by Pat Young
‘It’s okay. I’ve worked out why the door won’t open. It’s Charlie. He must be inside with the door barred. Don’t know why. He should be getting ready for school.’
Great, the kid again. He’s gonna turn up everywhere from now on. Gus was a real shit, asking him about the fire, provoking him, but the kid’s reaction was unbelievable. You’d think he’d caused the fire himself. All Gus was trying to do was make sure Charlie really couldn’t talk, but he may have hit gold with this fire business. It might be the extra bit of pressure he needs to keep the boy terrified.
Gus meant it when he said he’d be trying to avoid the kid as much as possible. Now he’s gonna come face to face with him. While his father watches.
‘Charlie!’ The boss makes a megaphone with his hands. ‘Open up.’
‘Maybe I should go back and help Nat?’ says Gus, hoping to get away. He was far crueller to the kid than was necessary. A mistake, perhaps, but he needs to keep the boy silent.
‘No, no, it’s okay. She’ll manage for ten minutes. Probably still gassing with Joyce. Charlie? You need to open the door now. I have to come inside. You need to grab your stuff for school and get going. Mum’s waiting.’
There’s a grating sound of one piece of wood dragging across another.
‘This door will need to be replaced, as a priority,’ says the boss. The door opens a few inches. The boss gives it a little push. ‘Come on, son. I need to have a look at the tower. Let me in.’
The door swings open and the boss steps inside. Gus hangs back.
‘Come on in, Seb. Charlie’s made the tower into a kind of den, haven’t you, Charlie?’
There’s no sign of the kid. The boss points to a makeshift ladder that leads up to a stone ledge running around the inside of the four walls.
‘He’ll be up there. He’ll come down in a minute.’ He lowers his voice. ‘Not quite himself at the minute. Not sure what’s got into him.’ Then he speaks up, in a loud, jovial way, ‘Well, what do you think of the place, Seb?’
‘It looks amazing. How old did you say? Four hundred years?’
‘Not quite. Three hundred and something, we reckon.’
‘Are the walls intact?’
‘Yes, and the roof.’ The boss points up. ‘Although it’s not all original wood.’
As Gus looks towards the rafters, something catches his eye. A rag of some kind snagged on the stonework several metres above their heads. Dirty, and stained with what looks like blood. Hard to tell from this distance but it looks like a kid’s shirt.
A kid’s shirt? He glances at the boss to see if he’s noticed it. He seems to be focused on the first level. ‘Charlie, can you come down, please?’
Gus raises his shoulders, as if to say, kids.
‘You’re going to be late, Charlie,’ says the boss, ‘and you’re being very rude.’
‘It’s okay, doesn’t matter,’ says Gus, delighted that the kid’s avoiding him. ‘How do you see the place when it’s finished?’
The boss rolls his eyes. ‘How do I see the place?’ He gives a little laugh. ‘I see it as a money pit, to be honest.’ The boss has dropped his voice again. ‘But Vivienne has her heart set on this wedding scheme and she sees the tower as our “unique selling point”. Every successful business has a USP. Did you know that?’
‘She might be right. Although I’d think the views might be enough of a USP.’
‘Oh, I get that. Which is why the top floor here is to be the “room with a view”, three hundred and sixty degrees. Glassed in, of course.’
‘Of course.’
‘So the bridal couple can sit up there sipping champagne and wishing on a star.’
‘With a perfectly good bed waiting?’
‘That’s what I said, Seb. What self-respecting man is going to ponce about star-gazing on his wedding night?’ The boss starts a dirty laugh then clamps a hand over his mouth and points to where his kid is hiding. ‘Oops,’ he whispers. ‘Hope he didn’t hear that. Maybe he has his headphones on?’ He crosses his fingers and makes a face that shows he cares what the kid thinks. ‘Right, Charlie, if you won’t come down, I’m coming up.’ He starts to climb the homemade ladder. It doesn’t look strong enough to support a man’s weight and the boss only ventures a few steps.
‘Do me a favour, Seb? Don’t tell my wife about this ladder or, God forbid, that you saw me climbing it. She hates the idea of Charlie playing in here, far less scrambling up to the first level. But hey, every boy needs a den, don’t you think?’
