by Linda Green
Dad did ask me if I wanted a party. I think he meant a party like other kids have, where they go to Laser Quest and zap each other, or whatever they do at places like that (I don’t know because no one has ever invited me to one of those sort of parties and if they did I wouldn’t go anyway, because I am pretty sure I would hate it and they would only have invited me so that everyone could zap me and make fun of me). He seemed to have forgotten that I don’t have any friends apart from Lottie. For the whole of primary school, the best thing about my birthday being on the last day of August was that none of the other kids knew when it was and I didn’t have to take apricot, orange and bran muffins in for them and watch them all pull faces and throw them in the bin, and I didn’t have to invite them to my parties when I knew that none of them would have come. My parties were not real parties anyway, they were just Lottie coming to my house for a birthday tea.
Anyway, I told Dad that I didn’t want a proper party but would like to have Lottie, Kaz and Barry round for a birthday tea and to do a grand opening of the garden at the same time. He seemed to be quite happy with that, probably because I don’t think he’d be very good at organising one of those other sorts of parties. I really wanted to invite Alan Titchmarsh to the grand opening, but I knew he must be very busy in the garden at this time of year, so I didn’t bother in the end. Instead of counting sheep, I try counting different varieties of roses.
*
When I wake up, the first thing I do is check my watch because I was born at seven fifty-nine in the morning and Mum said it was therefore not officially my birthday until eight o’clock. It is eight forty-seven, so I am eleven years old. I don’t feel any different. I certainly don’t feel happy or excited. I feel a bit numb, to be honest. I get up and put my dressing gown and slippers on and go downstairs.
‘Hey,’ says Dad as I enter the kitchen, ‘here comes the birthday boy.’
I do a little smile and he comes over and gives me a hug. I find myself hanging on to him for quite a long time.
‘You OK?’ he asks when I finally let go.
‘It feels weird without her,’ I say.
‘I know,’ he replies. He goes over to the kitchen table and picks up a present from the table and hands it to me.
‘Here you go,’ he says. ‘Happy Birthday.’
‘Thank you.’
I have no idea what it is. Mum always seemed to work out what I wanted, even though she never asked me directly. She just kind of knew. I am not sure Dad is going to be so good at birthdays.
I open one end of the parcel and slide out the box inside. It is a mobile phone. A proper smartphone, like the kids at school have got.
‘It’s an iPhone 6S,’ says Dad. ‘It’s still a good phone even though it’s not the latest model. I figured now you’re starting big school, it was time we got you one.’
‘He says ‘we’ like he is talking about him and Mum. He is not though. It is just him who has got me this. I don’t know if Mum would have agreed to it. She always used to say I couldn’t have one until I was thirteen. If she was here, there would have been a big argument about it and I don’t know who would have won, which is why I am all mixed up inside. I am pleased to have one, but it feels kind of wrong and like we are going behind Mum’s back.
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘You did want one, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Did you want a different model?’
‘No, this is great, thanks. It’s just . . . you know.’
Dad looks down. We both go quiet for a moment.
‘I know it’s tough for you today,’ says Dad, eventually. ‘But we’ve got to try to move on together. Me and you. We have to find our own way to do things.’
I nod, because I don’t know what to say.
‘Right,’ says Dad. ‘I’ll get a birthday breakfast sorted. Are pancakes OK?’
‘Yeah,’ I reply. Hating that he has to ask me about everything now and doesn’t understand that it’s just sausages I don’t want.
*
The party and grand opening is at six o’clock, so that Kaz and Barry can get here after work. I have opened my cards and put them up on the window ledge. I have never had one with Dad’s writing on before. He has very neat handwriting, not like Mum’s at all. Or mine.
I am in the kitchen, helping cut the carrot sticks for the hummus, when the doorbell rings. I hurry to the front door and open it. Alan Titchmarsh is standing there in a posh suit and bow tie. Not the real Alan Titchmarsh, but a cardboard cut-out of him. I don’t know what to do for a moment; whether I should say anything or invite him in. Then Lottie’s head pops out from round the corner.
