This Wonderful Thing

by Adam Baron

  ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘I’m Anne Boleyn,’ the teacher said.

  ‘Well, you can Boleyn by having a baby. Off you go then!’

  The Anne Boleyn teacher also came in our direction. We’d got Not Mr Fluffy back from the other teacher and Mum handed him over. She took him to Dad, but once again he was livid, screwing his face up like a baby.

  ‘ANOTHER GIRL!’ he wailed.

  And the whole place cracked up. We laughed even more when Dad rummaged in the dressing-up box I’d seen before, and came out with a plastic sword. He made the teacher kneel down while he cut her head off, all the time saying it was her fault.

  ‘It’s these GIRLS,’ he hissed. ‘They are SO annoying, aren’t they, boys?’

  All the boys cheered (including me, and I think you know why). Dad then went on like that, marrying different teachers, being nice to them, and then cutting their heads off. When he got to Anne of Cleves, who Henry married but sent back for being too ugly, he chose this male teacher. That was BEYOND HILARIOUS because the teacher was really funny. He screwed his face right up and tried to give Dad a kiss. Dad looked horrified, the teacher then pretending to burst into tears when Dad sent him away. People were literally crying with laughter and I didn’t think it could get any better.

  But it did.

  I already knew that Henry VIII’s last wife was called Catherine Parr. She survived him – and guess who Dad chose to be her. Pretending to be really old now, and bloated, he staggered down from the stage and squinted round the audience. The kids were all screaming and pointing to their own teachers. I could tell that some of the teachers actually wanted to be chosen, but Dad didn’t point to any of them. He pointed to Mum. She shrank back like the first teacher had, but I pushed her, and Dad then pulled her on to the stage. There he declared his undying love for her, and told her that he’d changed. He was no longer fickle. No longer selfish. He told her that he’d be true to her and that he’d never let her go. She was his heart’s desire. And he sang ‘Greensleeves’ again, only this time he did it quietly, the whole room going silent. He sang it like he really meant it, and I thought Mum would laugh. Instead, however, she just looked into Dad’s face, her mouth open as she moved her head very slowly from side to side. Everyone in the whole room was staring at them, and, when Dad finished, Mum went SO red. The whole crowd went, ‘Ahhhhh!’ and I did too because it was SO good to see them like that.

  But then something caught my eye. The door to the next room was being opened.

  Dad stood up and began to bow. Everyone around me started to cheer, but I moved off to the side, remembering why I’d wanted to come to Hall Place, and Hall Place alone (in the first place).

  The teachers were collecting their classes together. I took Not Mr Fluffy back from one of them and pulled out my picture. Then I walked into the travelling exhibition. The first case held coins. I moved past. The second case held Elizabeth’s piano keys and I thought of Veronique staring at them in wonder. I moved past those too because it was the third case that I wanted. I hurried towards it and squinted through the glass, just to check that the medal was still there. I was about to turn back and ask Mum. I wanted her to come through and take a picture of the medal because that would PROVE to Veronique that I’d been right. It would show that the medal in the case WAS a forgery. It had to be because, unlike the one I’d seen on the Internet, it had EIGHT white roses but only SIX red ones, instead of an equal amount.

  Only …

  I stopped.

  And I counted.

  And counted AGAIN.

  And saw that the medal in the case did NOT have eight white roses and six red ones.

  Not any more.

  Now it had seven of each.

  I was still for a moment. And cold. Not just because of the fridge being open. All I could do was stare at the Fox & Sons brochure until I took a step back and looked round the kitchen, sensing the rooms beyond it and the garden, Boffo at the bottom. Our house.

  We couldn’t afford it. We only had one wage, and a nurse’s wage at that. Everyone clapped for Mum and the people she works with during coronavirus, but she didn’t get any more money afterwards.

  So, what with Dad being ill, we couldn’t afford to keep our house any more.

  I couldn’t believe it.

