“Don’t you think the adults would already have checked the ditches?” I said, and instantly regretting it, as I was proving myself to be a wet blanket again.
“They don’t know them like we do,” Will said, like any good hero should.
I took a stick and followed Will out of Moon Base One. Liam and Will grabbed the branches and pushed them back in place to hide the entrance. We’d flattened the tall grass around the outside and then collected rocks and branches to make an enclosure. Liam, Will, and I stepped over the thick mud at the bottom of the ditch which never seemed to dry out no matter how many days without rain we went. We clambered up the other side and waited for Andy who was checking that his nun-chucks were secure. He took a step backwards then ran towards the ditch. He took off and shouted “Cowabunga” in mid-air. Together, Will and I caught him to stop his momentum from carrying him over into the ditch on the other side. Then we started our walk back to towards the school, prodding our sticks into the ditch and random bushes as we walked.
“So, what do you think happened to him?” Liam said as we reached the school.
“He might have been hit by a car and fell into a ditch,” Will said.
“But wouldn’t the driver stop and do something about it?” asked Liam.
“Didn’t when it happened to me,” I said. I reminded them of what had happened the previous summer. I’d been cycling from Granddad Norman’s cottage back towards the farmhouse when a lorry sped past. It didn’t hit me or anything, but the gush of air caused me to lose my balance and fall into the ditch. I pulled the bike out, but the front wheel was buckled. I was only a couple of doors down from Granddad’s and I was going to push it back there, but the this old woman, Mrs Johnstone, who used to work as a dinner lady at the school before she had her accident, saw me heaving the bike out and rushed over to me. She made me go with her into kitchen and put TCP on my knees and elbows even though they were barely grazed and before I had a chance to say no, she called home to say what had happened. When Dad turned up, he said, “Come on,” to me and dragged me off the stool. The only good thing about being dragged away so quickly is that I only had to eat one of her soft old-people biscuits. Dad nodded at Mrs Johnstone and picked up my bike and tossed it in the back of his Land Rover.
“Poor boy never would have been hurt if you hadn’t messed the council about with your land for the bypass,” said Mrs Johnstone.
Dad didn’t say a word to me all the way home. I never got my bike back. When I asked Dad what had happened to it he said it was too badly damaged, though I’m sure the wheel could have been replaced.
“Speaking of Mrs Johnstone…” Liam said. He shuffled through the Top Trump cards he’d just pulled from his back pocket. “Zetan Priest.”
We all laughed. The character of the card had a mess of white hair, and a white face, just like hers. But the thing that most resembled her was the pink coat it was wearing. It was one of the least scary cards in the pack, but with a Horror Rating of 95, Killing Power of 91 and Physical Strength of 94 it was a powerful card to have. It goes to show that you can’t really judge what someone is like by looking at them. I didn’t know what a Zetan Priest was but figured it must be some kind of witch.
We continued poking our way along the side of the road until we reached Downham Close. We hadn’t found a thing. I felt like Mario when he gets through the castle only to be told, “Thank you, but our princess is in another castle.” John would like that joke, apart from him being the princess. I was about to share it with the others, but by the looks on their faces none of them would have laughed.
“What now?” asked Liam.
“Let’s leave it there for today,” Will said.
“We can’t leave it,” I said.
“I had a thought,” Liam said.
“What?” I asked.
“You know I heard them teachers talking about that transition thing?”
I nodded.
“And you know when we looked it up, it meant changing from one thing to another?”
I nodded again.
“And you know Mrs Palmer is an alien creature?”
“What are you going on about?” Will said, and gripped Liam’s arm, threatening a Chinese-burn.
“Don’t,” Liam said, wildly shaking his head.
“Get on with it, “Will said, “and stop saying ‘you know’ all of the time.”
“Okay,” Liam said. “What if this transition is a plan to turn all of us into aliens, just like her?”
But Mrs Palmer just looked like an alien, right?
“Think about it,” Liam said, which sounded strange coming from him because he was often the last one to think about anything. “No one saw John leave school. He could still be there, locked away somewhere.”
“Should we go back to check it out?” I asked.
“Be realistic. It’ll all be locked up by now, anyway,” Will said. “Plus Cameroon are playing Romania. We’ve already missed half of it.”
I suppose a hero knows when to call time on a search.
We got home and Will and I played rock-scissors-paper to decide who was making everyone drinks. I went with paper, because Will is usually rock, but he’d changed to paper. I changed to rock, thinking he’d go for scissors, but he went for paper again. He never usually played the same way twice. He took Andy and Liam upstairs to watch the match and left me at the sink. I poured cordial in the bottom of each glass, and just after I topped up the third one with water, I heard a shout from upstairs, “Quick, Tom!” I filled the last glass, put them all on a tray and hurried up the stairs. One of the glasses tipped over, but most of the liquid remained on the tray, with only a trickle of blackcurrant juice landing on the carpet. As I got into the bedroom they were crowded around the TV.
“You missed it,” Liam said. “Cameroon scored and he did a dance at the corner flag.”
“Who did?”
“The Cameroon player.”
“What’s the score?”
“One – nil.”
