Nathan sat in his room, reading Moonmen (and Women) and staring out of his window at clouds, trying to remember all the names Zoe had taught him.
On the second day of this latest quarantine, when his dad went out, Nathan went downstairs and looked in the kitchen bin for the Luigi board, but the bin had been emptied. He said hello to Maureen and stole some Blu Tack from the living room desk. On his wall where the wrestling poster had been, Nathan stuck all his Alien Guess Who? pictures. He rolled the wrestling poster up and put it in the drawer under his bed. While the drawer was pulled out, he tried playing with some of his old toys, but they didn’t seem to interest him.
He picked up one of the three Action Man dolls and pulled its khaki trousers down. During last year’s summer holidays Arthur had drawn huge willies and balls on all three soldiers with a permanent marker. Nathan had hidden the Action Men under his bed, so his dad didn’t find out. The dolls had belonged to his dad when he was a child. When he gave them to Nathan, he’d told him they would have been worth a fortune if only he’d kept the boxes. Nathan had the feeling his dad didn’t really want to give up his toys and would rather have kept them for himself.
Nathan had been so angry with Arthur when he drew on the dolls, which had only made Arthur laugh more than he already was. Nathan pictured him, rolling around on the floor in hysterics, like it was the funniest thing ever. When Nathan started aggressively rubbing at the indelible penises with his spit-soaked thumb, he thought Arthur was actually going to die laughing.
He wished he’d told Arthur about his mission now. He hadn’t heard from his friend since he’d broken his ankle – or ‘just twisted it’ as ‘Astronaut’ Buzz had kept insisting. When Nathan was eight, he’d broken his arm falling off a wall and Arthur wrote ARTHUR’S BITCH in huge black letters the whole length of his purple cast. Nathan didn’t want to miss out on writing something rude on Arthur’s cast. He wondered what colour cast he’d chosen. He hoped the only colour they had left was pink.
Nathan imagined going into space with Arthur. He pictured him floating around in zero gravity, trying to force out farts to make himself go faster, and finding it so funny, because the smell lingered for longer in space (there was a short chapter in Moonmen (and Women) about farting).
Nathan would have had to find a replacement for Arthur when he injured his ankle. When John L. Swigert caught measles, he was replaced on Apollo 13 by Ken Mattingly. Nathan couldn’t think of anyone he’d want to replace Arthur. Thaddeus Kosto or Aaron Price maybe, and Joshua Alexander was good at football and running but he was an annoying show off. Nathan knew Joshua’s sister, Kesha, would have volunteered. But Nathan didn’t want to go into Space with Kesha Alexander.
At the start of Nathan’s third day of quarantine the house was very quiet. He crept out onto the landing and made his usual checks for signs of life, signs of other life, but all the rooms upstairs were empty. Nathan walked slowly down the stairs.
His dad was in the kitchen. He was standing in front of the sink with his back to Nathan. He couldn’t tell if his dad was still angry with him or if he’d forgiven him or, more likely, forgotten he even existed. When his dad turned around, he didn’t ask why Nathan wasn’t wearing his school uniform or why he was up so late. He probably thought it was the weekend. Or Christmas. One day was much like any other to his dad now. Every day was Zoeday.
“We need milk,” his dad said, as though there was anything Nathan could do about that. If he offered to go to the shops his dad would have only said no. “If I buy you a new phone,” his dad said. “Will you promise not to lose it?”
31
They walked into town and went to Argos where Nathan’s dad bought a pay-as-you-go phone for Nathan and a cheap tablet for himself. The police hadn’t returned his dad’s laptop yet and using the remote control to navigate the internet on their smart TV was unbearably slow and frustrating. After leaving Argos they went to Subway. While his dad was ordering the Veggie Delites – without the works this time – Nathan unpacked his new phone on a table outside, almost breaking his fingernail prizing the thick plastic packaging apart. Nathan managed to eventually free the phone. He put the instructions booklet to one side on the table and switched the phone on. Then he remembered what his dad had told him about not using his phone in public and he switched it off again. He put it back in the box and hid the plastic packaging under the table.
