This Wonderful Thing

by Adam Baron

  ‘No!’ Mum sighed. ‘Get used to being together. As a new family. I never realised it would be so …’

  But Mum didn’t finish her sentence because she did something else. She started to cry, which made me feel terrible, as if it was MY FAULT. As if it was me who was behaving like a chocolate-obsessed squirrel! When Mum calmed down, she turned to me.

  ‘Least you’ll get some space from each other on Friday.’

  ‘Yes,’ I hissed. ‘Because she’s going round for a sleepover at MY best friend’s house. Isn’t she?’

  And I grabbed Not Mr Fluffy, pushed past Mum and ran off to my room.

  That made me even more guilty because I knew it would make Mum feel worse, though it still wasn’t my fault. Mum SO should have punished Ellen! The chocolate biscuits were one thing, but hiding Not Mr Fluffy from me? Mum should have seen how bad that was, especially as she knew how I’d felt after losing my original !Teddy of Most Extreme Importance! – Mr Fluffy. I sat on my bed, waiting for her knock on the door, determined just to sit there and ignore it.

  But I nodded to myself and told Mum to come in.

  Because suddenly, and without meaning to, I, Cymbeline Igloo, had come up with ANOTHER PLAN.

  And this one was going to work.

  ‘Mum,’ I said, when her blotchy face appeared round the door. ‘Ellen’s going to Veronique’s, right?’ Mum nodded. ‘But what are WE doing on Friday?’

  ‘After school d’you mean? I’m not sure. We could …’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘During the day.’

  Mum blinked at me. ‘Well, the same as usual. School.’

  ‘But what about the elections?’

  ‘The …?’

  ‘Council elections?’

  ‘Aren’t elections normally on Thursdays?’

  ‘Miss Phillips said yes, but not this year. Something to do with the extra bank holiday. What will we be doing?’

  Mum frowned. ‘Well, if they are on Friday, voting. At least I will be. And whoever finally promises to get a pelican crossing put in on that junction will get my …’

  ‘But where will you be voting?’ I asked.

  And her face froze. Now Mum is, as you may know, quite forgetful. She has, in the past, forgotten loads of school things, including trips, World Book Days, International Evenings, parents’ evenings, sports tournaments, packed lunches for sports tournaments that she’d actually remembered, PE kits, Inset Days and even, once, the start of term. What she’d forgotten now was that, on Friday, our school was going to be a polling station – which meant that it would be SHUT all day! Horror crept over her face as she wondered how she was going to look after me.

  She spun round and I followed her downstairs, watching as she grabbed her phone off the kitchen worktop. She swiped into her diary and mumbled silent prayers, before her face collapsed in relief. I’ve told you that she teaches art now – well, her school was closed for the elections too.

  ‘Thank you, God,’ she said, as Ellen came in to find out what the fuss was about. She looked guilty (having clearly guessed that we’d found her secret stash). But I didn’t mention that.

  ‘Is your school a polling station on Friday?’

  ‘Dunno,’ Ellen said.

  ‘Well, let’s see, shall we? Mum, can you check?’

  And Mum went on her phone – then shook her head. Ellen pointed at me. ‘So HE doesn’t have to go to school on Friday, but I DO?’

  ‘Yes,’ Mum said, with a wince. Then she added, ‘Sorr-ee, love,’ though my response was a little different.

  I did not apologise. Instead, I said,

  HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!

  HA!

  ‘So,’ Mum said, after Ellen had stomped out (good riddance), ‘shall we do something on Friday? In the daytime?’

  ‘Great!’

  ‘Any ideas?’

  ‘Oh yes!’ I said. And I told Mum my plan.

  Mum poked her tongue into her cheek and nodded.

  ‘Okay, sure. And I think Stephan would like that. Shall I see if he can get a day off work? It would be really good if you two could spend some more time together.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ I said, pretending to consider this. ‘Maaay-beee. Though I was thinking that, instead of Stephan, perhaps we could take …’

  And I was about to tell Mum the LAST bit of my plan. But I stopped: the doorbell had rung and I ran right past her to answer it.

