Not Thomas

by Sara Gethin

  ‘How many chances have I given you?’ the man with the loud voice says. There’s another big crash.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ the voice like Brick’s voice says. ‘Please. Please.’

  ‘You’re running out of luck. And I’ve heard you’re doing favours for Saint now. Didn’t think you could run off to Glasgow without me knowing, did you Brick?’

  ‘That’s wha’ I mean,’ the voice like Brick’s says. ‘I can get you your money. Saint’ll be payin’ me.’

  ‘No, he won’t. It went wrong, didn’t it?’ The man’s laughing. He’s calling Brick a lot of rude names. ‘Amateur. Take an addict with you and it’s bound to go wrong. You should have left your whore at home. She’s like my friend here – can’t resist pulling a knife.’

  Brick says, ‘I couldn’t leave her behind, though, cos—’

  ‘Because you couldn’t bear to be away from her.’ The man’s laughing again.

  ‘No, cos of something Saint’s given me,’ Brick says. ‘Look, you’ll ’ave your money. Saint owes me. You’ll ’ave all your money when he’s paid me.’

  The quiet voice is saying something. I’m listening and listening. But I can’t hear his words. The block under my head is making my bump bang. Brick told me not to move it. But I want to move the block. It’s hard to listen with my bump banging. And I want to listen. I want to listen a lot.

  The quiet voice is still talking.

  ‘Yeah,’ the man with the big voice says. ‘I think we should. If we don’t do him, Saint will. And why should he have all the fun?’

  There’s another sound now. I’m trying hard to hear it. I’m listening and listening. And listening and listening. I think the sound is Brick. I think he’s crying. ‘No wait,’ he says. His voice is very strange. ‘I’ve got some of Saint’s stuff. From his last trip to Glasgow. He thought ’ee was being watched, so ’ee gave it to me to keep. That’s why I had to take Ree with me. She might ’ave found it in ’er room.’

  ‘You’re lying. Why would Saint trust you?’

  ‘We go way back,’ Brick says. ‘He’s like my brawd.’

  ‘Your what?’ the man says.

  ‘Like my brother,’ Brick says. His voice is still strange. ‘It’s worth loads.’

  ‘And he’d trust you with that?’ The man’s laughing. ‘No way. Even Saint’s got more sense than that.’

  Brick says, ‘I can get it for you…’

  There’s a lot of banging again. ‘I told you not to move.’

  ‘Okay, okay.’ Brick’s voice is tiny now. It’s hard to hear. ‘I’ll tell you where it is, then. Jus’ put the knife away.’

  ‘I can’t trust you anymore,’ the man says. ‘You’re just a waste of space.’

  ‘No.’ Brick’s crying and crying. ‘Please, please. It’s worth ten times what I owe you. It’s in the kid’s room. In ’is bed. Go get it. Just take it. Take it all.’

  My head is banging and banging and banging and banging. I’m trying to listen very hard. But my head is banging too much. The block’s making it bang.

  ‘I’ll take a look,’ the big voice says. ‘You stay here, and keep our friend entertained.’

  I can hear someone moving. I think I can hear someone on the landing. It’s very hard to hear. The banging’s too loud. It’s too loud in my head. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. The block is hurting my head. Brick said not to move it. But I have to move it. It’s making my head bang too much.

  I’m moving it. I’m moving it fast. I’m pushing it down. Right down to the bottom of my bed. I’m pushing it with my feet. All the way down to the bottom of my bed. It’s under the towels. And trousers. And tee shirts. And I’m trying not to make the bed squeak.

  I’m pulling my feet up again. I’m pulling them up fast fast.

  And now I am very still.

  I can hear the man. I can hear his shoes. They’re rubbing on the carpet on the landing. I can hear him breathing. My ear can hear the man coming into my room.

  I am very quiet up in my bed. I’m very very quiet. I am as quiet as little Lord Jesus. No crying I make. I’m trying not to need the toilet. And I am very small. I’m curled up tiny. I’m curled up round my truck. And I’m holding my fifty pence. And Nanno’s letter. I’m holding them tight. I’m right up by the wall. I am tiny tiny. I am under the clothes. I’m squashed into a tiny tiny corner. I’m under the jumpers. And the tee shirts. And the towels. And the trousers. I am nearly not here at all.

  There’s a blue light in my room again. I can see it through the clothes. I can see the light moving round my room.

