Big and Clever

by Dan Tunstall

  We both freeze. It’s Raks’s mum.

  “Shit,” Raks says. “Hide the beer.”

  I start shoving the cans under the bed, while Raks gets the Google homepage back up on screen.

  There’s another knock on the door.

  “Rakesh? Thomas? Are you in there?”

  Raks clears his throat.

  “Yeah, Mum,” he calls. “What’s up?”

  Sunita pushes the door and comes into the room. She looks at me and smiles, but it’s not the same sort of smile as before. She looks slightly uneasy.

  “Tom, I’m sorry about this,” she says. “But I think your dad needs you.”

  I get a deathly sinking sensation in my stomach. I’m pretty sure I know exactly what she means. I knew Level 42 was a bad sign. All of a sudden the nice warm fuzzy feeling I was getting from the beer has gone. I follow Sunita down the stairs and into the kitchen. Nanny Patel’s not there now, but my dad is. He’s sitting on a chair in the corner, sobbing. He’s saying my mum’s name over and over again. Raks’s dad is kneeling down next to him. Uncle Arvind is standing by the hob. He looks aghast.

  “I feel really awful,” Arvind says. “I don’t know if it’s something I said to him. We seemed to be getting on really well.”

  “It’s not your fault,” I say. “He just gets like this. The drink doesn’t help. He just gets to a certain point, then it all comes crashing down. I’ll take him home.”

  Dad looks up at me. His eyes are red with tears. I try to give him a smile, reassure him, but it’s hard. I’m so embarrassed I actually feel sick. I just want the ground to swallow me up.

  Raks has come into the kitchen now.

  “Do you want me to walk back with you?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “No. I’ll be alright.” I look at Raks’s mum and dad. “Look, I’m really sorry,” I tell them.

  They both hold their hands up.

  “Don’t be silly,” Raj says. “It’s fine. No harm done. Your dad’s had a rough time of it, the last few years, since Clare died. Let me give you both a lift.”

  “No thanks Mr Patel,” I say. “The walk will do him good.” I can just imagine Dad puking in the back of the car. That would really round things off nicely.

  Raks goes into the hallway and gets our jackets. While I’m putting mine on, Arvind and Raj help Dad to his feet. Sunita gives him a kiss on his cheek and it starts him crying again.

  “Come on Dad,” I say. “We need to get off now.”

  Dad starts pulling his jacket on, mumbling apologies to everyone. Eventually he’s ready and I lead him down the hallway towards the front door.

  I look at Sunita.

  “I’m really sorry,” I tell her again.

  “Don’t worry Tom,” she says. “It’ll all be forgotten in the morning.”

  I nod.

  “Give me a bell tomorrow,” Raks says. “Or tonight if you want. And if there’s anything you need…”

  “Thanks mate.”

  Raj opens the door and we step out into the freezing night. As the door clicks shut behind us, Dad starts up the path. He catches the edge of a paving stone with his shoe and nearly falls over. He reaches out and steadies himself against me. Without really meaning to, I feel myself pulling away from him. I don’t want him to touch me.

  “I’m sorry Tom,” he says.

  Deep down, I know that this is the point where I’m supposed to pat him on the arm and tell him that everything’s alright, give him a bit of sympathy. But I just can’t. Because everything isn’t alright. This has been going on for years. And I’ve had enough of it.

  “Just shut up, Dad,” I say.

  He looks at me and I see a mixture of emotions on his face. Surprise. Guilt. Sadness. I brush past him and open the gate. Then I stride out onto the street and head for home.

  twelve

  Zoe leans forward and kisses me on the lips.

  “Happy birthday, fifteen year old,” she says.

  I smile and pull her close, squeezing her body against mine. It’s chilly at the bus stop this morning and there’s a cold wind starting to blow. It’s nice to share warmth.

  “Thanks.”

  She unzips her shoulder bag.

  “Right then.” She grins excitedly. “I want your eyes shut and your hands out in front of you.”

  I do as she says. There’s the sound of rummaging as she goes through her bag. Something flat is placed onto my palms, and then something else is put on top of it.

  “OK, I’m finished now,” she says.