Nathan watched his dad through the Subway window. He’d taken his jacket off and was pulling at the sides of the Where is Zoe Love? T-shirt he’d been wearing like a uniform ever since the dicks from Zoe’s school had given it to him. Nathan’s dad looked hopefully at the man behind the counter, as though he was expecting him to reveal his own T-shirt bearing the answer to the question written in colourful gel pens on the front of his own shirt – Where is Zoe Love? The man shook his head and did the same when Nathan’s dad showed him the picture of Alex. Nathan’s dad smiled and thanked the man and came outside with the tray of food. Nathan moved his phone out of the way to make room on the table for it.
“Aren’t you going to open your phone?” his dad said, taking the sandwiches and drinks off the tray.
“I was waiting for you.”
His dad put the empty tray on the table next to them and sat down.
“Can I open it now?” Nathan said.
“Of course.”
Nathan took the phone out of the box. His dad shielded his eyes, pretending to be blinded by its bright yellow colour.
“At least you won’t be able to lose it so easily,” his dad said.
Nathan switched the phone on and put it on the table while it sorted itself out. He unwrapped his sandwich and they both ate their food while playing with their new toys. Nathan looked to see what games he had on his phone and his dad searched the internet for Zoe. Apart from looking at the Where is Zoe Love? page, he searched the rest of Facebook and Twitter for any mentions. He also typed Zoe’s name into Google. Every day he looked he found more results than the day before. Sometimes Zoe would be mentioned in a story about a different missing teenager or she’d be tagged in an unrelated post about David Bowie or Brixton, or any number of other things. Online at least, the longer Zoe was missing, the easier she was to find.
They both looked up from their screens to watch a tourist taking a selfie in front of the mural opposite. Nathan had noticed there were no flowers or candles in front of the mural. He hoped his dad wouldn’t notice. If people had forgotten about David Bowie what chance did Zoe have?
“Dad?” Nathan said, to distract him.
“Yes, mate.”
“What colour is mousy?”
“It’s sort of dark blonde. Or light brown.”
“But mice are white though.”
“I would have said they were more browny grey.”
Nathan tried to picture what mice looked like. “Mickey Mouse is black.”
“That’s just Disneyfication.”
“What does that mean?”
His dad gestured out at the busy high street. “Like what they’re doing to Brixton. Making it too nice.”
“How can it be too nice?”
“When people like us can’t afford to live here anymore.”
Nathan nodded, pretending he understood. “What colour’s your hair then?”
His dad rubbed his hand across his head as though he could feel colour, like Zoe said she could when she came back from Space before.
“My hair is what people call salt and pepper,” his dad said. He came close to a laugh. “More salt than pepper lately.”
Nathan presumed the specks of grey were the salt.
“Is that because you’re old?”
His dad shrugged. “I have probably aged about a year this week, that’s for sure.”
“What colour is my hair?” Nathan said.
“Yours is…” his dad looked at Nathan as though he’d never considered the question before. Maybe a father wasn’t expected to know the colour of his children’s hair u
ntil they have to report it to the police or write it on a poster. “Brown, I suppose,” he eventually said.
“That’s too boring,” Nathan said.
“Chocolate then.”
“Which chocolate?”
“What’s your favourite?”
Nathan considered his answer carefully, convinced that whatever chocolate he chose his dad would end up buying for him on the way home. He didn’t want to rush his answer and end up with something small, like a Chomp or a Fudge.
“A Toblerone.”
His dad started singing a funny song. He said it was from a Toblerone advert that used to be on television. Nathan hadn’t heard music anywhere near his dad for such a long time. Nathan didn’t know why, but the silly song about triangular honey and triangular bees almost made him cry.