  I can hear the man’s shoes on my ladder. I can feel my bed moving. I am not breathing. And I’m trying to make my heart quiet. It’s banging a lot. It’s banging in my tummy. And in my neck. And in my head. The bump on my head is banging too. All the banging is very loud. I don’t want the man to hear it. I don’t want him to find me. I am tiny. I’m so tiny I’m not here. I’m not here at all.

  ‘This stinks,’ the man says. His voice is very loud. He’s on my ladder. I can see his blue light. It’s shining onto my bed. ‘Stinks.’ He’s saying lots of rude words. He’s picking up the clothes. He’s picking up Mammy’s trousers. And her jumpers. He’s picking up the towels. And Brick’s dirty clothes. The bed’s shaking. And squeaking. And shaking. And squeaking.

  He’s bending over. He’s putting his hand on the towels. And on the trousers. And the tee shirts. He’s putting his hand on my foot. It’s hiding under them. He’s pushing down on the clothes. And he’s pushing down on my foot too. Because my foot is hiding under them. I can feel something hard pushing my foot. It’s hard and flat. It’s shining a blue light into the clothes. It’s hurting my foot a lot. And he’s pushing down very hard. The bed is shaking and shaking. But I’m staying very still. Very very very still. I’m not telling him he’s hurting my foot. I’m not making a sound. I am little Lord Jesus. Away in a manger. And I’m not breathing. I’m not breathing at all. And I’m not wetting the bed.

  The man’s picking up the clothes. He’s doing it with one hand. And he’s pushing down hard on my foot with his other hand. He’s picking up jumpers. And Mammy’s trousers. He’s picking them up fast. And he’s throwing them down again. He’s throwing them back down onto the bed. They’re landing on top of me. They’re making a big pile. Right on top of me. I’m not breathing. I am not breathing. I’m holding my truck and my coin. I’m holding my letter from Nanno. I’m holding them tight. I am little Lord Jesus. No crying I make.

  ‘Ow,’ the man says. ‘What the…?’ He’s taking his hand off my foot. My foot is hurting a lot. It’s hurting and tickling at the same time. My foot’s telling me to wiggle my toes. It’s telling me and telling me. But I’m not moving. I’m not wiggling my toes. I’m not listening to my foot. I am staying still. I’m staying very very still. I am little Lord Jesus. I am little Lord Jesus.

  He’s shining his blue light on something. It’s my jar of jam. It’s at the bottom of my bed. He’s saying a lot of rude words. He’s sucking his finger. I can see him a bit. I can see him through Mammy’s jumper. It’s the man that hurt Mammy. The man with the web tattoo. ‘Argh,’ he’s shouting. He’s shouting it like a monster. ‘Argh!’ He’s throwing and throwing the clothes now. The bed’s shaking and shaking and he’s shouting and shouting.

  I don’t like the man that hurt Mammy. I’m trying not to see him. I’m trying not to see his tattoo. I’m closing my eyes tight. And I’m tiny tiny tiny. I’m holding my truck. And my coin. And my letter. But I wish I had Cwtchy. I wish I had Dat.

  ‘Yes,’ the man says. He’s not shouting now. ‘Got it.’ I’m opening my eyes. I’m opening them a tiny bit. He’s holding up the block. The block that Brick gave me. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Yes.’ He’s going back down the ladder. He’s going out of my room. I can hear him on the landing. I can hear him going into Mammy’s room again. My foot is hurting. The foot he pressed down on. It’s hurting and hurting. But I’m not moving. I’m not moving at all.

  ‘T
hought some broken glass would stop me finding it, did you, Brick?’ He’s laughing. ‘But surprise, surprise, Saint did trust you, after all. He won’t anymore though. Not now you’ve given me this.’

  ‘I didn’ give it,’ Brick says. ‘You forced me. You ’ad a knife to my neck.’

  ‘And you’re going to tell Saint that, are you?’ The man’s voice is cross. ‘You’re going to tell him I threatened you and I took his stuff?’

  ‘No, no. I won’ tell ’im.’ Brick’s saying it fast. ‘I won’ tell Saint it was you, I promise. I swear on my mother’s life.’

  ‘See, Brick, this is the trouble with you – one minute you’re talking about threats and knives, and the next you’re promising not to mention them. You’re a problem because you’re so stupid. Saint trusts you, but I don’t. We’ll have to get rid of you.’

  I can hear Brick crying. He’s saying, ‘No, no please.’

  ‘Sorry, Brick. You know how it is.’