‘Surprise,’ she says. ‘Sorry we couldn’t get the real one, but we hope he’ll do.’
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘I can’t believe you’ve got me Alan Titchmarsh.’
‘Happy Birthday, Finn,’ says Rachel, sticking her head out from the other side. She steps forward and gives me a big hug on the doorstep.
Lottie gives me a hug too. She is the only girl who I would let do that. ‘Finally made it to eleven, then,’ says Lottie. ‘What took you so long?’
I smile back at her. Lottie can get away with being cheeky to me because she is my best friend.
Dad appears behind me. ‘Hi, Lottie, Rachel. Come in. Oh, I see you’ve brought a friend,’ he says, looking at Alan.
‘Isn’t he great?’ I say, smiling.
‘Yeah,’ says Dad, looking at me with a weird expression on his face, as if I’m a member of an alien race or something, which I suppose I am to him.
‘First time in years I’ve brought a plus-one,’ says Rachel, ‘but at least he won’t drink too much or tell inappropriate jokes.’
Dad laughs as Lottie and Rachel follow him inside. I pick Alan up and carry him through to the kitchen.
‘I’ll put him in here for now,’ I say. ‘And then I’ll bring him outside to do the grand opening.’
Dad is getting the drinks when the doorbell goes again.
I open the door to find Kaz standing there holding a bin bag. Barry is standing next to her. They both have big smiles on their faces. They remind me of a picture of a jolly farmer and his wife that was in one of my old nursery rhyme books. But I don’t tell Kaz that, in case it’s not a very nice thing to say.
‘Happy Birthday, love,’ she says, putting the bin bag down for a second to give me a hug. The sort of hug Mum would have given me if she’d been here.
‘Tricky day?’ asks Kaz, when she finally lets go.
I nod.
‘Well, we’ve got summat for you here, but we’d best go through to garden to open it.’
‘Happy Birthday young man,’ says Barry, patting my shoulder as he steps inside.
‘Thank you,’ I reply. ‘And thanks for all your plants. I should probably put a sign up saying my garden has been sponsored by you, like they say that Love Your Garden has been sponsored by the cruise people.’
Barry smiles. ‘No need for that. Just happy to have been able to help. It’s not often you see a young fella like you who’s into gardening.’
‘I know,’ I say. ‘It’s one of the things that makes me weird.’
We go through to the kitchen, where Lottie is standing next to Alan Titchmarsh.
Barry bursts out laughing. ‘Wow, I feel underdressed now,’ he says, looking at Alan. ‘I didn’t know it were a posh do.’
‘Lottie brought him for me,’ I say. ‘So he did come for the opening after all.’
‘That’s cracking, that is,’ says Kaz. ‘I didn’t know our Finn were so well connected.’
I don’t know if she realises it, but Kaz has just called me ‘our Finn’, like she calls Terry ‘our Terry’. I think this must mean that we are sort of family now.
Lottie smiles back at her and Rachel goes over to introduce herself
to Kaz.
‘Thanks so much for all your plants,’ Dad says to Barry. ‘They’ve made such a difference.’
‘He’s very welcome,’ Barry replies. ‘And thanks for inviting me. It’s not often I get asked to parties at my age. Especially not ones Alan Titchmarsh goes to.’
Kaz turns round and catches me looking at the bin bag, which she is still holding.
‘Oh, we were on our way out to garden to open this, weren’t we, Finn?’
I nod, pick up Alan and lead the way out. When we get to the lawn, Kaz hands me the bin bag.
‘Here you go, then,’ she says. ‘Sorry it didn’t come gift-wrapped.’
I open it up and look down into the bag. I know what it is straight away, but I lift it out just to be sure.
‘It’s an Alan Titchmarsh,’ I say, holding up the rose bush. ‘Thank you,’ I say, putting it down and throwing my arms round Kaz.
‘You’re welcome, pet. You wait eleven years for Alan Titchmarsh and two come along at once.’
