by Rob Stevens
‘What time will you be finished?’ I asked.
Dad glanced at his watch again. ‘About three I guess. Why?’
I felt my heart sink. ‘Oh – no reason. I was really hoping we could do something later.’
‘Such as?’
I didn’t want to mention the rugby. It was something we always did with Lenny and I didn’t want to scare off my dad. It would be much better to break it to everyone later – when we were all together. I shrugged. ‘Dunno really.’
‘OK – well, when I get home maybe we can do something then. How’s that?’
I smiled.
Picking up his golf shoes, my dad opened the door and paused, turning back.
‘What did you get up to yesterday?’
‘Nothing.’ Too defensive. ‘I mean, nothing in particular.’
‘As long as you didn’t get into any mischief?’
‘Oh, you know me. Just a handful of misdemeanours and the odd felony.’
‘That’s my boy.’
When he closed the door I felt a deep sense of longing. I yearned for the time Lenny, Dad and I used to spend together. I missed the easy conversations we used to have. It would be so cool to be able to talk to him without worrying that we might end up talking about Lenny.
‘Who were you talking to?’ Arnold asked from the lounge.
‘Dad. He’s gone to play golf – he won’t be back in time for the rugby.’ I sat down with a sigh. ‘I guess that scuppers our plan to watch the match later.’
‘Not necessarily,’ said Arnold with a devious smile. ‘Which golf club does he belong to?’
‘The Park, why?’
Arnold tapped on his phone for a few moments then held it to his ear. ‘Oh good morning,’ he said at last, putting on a gruff voice. ‘Is that The Park Golf Club? It’s Mr Copeman speaking. I’m really sorry but I’m going have to cancel my tee-off time today …’
‘I can’t believe you did that!’ I said when Arnold came off the phone.
‘I’d never given a false name before we met, now I can’t stop myself,’ he laughed. Then, glancing at his watch, he said, ‘It’s ten-thirty. I’d better call the ticket office.’
I felt suddenly sick with nerves. I couldn’t stand to watch Arnold make the call so I took our bowls out to the kitchen. When he’d finished I went back into the lounge, dreading the outcome of his conversation.
‘Have they got the tickets?’ I said, eagerly.
‘Sold out,’ he said, shaking his head gravely.
‘No way.’ I dropped onto the sofa. I knew it was just a rugby game and we’d only hatched the plan to go the day before. But it had become more important than that. It was a chance to remember Lenny. And it was a chance for a fresh start.
I felt drained.
Then Arnold clapped and did jazz hands and burst out laughing and I realised he’d been winding me up and I laughed too.
‘So we have got tickets then?’
Arnold couldn’t answer me for ages because he was braying so hard. For a while this was pretty funny but then I just wanted a straight answer and he was still laughing.
‘I’m getting annoyed now,’ I said sternly. ‘Have we got tickets or not?’
Arnold wiped a tear from his plump cheek and nodded. ‘We just need to pick them up later,’ he wheezed. ‘The lady I spoke to normally works in the hospitality suite on match days but she’ll meet us in the club shop at two o’clock.’
‘That’s amazing,’ I said. ‘We can collect the tickets at two then meet my family in the Square at half past. I’ve already arranged to meet my sister and now my dad’s going to be available so I can call him later and ask him to meet me there. All I have to do now is find a way of getting my mum there.’
I felt strangely excited about the prospect of getting everyone together to watch the match. To remember Lenny and the amazing day we had at the match last year. To acknowledge how much we missed him – but also to begin again as a family. Just the four of us.
It was pretty sunny and we had some time to kill so Arnold and I decided to head down to the beach. I lent him my bike and I took Lenny’s old one. He cycled like a madman, weaving round pedestrians on the pavement and swerving on and off the road. I rode along steadily, shouting at Arnold to be careful. It seemed like the more I told him to watch out, the more crazy he got so in the end I shut up and let him get on with it.
I followed Arnold down to the pier, then I sped ahead of him when we were away from the roads, along the cliff top for a few miles. At last I slowed down and came to a stop, sweating and panting. Arnold yanked on his brakes and his back wheel jerked sideways, skittering tiny stones across the Tarmac path.