  ‘Please, please,’ Brick says. ‘Please, I’ll do anything.’

  ‘Go on, Psycho,’ the man says. ‘Do it slow. Enjoy.’

  I’m not breathing. I am very still. And I’m listening and listening.

  There’s a horrible noise. It’s like crying. And screaming. Crying. And screaming. It’s horrible. Horrible. It’s changing now. It’s changing into a noise like Dat makes. Like he makes after he’s brushed his teeth. Nanno calls it gargling. The noise is like Dat gargling. But it’s not funny. It’s not funny at all. Not like Dat’s gargling. I’m keeping my head under the clothes. I’m pulling the clothes tight over my ears. I’m trying to stop the noise. I’m trying to stop it getting into my ears. It’s horrible. Horrible. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear it anymore. I don’t want to hear the horrible noise. Go away. Go away horrible noise. Go away. Go away.

  ‘Finish him with this.’ The loud voice is saying it.

  There’s another noise now. A bumping noise. It’s coming from Mammy’s bedroom. But my bump is banging and banging. And I’m not listening to the noise in Mammy’s room. I’m listening to my bump banging. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. I’m not listening to the horrible noises. I’m listening and listening to my bump. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

  And I am trying and trying not to wet the bed.

  The horrible noises have stopped. I’m moving the clothes. I’m moving them from my ear. It’s listening very hard. I can hear the men out on the landing. I can hear them talking again. I’m listening and listening to hear them. The men are saying rude things. They’re calling Brick rude names. They are outside my bedroom. I am waiting and waiting for them to go away. I am waiting and waiting.

  They are going down the stairs. They’re in the front room. I can hear them going out of the door. They’re closing it with a bang. I can hear them going down the path. I can hear their car engine. It’s like a racing car. It’s racing and racing down the road. I’m listening to it going away. I’m listening and listening. And listening and listening.

  It’s gone.

  It’s very quiet now. I can’t hear Brick. I am still listening and listening. And listening and listening. I have been listening for a very long time. And I need the toilet. ‘Brick?’ I say. I’m saying it quietly. ‘Brick? Can I come down now?’ I’m listening and listening. I can’t hear anything. ‘Brick?’ I’m trying to make my voice loud. ‘Can I come down now?’

  Brick isn’t answering. It’s very quiet. I’m moving a bit. I’m moving slow slow. I’m creeping out of bed. I’m creeping down my ladder. My ladder’s hurting my foot. The foot the man pressed down on. My magazines are all over the carpet. My feet are finding them. I can feel the pages bending. But I am not picking them up. I’m creeping to the bathroom. I’m creeping in the dark. I’m creeping as fast as I can. There are things all over the floor in the bathroom. I can feel them with my toes. In the dark. I’m trying not to step on them. And I’m weeing fast fast. I’m weeing as fast as I can. And I’m trying to make my wee quiet.

  I’m going back to the landing. Mammy’s door is nearly closed. There’s a little gap. A little gap I can see through. I’m looking through it. I’m looking into Mammy’s room. The light is shining in from outside. And there’s something on the floor.

  I’m closing the door tight. And I’m running back to bed. I’m running fast fast fast. My feet are slip sliding on my magazines. And my head is bang bang banging. And my foot is hurting too. I’m climbing up my ladder. I’m pulling the clothes all round. I’m pulling them all over me. I’m grabbing my truck. And my fifty pence. And I’m grabbing Nanno’s letter. I wish I had Cwtchy. I wish I had Dat. I’m making myself tiny again. Tiny tiny. And I’m trying to breathe. I’m trying to breathe. And breathe. It’s very hard. My foot is hurting. The foot the man pushed down on. And my finger is hurting too. The finger Brick stepped on. And my neck is hurting. Because Brick grabbed it. And the bump on my head is banging. It’s banging and banging and banging.

  And it’s hard to breathe. Very. Very. Hard. And my eyes don’t want to stay open. I wish I had Dat. I wish I had Dat. My eyes don’t want to stay open at all. And it’s very very hard to breathe. I want Dat to come and help me quick quick. Because it’s hard to breathe. And I can’t make my eyes stay open. And they can’t watch for Mammy. They can’t watch for her to come home.

  They can’t watch for her anymore.

  Not Remembering

  There’s a sound. It’s a long long way away. Tap tap. Tap tap. I’m listening. But just a bit. Tap tap. Tap tap.