  I open my eyes. In my hands there’s a card in a red envelope and a small box, just a couple of inches square, wrapped in orange paper with a black ribbon around it.

  Zoe smiles.

  “I used Letchford Town colours,” she tells me.

  I grin. I know Letchford Town aren’t really flavour of the month with her, so it’s a nice gesture.

  “Shall I do the card first?” I ask.

  “It’s up to you.”

  I put the box on the wall next to me and tear open the red envelope. It’s a Far Side card. Zoe knows I like Far Side cards. Two deer are standing in a forest. One of them has got a red target on his stomach. The caption says Bummer of a birthmark, Hal. I open the card and read what she’s written inside. Happy Birthday Tom. Loads of Love n Hugs Zoe X.

  I show the front of the card to Raks.

  “Nice one,” he says.

  I put the card in my inside jacket pocket, then I pick up my present.

  Zoe’s looking a bit embarrassed.

  “Now, if you don’t like it, Tom, I can always take it back and get you something else.”

  I reach out and touch her hand.

  “Hold on,” I say. “I’ve not even seen it yet.”

  I unwind the ribbon and start to take the orange paper off. Whatever my present is, it’s inside a small box covered in burgundy-coloured velvet.

  Raks looks at Zoe, eyes wide. He shakes his head.

  “It’s not an engagement ring is it?” he asks. “You’re not going to propose to the sad bastard are you?”

  Zoe swings a kick at him.

  “Shut up Raks,” she says, grinning.

  I flick up the lid of the velvet box. Inside, nestled on some black material, is a silver chain with a T pendant. I’m chuffed. I look at Zoe.

  “Hey,” I say. “It’s cracking.”

  She still seems a bit uncertain.

  “Are you sure?” she says, green eyes apprehensive. “I got it from one of those little shops in The Lanes, and I could tell you weren’t too impressed by The Lanes were you? You’re not just saying that you like it because you don’t want to upset me?”

  I shake my head. I take hold of her hand and kiss her.

  “Don’t be soft,” I say. “It’s cracking. I mean it.”

  “You’ll definitely wear it?”

  I nod.

  “Definitely.” I take the necklace out of the box and undo the clasp. I hand it to Zoe. “You can put it on for me.”

  She reaches round behind my head and re-fastens the clasp. I pull down the zips on my jacket and on my tracky top, so that the T pendant is next to my chest. Zoe smiles. I’ve put her mind at rest now.

  “So what did you get from your dad?” she asks, sitting up on the wall next to me.

  I shrug.

  “You know my dad. He’s not one of the world’s great present buyers. He put a hundred quid in a card.”

  Zoe wrinkles her forehead.

  “A hundred quid? Not bad. You got fifty last year didn’t you?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “It’s conscience money though. I’d have got fifty this year too, but he made a berk of himself on Saturday night round at Raks’s house. He’s trying to get himself back in the good books.”

  She looks intrigued.

  “He made a berk of himself? What did he do?”

  I sigh.

  “I don’t really want to talk about it,” I tell her. “Alcohol was involved though.”<
br />
  She nods.

  “I hope he’s alright.”

  I change the subject.

  “I got a twenty quid note from my grandparents. In a card with a bunch of lilies on the front. They signed it Best wishes from Margaret and Roger.”

  “The personal touch,” Raks says, grinning.

  “And what about Raks?” Zoe asks. “What did he get you?”

  I laugh.

  “The tight bastard just brought me six cans of beer he pinched off his dad. I’ve got them hidden under my bed.”

  Raks pretends to be offended.

  “You ungrateful sod,” he says, voice rising. “It’s good stuff that. Grolsch. Cost you six or seven quid in the shops. I’ll have it back if you don’t want it.”

  I blow him a kiss.

  “I’m only pissing around.”

  We both start laughing.

  Zoe tuts.

  “Oh,” I say. “Raks got me a card, too.”

  Raks grabs my arm.

  “Don’t show her the card, man,” he says.

  I shrug him off. Bending down, I unzip the side compartment of my bag and get the card out, holding it up for Zoe to see. Raks made it himself. Putting his new PC to good use. On the front there’s a photo-shopped picture of my head superimposed onto the body of a bloke engaged in an illegal sex act. With a farm animal.