  I wanted to get the house and wrap it up, hold it in my arms and not let go. I’m not saying it’s particularly great. After we’d been to the Build-A-Bear Workshop for Anisa’s birthday, we went back to her house and it was massive. She’s got her own room and there’s even this little playhouse in the garden. It’s amazing but, however wonderful it is, it just isn’t our house. Mum and Dad sometimes point to other houses when we’re driving around – ones they nearly bought. I turn away because I don’t like thinking that we might have lived somewhere else. The house wouldn’t just have been different: we would have too. Our house doesn’t just surround us and keep us warm (though we are SO lucky that it does). It lets us be us. And the fact that Mum was thinking of selling it made it feel like it was actually a house made out of cards. And it was all about to collapse.

  Though I had no time to think about it.

  To begin with I thought the noise was Mum – that she’d found out that I wasn’t in bed. I panicked, but then I shook my head, preparing for her to come in. SHE wasn’t going to tell ME off. How dare she do this, especially without talking to me? Hadn’t we had that conversation at the hospital? Hadn’t she confided in me? I stood up straight and got ready to confront her when she came downstairs into the kitchen.

  But it wasn’t Mum.

  When no one called my name, I moved over to the kitchen door and saw something: the French windows, which lead out into the garden, were open. Dad never forgets to lock up and I frowned, trying to think of an explanation. Then I saw it: a dark figure fiddling with the shelves above our printer. I watched as it turned and walked out through the other door of the lounge into the hallway.

  Was it Mum? Or Dad?

  I didn’t know and I nearly called out, but something told me not to. Instead, I just watched as the figure drifted past me to the stairs. Then it went up them, really slowly, hardly making a sound. At the top it stopped and looked around, a dot of light suddenly landing on Mum and Dad’s door. When Milly and I were little, we did a picture of the two of them and, when the dot landed on that, it moved on, first to the bathroom door and then to our room, which has a pirate flag on, beneath which is a big sign I wrote which says,

  But the figure took no notice of the sign – because a hand reached out and, VERY slowly, pushed the door open. Then it disappeared inside.

  Our house is small, like I’ve said, but there’s carpet on the stairs so I got up them without making a sound, then snuck a look round our bedroom door. For a second I thought that the figure had vanished, but then I saw it looking under my bed! The spot of light was going left and right before the figure moved over to Milly. All I could make out of my sister was a dark lump, but she must have been totally zonked out because she didn’t move. The figure sent the dot of light under her bed and then straightened up.

  As quickly as I could, I pulled my head back from the door, trying not to breathe. I knew I had to look again, though, so I did, with my fingers crossed. The figure was upright now, the yellow light flitting over our bookshelves before flicking first to Milly’s bed and then to mine, where it lingered at the bottom, settling on all the different shapes there, stopping on one before lifting off again. Then it moved to the curtains, after which it bounced across my bedside table. It moved over my chest of drawers, dropping inside each one as, almost silently, the figure pulled each drawer open. And then it made its way round to me.

  But it didn’t get that far.

  Instead, it hesitated, quivered and then stopped, and, when I saw where the light was, my heart seemed to jump like it wanted to leap RIGHT out of my chest.

  Our doll’s house.

  I grabbed hold of the door handle.

&
nbsp; I took a deep breath.

  I took an even deeper breath. And then I

  S C R E A M E D.

  Was I going mad? I counted again. And again. But each time there was an EQUAL number of roses. But that WASN’T what had been there before, something I knew because I’d counted loads of times, and drawn a picture afterwards! I shook my head, about to count AGAIN, when the helper came over – the same one as before.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked, once more staring at me through her big red glasses, her face, again, quite familiar. Perhaps it was only because of her make-up, though. She turned to Mum, who had followed me. ‘Oh. It’s … YOU.’

  ‘Sorry?’ Mum smiled. ‘Have we … met?’

  ‘What?’ The helper was really staring at Mum. ‘No, I … It’s your son.’ She looked down at me again. ‘You were here before, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes, and …’

  ‘Admiring the beautiful Phoenix Medal. Stunning, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, though the roses!’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The number of roses!’

