these people he hadn’t known until today; some of them he had only known for a little while, and even then he couldn’t say that he knew them well. But here they were anyway, one of them clutching a cardboard cut-out Kurt Cobain, one of them in a plaster cast, one of them crying, all of them bound to each other in ways that it would be almost impossible to explain to anyone who had just wandered in. Will couldn’t recall ever having been caught up in this sort of messy, sprawling, chaotic web before; it was almost as if he had been given a glimpse of what it was like to be human.

‘Who are these loads? Ellie and Will and people like that?’

‘Yeah, people like that.’

‘They won’t be around forever.’

‘Some of them will, some of them won’t. But, see, I didn’t know before that anyone else could do that job, and they can. You can find people. It’s like those acrobatic displays.’

‘What acrobatic displays?’

‘Those ones when you stand on top of loads of people in a pyramid. It doesn’t really matter who they are, does it, as long as they’re there and you don’t let them go away without finding someone else.’

But all three of them had had to lose things in order to gain other things. Will had lost his shell and his cool and his distance, and he felt scared and vulnerable, but he got to be with Rachel; and Fiona had lost a big chunk of Marcus, and she got to stay away from the casualty ward; and Marcus had lost himself, and got to walk home from school with his shoes on.