The Quigleys in a Spin

by Simon Mason

  For a while Robinson Potts sat up in bed playing on his GameBoy, and Will tried to get to sleep. But the light and the bleeps kept him awake. Eventually he sat up. Remembering what Mum had said, he thought he would try to get to know Robinson Potts.

  He cleared his throat and said the first thing that came into his head. ‘Done much paragliding, Robinson?’

  Robinson Potts didn't say anything. Sitting in bed with his striped pyjamas buttoned up to his chin, concentrating frowningly on his GameBoy, he didn't look like the sort of boy to have done any paragliding at all.

  Will sighed. ‘Haven't done much paragliding myself,’ he said. ‘Or bungee-jumping. Or surfing. But you can surf down here, I've seen them. One day I'm going to have a go. I think I'd be pretty good at it. I'm a pretty determined person, Mum and Dad are always telling me I am. They don't use that word, they use another word.

  Stubborn. But they mean the same thing.’

  Robinson Potts spoke. Without taking his eyes off his GameBoy, he said, ‘I surf

  Will stared at him. ‘Really?’

  ‘I could surf before I could walk. Surfing's nothing to me.’

  Will stared some more.

  ‘My uncle owns the best surf shop in Devon,’ Robinson Potts added.

  Will got excited. ‘Where?’

  Robinson Potts shifted uneasily in bed. ‘Down the coast. I forget where.’

  Will continued to be excited, so excited he found himself standing on his bed. ‘We could ask to go surfing together tomorrow,’ he said. ‘If you say you want to surf too, I bet Mum and Dad will let us. We can hire wetsuits and boards, and swim out, and …’

  ‘I don't surf any more,’ Robinson Potts said. ‘Surfing's silly.’ And, without saying anything else, he went back to his GameBoy.

  Will got into bed again and pulled the covers over his face. The bedside light glowed through his sheet, and Robinson Potts's GameBoy went bleep, bleep, and he lay there for what seemed like hours, feeling sad and confused, as he waited to fall asleep.

  The first thing Will heard when he woke next morning was the bleeping of Robinson Potts's GameBoy.

  ‘Have you been doing that all night?’ he asked, yawning and rubbing his eyes.

  ‘I always wake early,’ Robinson Potts said. ‘I've been awake for hours while you've been asleep. Snoring,’ he added.

  As he got dressed, Will thought hard about Robinson Potts. Mum had told him that thinking hard about difficult things made them easier to understand, but he had often noticed that this was totally untrue. Thinking hard about Robinson Potts made him feel slightly sick, like some maths problems did. He couldn't work out how to make Robinson Potts nice to him, it was as bad as 14 × 56 ÷ 8.

  At breakfast, they all talked about what they were going to do that day. Everyone had a vote. Both Mum and Dad wanted to go for a walk, but Robinson Potts said that he had a loose ankle-bone, and the doctors had told him he mustn't walk far or his foot would fall off. Lucy wanted to play on the beach, but Robinson Potts said that sand gave him a rash. Will mentioned surfing, and looked at Robinson Potts hopefully, but when Robinson Potts didn't say anything, he said he wouldn't mind rock-pooling instead, and Robinson Potts said at once that rock-pooling was both boring and dangerous.

  ‘What do you want to do, Robinson?’ Dad asked, a little icily.

  He shrugged.

  ‘There must be something you'd like to do.’

  ‘What is there to do in a place like this?’

  The Quigleys all began to suggest things. Swimming, horse-riding, crazy golf or tennis, crabbing, visiting a wildlife park, going to the arcade, cycling, taking a boat trip, fishing, going to the funfair, sightseeing, shopping for souvenirs, going to a museum.

  Robinson Potts wasn't keen on any of them.

  Dad said, rather impatiently, that they had to do something, and Robinson Potts reluctantly said he supposed that cycling wouldn't be too bad.

  Lucy said, ‘But we cycle every day to school. That's so boring!’

  Immediately, Robinson Potts said that cycling was absolutely the only thing he wanted to do, but if nobody else wanted to do it he didn't mind going back to bed and playing on his GameBoy.

  After he had gone back to his room, the Quigleys sat looking at each other. Dad got to his feet and began to walk up and down in a distracted way.