‘What are we doing?’ he asked.
‘Going down there.’ I nodded to the small rocky cove about thirty metres below us. A narrow crescent of yellow sand was squeezed between the crystal blue sea and the rusty cliff face. ‘Lenny and I used to come here and pretend we were smugglers. There’s a wicked cave in the rocks.’
As I spoke I felt my voice wobble. I realised I hadn’t been to ‘Smugglers’ Cove’ (as we used to call it) since Lenny died. We’d always treated it as our own secret beach but something had made me want to share it with Arnold that morning.
‘Great.’ Arnold grinned and let my bike fall into a gorse bush. Maybe that was why I’d wanted to bring him. Anyone else I knew would have been all sensitive about Lenny’s memory – tiptoeing respectfully around my feelings. But I was tired of feeling sad every time I remembered my brother.
As I rested Lenny’s bike on top of mine, my mobile rang. It was my mum.
‘Leon? Is everything all right?’
‘Hi, Mum. Yeah everything’s fine.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Just out on my bike.’
‘Not on the roads?’
‘No, Mum – on the pavement.’
‘I hope you’re being careful crossing roads.’
‘I always am.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Nowhere really.’
There was a pause then my mum said, ‘Are you wearing your helmet?’
‘Of course.’
‘What time will you be home?’
I glanced at my watch. ‘In a couple of hours or so.’
‘I’m not sure you should—’
‘Mum,’ I said sternly. ‘I’m not a baby. I’ll look after myself.’
‘I’ll call you in a while.’
‘OK. Mum?’
‘Yes?’
‘Can you do me a really big favour?’
‘What is it?’
‘Can you meet me in the Square at two-thirty?’
‘What for?’
‘Can you?’ There was silence on the line. My heart was willing my mum to understand – to sense how important this was for me.
‘I can’t, Leon. I have a meeting with Councillor Thomas at two-thirty. I want to talk to him about lowering the speed limit outside St John’s school.’
‘It’s really important, Mum.’
‘More important than the safety and wellbeing of three hundred primary school kids?’
I breathed out and shook my head wearily. ‘Never mind. See you later then.’
I slipped my phone into my pocket, unclipped my helmet and hung it on the handlebars of Lenny’s bike. I could feel my eyes filling up. Anger and frustration welled up inside me and I sprinted past Arnold towards the zigzag pathway worn down the steep slope. ‘Race you to the bottom!’ I called over my shoulder.
‘Wait!’ I heard Arnold cry as I hurdled a stray bramble. I didn’t stop to explain and he chased me down the slope. I could tell he was gaining on me by his panting breath and flapping shoe getting louder. As I slowed to go round each hairpin bend in the path I felt him close in on me so that he was almost within touching distance.
The last fifty metres was a straight line down a steep bank onto the sand. Arnold and I sprinted down the final stretch for all we were worth, first me then him edging slightly ahead. As we
reached the beach we both collapsed onto the soft sand, laughing and breathlessly claiming victory.
‘I won,’ Arnold laughed.
‘No way.’ I’d got rid of some of my frustration. ‘I won. But I think you’re getting faster.’
We argued for a little while longer then fell silent and stared up at the wide blue sky, our chests heaving. The air smelled of salt and seaweed. I thought of holidays by the sea. Ice cream and sandcastles and Lenny and me in matching trunks.
After a while Arnold turned his head to look at me. ‘Did you always come here with Lenny?’
I turned to meet his gaze. Nodded.
‘Did you two do everything together?’
I nodded again. ‘We went to school together every day. We had the same lessons together and we played together at lunchtime. We spent our weekends together and we did all the same clubs. Even played in the school rugby team together.’
‘You must miss him a lot.’
I felt a lump grow in my throat and I swallowed hard. ‘Yup.’ I tried to smile. ‘A lot.’ I thought about stuff for a while then said, ‘I think I miss him even more because now I’m not allowed to do any of the things we used to do together.’
‘Like rugby?’
‘Rugby, football, you name it.’