We are all still laughing when Dad comes out to join us, holding a tray of drinks.
‘What have we got here, then?’ he asks.
‘It’s an Alan Titchmarsh rose,’ I say. ‘Just like they’ve got at Castle Howard.’
Dad looks at me. I have a feeling he is thinking that it’s not only Mum who does better birthdays than him, but Kaz and Lottie too.
‘Fantastic,’ he says. ‘That’ll just about finish off your garden.’
‘I should hope so,’ says Kaz. ‘I don’t think there’s room for owt more.’
I look around. There are four little separate rose gardens, just like they have at Castle Howard. And a rock garden and a woodland area, which will look nice next spring. Kaz got me a staff discount on an archway from the garden centre, although it did mean we only had enough left over for a bird bath, rather than a proper water feature.
‘You’ve done a great job with it, Finn,’ says Barry. ‘Are you going to say a few words, declare it open, like?’
I look at Kaz and Lottie and try not to think about the person who isn’t here.
‘I’d like to thank Kaz for doing the garden club with me and Barry for giving me lots of the plants, and Lottie, for bringing Alan Titchmarsh, who is now going to show you around.’
I pick up Alan and we lead the way down the garden. Everyone says nice things and smiles a lot, and I wish that the garden club didn’t ever have to end. But as much as I try not to think about starting my new school on Monday, it is like a big, black cloud hanging over me and stopping the sun getting through to my garden.
*
I have a tummy ache when I wake up on Monday morning. That is before I open my eyes and see my uniform hanging up on the front of the wardrobe. It is a stupid uniform: grey blazer with a crest on the lapel and a burgundy and white striped shirt and burgundy tie with little crests all over it.
I hate it so much and I haven’t even worn it yet. I wish Mum had won the school argument. I wish I was still sitting in the school tent with her. That was the best school ever. That’s the school I want to go to, not this one.
I sit up in bed. Cardboard Alan Titchmarsh is in the other corner of the room, still looking very cheery. I would much rather stay home with him, but I suppose that isn’t an option. I get up and go to the toilet. I sit there for a long time while the world falls out of my bottom. I hear Dad call out from the landing. I tell him I’ll be down in a minute. I don’t say anything about my tummy ache.
When I go downstairs, I see my school bag packed and waiting for me. I want to throw it out of the window. I didn’t need a school bag when we were camping. I didn’t need a maths set with a compass and protractor. I didn’t need any of that stuff and I don’t want it now.
My toast is ready for me on the kitchen table. Dad has put Marmite on it without even asking me. I think this is because he hasn’t got time for me to decide what I want.
‘Morning, Finn. All set?’
I shrug and nibble at the edges of my toast and drink my orange juice.
‘Come on,’ says Dad, pointing at my plate, ‘you need to have a bit more than that. You’ve got a long day ahead.’
He has talked to me all about this. How he has signed me up for extracurricular clubs after school and the bus won’t get me home until quarter to five, when he will be waiting for me, because he has changed his hours to eight till four so he can get back from Leeds in time. He said it like I should be grateful. I felt like telling him that I didn’t want any of this. It was his stupid idea to send me there. I didn’t, though. I didn’t say anything.
He is looking at me now and I know he is trying to work out what to say to try to make me feel better.
‘What you’ve got to remember, Finn, is this is a new school. The chance for you to make a fresh start. I know you don’t want to go but I think it will be much better than your old school. That’s why we chose it for you.’
‘Mum didn’t choose it,’ I say. ‘She didn’t want me to go to this stupid school and you argued about it and you made her cry.’
Dad stares at me. I don’t think he expected that. I don’t think he even realised I’d overheard.
‘Finn, it wasn’t like that. Your mum was worried about you, that’s all.’
‘She didn’t want me to go there. She had a pretend smile on when you told me, so don’t make out she liked it, because I know she didn’t.’