Cameroon were coming forward again and looked like they were going to score. I had to sort out the spilled juice. I kept imagining the sound of the front door going and Dad coming in and seeing the juice. Even though we’d seen him on his tractor when we came in, and he was miles away, it was as if he could travel great distances in an instant to catch me out.
I was about to go to the bathroom to get some toilet paper to mop up my spill when Cameroon raced forward again, and Roger Milla scored. This time I got to see his little dance in the corner flag.
I was smiling the whole time I scrubbed at the stairs carpet. Luckily, I’d made the juice weak and with a bit of soap scrubbed in there it couldn’t be seen at all. There were a few bits of torn tissue stuck to it, but they were the same colour, at least. A purple stain would have been much more noticeable. It didn’t take long either and I was back in the bedroom when there were only two minutes left and Romania scored to make it 2-1 to Cameroon. Suddenly, we were interested, cheering on Cameroon, hoping they could stop Romania from scoring another goal to equalise the game. As soon as it was over, I got out my sticker album. We looked at the Cameroon page. They were another one of those teams that had two players per sticker, as if no one expected them to be of any interest. I had all of the players and was only missing the shiny Cameroon badge sticker and the team sticker. But Roger Milla wasn’t in there, and we figured that made him in some way special, because the Panini didn’t even know who he was, but he’d scored two goals at the World Cup finals, and if that didn’t prove that magical things could happen, then nothing would.
“Boy!” Dad shouted from downstairs.
Will was already down there. He’d gone to fetch drinks, and I had been wondering why he hadn’t returned.
I started down the stairs, each step making me wonder what it was I’d done. Maybe Will had dobbed me in for something, but nothing came to mind. I looked at the spot where I’d spilt the juice, but there was no sign of anything. He couldn’t know.<
br />
“Come on, boy!” he called again. “Your Uncle Rodney’s here.”
I stuttered down the stairs. Each footstep felt heavy. I could already feel my nostrils being invaded by his alcohol stink.
I pushed open the door to see him leaning forward on his chair, his backside barely touching it. His fingers were spread out and his whole hands jerked up and down as he finished telling his story, “So there I was, trousers around my ankles, and he says to me, ‘No! I said show me you’re willing!’ Of course, I got out of there as soon as I could.”
Dad was laughing like I’d never seen him, his cheeks looking like they were going to burst, and a huge smile spread all across his face.
I looked at Will, and he appeared as confused as I was.
Uncle Rodney turned to look at me. His top lip had a scattering of grey whiskers and his eyes were half closed.
“Thomas, my dear boy!” he said, and opened his arms to welcome me.
I looked over to Dad, to see if he was watching me. He wasn’t, but if I hesitated too long, he’d soon notice. I walked over to Uncle Rodney.
Dad then looked at us and said, “You’re Uncle Rodney knows someone that’s giving away some chickens, so we’ll have the coop back up and running in no time.”
I thought back to the disgusting scene of the morning. I couldn’t imagine ever opening the coop again without seeing the dismembered corpses. I was so caught up in that grim vision that I didn’t notice Uncle Rodney move to slap me on the back in what he probably thought was a friendly way, but for me it was like being swatted by a mighty ogre; Rodney had enormous hands that looked comical at the end of his long, thin arms. I couldn’t help but jerk forward, my hip crashing into the table. Teacups rippled before sloshing over the side and onto the tablecloth.
“You daft boy,” Dad said. “Look what you’ve done.”
“You always were a little unstable of foot,” laughed Rodney as I went to grab a tea towel to mop up the spillages.
I was a little unstable of foot? He was one the one who fell of the stage every single year at the Mosswick Amateur Dramatic Society’s summer performance. I never did find out what became of Macbeth as he crashed headfirst off the stage and had to be rushed to hospital for stitches. If he wasn’t the originator and chairman of the MADS society no one would ever have cast him. I’m sure people only turned up to his shows because they were sure that he was going to make a fool of himself.
Will was narrowing his eyes at me from the table, where he sat next to Uncle Rodney. He was slurping a can of Coke through a straw. It had weird letters on it, like an O with a cross through it. Where’d he get that from?
“Would you like a drink, my boy?” said Rodney.
I looked down at the blue and white striped carrier bag by his feet and tried to glance inside. It bulged with colour. Uncle Rodney reached his hand inside and plucked out a can of Coke. It has the same strange lettering. He pulled the ring-pull off for me, and then handed me the can. As I was about to raise it to by lips, he put a finger on them to stop me. His finger tasted fusty. With his other hand he reached into his coat pocket and grabbed a straw from who knows where. He was a bit like a clown, or a magician pulling a string of hankies from his pocket, only these hankies would be a little bit dirty and tainted. The straw was a discoloured red. He dropped it into the can and it nearly bobbed back out again until I pushed it down with my fingers.
“Sit down, my boy,” said Rodney.
I looked across the table to the seat by Dad, but as I was about to move over there, I felt hands on my hips. Rodney picked me up, as if I weighed nothing at all, and plonked me down onto him right leg.