  Zoe winces.

  “You two are sick.”

  The Letchford Grammar coach pulls up at the kerb, twenty yards down to my left. It won’t be long before the other buses arrive. Zoe brushes some fluff off her blazer. She takes a breath.

  “I thought I’d come round this evening after school,” she says. “I know you have Thurston Dynamo training on Tuesday night, but that’s not until six. If I come round about half four…”

  I close my eyes and grit my teeth.

  “I can’t make it,” I tell her. “I’m staying in town tonight after college. Letchford have got a match. Whitbourne Wanderers.” My stomach lurches. Just mentioning the game has got my adrenalin flowing.

  Zoe looks surprised.

  “What about training? You always go to training. I bet you haven’t missed a session in years.”

  I hold my hands out, palms up.

  “Dunno. One week isn’t going to hurt.”

  Zoe flicks her eyes down to the ground. She doesn’t look happy.

  “I could do tomorrow,” I tell her. It’s an attempt at damage limitation. The last few weeks have been one long rough patch and I know Zoe’s made a big effort this morning. I’m trying to do my bit.

  She shakes her head.

  “Rehearsals.”

  I nod. I can’t complain. I snubbed her and she’s snubbed me. One-all.

  She looks at me.

  “You do know the performance is next Friday night, don’t you? You have remembered, haven’t you? The date’s on the tickets. Eight o’clock in the drama studio.”

  I nod again.

  She looks up. Her bus is coming over the crossroads. She pulls her bag onto her shoulder and gets down from the wall.

  “Time to go,” she says.

  I take hold of her hands and kiss her. The whole situation feels awkward. Now would be a good time to come out with something reassuring, or better still, something funny. Something to lift the atmosphere. My mind’s a blank though.

  “Sorry about tonight,” I say. It’s the best I can manage. “But thanks for my present.”

  Zoe smiles. It looks a bit half-hearted.

  “See you Tom.” She turns and heads for the bus.

  “See you,” I call after her. But I don’t think she hears me.

  Tuesday mornings at Parkway are generally very dull. Today’s no exception. Geography with Greeny first thing, then Maths with Mr Wood. And to round things off, English with Mrs Wetherall. Usually, English is made just about bearable by the fact that Ryan’s in the class. The look on Mrs Wetherall’s face whenever he comes into the room is always good for a laugh. It’s been even better, the last couple of weeks. She just knows Ryan keyed her car, but there’s no way she can prove it. Today though, Ryan’s nowhere to be seen.

  At five past twelve, the bell rings to end morning lessons. Raks and me put our pens and pads away and head off round the curve towards the dining hall, stopping off on the way to put our bags in our lockers. We’ve beaten the rush at the canteen, and we’re straight to the front of the queue, loading up our trays with all the essentials. Chips, a hot dog, a doughnut and a can of Pepsi for me. Chips, beans, sausage and bacon, a Coke and an éclair for Raks.

  As we walk out into the hall, someone whistles. I look up and see Gary Simmons waving at us. He’s sitting with Rob and Jerome, at a table over by the noticeboards.

  We start to cut across the hall in the direction of Gary’s table. Glancing to my left, I see a big lad coming towards us. He looks familiar. Tousled hair. Spots. Army jacket. It’s the bastard who helped himself to one of my chips a few weeks back.

  I nudge Raks with my elbow.

  “Look who it is,” I say, nodding in the direction of Army Jacket Boy.

  Raks grins.

  “Wonder if he likes the look of your dinner today?” he says.

  “Dunno,” I say. “I think I’ll find out.”

  I come to a stop, out in the middle of the floor, right in Army Jacket Boy’s path, turning my tray round so that he’s got a full choice of food items to take his pick from. The thing is, he doesn’t look so keen this time. He’s seen me and he knows I’ve seen him. All of a sudden he’s changing course, eyes glued to the ground, picking up speed and heading for the foyer.

  I draw in a deep breath. I feel good. Powerful. People don’t mess with me these days. I look at Raks and raise my eyebrows.

  “Soft bastard,” he says.