I push the chair back with my knees and run upstairs. I brush my teeth hard. So hard, my gums start to bleed, and I have to rinse my mouth out because I hate the taste of blood. I take my uniform down and put it on, trying not to look at it. The tie is a proper one and I still can’t manage to do it on my own, even though Dad has shown me lots of times. I end up taking it downstairs and throwing it at him.
He doesn’t say a word. Just picks it up, ties it round my neck and pulls the knot tight.
‘There,’ he says. ‘You’ll get used to it.’
That’s what he says about everything and he’s wrong, because I won’t. You never get used to bad things. You just don’t complain about them so much.
Dad waits at the bus stop with me, even though I don’t really want him to. We don’t say anything until the moment the bus pulls up and then he turns to me, squeezes my shoulder and says, ‘It’ll be fine, Finn. Try not to worry.’
*
I know as soon as I get to school that it is not going to be fine. It is a different school in a different building in a different town with different kids but in so many other ways it is still the same. It is a school where I don’t look right or feel right, and other kids stare at me the moment I walk through the gate. Whatever it is that is wrong with me, they can sense it. I may as well have a flashing light on my head with a big sign on saying, ‘pick on me’.
There are only year sevens and sixth-formers in school on the first day. They are trying to make it easier for us to settle in. It doesn’t matter what they do though, I can’t see me ever settling in here. I check my letter with my tutor group number on and the name of my tutor for the hundredth time and go and join the right line for Mr Makin.
No one kicks me or calls me names, but they turn to look at me and kind of turn their noses up, like I have a bad smell. I think it is the hair. No one likes red hair. Not unless you’re Ron Weasley.
Mr Makin has short brown hair and is wearing tracksuit bottoms and a rugby shirt, which is a bad sign. Very bad indeed. He also has a whistle round his neck. I remember watching The Sound of Music with Mum and seeing how Captain von Trapp whistled commands to the children. Neither of us liked him at first. I do not think I am going to like Mr Makin. He raises his hand and waits for silence.
‘Good morning, Year Sevens, and welcome to Ickfield. Can anyone tell me what the Latin motto on the school crest, which you are all wearing, translates as?’
A boy in front of
me puts up his hand.
‘Yes, your name is?’
‘Edward Palmer, Sir.’
‘Go on, Mr Palmer.’
‘Faster, Higher, Stronger.’
‘Excellent. A pretty good motto for life, I would say.’
I wouldn’t. I’d say it’s a pretty rubbish one. Mine would have to be ‘slower, lower and weaker’. At least for sports, anyway. If the motto is anything to go by, I am going to hate it here.
Mr Makin walks along our line. He stops next to me.
‘And you are?’
‘Finn Rook-Carter, Sir,’ I say, although it comes out in a squeaky voice and I can hear other kids laughing.
‘Welcome, Mr Rook-Carter. You will find in the school rule book that it says boys’ hair should not be touching their collar, so I think a trip to the barber is in order at the earliest available opportunity, unless you want to be joining the girls for netball.’
The whole line of kids is laughing at me now. I feel something burning up inside me, like it might explode. I have never been to a barber in my life. Mum has always cut my hair for me and she can’t do it now, but I can’t tell him that without everyone knowing.
‘Yes, Sir,’ I mumble.
When he has inspected everyone and told two girls off about wearing make-up and their hair not being tied back, we follow Mr Makin into the building. The entrance hall is dark, and the stone floor feels cold, even through my shoes. There are lots of photos on the walls of groups of children, most of them in sports kits, holding trophies aloft. There is even a trophy cabinet stuffed full of them. I am not the sort of kid who wins trophies. I really have come to the wrong school.
When we get to our classroom, there are rows of old-fashioned desks in twos. Mr Makin asks us to find a seat. Lots of the kids seem to know each other. They all sit down, and I am left standing there, not knowing who to sit next to. There are no spaces next to girls. Only two boys. I pick the one with glasses. He doesn’t look very happy about it. I can see a couple of other boys looking at me and whispering. It is starting already. I have only been here five minutes and already I am the weird kid.