fifteen summers and winters.
‘I can’t.’ Girl punches her blond head, eyes shut, lips shut.
‘We must.’ Billy is nearly home from his walk. The blue is leaking out of his face. He takes a breath, wants to sound weary and assured. ‘We must. I’ll tell you why.’
‘Why?’
‘Mom.’
‘He doesn’t know where she is.’
‘He might.’
‘I can’t.’
‘I will then.’
Billy stands up. Walks to the telephone. Cradles it under his chin. 0115 676767. Waits. Thinks about all the mushrooms in the world that need to be sliced. His sister can see the blue creeping back into his fingers. Painwalking again. Someone’s interrupted his stroll. Up to his waist in ash. Saying something.
‘Hello. This is William.’
Pause.
‘When?’
‘Ten o’clock?’
Pause.
‘Ten o’clock.’
Billy puts down the phone. The important thing is not to look at Girl. Look at the telephone cord instead.
Girl says, ‘What happened in the pauses, Billy?’
Billy counting every whirl in the spiral of white cord. It could be the intestine of a small animal. Something that scampers in the woods and hides in trees.
‘Dad says he saw an artist’s impression of us in the papers. Wants to reassure us it isn’t very good. Nothing like us. But he’s our daddy and dads know.’
Girl cheers up. ‘Oh, really? An artist has done a drawing? That’s fantastic, Billy! We’re famous! I wonder who decribed us to the artist? Some basket person, I reckon. Probably the one with the ginger eyes. He saw us in
ginger
!’
Billy wants to give the plastic cord a little saucer of milk. Anything to distract himself from the terror scraping at his throat. Terror to do with Girl.
‘Thing to do,’ he begins, pushing down the fear coming at him from somewhere forgotten, ‘is to go and see a film now.’
‘Yeah.’ Girl nods.
‘Cos we got to leave for Nottingham early tomorrow.’
‘Yeah.’ Girl nods again, freaking her brother out.
‘We got to be there by ten o’clock.’ Billy knows he’s got to leave the room.
Now
. He’s beginning to tremble. Not because of Dad. Because of Girl. Because of what Dad told him about Girl in the pauses.
‘Pass me my menthols, Billy. I think I’ll have a smoke and think about Dad.’
Billy needs to take a walk. There’s no way he really wants to see a film with his sister. It scares him the way she’s sitting there, drawing on her cigarette, smiling to herself. ‘Thinking about Dad.’ He puts on his coat, suprised to find his feet pressing extra soft on the carpet, moving stealthily towards the front door. Closing it in slow motion so as not to disturb Louise. Taking a breath hurts his boy mouth. He’s never called Girl Louise. So why is she suddenly Louise? Why everything? Dad called Girl Louise. Please please make it Raj’s day on.
Billy opens the door of Patel’s English and Continental Groceries with dread in his heart. What if Mr Patel is at the till today? Raj’s father treats him like a kid. No respect for his analytical skills. Last time Billy told Mr Patel he ‘was in denial’ (Mr Patel was laughing over something Billy thought was extremely sad), the old man doubled up with hysterical laughter and suggested Billy take up judo at the local sports centre. Today Billy doesn’t feel up to the Mr Pateltreatment. He doesn’t want to be given a complimentary mini choc bar. The old man feels sorry for him. Jeezus. Doesn’t Patel know he’s been straightening out his son this past year?
It’s Raj all right. Billy can hear the stress in his voice. Trying to take the money for a packet of Quavers that a prominent member of Stupid Club is reading.
‘Anything else, George?’
‘But then again, Raj, I had an uncle who was a scientist and he said take no notice of the sell-by date.’
‘Yip.’
‘He said if it smells off, don’t eat it. If it smells right, who cares if it’s a month past the date?’
‘Yeah. Bye.’ Raj looks in desperation at Billy, pleading with him
‘I can’t.’ Girl punches her blond head, eyes shut, lips shut.
‘We must.’ Billy is nearly home from his walk. The blue is leaking out of his face. He takes a breath, wants to sound weary and assured. ‘We must. I’ll tell you why.’
‘Why?’
‘Mom.’
‘He doesn’t know where she is.’
‘He might.’
‘I can’t.’
‘I will then.’
Billy stands up. Walks to the telephone. Cradles it under his chin. 0115 676767. Waits. Thinks about all the mushrooms in the world that need to be sliced. His sister can see the blue creeping back into his fingers. Painwalking again. Someone’s interrupted his stroll. Up to his waist in ash. Saying something.
‘Hello. This is William.’
Pause.
‘When?’
‘Ten o’clock?’
Pause.
‘Ten o’clock.’
Billy puts down the phone. The important thing is not to look at Girl. Look at the telephone cord instead.
Girl says, ‘What happened in the pauses, Billy?’
Billy counting every whirl in the spiral of white cord. It could be the intestine of a small animal. Something that scampers in the woods and hides in trees.
‘Dad says he saw an artist’s impression of us in the papers. Wants to reassure us it isn’t very good. Nothing like us. But he’s our daddy and dads know.’
Girl cheers up. ‘Oh, really? An artist has done a drawing? That’s fantastic, Billy! We’re famous! I wonder who decribed us to the artist? Some basket person, I reckon. Probably the one with the ginger eyes. He saw us in
ginger
!’
Billy wants to give the plastic cord a little saucer of milk. Anything to distract himself from the terror scraping at his throat. Terror to do with Girl.
‘Thing to do,’ he begins, pushing down the fear coming at him from somewhere forgotten, ‘is to go and see a film now.’
‘Yeah.’ Girl nods.
‘Cos we got to leave for Nottingham early tomorrow.’
‘Yeah.’ Girl nods again, freaking her brother out.
‘We got to be there by ten o’clock.’ Billy knows he’s got to leave the room.
Now
. He’s beginning to tremble. Not because of Dad. Because of Girl. Because of what Dad told him about Girl in the pauses.
‘Pass me my menthols, Billy. I think I’ll have a smoke and think about Dad.’
Billy needs to take a walk. There’s no way he really wants to see a film with his sister. It scares him the way she’s sitting there, drawing on her cigarette, smiling to herself. ‘Thinking about Dad.’ He puts on his coat, suprised to find his feet pressing extra soft on the carpet, moving stealthily towards the front door. Closing it in slow motion so as not to disturb Louise. Taking a breath hurts his boy mouth. He’s never called Girl Louise. So why is she suddenly Louise? Why everything? Dad called Girl Louise. Please please make it Raj’s day on.
Billy opens the door of Patel’s English and Continental Groceries with dread in his heart. What if Mr Patel is at the till today? Raj’s father treats him like a kid. No respect for his analytical skills. Last time Billy told Mr Patel he ‘was in denial’ (Mr Patel was laughing over something Billy thought was extremely sad), the old man doubled up with hysterical laughter and suggested Billy take up judo at the local sports centre. Today Billy doesn’t feel up to the Mr Pateltreatment. He doesn’t want to be given a complimentary mini choc bar. The old man feels sorry for him. Jeezus. Doesn’t Patel know he’s been straightening out his son this past year?
It’s Raj all right. Billy can hear the stress in his voice. Trying to take the money for a packet of Quavers that a prominent member of Stupid Club is reading.
‘Anything else, George?’
‘But then again, Raj, I had an uncle who was a scientist and he said take no notice of the sell-by date.’
‘Yip.’
‘He said if it smells off, don’t eat it. If it smells right, who cares if it’s a month past the date?’
‘Yeah. Bye.’ Raj looks in desperation at Billy, pleading with him