  We both laugh, then we carry on across to Gary’s table, pulling out a couple of chairs and unloading our trays.

  “How you doing boys?” Gary says.

  “Not bad,” Raks says.

  Jerome nods at us both and we nod back.

  Rob stuffs a slice of pizza into his mouth.

  “No sign of Dawkins?” he says.

  I open my can and shake my head.

  “Not seen him.”

  We spend the next fifteen minutes or so eating and chatting away, checking out the girls. Susie Black and Carly Watts are sitting at a table over to the right, and I’ve caught them looking in our direction two or three times. The Medstone chip shop girls are sitting by the double doors, next to the Christmas tree. Raks reckons they’ve been giving us the once-over too.

  As I’m finishing my doughnut, I look up at the noticeboards. It’s all the usual stuff. Sports teams. Clubs and Societies. Flyers for events. Rules and regulations for this and that. Up in the top left hand corner there’s a new note. Hand-written in chunky black pen on a red sheet of A4. WARNING: All students are reminded that defacing toilet cubicles will not be tolerated. Anyone found to have been doing this, or to have been otherwise engaged in damaging school property will be subject to disciplinary measures. I look at Raks and point to the note.

  “Defacing toilet cubicles,” I say. “Now, what sort of bastard would do that?”

  Raks shrugs.

  “Fuck knows.”

  We grin at each other.

  Jerome starts looking over my shoulder. He smiles.

  “What’s up?” I ask.

  “Look who’s put in an appearance,” he says.

  I take a swig of Pepsi and turn round. Ryan’s here. He’s got a tray full of food and he’s heading our way.

  “Alright lads?” he says, sitting down, pulling out his earphones and stuffing them into his pocket.

  We all nod.

  Ryan unzips his jacket and gets a card out, tossing it across at me.

  “Happy birthday,” he says.

  I’m quite shocked. I knew that Ryan knew it was my birthday. I just didn’t have him down as the card-buying type.

  I rip along the top of the envelope and g
et the card out. It’s an old photograph. A cross-eyed woman with facial hair. Carl resolved not to go on any more blind dates, it says along the bottom. I laugh and show it around the table, then I open it to read the inside. To Tom. Happy Birthday To Letchford Town’s No. 2 Hooligan. From Letchford Town’s No. 1 Hooligan. I laugh again and put the card into my bag.

  “Cheers mate,” I say.

  Ryan eats a chip and grins at me.

  Raks starts drumming his knuckles on the tabletop. He looks at Ryan.

  “Didn’t you fancy school this morning then?” he asks.

  “Nah. Wanted a lie-in. Big night tonight.”

  “Don’t they ever chase you up about all your skiving?”

  Ryan laughs.

  “Not at Parkway,” he says. “The last place I was at, they had the EWO round every couple of weeks. Made me re-do Year Eight. They were always trying to get me and my mum to sign all these stupid fucking Home-School Agreements. Pointless. When my dad died, my mum went to pieces. Nowadays, she’s always either pissed or stoned. Nobody can get any sense out of her. They certainly couldn’t. They gave up in the end.”

  I nod. It’s the first time I’ve heard Ryan talking about his home background. It doesn’t sound too different to mine.

  “Your mum’s like my dad,” I tell him. “Since my mum died, he’s just been all over the shop. On benefits. Pissed every day.”

  Ryan looks into the distance. He rubs his nose with the back of his hand.

  “How old were you when your mum died?” he asks eventually.

  “Nine,” I reply. “It was cancer. What about you?”

  “Seven. My dad had cancer too.”

  I’m actually surprised. For some reason I thought Ryan’s dad would have died with a bit more drama. Killed by foreign riot police on an England awayday or something like that. Something spectacular.

  Ryan shakes his head.

  “It’s a fucker of a disease,” he says. There’s bitterness in his voice. “You’ve seen Trev’s picture of my dad, haven’t you?”

  I nod.

  Ryan carries on.

  “Massive bastard, he was. Six-two. Fifteen stone. By the time he died, he was down to seven and a half stone. I was too young to really understand. All I could see was that my dad was shrinking away to nothing in front of me.” He shakes his head. There’s a glazed look in his eyes.