Just in Case by Meg Rosoff

should come and see him.’
    ‘Yes,’ said his mother.
    ‘Tomorrow.’
    Agnes put down the phone. Some people just shouldn’t be parents, she thought. Like me, now.
    *
    Justin’s mother arrived with Charlie as Agnes was going out. They met at the door.
    ‘I’m sorry to run off,’ Agnes said. ‘Justin’s still asleep. He was out late again, searching for his dog.’ She looked hard at the other woman, who fussed with her gloves.
    His dog’s gone missing? thought Charlie.
    ‘I have to go, but make yourself at home.’ Agnes sighed. ‘There’s tea and coffee in the kitchen.’
    While his mother hovered uncertainly, Charlie toddled over to the sofa where Justin lay sleeping, steadied himself against the edge, and leant in close. Justin opened his eyes to find his brother’s face just inches away from his own.
    ‘Charlie?’
    What’s happened to you? Charlie asked.
    Justin propped himself up on one arm. His eyes burned. ‘I was right,’ he said, in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘A plane tried to land on me. Nobody believes me but I was right. And Boy’s missing.’ His voice broke. ‘I think he’s dead.’
    Charlie watched his brother’s hands, fluttering and nervy, the fingers raw and bitten to the quick.
    ‘David?’
    Justin sat up as his mother kissed him awkwardly.
    ‘How was Wales, darling?’
    Whales? What whales? Wails?
    ‘How was the weather? Were the tents waterproof? Was the scenery nice? What about the food?’
    He closed his eyes.
    ‘There was a terrible plane crash while you were away.’ She shook her head. ‘Nothing’s safe these days.’
    He didn’t respond and she accepted his silence, having lost her parental bearings so completely that she no longer knew what sort of behaviour to expect from him.
    ‘Perhaps you should come home, darling. You don’t look terribly well.’
    Now there’s a coincidence, he thought.
    His mother turned away, face creased with worry. She found it difficult to accept that his behaviour fitted within the acceptable boundaries of teenage anxiety. But what could she do? She couldn’t exactly order him to come home. His friend seemed nice enough, but was it right for a fifteen-year-old boy to be living with an older girl?
    ‘Would you like some breakfast?’
    He nodded, and she hurried off to the kitchen, relieved to postpone further conversation. In the kitchen she poured cereal and milk into a bowl, wondering when things had started to unravel. Perhaps she’d taken her eye off the ball when Charlie was born. Perhaps he was acting out of jealousy. She knew what the books had to say about sibling rivalry, but had hoped that David, at nearly sixteen, would be less susceptible.
    How could she possibly know what was normal? Perhaps David was one of those boys who found adolescence uncomfortable, perhaps he was merely going through a stage – a jabbering, incoherent, haunted, insomniac stage from which he would emerge calm and self-possessed, passhis GCSEs, get a job, meet a nice girl, buy a house, raise children, retire, have a heart attack, enjoy a good turnout at his funeral.
    She placed the bowl of cereal by the sofa and took his hands in hers. ‘Wouldn’t you like to come home, David?’
    Justin stood up and left the room.
    On the other hand, perhaps he could stay here, just for now. Perhaps he needs time away, a change of scene. Or perhaps he’s in love with Agnes. Suddenly it all made sense: the eccentric behaviour, the mood swings, the nerves. First love, of course! Well. She certainly wasn’t going to be one of those obstructive mothers, the ones who preached morality and abstinence at every turn. Let him have his love affair. She’d help him pick up the pieces when it ended.
    Charlie gazed at his mother, unable to make sense of her expression. He padded around the flat after his brother, trying to get him to talk. But Justin looked past him, and eventually retreated to the bathroom, where he locked the door. Charlie leant against it,