“I didn’t even ask you about the spaceman at your school,” his dad said, as though the song had somehow reminded him. “How did it go?”
“It was all right I suppose.”
“Until Arthur hurt his ankle,” his dad said.
“That was the best bit.”
They both laughed. “I mean, how did he even manage that?” his dad said.
“He jumped too hard on a rocket.”
His dad nodded. “That’ll do it every time. What was the astronaut like?”
“He was all right I suppose. His name was Buzz,” Nathan said.
“Buzz? Do you think that was his real name?”
“I heard Miss call him Alan.”
“I suppose Alan’s not quite as astronauty as Buzz is it.”
Nathan didn’t tell his dad about Alan Shepard on Apollo 14 or Alan Lavern Bean on Apollo 12. His dad seemed in a good mood and Nathan didn’t want to spoil it. He wondered if Subway or the sandwiches they sold were magic. Both times he’d been there with his dad he’d seemed a lot happier.
“Did we ever go to a place called Space Camp?” Nathan said.
“We did. Years ago.”
“Can we go again then? I can’t remember it.”
“Of course,” his dad said. “When Zoe’s back.”
He really didn’t need to say that.
“And you won’t just go to the pub this time?” Nathan said.
His dad raised his eyebrows.
“That was one unfriendly pub,” he said. “They weren’t keen on Londoners. I remember I asked for lager and I thought we were going to get lynched. They didn’t like you being with me either. They might have had a sign outside saying children were allowed, but it didn’t mean they were welcome.”
“Dad,” Nathan said. “Is it true you and Mum met when she was one of your customers?”
“You’re all questions today, aren’t you? On the stall you mean?”
Nathan nodded.
His dad smiled. “Who told you that? Zoe again?”
Nathan nodded. “She said that Mum came for Brussel sprouts and left with your heart.”
His dad smiled again, either because it was true and he liked the memory of meeting his wife, or because Zoe told the funniest lies. Nathan thought it was more likely the Zoe memory. No one else stood a chance right now.
“Actually, I think it was runner beans,” his dad said. “Not Brussels.”
“Dad?”
“More questions?”
Nathan nodded. “Have you heard of the Greenhouses of Almería?”
“I don’t think so, mate. What are they?”
“Zoe said it’s where all your vegetables come from and you can see them from space.”
“What are they called again?”
“The Greenhouses of Almería,” Nathan liked the sound of the word Almería. He pronounced it like he imagined he would if he was Spanish.
“Is it anywhere near Battersea?” his dad said. “That’s where most of our stock comes from.”
A tweet arrived on Nathan’s dad’s tablet. He read it and typed something. He sat back in his seat and stared off into the distance. He seemed to be deep in thought or memory.
“I wish I believed aliens had her, Nathan,” he eventually said. “I really do. I wish I thought I could speak to Zoe using a piece of paper with some letters on.”
“Why don’t you then?”
“I don’t know, mate.”
“What do you believe then?”
“About what’s happened to Zoe?”
Nathan nodded.
“In a way, I hope she’s with that boy,” his dad said.
“Alex?”
His dad nodded. “Even if it’s because she’d rather be with him than me. I’d rather she thought I was a terrible father than…Ah, I don’t know, Nathan. I just want her to be safe.”
“So do I, Dad.”
“I know you do, mate.”
“What would you do if you did believe she was with aliens though? Would you try and rescue her?”
His dad sighed.
“What if I could do it then?” Nathan said.
“I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather have rescuing her from aliens than you.”
Nathan took a bite from his sandwich. His dad had hardly touched his.
“I’m sorry if I got you in trouble with the police,” Nathan said.
“What makes you think you did that?”
“Because you were annoyed I said about Zoe’s cuts and bruises on television.”
“You were just telling the truth. It doesn’t matter. It’s only television. People will have forgotten all about it by now.”