  ‘Hi, Dad!’ I said.

  ‘But why didn’t you grab one of YOUR teddies?’ I hissed, after Milly had told me what she’d done.

  ‘I couldn’t! I don’t care about teddies, do I? I’ve only got two and I don’t even know where they are! I didn’t have time to look for them!’

  ‘You had time to grab one of mine, didn’t you?! And shove it in a plastic bag?’ I glared at Milly and then turned to my teddy, prodding its stuffing back in with my index finger and then trying to squeeze its chest together.

  ‘But my teddies don’t look like teddies,’ Milly insisted. ‘One’s a frog. The other one’s a dinosaur.’

  ‘So? You could have given her one of those, couldn’t you?!’

  ‘No! The lady would have known. As soon as she looked at it, she would have come straight back. This way, if she did open the bag, we could insist that that was the teddy we’d found in the river. Anyway, you’ve got your teddy back now, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, all ripped open.’

  ‘So what? Stop being salty.’

  ‘Salty?’

  ‘Annoyed. Look, Mum’ll fix it. You don’t have to tell her how it happened. Anyway, Jess, you’re ignoring the most wig thing!’

  ‘Wig?!’

  ‘Important!’

  ‘What important thing?’

  Milly looked at me like I was stupid. ‘Well, I gave the woman that teddy, didn’t I, pretending it was the one we found at Cuckmere Haven? Which means …’

  And it hit me. Of course! I was still mad with Milly for sacrificing one of my teddies, BUT WE STILL HAD MR GOLDY! So now I was even more cross at the fact that she hadn’t told me.

  ‘Where IS he?’ I demanded, grabbing Milly by both arms.

  Milly showed me after I’d marched her home. Mum had said we might have to let ourselves in, but Dad was there. He’d just been to pick up Benji and he looked a lot better than he had that morning. He said hi and asked if we wanted a snack.

  ‘In a minute,’ I said. ‘We’re just going to—’

  ‘Get changed,’ Milly said.

  And we ran upstairs. Milly put a chair under the door handle so that Benji couldn’t get in.

  ‘Come on then,’ I said. ‘Get him out.’

  Milly shook her head. ‘No, see if you can find him first.’

  She was clearly expecting that to be difficult – but it wasn’t. She’d hidden Mr Goldy behind some books on the top shelf (by standing on her desk). You coul
d see something was wrong because all the Secret Sevens were sticking out too far. I was madder than MAD. ‘That wasn’t very hard,’ I spat. ‘You said he was safe. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘But he is safe,’ Milly protested. ‘Benji can’t get up there!’

  ‘But what about Mum? When she’s cleaning? We told her we gave the teddy back, didn’t we?’

  ‘Chill. She thinks we have.’

  ‘Yes, but if she spots him we’ll be in trouble. Or, worse, she’ll just shove him on my bed with all the others where Benji’ll see him. He could do anything!’

  ‘So where should we keep him?’ Milly asked, finally looking a bit sorry.

  I climbed up on her desk, grabbed Mr Goldy and cast my eyes round the room. Every single place looked wrong – until I saw our old doll’s house. Mum only ever cleans the outside of it. Benji might look in it because he does like playing with the dolls sometimes, though his current dinosaur obsession meant that he hadn’t for a while. I was umming and aahing, though not for long – there were footsteps on the stairs. I lifted the roof off, stuffed Mr Goldy in, then just got it back down before the door rattled.

  Mum was home.

  ‘Not bad,’ she said, after Milly had taken the chair away. She scanned the room like I had. I stared right at her, trying to keep my eyes away from the doll’s house.

  ‘Bad?’

  ‘Tidy, I mean. Though can you pick up your dressing gowns and pyjamas, please? And put those piles of washing away?’

  ‘Can’t we do it later?’