‘What about tennis?’
‘Are you kidding? According to my mum a whack on the head from a tennis ball could easily kill me.’
‘So what can you play – tiddlywinks?’
‘Now you’re just talking crazy!’ I laughed. ‘One of those flying counters could have my eye out. Not to mention the potential choking hazard.’ I clapped and did apathetic jazz hands to show I was joking. But only just.
Arnold sighed heavily. ‘Must be weird – missing your brother and missing out on playing with your mates. You must feel lonely.’
His last word touched something inside me and I turned my face away from his, blinking. I felt a tear spill out of the corner of my eye and roll back, down the side of my head into my ear.
‘You’re crying.’
‘I’m not.’
‘It’s OK to cry. My mum never does. If she did then I might have known how sad she was. I don’t know why people always hide how they feel – pretending they’re happy when they’re not, or pretending something’s not funny when it is. Life would be much simpler if everyone cried when they are sad, screamed when they are angry and laughed when they are happy.’
‘Like you do,’ I said, turning to face Arnold again.
He nodded. ‘I can’t help saying what’s on my mind. I know people think I’m weird, but I can’t help it. I can tell people are thinking, “This is a bit awkward, Arnold” but I don’t have that mental filter most people have. If something pops into my mind it comes out of my mouth a second later.’
‘I like your honesty. I mean it was a bit of a shock at first but now I’m used to it, it’s cool. It must get you into trouble sometimes though?’
‘Teachers and other grown-ups are always telling me I have behavioural problems just because I say what I think. There is always someone trying to label me with this syndrome or that disorder. Mum is only one who understands me. She just used to tell me never to change – that she loved me just as I was.’
‘I envy you,’ I said. ‘There’s a lot of things I wish I could say.’
‘Just say them. What’s the worst that can happen?’
I thought about that for a moment. Maybe Arnold was right.
‘So where’s this cave then?’ Arnold asked.
I nodded at the low headland protruding from the rocky cliff at the far end of the moon-shaped beach. ‘Just round those rocks. It’s quite a low entrance but it opens out into a massive cavern. You have to be careful though – when the tide starts to come in it cuts the cave off in a jiffy.’
‘Why do you call it Smugglers’ Cove?’
I smiled. ‘Lenny and I used to play pirates in there. One time he discovered some smooth pebbles at the back of the cave. They’re hidden away under a low overhang of rock, like a cluster of bronze and gold ingots.’
‘So you pretended they were hidden treasure?’
‘You say that like it’s really lame,’ I said defensively.
Arnold shrugged. ‘I haven’t played pirates since I was about seven, that’s all.’
‘Yeah, well maybe if you’d had a twin brother you would have done.’
Arnold frowned and shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
Annoyed by Arnold’s reaction, I flopped back on the sand and closed my eyes. I used to do this when Lenny and I had disagreed. I don’t mean I always flopped back onto the sand because there wasn’t always sand around when we disagreed. I mean I used to sulk. Eventually Lenny would come over and try and cheer me up – make silly faces or come up with a stupid game to play. I thought of him suggesting we play chase the morning he was killed and a feeling of utter despair washed over me. If only I hadn’t been in such a grumpy mood that day.
The thing about grief was that I never knew when it was going to strike. Most of the time it just left a black cloud over everything so that even the brightest day felt wintry. But sometimes, often without warning, the sadness would grab me, squeezing me so tight I could hardly breathe and wringing every drop of energy out of me.
That’s what happened when I thought about Lenny trying to cheer me up on the way to school just before the accident. Lying on the sand, I felt suddenly exhausted. I felt my cheeks glowing in the hot sun and my mind drifted lazily.
‘My mum can’t come to the match,’ I announced at last.
‘Why not?’
I sat up and combed a hand through the sand. ‘She’s meeting some councillor dude to talk about road safety.’
Arnold’s eyes lit up. ‘I could call pretending to be the councillor and cancel their meeting. Like I did with your dad’s golf?’