Rodney’s strength was always a surprise to everybody, because he wasn’t big, as such. Yes, he was the tallest man I’d ever seen, but he was thin with it, and his hair, a dyed-brown-with-a-hint-of-red tangle of wiry curls, only helped further the clown look.
“No need to go all the way round there when there’s a perfectly good seat here!” he said, and then he continued his conversation with Dad about people I’d never heard of.
Uncle Rodney spoke in a strange posh voice. It was nothing like the way that Dad or Granddad spoke, He liked to tell stories, so he was quite like Granddad in that way, but Rodney’s stories were totally different; they were about the theatre and people with strange nicknames, like Bobbo, Wiggy, and Archer, that said strange things in the pub, The Merry Maidens, which was in the next village over, Great Mosswick (which was actually smaller than Little Mosswick).
Dad sat there taking it all in, nodding occasionally. He seemed to be totally fascinated by Uncle Rodney’s nonsense.
I couldn’t help but look at the way he moved his mouth when he talked, pushing out each vowel sound with his cheeks. There were some small scabs on his left cheek which caught the light every time he tipped his head back to drink his tea. He caught me looking at him and brushed at the side of his face. “Bit of a scrape with a razor blade,” he said. “Hey, why don’t you pick up the bag and see what’s inside?”
Uncle Rodney always had the oddest chocolate bars. I picked out an orange packet with a brown bear on the front. The lettering said ‘Bamse Mums’. I passed one to Will who tore off the corner with his teeth and bit straight into it.
I was more careful. I unwrapped it slowly and let the scent of the chocolate waft into my nostrils. It was shaped like a bear, and it looked a little soft, with melted chocolate clinging to the packet. Of course, it had started to melt in the kitchen. I took a bite to discover marshmallow inside. Flakes of chocolate fell from the bear, and onto Rodney’s right trouser leg.
He looked down, and brushed the flakes away, but only succeeded in smearing the melted chocolate into his trousers, and then he let his hand come to a rest on my leg and gave it a squeeze.
I looked over at Will again. Now he was carefully stripping the chocolate away from the marshmallow at the foot of the bear. I did the same, carefully to as to ensure that no more fell onto Uncle Rodney.
“Time for your bath, boys.”
I hadn’t noticed Mum standing in the door to the kitchen. She often found herself something else to do when Rodney was around.
Will had a look of disappointment on his face, and noisily slurped what was left of his Coke, but I was happy to get away.
How could one member of the family be so different I thought? But then I looked across at Will, and Dad and saw how similar they were becoming. I looked at Rodney, who was blinking rapidly, as if he’d lost control of his eyelids, and I wondered if that was how I was destined to turn out.
Friday 15th June 1990
Liam brought the Top Trumps to school. He was obviously thinking along the same lines as I was. He looked through the pack, put a card on the top of the pile and said, “Follow me.”
It was break time. We weren’t supposed to go into school at break unless we were going into the library, going to the toilet, or if we had a detention.
“Where are we going?” I said.
“You’ll see.”
We walked past the entrance to the library. Liam peered into the classrooms on the way. We walked past the first set of toilets. As we went by Mr Jenkins office (the one with the CARETAKER sign on the door) Liam peered in. He was in there gazing into a box and whistling something unrecognisable.
“Look at this card,” Liam said in a whisper.
It was Ape Man.
“Hello Mr Jenkins,” Liam said, causing the caretaker to turn around.
“You boys shouldn’t be in here at break,” he said then turned back to whatever he was doing.
It was lucky that he did turn because I could barely contain my laughter. They were practically the same person. Same big beard. Same eyebrows. Admittedly Mr Jenkins didn’t have a massive club, or wear fur, but maybe his caretaker outfit was a disguise. He was certainly strong; we’d seen him carrying all sorts of things around the playground. And maybe that was why we didn’t recognise any of the songs he whistled, because they were all so ol
d, they came from the Stone Age.
We hurried back outside, lucky to avoid any teachers who would have told us off for being in at break.
“So, what do you think?” Liam said.
“He looks just like him,” I said. “Mr Jenkins is the Ape Man!”
“But what do you think of him… as a suspect!” Liam’s eyes were huge.
Could the Ape Man have taken John? “We better tell Will,” I said.
Will was playing football. It looked like everyone wanted to be Cameroon again. We didn’t have to wait long to see a goal, followed by a Roger Milla impression. When the bell went, we waited for Will to leave the pitch.
Liam held out the Ape Man card. “Who does that look like?”
Will shrugged.
“Mr Jenkins the caretaker,” Liam said, nodding his head.
Will laughed and grabbed the card.
“Oi, Chris.” He showed him the card. “Mr Jenkins.”
Chris laughed and called over some other boys and shared the joke. One boy started making monkey noises.
Liam grabbed Will’s arm and pulled him closer to whisper to him. Liam was rubbish at whispering. He was too loud, and he always breathed heavily into your ear, and his breath always felt hot and made your face clammy.
“What if Mr Jenkins has John?”
“Because he looks like the Ape Man you think he might be involved?”
“He’s a suspect, right?”
“Give me the cards.” Will held out his hand.
Liam sighed and gave Will the cards.
Dead Branches Page 5