The Boy Who Drew the Future

by Rhian Ivory

  ‘Shubunkins are pond fish with a difference. They are little comets, shooting around the pond, giving off sparks of colour like moving rainbows. Rather than being orange and gold and a bit boring, shubunkins are blue and their colour comes from beneath their scales rather than from the light above, like your average goldfish. Shubunkins have a black and orange mottling set on a bluish pearly background that shimmers in the sunlight. These are not just goldfish swimming aimlessly round and round.’

  She finishes and the rest of the class laugh, even Eva, who never seems to manage more than a fake laugh. I’m sure most of them had a goldfish at some point, maybe from the fairground carried home in a plastic bag. I wonder how long the average goldfish lasts once home, after money has changed hands. Beth nudges me, it’s my turn again.

  ‘When we took photos of the fish, we found it hard to capture their blend of colours, shapes and form. We tried digital photos, Polaroids and normal film. It was really difficult to get a decent photo that wasn’t blurred or close up enough. We got there in the end though and have put them all together to try to show you how colourful these fish are … they look like a floating rainbow.’ I run out of breath and stop talking.

  Beth turns over the three big photo boards I’d put up on easels in front of the whiteboard. I’d placed Mr Bourne and the rest of the class at the back of the room. Some people gasp and then everyone moves nearer to get a better look. Mr Bourne rubs his stubbly chin thoughtfully, as Beth steps back to take it all in.

  I hadn’t shown her the end result, just told her to leave it to me and that I’d mount the photos on the boards. She stands next to me and from this position can see what the rest of the class can’t, what I want only her to see.

  There aren’t any photographs on the three big boards, not a single one, but there are hundreds of 6 x 4 drawings of her tropically coloured fish. She can see now that I have replaced all our photos with drawings, my drawings. From a distance they look like photos, photos that almost move and almost come to life. She looks at me with her mouth open a tiny bit, but says nothing. I don’t know if I’ve done the right thing, but it is too late to take them down. And finally I’m sick of hiding. I don’t know whether to smile at her or not.

  The silence in the classroom is going on for far too long. People are staring at us, beginning to whisper and giggle.

  ‘It’s your turn.’ I remind her, gesturing to the row of faces all wondering if we’ve finished our talk or not.

  Beth stumbles over the first few lines of her section on barn owls, but manages to keep going. While she reads from her last cue card, I take my photo boards down. Some people had moved out of their seats and were getting too close. This was just for her, not for anyone else.

  I knew Mr Bourne wanted to have a proper look. He stood up and started walking towards the front of the classroom, but Theo was getting up with Eva, ready to take centre stage. Mr Bourne had no choice. He sat back down as I turned all the boards over, leaving nothing to see but blank canvases.

  After class, Beth finds me in the dinner hall. She starts talking as if we’re in the middle of a conversation. I move my stuff out of her way and she throws herself into the seat next to me.

  ‘Why didn’t you show me before today? Where did you get all those drawings from? Why didn’t you use our photos?’ Each question is quickly followed by another, but if I’d shown her before, it would have backfired. I have to do it like this, in a crowded room with nowhere to hide, or I’ll never have the nerve. I don’t say anything as I finish off the last slice of pizza. I want to know what she’s seen first, what she’s understood. I’m not sure how this is going to go and I don’t want to say too much. I want her to work it out.

  ‘Did you draw the fish like that?’ she asks, staring at me.

  I nod, not trusting my voice.

  ‘How did you make them look like photos? No one else guessed, they all thought it was the photos we’d taken together.’ She looks around the dinner hall as if people might be listening in on our conversation. Eva, Theo, Jay, Sam and Georgia are all sitting at the next table but are too loud to hear us and too interested in the joke Harley is telling to eavesdrop on us, except Sam, who seems to be staring into space. Clearly Harley doesn’t have a future as a stand-up comedian.

  ‘Noah!’ Beth snaps her fingers in front of me.

  ‘I found these drawings in my bag and some more under my bed and they looked better than our photos,’ I answer and then fill my mouth with the remains of my chips.

  ‘What do you mean, you found the drawings? Why were they under your bed? Why would you put drawings under your bed?’ She looks puzzled.

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t remember drawing them. I must have shoved them under there.’ I wonder whether this is a bad move, again, but it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels different this time. She feels different.

  ‘OK, but why did you make them look the way they did? They look weird, like they’re see-through or something. That’s definitely not what our photos looked like.’

  She is hovering on the edges and now I don’t know if I want her to see the truth. I don’t want to scare her. I keep changing my mind, knowing how it will end, but torn all the same.

  No one has ever made me want to do this. I know it’s dangerous. I should step back, but all I can see is her in front of me, waiting for an answer, trusting me, asking me to tell her who I am. And I want to, so much.

  ‘That’s just how I drew them. That’s just how it happened.’ I stick as close to the truth as I can.