  ‘Ah, I remember. You had an issue with that before, didn’t you? I thought I’d explained it. But look …’ The helper turned towards Dad, who was just walking in. ‘Our wonderful Henry the Eighth. What a great show. You must come back and do it again. Really.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Dad. ‘Thanks. I’d … love to.’

  He scrabbled around in his pocket until he’d found his wallet, from which he produced a little card. He borrowed a pen from the helper and scribbled our address down.

  ‘It’s where I’m staying now.’

  ‘Great,’ the helper said, and grinned. I tried to get her attention again, but she ignored me and went off towards all the kids who were pouring in.

  Dad asked what I thought of his performance. I said it was great, but I had something to tell him. Something REALLY important! I pointed at the medal, but Dad interrupted. He said he’d sorted out a lift back to Lewisham with one of the schools and they were leaving now. Mum said, ‘Great,’ and she took my hand, pulling me out to where the coaches were waiting. I tried to tell her about the medal, but she didn’t listen either, just calling out to Dad, to ask what coach it was. Then she called him outrageous again, though she was laughing now. She laughed some more when he did his Henry VIII voice to the kids climbing on to the coach. He did Henry VIII all the way back in fact, the whole coach laughing, Mum’s eyes glued to him when I tried to talk to her. I was so cross. Yes, Mum and Dad were getting on, but something WEIRD had happened! Couldn’t she see that?

  Mum frowned. ‘Cym,’ she said. ‘I really don’t understand you. You asked to go to Hall Place with Dad and now you’re all grumpy. Have you drunk enough water today?’

  I said it wasn’t ABOUT drinking water! Again I tried to explain – but Mum said I must have been mistaken. Then I couldn’t say anything. The coach stopped to let us off near our school and we went inside so that Mum could vote. She got her ballot card and Dad and I watched her, standing at one of the booths they’d put up in the hall. As she was trying to decide who to vote for, she was humming ‘Greensleeves’ to herself, though I don’t think she was really aware of it.

  On the way home I thought about the helper. Had she deliberately ignored me just now? I didn’t know, and Mum and Dad were too busy chatting to talk to about it. Soon we were home, and I had something else to think about: Not Mr Fluffy. I had to hide him before Ellen and Mabel got back. I did, but Ellen didn’t stay home for long. She just packed a bag, and then Stephan took her round to Veronique’s for their SLEEPOVER. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed, though when Mabel came in that decision was easy. Stephan had left her with us and she charged at me while I was drinking a glass of milk. It went all over me.

  ‘Is there any more?’ I asked Mum, after I’d got changed. But the answer to that was no.

  Mabel then made me play hide-and-seek with her, though she got bored while she was looking for me. She went off to do something else WITHOUT TELLING ME. I was in the washing basket for AGES. When I finally realised, Mabel made me sit through THREE WHOLE EPISODES of In the Night Garden. That is one odd programme. It’s like the sort of dream you might have if someone hit you over the head with a brick.

  ‘Isn’t it BRILLIANT, Thimbeline?’

  ‘It’s incredible.’

  ‘Who do you like best? Iggle Piggle or the Tombliboos?’

  ‘That’s a very hard call to make.’

  ‘I know! Choosing’s hard. It would be like saying who’s best between my daddy and your daddy, wouldn’t it?’

  I said I didn’t know, and then braced myself for another episode.

  I got lucky, though. Mabel said she was going upstairs to do some drawing and for some reason she decided not to make me go with her. Before she could change her mind, I snuck out into the garden (even though it was dark). I thought I could finally think about the Phoenix Medal, and I did. I wasn’t going crazy. It had changed! I knew it had, and the fact that neither Mum nor Dad was interested made me so frustrated. Then I got even more frustrated because Stephan came out and told me that he wanted a ‘little chat’.