  ‘That boy is spoiling everything,’ he said crossly. ‘I don't like him. He's selfish and unhelpful.’

  ‘Not to mention “inconsiderate”,’ Will said.

  ‘And “obstructive”, “untruthful” and “uncommunicative”,’ Mum added.

  ‘And horrid and sulky and a pig,’ Lucy said, so as not to feel left out.

  ‘Be quiet, Lucy,’ Will said. ‘You don't know the proper words.’

  ‘They sound like good words to me,’ Dad said grimly.

  Mum calmed him down. ‘Remember he's our guest,’ she said. ‘I've told Will he has to make a big effort, and so do you. I don't want you flying into a fit.’

  Dad sighed. ‘All right. We've got to think hard about what to do.’

  ‘You can try,’ Will said bitterly. ‘But you'll find it's just like maths.’

  For a few minutes, the Quigleys sat there thinking. Will came up with a plan involving deadly salad.

  Suddenly Mum jumped up. ‘I've got an idea,’ she said. She went out into the hall and began to make telephone calls.

  ‘What's Mum doing, Dad?’ Lucy asked.

  ‘I don't know, Poodle. I hope she's saving our holiday.’

  Mum came back in. ‘Guess what?’ she said.

  ‘You've just phoned Robinson Potts's mum to come and take him home?’ Will said, his face brightening.

  Mum shook her head. ‘I've found a cycle trail that goes along a beach.’

  ‘So?’

  Dad grinned. ‘Don't you see? We can cycle for a bit, which is what Robinson wants, then stop on the beach for games, which is what Lucy wants, then cycle for a bit more, then do some rock-pooling, which is what you want.’

  Mum said, ‘So we'll all be happy and cheerful and polite and pleasant.’

  Will snorted. ‘As if that's going to work,’ he said.

  At midday the Quigleys were spinning along the Tarka Trail cycle path. The trail ran along an estuary, on the route of a disused railway line. On one side there were marshes famous for bird-life and on the other there were dunes and beaches and the water. Every so often there was a bridge across one of the muddy streams flowing inland. There were other cyclists on the trail too. Some of them nodded or waved as they came past. And nearly all of them stared at Robinson Potts.

  They stared at him because he was wearing his pyjamas. The top was buttoned up to his chin and the bottoms were tucked into his boots, and he looked like someone escaping from hospital.

  When Dad had told him that they were going cycling after all, Robinson Potts had suddenly lost all enthusiasm for the idea. Long after Will was dressed, he was still sitting in bed playing on his GameBoy. Dad had to keep reminding him to get dressed. Eventually Dad got fed up. ‘Listen, Robinson,’ he said. ‘We're running late. Next time I come into this room I want to see you out of those pyjamas.’

  Five minutes later, Dad went back into the room and found Robinson Potts dressed in another pair of pyjamas.

  ‘Robinson,’ he said. ‘You've misunderstood me. I want you out of all your pyjamas. I want you dressed in proper clothes so that we can go out.’

  ‘These aren't pyjamas,’ Robinson Potts said in his flat voice. ‘They just look like pyjamas.’

  But there was no time to argue, so Robinson Potts went cycling in his yellow and green striped pyjamas.

  To begin with, they cycled for about five miles, pausing every so often to spot a bird in the marshes or take a drink from their water bottles. Robinson Potts didn't always pause when they did; he kept going, and they usually had to cycle hard to catch up with him again. At other times he stopped while they were still cycling, and they had to go back to find h
im. He rode in a powerful, slow style, hunched over the handlebars, staring at the ground and humming to himself.

  At lunchtime, the Quigleys had a picnic and played French cricket on the beach. Robinson didn't play, because of the rash that was about to appear all over his body, but he told Will how he was holding the bat wrong, and, after a big effort, Will didn't argue.

  Afterwards, they rock-pooled, and Will caught a blenny, which Robinson Potts identified as a ‘madpole'. He knew everything about marine life, he said, and, after another big effort, Will said nothing.

  Robinson Potts's pyjamas were very dusty by now, and ragged round the trouser bottoms where they had come out of his boots. One leg was completely damp where he had slipped into a rock pool. He looked very odd.