  ‘What do you mean, how it happened?’ She catches the end of my sentence and holds on to it. I wish I could stop what I’ve drawn from happening, but it is too late. I don’t want to make her cry, even though it is not my fault this time. I’m just the messenger. She fills my silence with more and more questions.

  ‘I still don’t see why you couldn’t have shown me, or told me what you were doing? Why all the mystery? Why keep it a secret?’ She keeps on prodding and pushing.

  ‘Because … because I wanted it to be a surprise,’ I answer weakly. This isn’t the kind of surprise people like. Surprise is totally the wrong word. This isn’t going to plan, mostly because I don’t have a decent plan to work from.

  ‘So where are they then, your drawings? I want to see them properly now.’ She looks at the table as if I’d have left them lying there, for everyone to see. I tore them off the photo boards and put them away in my locker as soon as people started leaving the classroom, as soon as I could get them out of sight.

  ‘I’ve put them away.’ I don’t offer to get them or tell her where I’ve hidden them. I keep eating. Her eyes never leave me.

  ‘Well, go and get them then,’ she snaps. She is getting fed up with this. She just wants to understand and for a reckless moment I want her to. I imagine jumping up on the table and shouting it out loud to the whole cafeteria, telling them all in one hit who I am, getting it over with.

  But I don’t want to have to say the words. I can’t. Because she won’t believe me, of course she won’t. I’ve been totally stupid. No one would believe this. I would sound like a liar, like a crazy stupid liar. So instead of any truthful words, I say just one.

  ‘No,’ I whisper.

  ‘No? What’s going on here? Why are you being so strange? Is there something you’re not telling me? Because you know you can trust me, don’t you? You can tell me anything, Noah… What is it? What’s wrong?’ She puts her hand on my arm.

  It is too much; she has no idea what she’s promising me.

  ‘Just drop it, Beth,’ I say, backtracking wildly. I take a sip from my can. I can see myself pushing her away, forcing her to leave me, to hate me even. I can hear my voice sounding cold, edgy and closed. I know she’ll blame me. I’ve made a total mess of this. But she’ll see it later, when she gets home.

  ‘Oh nice. Yep, OK, consider it dropped,’ she replies, scowling at me as she gets up, leaves my table and goes to sit with Eva and Georgia. I watch her pretending
to join in with her back to me.

  Eva’s eyes stay on me as Harley reaches the punchline of his crappy joke. She doesn’t laugh once.

  I get a text from Beth at 9pm. I’ve been waiting for it since I got in from school. I thought she might ring me or just turn up at the door, so every time the phone rang I hoped. I wanted to get it over with. I imagined all the things she’d say, all the names she’d call me as I stood in the window of the lounge, waiting for the doorbell to ring, ready to run to let her in, to try to explain. But nothing happened all evening.

  I’d told Mum and Dad I had homework to do. I sat at my desk surrounded by more drawings of her fish, all those upside-down animals. My phone vibrated across the desk.

  12 of them are dead. Dead! There’s only 8 left. What the hell, Noah?

  I reply, my fingers flying over the letters.

  Sorry. I’m so sorry. Can I ring you? Please?

  Nothing. I knew she’d be angry with me but this silence was worse than her screaming down the phone. I decide to chance it. I look at my clock. 9:13. I’ll call her and if she doesn’t answer quickly, I’ll cut it.

  ‘What the hell do you want?’ She answers on the third ring.

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t do it. I mean, it wasn’t me. Your fish, it wasn’t my fault.’

  I’d spent all evening thinking about what I’d say, how I’d phrase it, how much I’d tell her, but now that she is on the phone, listening silently to me, I have no idea what to say.

  ‘Beth?’ I must sound desperate because she finally answers.

  ‘Well, of course it wasn’t your fault, you idiot. What a weird thing to say! Obviously it wasn’t you. But you drew a lot of them like that – floating. That’s how I found them, the ones that didn’t make it. But how did you know so many of them would die? How could you have known?’ Her voice peters out and I pause, waiting to see if she’ll say more, if she’ll make the connection. Terrified she will join the dots.

  ‘So … you’re OK with me then? You’re not mad at me? You know, for drawing them.’ I avoid her question.

  ‘I said how did you know they’d die?’ she repeats, not willing to let it drop.

  ‘I don’t know. That’s just how I drew them, but I promise you I don’t know.’ It is the truth, sort of, well, a version of it anyway.

  ‘It was just too hot for them, that’s all. Maybe I should have thought, should have bought them in, put them in the tank or something. But they’ve been alright so far this summer. Oh I don’t know. Dad says it happens; this heatwave isn’t what we’re used to. He said they’ve had loads of people in the surgery with heatstroke and heat rash, mostly old people. Mum had to send a baby to Halstead Hospital today, to be put on a drip, you know, for dehydration.’ She pauses. I don’t say anything, not sure whether she really believes what she was saying or is trying to talk herself into it.

  ‘I should have looked after them better; it’s my fault, not yours. I just feel bad, you know. There’s supposed to be shubunkins at the Manor House and now I’ve let everyone down, I’ve messed up history.’ She keeps talking, going on and on, her voice up and down and changing, starting slow then going fast. I can’t keep up with her and her different tones.