  ‘Now, please. We’ve …’

  ‘Yes, Mum?’

  ‘There’s a man coming round.’

  ‘From the council?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know, to do an assessment? The modifications?’

  ‘Right. Er, yes. Five minutes, please.’

  We shrugged and did tidy up, though why the council man had to come again and look in our room, I didn’t know. When we’d finished, Mum said we should have a run-around in the park. Dad pushed Benji along there too and sat on a bench (not kicking a ball with Benji like he normally did). We all went on the climbing frames. When we got back, the council man was just leaving. He was different from the last one – really smiley, in a shiny-looking suit. He shook Mum’s hand and gave her a big, glossy leaflet. Mum didn’t look happy. Maybe he’d suggested even more expensive things. She smiled quickly when she saw us, though, and hugged us all.

  ‘Had a good day?’ she asked.

  I nodded. It had been awful at school, but knowing that Mr Goldy was upstairs was brilliant. I smiled to myself, though doing that made me feel bad. I frowned at that before understanding why. I’d had a thought and it was one I really should have had before. I wanted to know if Milly was thinking it too and I took her down the garden, telling Mum we were going to feed Boffo.

  ‘He must have been really special,’ I whispered.

  ‘Mr Goldy? He is special.’

  ‘I know.’ I tipped some pellets into Boffo’s bowl, though he didn’t really need any. ‘But special for the kid who lost him. Their granny took a lot of trouble to find him, didn’t she?’

  ‘So what?’ Milly held a carrot out to Boffo, who sniffed it. ‘They shouldn’t have dropped him in a river, should they?’

  I knew that was true and I nodded: but maybe it wasn’t the owner kid’s fault that Mr Goldy had got lost (whenever that happened). In any case, it was weird to think of someone out there, missing him. I’d missed him for the last few days and I’d hardly had him any time at all. It was also weird to think that, of course, they didn’t call him Mr Goldy (though that SO was his name).

  What DID they call him? Was it one of the names we’d thought of giving him?

  Mr Cuddles perhaps?

  I’d probably never know. Whatever it was, I just hoped that whoever had owned him wasn’t going through any big problems, any upheavals in their life, which would mean that they could have really done with him right then.

  And then I had another thought. Milly had given the lady – Mrs Rose – the teddy in a plastic bag. When Mrs Rose opened it, did she know that the teddy wasn’t Mr Goldy. If so, why didn’t she bring it back to us? Why did she throw it away in Mr Hájek’s bin?

  And why did she cut it open first?

  That was really weird.

  What kind of a granny would do that?

  That question really bugged me – all through supper, during which I could have throttled Milly. She kept asking Benji if he was sure that he was only into dinosaurs at the moment – and not dolls. She kept saying that she thought dolls were rubbish and that there was no point playing with them. I cut glances at her, which just about kept her quiet, and Benji didn’t seem to notice anything. I went back to thinking about Mrs Rose, and I was still doing that at bedtime.

  After Mum had kissed us both goodnight (and we’d had secret cuddles with Mr Goldy), I kept seeing Mrs Rose’s face. That Cheshire Cat smile, which she’d held on to for too long. The way she looked at us. I remembered the way she’d snatched the bag from Milly and hurried away. When I thought about it, she hadn’t looked relieved to get a kid’s teddy back. No. She’d looked gleeful. Excited.

  But about what?

  I didn’t know the answer and I just couldn’t put the question aside. The way I’d felt about Dad that morning came back to me and that didn’t help either. I couldn’t get to sleep and, when I did, I woke up again. I stared into the swirling darkness and thought about finding Mr Goldy, and cleaning him, and how Mum had put him on WhatsApp. Mrs Rose had got back to Mum REALLY quickly. It was almost like she’d been waiting for someone to find the teddy. I pictured her taking it out of its plastic bag near Mr Hájek’s shop and seeing the teddy Milly had substituted. Did she know it was the wrong one? Or did she really think that it was the teddy we’d found at Cuckmere Haven?