  I g-r-o-a-n-e-d. Stephan had just got back from dropping Ellen off and now, like Mum, he was going to talk about how ‘hard’ it was for his girls. He was going to ask me to be ‘patient’ with Mabel. Worse, he was going to ask me to be ‘understanding’ of Ellen. I shook my head, wondering why adults always try to shift the way you think about things – to their point of view. Even when their point of view is WRONG. Why couldn’t Stephan admit that his moving in COULDN’T WORK? Not even with a loft conversion. A million new bedrooms wouldn’t make me as happy as before – the way it USED to be. So why didn’t he see that, give up and take Mabel and Ellen with him?

  And I was going to tell him that.

  But Stephan’s ‘chat’ was about something else.

  And it was MUCH more interesting.

  ‘Cym,’ Stephan said, after shutting the kitchen door behind him, ‘I’ve been thinking about this break-in.’

  ‘Oh?’

  I was still suspicious of Stephan and I just watched him as he went over to the side of our shed. He pulled a ladder out.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. It was an extendable ladder and I watched him make it longer. ‘They smashed the door down, right? The burglars?’

  I nodded but I had to think about it. I’d been concentrating on the Phoenix Medal and the burglary seemed ages ago.

  ‘That must have been noisy, though,’ Stephan said.

  ‘I suppose.’

  ‘It must! Smashing a door in would make a right racket, and we know that Mr Fells doesn’t miss much. He was here, wasn’t he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not off visiting his sister?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So why didn’t he come to investigate?’

  ‘But he did,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, but only after you’d got home, right? The burglars made such a mess they must have been inside for a while.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Why didn’t he come before? Or, if not him, anyone?’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Neither do I. So maybe the burglars didn’t smash down the door to get in. Maybe they only did that at the end. Look.’

  Stephan moved the ladder over to the back wall. Then he pointed to the fig tree. He’d cut some of the broken branches off and tied the others up with string. I scowled.

  ‘Mum thinks I did that.’

  ‘Well, I don’t think you did.’

  I blinked at him. ‘Don’t you?’

  ‘No. You probably think it was Ellen, right?’ Feeling a bit guilty, I nodded. ‘Well, you’re both too small. Go on, climb up.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Use the branches that aren’t broken. Go on.’

  ‘I can’t. Mum says I’m not allowed on the roof.’

  ‘Then we’d better not tell her, had we?’

  I looked at
Stephan and shrugged. If he was willing to take the blame … I got up the tree in seconds and then I was looking down at him. ‘See?’ he said. ‘You’re far too light to harm it! And so is Ellen. Budge up.’

  I did that and Stephan climbed up the ladder. He stood beside me on the flat grey roof, before walking over to the far edge, away from our garden. He knelt down and peered over.

  ‘Look,’ he said.

  I walked over and knelt beside him, putting my hands out so I didn’t fall off. And I saw what Stephan was pointing to. There was a drainpipe going down the far side of the garage to the ground – and part of it had been pulled off the wall.

  ‘So did they climb up that?’ I said. ‘From behind the garages?’

  ‘Who knows? Looks like it, though. If they did, they then went down the fig tree, which they broke.’

  ‘But how did they get in the house?’

  ‘Easy. Through the bathroom window. Your mum tends to leave it open, doesn’t she?’

  ‘It was open!’

  ‘I know. And look, that gutter’s loose too.’

  Stephan pointed to the top of the drainpipe and I nodded to myself. It sounded really plausible. But I frowned. ‘How did you know this?’ I asked.

  ‘Ah.’ Stephan smiled. ‘I saw it earlier.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I was up here.’

  ‘Were you? On the garage roof?! Why?’

  ‘I had an idea.’

  ‘About what? What?’

  But Stephan didn’t answer. Instead, he moved past me and made his way back down the ladder into our garden again.

  I followed him, puzzled. There was no point asking him again, though – he just strode over to the side of the shed where a big rectangle of thin wood was propped up that I hadn’t noticed before.

  ‘It’s ply,’ he said. ‘Got it earlier.’