‘If you say so, Boss. My lips are sealed.’ Shit. Why did he have to say that? ‘Tell you what, I’ll make myself scarce. Work to do.’
33
When I know he’s gone I stick my head out over the ledge and look down at Dad.
‘Charlie,’ he says, ‘why didn’t you come down when I called you? Bit rude.’
Shrug, as if I don’t care. Although I know that’s cheeky. Dad doesn’t say anything.
Want to talk to him. Right now. Want to say, ‘Dad’. Just one word.
I’m sure I can, if I try. Not scared of Dad. I put my teeth together. Tongue behind them. Try to make a sound. All that comes out is air, through my teeth, and a bit of spittle.
‘Are you okay, son?’
Nod. Try again. Make a choking sound.
‘You going to be sick, Charlie?’
Shake my head, although I do feel sick. Very, very sick. Always thought I could choose when to start speaking again. But it looks as if my voice is lost. Maybe forever. When I could talk, I didn’t want to. Now I want to, I can’t. It’s not fair.
‘Come on, son, down you come.’ Dad’s kind voice makes me want to cry. I’m nearly twelve. Can’t keep blubbing like a baby all the time.
‘What are you doing out here anyway? It’s time for school. Mum will be going mental.’
Know I’m supposed to laugh when he says that. Try to smile, but it’s hard with tears pushing to come out of my eyes.
Dad reaches up and helps me down the ladder. At the bottom, he gives me a hug. ‘Are you sure you’re okay to go to school?’ He takes hold of my shoulders and kind of crouches down so his eyes are level with mine. ‘I’m sure Mum won’t mind if we tell her you’re not feeling well and need the day off?’
He doesn’t know I’m trying to be late. Deliberately. To avoid ‘bump-up day’. A minibus is taking us to the big school. All the kids who are coming up from Primary Seven will be there. Miss Lawson calls it induction. It’s to get us used to the new school so we know what to expect and then we don’t have to worry about it over the summer holidays. As if that will help.
‘Go on then. Mum will be waiting, and you don’t want to make her mad.’
I don’t move. If I miss the minibus, I won’t have to go and be inducted.
‘Go, Charlie. Run and get your stuff. I’ll head Mum off at the pass.’ He makes a gun of his fingers and goes, ‘Pow, pow!’ I jump as if he’s fired a real gun and he laughs. He thinks I’m kidding and I think I’m going crazy.
Mum isn’t going crazy. In fact, she isn’t even waiting for me. She’s fiddling with her phone in the kitchen. I grab my bag and my lunch box and stand at the door. We’re not supposed to take a packed lunch today. We’re supposed to go the dining hall in the Academy. But Mum doesn’t know that. Cos I didn’t give her the note.
Mum looks up, surprised to see me. She glances at the kitchen clock. ‘Oh, sugar,’ she says, ‘we’re late. Let’s go.’ She lifts her bag and the car keys and runs out. I trail after her, slow as a snail, and get in the car.
Mum used to chat to me all the time. I didn’t need to speak. She told me everything and she was always asking me questions. I think she believed I would answer one day. Forgot that I couldn’t talk.
There’s an ad on the telly. A kid and his mum, or dad, can’t remember, in a car and the wee boy is chatting away. It says, ‘Talk to him now and he’ll talk to you when he’s older.’ Or something like that. I think it’s so the teenagers watching wil
l tell their mum or dad that they’re thinking of taking drugs. Then their mum or dad, both likely, will say, ‘Listen, son. That’s a really bad idea.’ I’m scared I’ll never be able to talk to my mum and dad about all that stuff.
I’m too frightened to tell them about the dead guy, but even before that happened, I wanted to tell them I’m scared of getting bullied at the Academy. Now I’ve got my very own super-bully living right here at Brackenbrae and I can’t say a word.
Mum’s not talking at all this morning. She’s not interested in me. She seems to be in a world of her own. As if I’m not even in the car. Wonder if she’s going to meet that guy again? She’s dressed up kind of fancy.
She stops at the school and leans over. ‘Kiss?’ she says. She smells lovely. I kiss her cheek and get out of the car.