His dad looked over at the mural. He turned back to face Nathan. “It’s hard to explain, Nathan, Zoe’s cuts and that. But some people hurt themselves because it makes them feel better.”
“That’s stupid,” Nathan said.
His dad shrugged. “And I wasn’t annoyed with you. I was more annoyed with the programme.”
“I didn’t like the man,” Nathan said.
“He was a bit of a nobber, wasn’t he?”
Nathan laughed. He didn’t know if nobber was officially a bad word.
His dad was distracted by something. He was staring at the mural again, or at the wall next to it. He’d stopped smiling.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said.
Nathan couldn’t see what his dad was looking at. There was no one there other than the people walking by. His dad stood up, pushing his metal chair backwards. It scraped loudly on the pavement and almost fell over.
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
Nathan looked at the mural and the empty pavement beneath it. Maybe it was the lack of candles and flowers that his dad was so upset about.
“Come on,” his dad said.
“Where?”
“Just come on.”
Nathan picked up his phone and the rest of his sandwich.
“You’ve forgotten your new iPad—”
“Come on,” his dad said.
Nathan picked up his dad’s tablet and followed him. His dad walked over to the mural and then went straight past it, stopping in front of the wall where ten or eleven days ago Zoe had written her message to David Bowie. For a second Nathan couldn’t see what his dad was looking at. He couldn’t understand why he was so distraught. Nathan smelled it before he saw it.
Fresh white paint.
32
Nathan’s dad refused to accept something that should have been as obvious to him as it was to his ten-year-old son. Somebody had painted over Zoe’s message. It was gone. Or rather, it was still there, but it was hidden under a thick layer of white emulsion. But Nathan’s dad grasped frantically at alternative straws, desperate for another explanation for what he was seeing, or not seeing.
He looked up and down the wall, and on the wall next to it, walking as far as the David Bowie mural in one direction and then back again, all the way around the corner, where the glass front of Morley’s department store began. He scratched his head, perplexed, wondering if Zoe’s message was in a different place on the wall to the one he’d remembered, or if it had managed somehow to slide down the wall. Had
the wall itself moved? Anything but accept the awful truth.
He touched the wall and checked his fingers for wet paint. He sniffed his fingers. Maybe it wasn’t too late to rescue what might be Zoe’s last ever words with a damp cloth. When he found the paint was bone dry Nathan’s dad started picking at it, scratching and scraping at the wall with his fingernails and making Nathan wince. And then his dad punched the wall, so hard that Nathan said ouch. He hit it again. Nathan screamed, “Dad!” Passers-by must have wondered if this could be the same man they’d seen before, going through all the postcards and scraps of paper left in front of the mural. The same man they saw there practically every day, a man they’d mistaken for the world’s biggest David Bowie fan, when in fact the opposite was the case.
“Who would do this to her, Nathan?” he said.
Nathan said he didn’t know.
His dad clenched his fist. There was a cut on his knuckle from punching the wall. It looked like the snake had bitten its tongue. Nathan thought his dad was going to punch the wall again, but then his anger seemed to suddenly leave him, and he sat down on the ground.
“Why would they do this to her, Nathan?”
Nathan didn’t know how to answer. He wanted to comfort his dad, but he was a ten-year-old boy. Where would he even start? All he could think of was to be closer to his dad. He sat down on the pavement next to him.
“What is the matter with people, mate?”
They sat in silence with their backs against the wall, long enough for a woman to stop and crouch down next to them and ask if they were all right. She had her hand inside her bag and Nathan thought she was about to offer them money.
“They’ve painted over it,” Nathan’s dad said to the woman. “Can you believe it?”
“Have they?” the woman said. She couldn’t possibly have known what he was talking about. She spoke to Nathan’s dad like he was a baby.
“I need to make a phone call,” Nathan’s dad said. He asked Nathan for his phone and stood up. Nathan stood with him. The woman was now crouching on the pavement on her own.
A Godawful Small Affair Page 17