  After rock-pooling, the time had come to turn round and head back to the car. They were all tired by now, and went slowly, with many rests. Robinson Potts, in his dusty, wet pyjamas, was in a bad mood, and cycled more slowly than ever, complaining about his bike, other bikes, the cycle track and the fact that no one had told him what sort of clothes he would need to wear.

  When they were about halfway back, the chain on Mum's bike came off. The children didn't realize until Dad caught up with them.

  ‘I'll have to go back and help her,’ he said. ‘You'd better wait for me here. You can sit on that bench, if you like. But whatever you do, don't go on the mud.’ Then he cycled away and soon disappeared behind a hedge.

  The children got off their bikes and sat on the bench. Below them was a thin trickle of water running through a great expanse of mud. There was more mud than they had ever seen before, flat and grey, covered here and there with multi-coloured puddles and old rubbish. An evil smell came off it.

  Robinson Potts said he hated waiting for people, and Will said nothing, and Lucy said she quite enjoyed it and reminded Robinson Potts how many times they had waited for him.

  Robinson Potts got to his feet. ‘I'm going down,’ he said.

  ‘You're not allowed on the mud,’ Lucy said.

  ‘You're not,’ Will added. ‘Remember what Dad said.’

  ‘He's not my dad,’ Robinson Potts said. Leaving the bench, he walked down to the edge of the creek and began to fool around. First, he threw some small stones into the mud, to watch it splish up. Then he heaved in some bigger stones, and the mud spurted up in lumps. Finally, he dropped in an old house brick, and a thick flap of mud shot up his pyjama legs.

  Lucy whispered, ‘He's an idiot, isn't he, Will? I'm not wrong, am I?’

  ‘You're not wrong.’

  Lucy said, ‘Quite a lot of the time I hate him. But other times he makes me want to laugh at him. Which is quite sad really.’

  Will, who was tired of making so many big efforts to be nice to Robinson Potts, said he just hated him.

  ‘What's he going to do now?’

  Will shook his head. ‘I just don't know,’ he said. ‘But whatever it is I know I'm going to have to make a big effort because of it. And I'm fed up of making big efforts.’

  Robinson Potts turned to stare at them. ‘There's something stuck out there,’ he called. ‘Out there in the mud.’

  Will and Lucy looked. ‘I can't see anything,’ Will called back.

  Robinson Potts ignored him. He started to hunt around the creek, picking up things and taking them to the edge of the mud.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Lucy called.

  ‘Something you couldn't do,’ Robinson Potts said. Slowly he made a pile of the things he had found: some bits of plank, a cardboard box, an old tin tray, a few small logs. Taking careful aim, he threw one of the planks a little way into the mud, then, slightly further out, the tin tray, then, a bit further still, the cardboard box. He was making a sort of stepping-stone path across the mud.

  ‘Oh no,’ Will said.

  Robinson Potts made a lumbering jump and landed on the plank, which immediately sank beneath him. Waving his arms wildly, he slithered from the plank onto the tin tray, which skidded sideways. Completely off-balance, he made a desperate lunge towards the cardboard box, missed it, and with a loud sucking plop sank up to his ankles in the mud.

  Will and Lucy looked at each other.

  ‘Here it comes,’ Will said. ‘The big effort.’

  Robinson Potts stared at them from the mud. ‘I'm not stuck, if that's what you think!’ he shouted.

  They watched him as he tried to get his feet out. At last he stopped trying, and stood there, wobbling gently.

  ‘I am stuck!’ he shouted. ‘Don't just sit there. Help me.’

  But Will had finally had enough of Robinson Potts. ‘Why should I?’ he shouted back.

  That seemed to take Robinson Potts by surprise. He swayed to and fro in silence, thinking about it.

  ‘Because you're my friend,’ he cried out suddenly.

  This took Will by surprise. He checked with Lucy. ‘I'm not his friend, am I?’ he asked.

  Lucy thought about it. ‘Perhaps you will be if you rescue him,’ she said.

  Will was very doubtful. He thought hard, and shouted to Robinson Potts, ‘You're wrong. I'm not your friend. You've been horrible all weekend. Not just horrible, but difficult, unhelpful, inconsiderate, untruthful, obstructive and uncommunicative.’

  Lucy said to Will, ‘By the way, did you know that they're all the things Mum calls you?’