  Nanno’s in the kitchen. She’s making breakfast. She’s making a big bowl of porridge. She’s putting the kettle on. Then she’ll come and say, ‘Wake up, Tomos.’ And I’ll get up. I’ll have breakfast at the table. With Nanno and Dat. We’ll have porridge and brown sugar. And cups of tea. With lots of milk. And then Dat and me will walk to school.

  I can hear another sound. It’s a long way away.

  ‘Tomos? Tomos?’

  It’s Nanno. She’s calling me for breakfast.

  ‘Tomos? Tomos?’

  Nanno’s calling me. She wants me to wake up. She wants me to get ready for school. I’m trying to make myself wake up. I’m trying to say, ‘I’ll get up in a minute’. I’m trying to make my eyes open. I’m trying to make my voice say some words. I can’t make my eyes open. My voice won’t talk. My head hurts too much.

  I can hear Nanno. She’s calling me again. ‘Tomos!’ she’s saying. ‘Tomos!’ And I’m trying to call back to her. I’m trying to say, ‘It’s okay. I’ll get up in a minute. And Dat and me will walk to school.’ But my mouth won’t open. And my head hurts.

  And I’m remembering. I’m remembering I’m not allowed to see Dat. And I’m remembering Nanno’s in Heaven. And I’m remembering there’s something in Mammy’s room. Something I don’t want to remember. And my head is very heavy. It’s heavy with all the remembering.

  Tap tap. Tap tap.

  And my eyes are very tired. They don’t want to open. They don’t want to wake up at all.

  ‘Tomos. Tomos.’

  I am curling up. I’m pulling the tee shirts and towels all round me. I’m making myself very small. I’m trying to make myself warm.

  And I’m going back to sleep.

  * * *

  There’s a light. It’s in my bedroom. It’s the sun. It’s shining through my window. My eyes feel funny. They don’t like the sun shining in them. My side is hurting. My neck’s hurting too. And my head feels funny. I’m touching it. There’s a big bump on the back of it. A big big bump. And my hair feels funny all round it. I’m wondering how the bump got there. I’m trying and trying to remember. And I’m sitting up a bit. I need to go to the toilet. I’m sitting up slowly. I don’t want to make my bump hurt more. I’m wondering if there’s school today. I haven’t been to school for a long time. A long long time. I think the school holidays might have finished.

  I need to go to the toilet but I’m looking for the boxes first. The boxes of biscuits Miss gave me. They�
��re on my bed. Under the clothes. My hand is trying to find them. My finger hurts when I move it. I’m opening my eyes a little bit more. I’m looking at my finger. It’s purple and a bit black. It feels funny. I don’t know what hurt it. I’m trying to remember and I’m trying to find the boxes. I’ve found them now. The biscuits are all gone. Miss said it would be school again when the biscuits are all gone. I’m wriggling to the bottom of my bed and I’m smiling and smiling. I’m looking forward to going back to school and I’m looking forward to seeing Miss. She might have some sandwiches for me and they might be tuna mayo and sweetcorn and my tummy’s making a rumbly sound. I’m starting to go down my ladder.

  ‘Ow!’ I say. My foot’s hurting. It’s hurting when I put it on my ladder. I’m looking at it. There’s a big black patch on it. Right in the middle of my foot. But I need to get to the toilet fast. I’m making my foot go down my ladder. It’s hurting and hurting. My magazine pile has fallen over. My magazines are all over the floor in my bedroom. And all over the landing. I’m wondering and wondering who knocked them over. But I’m not stopping to pick them up. I need to get to the toilet. I need to get there fast. I’m trying to walk to the bathroom now. ‘Ow!’ I say. I’m hop hopping on my other foot. I need the toilet fast fast. Fast fast fast.

  I’m in the bathroom and Mammy’s things are in the sink. And all over the floor. The things I must NOT touch. I am trying not to step on them. Mammy must be home. She must have forgotten to put them away again. And she must have knocked my magazines over. I’m weeing fast fast because I want to go and see Mammy because I haven’t seen Mammy for a long long time and I’m weeing fast fast fast fast fast and now I’m running across the landing and I’m running on my bad foot and I am slip sliding on my magazines and the bump on my head is banging and I’m running to Mammy’s room but her door is closed. She must be asleep. I don’t want to wake her up. But I want to see her and I want to see her yellow hair on the pillow and I want to see her before I go to school. Because I haven’t seen her for a long long time. I’m opening the door. I’m opening it very quietly. I don’t want to wake Mammy.