‘See you later. Have a good day.’ And she’s gone.
Miss Lawson comes running up to me. ‘Oh, Charlie. Thank goodness you’re here. I thought you were going to miss bump-up day. Quick, jump on the minibus.’
When Mum picks me up at home time she sees me getting off the minibus. But she doesn’t ask where I’ve been. Usually she would guess where I might have been, but not today. She seems all excited about something but she doesn’t tell me what it is. Just waits for me to get in and says, ‘Hi, Charlie.’
All the other kids will be telling their mums about bump-up day. How big everything is at the Academy, especially the pupils. Some of them are huge. I saw a great big boy in the corridor and almost had a heart attack. I thought it was Robbie.
It’s funny I’ve been thinking about him today because when we pass the place where his house used to be, Mum says, ‘Look, Charlie. Somebody’s knocking down the cottage. I hear they’re building a brand-new house.’
She looks at me in her wee mirror. I nod and smile to show her I’ve heard. I’m happy the ruins won’t be there any more.
‘Half an hour till teatime. You got homework?’
Shake my head.
‘No? Sure?’
Nod.
‘Suppose it’s nearly the summer holidays. Okay then, scoot and get changed out of your school clothes.’
I make sure my bedroom door is closed before I take off my school polo shirt. Every day I inspect my bruises. Most have gone, though I can still see some of them, but they’re turning a kind of pale yellow. Almost brown. Wonder why people say ‘black and blue’? I was red and purple and now yellow. I’m a world expert on bruises.
34
France
Sunday 24 June
Catherine looks at Sebastien’s birthday gifts, piled on his bed. They should be in her suitcase heading to Scotland. She sighs and closes his bedroom door, feeling guilty for being so selfish when Mamie is ill.
Where on earth is Eric? He said he had a few things to attend to, in case they’d be gone a few days, but she thought he’d be home hours ago. If he doesn’t get here soon they’ll get caught up in rush-hour traffic and who knows when they’ll make it to Mamie’s.
Eric was adamant she shouldn’t call Sebastien, but Catherine disagrees. All day she has been pacing the hall. Looking at the phone. Checking her mobile for messages, then reminding herself that Seb doesn’t have his phone. The old one’s being recycled by the manufacturers and the new one is sitting there in his bedroom, with his presents, waiting to go to Scotland. No point in posting it, she thought, when they can deliver it in person. Maybe she should take it with her and post it from Mamie’s. Sebastien must be going crazy without it. These young people depend on their phones.
Damn Eric and his opinion. She’s going to call that Brackenbrae place and tell Sebastien about his grandmother. He has a right to know what’s happening.
‘Brackenbrae Holiday Park. Pim speaking. Good afternoon. How may I help you, please?’
Oh no, not this guy again. ‘Hello, my name is Catherine Lamar. I’m calling from Paris. I’m Sebastien’s mother.’
‘Ah, hello, Mrs Lamar, I’m remembering now. Do you wish to speak to your son?’
Catherine can hardly believe her luck. Sebastien must be right there, near the phone.
‘Yes, please. Put him on.’
‘I am very sorry, Madam, but Seb is not here at the moment.’
Catherine feels her disappointment like a sharp kick. ‘It’s really important I speak to him.’
‘I understand, Madam, but he is not here.’
‘Where is he?’
‘I imagine he is working. Or it is possible he has finished for the day.’
‘Do you think you could find him and ask him to come to the phone? Listen, I know you probably don’t want to hear this, but we seem to have lost all contact with Sebastien and it really is causing me some distress. Now his grandmother is in hospital and we’re very worried about her.’ To her shame, Catherine starts to cry. Not silent, dignified tears, but great heaving sobs.
‘I am most terribly sorry but as I explained before, I am not authorised to leave my post in reception.’
Catherine dries her eyes and tries to bring her breathing under control. She heaves a huge sigh. Heavy enough for him to hear. She hopes it might melt his heart. It seems to work. He says, ‘Ah, perhaps the situation is not irretrievable. Is it convenient for you to hold on?’
‘Of course,’ says Catherine, thinking she’d hold on for the rest of her life if it meant she could hear her son’s voice again.