  ‘Be quiet, Lucy. I'm not your friend, Robinson, and if I rescue you anyway it's only because I promised I'd make a big effort.’

  Then Will went down to the mud. He took off his shoes and socks and rolled up his trouser legs, and waded out to Robinson Potts, and tugged him until he came unstuck, and helped him back to the shore. And waded out again with a bit of plank and dug out Robinson Potts's left shoe, which had got stuck in the mud, and brought it back. And went back to Lucy, who said, ‘I'd hold your hand if it wasn't so muddy.’ She helped Will clean his feet and legs with scratchy grass, and then they sat together by their bicycles, feeling fed up.

  Robinson Potts sat on the bench. His pyjamas were filthy and wet, and part of a trouser leg had disintegrated. His face was streaked with tears and there was mud in his hair. Will and Lucy thought he was the most miserable-looking, oddest person they had ever seen.

  Just then, Mum and Dad cycled up.

  Dad saw Robinson Potts, and stared at him in astonishment and fury. When Dad was angry he spoke in a special voice. His voice reminded Will of bent metal, it had the same sort of strain to it. In this voice Dad said fiercely, ‘What did I say about not going on the mud?’ He got off his bike and strode red-faced to where Robinson Potts sat on his bench, pushing muddy hair out of his eyes with a muddy hand, and looking helpless. From the way Dad looked, Will didn't think he was going to make a big effort to be nice to Robinson Potts. It looked to him as if Dad was going to fly into a fit.

  Dad opened his mouth in a shouty sort of way, and Will said quickly, ‘I'm very sorry I went on the mud, Dad. We were playing with the ball, and I threw it into the mud by accident, and Robinson helped me get it out again.’

  Dad closed his mouth and looked at the ball. The ball was perfectly clean. Dad looked at Will, as if trying to read his mind. Then he looked at Robinson Potts. He nodded slowly, and said, ‘I understand.’ He didn't say anything else about it, but got back on his bike, and told everyone to hurry up.

  Slowly, Robinson Potts got to his feet, opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, shut it again, and climbed back on his bike, looking puzzled.

  That evening, after some serious baths, they sat around deciding what they were going to do the next day. After the day's adventure they were all feeling quiet. Robinson Potts hadn't said a word since the incident with the mud. He kept frowning to himself, as if thinking hard about something.

  ‘What do you want to do, Will?’ Mum asked.

  ‘Yes, Will,’ Dad said. ‘Mum and I have been talking, and we think we should do what you want tomorrow.’

  Will gave Robinson Potts a little look. ‘Well,’
he said. ‘Perhaps we could go down to the beach here and watch the surfers, and perhaps ask one of them for a go on his board. What do you say, Robinson?’ Everyone looked at Robinson Potts. ‘Well, Robinson?’ Dad said.

  Robinson Potts kept on frowning to himself.

  ‘Robinson?’ Mum said sharply.

  ‘No,’ Robinson Potts said. ‘I don't want to do that.’

  Mum made a noise. She also stood up to shout better. But before she would open her mouth Robinson Potts said quickly, ‘I'd rather take you all to my uncle's surf shop down the coast, where we can hire suits and boards free.’

  There was a moment's silence while they all repeated these words to themselves. Mum sat down again.

  ‘Really?’ she said.

  ‘You're not lying again, are you?’ Dad said, a bit rudely

  Robinson Potts shook his head.

  ‘Do you really have an uncle?’ Will asked.

  Robinson Potts nodded.

  ‘Does he really have a surf shop?’ Lucy said.

  Robinson Potts nodded again. ‘And I really do want to take you,’ he said. ‘Even if you're not my friend.’

  And the funny thing was, he was finally telling the truth.

  After the holiday, the Quigleys never saw Robinson Potts again. His mum moved unexpectedly to another city. They didn't miss him, but they did talk about him. It was odd how much they talked about him, as if Robinson Potts had delighted them all, with his disintegrating pyjamas and his loose ankle-bone and his utter ignorance of marine life. A very good thing was that quite a few words that Mum used to use about Will, like ‘unhelpful’ and ‘difficult', became permanently attached to Robinson Potts, and Mum had to think of new words for Will.

  But the best thing by far was that Mum and Dad never forgot Will's big effort.