  There was only one way of finding out: by comparing my Build-A-Bear teddy to Mr Goldy. Though was the picture of Mr Goldy – which Mrs Rose would have seen on WhatsApp – still on Mum’s phone?

  I sat up. I could only just make Milly out in the darkness, but I knew she was asleep. Keeping my eyes on the strip of light beneath our door, I got out of bed and tiptoed past her. On the landing I could see okay because Mum and Dad keep the bathroom light on at night. The first thing I looked for was light from under their door, but there was nothing. Downstairs was dark too, and silent, but for a distant, soft humming. It was probably the fridge and I headed towards it, knowing that Mum’s phone would be charging in the kitchen, because she doesn’t like to leave it in her bedroom at night.

  The kitchen was dark but for the clock on the front of the cooker. The humming I’d heard was the fridge – and it gave me an idea. Not wanting to turn the kitchen light on, I pulled the fridge door open, a wedge of chilly yellow immediately making me shiver. It spread out towards the breakfast bar, though, where ghostly-looking cereal packets and bowls stood waiting for the morning, like a sleeping city. Mum’s phone was next to them, sitting on the leaflet – more like a big brochure, really – that she’d been given earlier.

  Leaving the fridge door open, I stepped over and picked Mum’s phone up. Using the fridge light to see by, I tapped in Mum’s PIN, the screen then showing a photo of us: Dad, Milly, Benji and me, all huddled together, grinning. Or most of us were. Milly was sticking her tongue out and it made me feel warm inside, though not as much as seeing Dad. He looked really well and I thought about him earlier, all cheerful when we got back from school. Such a relief. I smiled and then searched the screen for the photos icon.

  It was in the top-right corner. I tapped it and yes – the picture of Mr Goldy WAS still there. I studied it but not for long because I needed my other teddy to compare. I’d given it to Mum earlier and she’d put it on top of her sewing box. I turned towards the living room to fetch it, but stopped. The teddy was there, in the kitchen. It was sitting in my place, waiting for me.

  Because Mum had already mended it.

&n
bsp; Mum had looked so tired before. She had another shift in the morning, but she’d taken the time to sew my teddy up. I sighed and glanced over towards the stairs, feeling very still inside as I set the teddy back down and picked up Mum’s phone again.

  And I saw that the teddies weren’t really like each other.

  Mr Goldy’s face was round – but my other one had a pointy nose. Mr Goldy was REALLY fluffy and mine WASN’T. I frowned, wondering again why Mrs Rose hadn’t just come back and asked for the right one! Unable to work it out, I blinked, my eyes falling on the brochure that Mum’s phone had been sitting on.

  And Mrs Rose went out of my mind.

  The brochure was supposed to be an information thing – about how to make your home easier for someone with MS. To begin with, I thought it was that because there were houses on the cover. But there was also a name printed in big letters across the front.

  Fox & Sons.

  I’d seen that name. It was on boards all over town. Outside people’s houses. Using the phone light, I opened the brochure and swallowed: because there were more houses inside, underneath a heading that announced Properties For Sale.

  What?

  Was this the brochure Mum had been given? Yes, I recognised it. I flicked through the rest of the pages and saw more houses, all for sale, but NOTHING about modifications. So the man who’d come round earlier WASN’T from the council? No. He can’t have been. Mum had only said that.

  He was an estate agent.

  And that could only mean ONE THING.

  We were going to sell our house.

  That week I LONGED for Friday to come.

  First, however, I had to deal with the worst Wednesday and the most hideous Thursday in HISTORY! Why so bad? Because even more visitors came to stay in our overstuffed house. It was Mabel who brought them, though at first I didn’t realise. I was on the sofa, with Mum, in a rare moment of peace. We were watching The Simpsons when Mum turned to me.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she said.

  ‘Doing?’ I hadn’t realised I’d been doing anything. But Mum stared at me.