I put down my clubs, picked up a rock and carried it to where Dad had decided the rockery should be. Then another. And another. Boring. Throwing was more fun than carrying, so I began throwing them. With the smaller ones, I could bowl them over arm, like a cricketer. I’d just hurled a rock towards the pile when Declan Murphy came up the driveway.
‘Well thank God you missed me that time, boyo.’ He gave me a wink and a culchie nod as he made his way towards our back door.
Five minutes later, Sullivan arrived. I kept on throwing rocks into a pile and just waved in his direction. He waved back, his walk buoyant, a winner’s walk. I knew he was pleased with our win – not that it meant he’d forget the essay he’d given me to write, nor that the Final was still to come. Sullivan wouldn’t rest until the Challenge Cup was sitting in the display cabinet and the Headmaster was smiling at his reflection in the silver. Neither would I.
The rocks were piling up. I had to search further afield to find them, and it was mind-numbingly dull.
‘Walk!’ I said to M. He bounded up. Andrea wasn’t at the range, or at Dimbrook, but I found her outside the shop. She was reading the notice that the man who wasn’t McDonnell had put up in the window:
BUSINESS HOURS
Open most days about 9am or 10am.
Occasionally as early as 7am, but Tuesdays as late as noon or 1pm because I visit my sister.
We close at about 5.30pm or 6pm. Occasionally about 4pm or 5pm, but sometimes as late as 11pm or 12pm.
Some afternoons, I’m not here at all.
Usually open Sundays, unless the weather is particularly good.
I laughed. ‘But he still has 24/7 up over the door.’
Andrea was about to answer when a car screeched to a halt beside us. Someone was in a hurry! It was a large BMW, with a Dublin reg., and its owner looked like his blood pressure was boiling over. He pushed past us and grabbed the door handle, giving it a good shake.
‘Don’t tell me it’s closed! I need a road map. Pronto.’
‘Sorry, he’s not open at the moment,’ said Andrea.
The guy looked at her impatiently. ‘Well, when will he be open?’
Andrea and I looked at each other.
‘Probably not at all today, given the weather,’ I said.
The man looked at me like I was insane. ‘Weather? What the hell’s that got to do with the price of bread?’
‘Angling,’ I replied.
‘What …’ he spluttered. ‘What are you talking about?’
I was enjoying myself now. ‘Angling, that’s what he’s doing, because the weather’s nice. He’s down at the river for the day, of course.’
He looked at me like I was part of some dangerous conspiracy. ‘My God, why I venture beyond Dublin, I do not know. You people are … nutters!’
He jumped into his car and sped away, and Andrea and I laughed until our sides ached. Finally, Andrea looked up and said, ‘Playing golf today?’
‘Might go to the range later. I’m in the middle of building a rockery.’
‘Wow! How do you do that?’
‘Difficult. It requires meticulous planning.’
‘I’m walking back that way. I’ll take a look.’
‘Of course it doesn’t look anything much yet. Did I tell you we won our rugby game yesterday? We came back from twelve points to five. I scored from a drop-kick in the final minute.’
I gave her a detailed description of every minute of the game. She looked interested. As we climbed the hill to The Haven, she saw Sullivan’s car parked in the driveway.
‘So that’s the boyfriend who kisses his mother in public,’ she teased.
‘Okay, okay.’
‘And you really couldn’t tell the difference?’
‘It was dark.’
‘Oh right! Perhaps I’ll have to show you the difference.’
That was definitely an offer I wouldn’t refuse. She raced to the house and I invited her in for coffee. The kitchen was crowded. Helen was talking, but no one was listening to her – just staring. Her blonde hair was gone. She’d dyed it the colour of a London bus.
I gave a mock scream and noticed that Sullivan gave me a look of agreement before converting it to an appreciative smile.
‘What have you done, you freak?’ I shouted. ‘Where is my sister? What have you done with her?’
‘Give it a rest,’ said Helen. Her fingernails and lips matched her hair.
‘I love the look! It’s so you,’ said the woman in impractical heels.