I thought about this then shook my head. ‘That won’t work for a couple of reasons. Firstly I think she has this guy’s number in her phone so your mobile number will look suspicious. And secondly he’s got this really raspy cockney voice – like some old alchie that smokes forty a day. I met him once when he came round our house.’
‘Oh right,’ Arnold replied. ‘So we need to persuade someone else to call your mum. Some old cockney with a hoarse voice and preferably their own landline. Who could we ask?’
I felt a big smile spread across my face. ‘I’ve got it!’ I said.
‘Me too!’ Arnold clapped.
‘Are you thinking who I’m thinking?’
‘Yup.’ Arnold grinned and nodded. ‘Jason Statham.’
‘Jason Statham the Hollywood actor?’
‘Uh-huh. He’s cockney, isn’t he?’
‘Sure,’ I said and Arnold beamed proudly. I continued, ‘I’m just not sure we’ll be able to get in touch with a world-famous film star and persuade him to ring my mum and pretend to be Councillor Thomas.’
‘Good point.’ Arnold grimaced. ‘Who were you thinking of?’
I smiled. ‘Mr Cheeseman.’
‘Oh, hello,’ said Mr Cheeseman – his voice sounding even more croaky than normal. ‘Is that Mrs Copeman? It’s Councillor Thomas speaking.’
Mr Cheeseman was standing under the canopy of the payphone next to the bus depot. He was clutching the big plastic receiver to his ear and studying his feet, head bowed.
It had taken us a while to persuade him to make the call. His main objection was that it was an offence to impersonate a town councillor. Nor was he comfortable with the idea of lying to my mum – especially as she had been so kind in preparing her chicken fricassee for him. As usual, I hadn’t corrected him on what he’d actually had to eat but his addled memory was a real worry. Instead I had pleaded with him to make the phone call.
‘I’m just not sure I’m comfortable with pulling the wool over your old dear’s eyes like that,’ he had said, shaking his head.
‘There won’t be any wool,’ Arnold had insisted, unnecessarily.
‘Please, Mr Cheeseman. It’s just a quick phone call. Leon’s trying to get his family together. His parents hardly ever see each other and when they do they barely speak. They never spend any time as a family – it’s like they’re all avoiding any mention of the fact that Lenny’s gone.’
‘Is that so?’ Mr Cheeseman had asked me.
I’d nodded. ‘Nobody mentions him. I want to talk about him but I don’t want to upset everyone else by bringing up his name. The only thing is we’re all trying so hard not to talk about Lenny that we don’t talk about anything. Mum and Dad seem more distant than ever and Olivia’s leaving home soon. If I don’t do something now, I’m scared the whole family will fall apart. Arnold has managed to blag some tickets for the rugby match today. Lenny loved rugby and I want us all to go to the match. To remember him – and to start spending time together again.’
‘Well, we can’t risk your family going through any more heartache, can we, sonny?’ Mr Cheeseman had winked a rheumy eye. ‘Come on then – let’s have your mum’s number. We haven’t got all day.’
Arnold and I watched Mr Cheeseman in silence, trying to gauge from his expression whether my mum believed he was Councillor Thomas.
‘Do I?’ he said, turning and pulling a face at us. ‘Well, I’ve got this terrible cold at the moment. It’s been a right pain.’
Cupping his hand over the mouthpiece, he whispered to me, ‘She says I sound much more croaky than normal.’ Then he continued, into the phone. ‘What’s that?’ Glaring at me he started talking in an exaggerated Welsh accent. ‘Well, you see, my Welshness comes and goes – isn’t it? I’ve been spending a lot of time in London recently so I suppose I may have picked up some estuary English along the way.’
Mr Cheeseman listened, nodding.
‘Well, this is it. I mustn’t let my Welsh accent diminish too much or people will start to think I’m a fraud!’ He laughed nervously. ‘Anyway, the reason for my call is that I was wondering if we might change the venue of our meeting later? If possible I was hoping you would meet me in the Square this afternoon – at two-thirty?… I shall look forward to it as well. There’s lovely. Bye for now.’
Mr Cheeseman hung up with a sigh. ‘It’s a good job I’ve got some experience of working undercover, I can tell you that for nothing.’