‘One moment, please.’
Catherine hears the phone being put down and wonders if he has deserted his post. Then a shout of, ‘Charlie, can you come here, please, and do a very large favour for me?’ There is no audible reply, but then Catherine hears the receptionist asking someone if he would be so kind as to go and fetch Seb and bring him to reception immediately. ‘It is imperative that he takes this phone call.’ Again, there is no reply that she can hear, but the receptionist comes back on the line and says, ‘I have taken the matter in hand, Mrs Lamar. If you will bear with me, I am sure Seb will be with you shortly.’
Catherine waits, rehearsing what she will say to Sebastien, rephrasing several times in her head, until she gets the wording perfect – non-alarmist, non-accusatory, loving and caring, conscious of how fond her son is of his grandmother. No pressure to come home and see Mamie. No moral blackmail. No questions about why he hasn’t been in touch.
She checks her watch. Five minutes at least must have passed since she said she’d hang on. She imagines Sebastien refusing to come and speak to her. She tries to picture the scene. A workmate, a friend perhaps sent to fetch him to the phone. Sebastien asking who it is. Shaking his head when he hears the word ‘mother’.
She hangs up.
35
Scotland
Sometimes it’s good that I don’t talk. Like when Pim grabbed me before teatime and asked why I hadn’t fetched Seb.
When we sat down to eat, Mum seemed excited, but I still don’t know why.
They talked about her meeting. It went well.
They talked about Dad’s day. It went well too.
They asked about mine. Did it go well? That’s all. None of the questions they always used to ask me. Did I get full marks in my maths test? Did Miss Lawson like my project? Did Mackenzie McMullen get into trouble for dyeing her hair blue? They didn’t ask about bump-up day.
What will we ‘talk’ about when I go to the Academy? Mum won’t be dropping me off at school any more so she won’t see anyone going in the school gates. She won’t know what colour Mackenzie’s hair is. She won’t see the other mums and hear the gossip. How will she ask me about people in my class? She won’t know their names or anything about them. I won’t come home with stickers or certificates to advertise my good scores in tests. If I can’t speak, will we sit here and not communicate at all?
They send me outside for a bit after tea, but it’s no fun any more doing the things I used to do. I’m too scared of turning a corner and running into Seb. He knows about my tower and now I don’t even feel safe there. Why did Dad have to s
how him?
Wonder if Natalie’s in the playbarn? I hardly ever see her now, because she works with Seb. Wish I could ask her about him. Pim seemed quite upset earlier when he asked me to fetch Seb to the phone. He was whispering something about Seb’s mother being on the phone because his granny’s ill. She was crying, Pim said. Worried that she’s lost all contact with her son. Imagine anyone being sad that they can’t see Seb! Yet he was kind to me at the start, that day. Before the shooting. That must be why he’s not phoned his mum. Because he can’t talk about it. Just like me when that thing happened with Robbie and I couldn’t tell my mum.
Maybe I should have tried to find Seb. It’s not his mum’s fault that I’m scared of him. I could have caught hold of his arm, pointed to reception, mimed a phone call, pulled his sleeve to get him to go and speak to his mum. Yeah, right. Imagine me pulling Seb. He’d have swatted me away like a midgie.
I try the door of the playbarn. It’s not locked. Open it and peep in. Seb and Nat are both there. Standing very close together. Far too close. Get away from her, I want to shout. Don’t you touch her!
Natalie’s giggling. I used to make her giggle all the time.
She looks up into his face and goes onto her tiptoes.
I get a funny feeling, way down deep in my body.
It looks like he’s going to kiss her. Or she’s going to kiss him. I don’t know anything about kissing, I’ve never tried it. But I know I shouldn’t be watching.
I let the door go and run. It shuts with a bang.
Can’t get to sleep.
Mum and Dad are talking. Not fighting, using their quiet voices.
I move down a step. Hear Mum say, ‘She loved it. Says it’s perfect. Or it will be. She loves the barn. We wouldn’t have to do a thing to it. Just clear out all the Kidz Klub stuff and make sure it’s spotlessly clean.’
‘What about flowers, lights, all that stuff?’