‘I guess this is what they mean by beauty comes from within,’ I said. ‘It comes from within jars, within bottles …’ but I shut up when I saw Andrea was looking at Helen with admiration.
‘Hey,’ I said to Declan Murphy, ‘how far do you reckon you can throw a rock?’
He took up the challenge, and Sullivan did too. Even the fella who’d come with the woman in heels had a go, though his throw was as weak as a baby’s. Andrea beat him by miles.
It was dark when they all left, so, as per usual, I would have to finish my homework in the car on the way to school, but I decided to get that essay out of the way before bed.
The Importance of Time
Time is important. Time stops everything happening at once. If there was no time, the school timetable would be a joke. Everyone would turn up at the same classroom together. There’d be crowds, loads of pushing and shoving. It would be very confusing. Or, more likely, nobody would turn up at all. There’d be no such thing as being ‘unpunctual’, just a bunch of teachers going crazy, staring at the wall where the clock should be, asking, ‘Where is everybody?’
Then I was stuck. I found Helen in the kitchen, alone.
‘Okay, Einstein, tell me something to write about time.’
‘Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity,’ she said, whipping off Dad’s glasses so she could actually see me, ‘conjectures that space and time, or space-time …’
‘Slower!’ I was writing it down.
‘Einstein’s theory states that space-time is curved by gravity.’
‘Thanks.’ I went back to my bedroom with a few more lines to add.
According to my sister, who’s been certified a genius by some quack doctor, Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity states that time and space, or space-time, are curved by gravity. Curved, so that must mean we’ll end up meeting ourselves back where we began. Things should happen over and over again like in ‘Groundhog Day’. I wouldn’t mind Saturday happening all over again, because I played rugby and my team won, but there are other days that are bad enough happening the once.
The expression 24/7 means all time because there are 24 hours in a day, 7 days in a week. There are no gaps in 24/7. It’s watertight.
Mozart bounced onto my bed, pursued by M. The kitten’s ears were pink and wet because M had licked them so much. ‘Okay, you two, time for bed,’ I ordered.
Someone who doesn’t know the importance of time is my dog, who went missing the other night. It could have been Christmas Day for all he cared. So I had to find him even though it was past midnight and I had an important game the next morning. Which we won. So, it’s not me but my dog who needs to know the importance of time, and since he doesn’t wear a wristwatch, it’s never going to happen.
David Stirling.
(Time: 10.56pm precisely)
P.S. After a bit of time’s gone by, you realise some people aren’t as bad as you thought they were.
David! If you’re not ready and down here in five minutes, I’m leaving without you! David? David!’ There was a crash and a yell, followed by the sort of language that gets me a detention at school. Dad had tripped over M – again.
Ready? Was I ready for school? I lay in bed thinking about this as curses and growls floated up the stairway. Overall, yes I was. I was ready for Assembly where the Headmaster would read out the rugby results, ready for the pats on the back I’d receive from my friends. And I was ready with my essay for Sullivan. I was ready for whatev
er the day had to throw at me.
About the Author
Creina Mansfield has a Master’s degree in novel writing from Manchester University. She likes both dogs and cats, and fosters kittens in her spare time. She has written My Nasty Neighbours, a companion to this book; Cherokee, a novel about a young boy and his grandfather who both love to play jazz; Fairchild; and, for younger readers, Snip, Snip! in which a little obsession with scissors leads to interesting situations.
Copyright
This eBook edition first published 2012 by The O’Brien Press Ltd,
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Website: www.obrien.ie
First published 2006
eBook iSBN: 978-1-84717-474-1
Text © copyright Creina Mansfield 2006
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© The O’Brien Press Ltd
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British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
Mansfield, Creina
My nutty neighbours
1.Parent and teenager - Juvenile fiction 2.Neighbors - Juvenile fiction
3.Country life - Juvenile fiction 4.Children’s stories
I.Title
823.9’14[J]
The O’Brien Press receives assistance from
Editing, typesetting, layout and design: The O’Brien Press Ltd
Cover illustration: Kate Sheppard
My Nutty Neighbours Page 14