  ‘Beth? Beth, you haven’t done anything wrong. There are still lots of fish left. They’ll mate and there’ll be more and the tradition will carry on. You haven’t done anything bad.’ I have to get her to see that this isn’t her fault.

  ‘You don’t get it. Dad said we are the guardians, we’re supposed to take care of things and I’ve messed it all up now. The fish were my responsibility,’ she whispers down the phone. ‘I shouldn’t be on the phone. I’ve got to go … I’ve told them I’ll be there tonight. Oh God, I don’t know what I’m doing. Look I’m going; I’ve said I’ll meet them down there. Bye.’

  And then the phone goes dead and I’m left clueless. I couldn’t hear half of what she was saying, but none of it is her fault; she hasn’t done a single thing wrong.

  But it isn’t my fault either. I have to keep telling myself that. I didn’t make her fish die. I just knew they would. I’d drawn their dead bodies floating up to the surface before it happened. Before it happened. Before. And I need her to see it. I need her to know who I really am.

  I just want someone to know.

  The first time I drew the future, it happened too fast. I don’t allow myself to think about that anymore, although I have no control over the nightmares. But after that I got it, I got what was happening, and I started to feel the warning signs. Then I could slow it down, I could watch it happen. I could pause it and turn the images around, upside down, back to front. I drew with my pencil, crayons, felts, paint, collages, anything I could get my hands on. I used old shopping lists, bank statements, empty envelopes, Post-its, school letters, diaries, colouring-in books and magazines, filling them all with pictures, images and drawings. I’d empty out the contents of my head onto paper, but it kept filling back up inside, brimming over.

  Sometimes I used to watch and wait with a little smile on my face, knowing what was around the corner. I’d just about stop myself from singing out, ‘I told you so.’ Other times I’d run and hide. I’d bury my head under my covers and pillows and hope and wait. But I never stopped anything from happening by hiding or crying.

  I’ve sat and drawn flowers, trees, cats, dogs, beaches and rainbows. I’ve drawn innocent people with light smiling faces holding hands. I’ve drawn islands in the sea hovering under a canopy of a stars, and this works for a time.

  Then the unprogrammed drawing starts, the nightmares skulk in and get on the pages, spreading inky messages and threats. I destroy them, but find them again later, at the back of a wardrobe, in a chest of drawers, stuffed, torn, ripped apart, only to be repeated in colour, up close and magnified until I can see the picture without looking. It doesn’t stop until I see it underneath my eyelids. No matter how tightly I close them, I see it all.

  But she wasn’t ready to see what I was trying to show her. Who would be? I thought she’d get it. I didn’t think she’d do this: hide from what I’d shown her in those postcard images.

  CHAPTER 16

  BLAZE

  She called to me, merrily waving from the half-open stable door of the kitchens.

  The ring the sailor’s fiancée had given me in her purse would save me. I’d need to buy some decent clothes first – if I had clothes I could look the same as the rest of them. With the money, I could head for the coast, I just needed to find someone to take me. And Dog of course. I could go back over the water to Maman’s family. I just had to find them. I could follow the River Couesno and find the Ambroise women. If Emilia sold it for me, everything could change. I knew she’d want something for it, some coin for herself, but there’d be enough left, more than enough left for me. I’d never seen such a pretty ring, such a beautiful gem, not like my plain stones.

  ‘What is it, lovey? Haven’t seen you down here in a good while.’ She called me over as if we were long-lost friends reunited at last, as if the sight of Dog and me in the village amused her.

  ‘I have a proposition for you,’ I said proudly, taking care with the adult word, but she laughed coarsely at me.

  ‘Have you now? Well, aren’t you just like the rest of them! Men, you’re always needing or wanting something or other.’ She prodded me with her bony finger, laughing at her own joke.

  I moved away from her and reached into my coat pocket, pulling out the drawstring purse. She breathed in sharply and rubbed her hand on her skirt. Her fingertips left a greasy stain on her clothes and I didn’t want to put the beautiful stone in her slimy hands. She smelled of meat and animal fat. She felt me pause and laughed, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. It was red and I could see the broken veins under her skin. She held her hand out.

  ‘Ah, ah,’ I said, ‘not yet,’ using her own tactics against her. ‘I need your word first. Your word that you’ll sell this for me.’

  Her eyes narrowed.

  �
�Well, you haven’t got anyone else to turn to, have you, lovey, so whatever it is, hand it over to your good friend Emilia,’ she snapped.

  ‘Your word,’ I insisted. ‘Then I’ll show you what you’ve been asking to see,’ I added, playing my best card last.

  She stopped to look around, making sure no one else was listening.

  ‘Alright then.’ She pushed the bottom of the stable door open, stepping out and hovering excitedly in front of me. I shook the ring out of the purse. It dropped into the palm of my hand.

  ‘Well, well, that’s a pretty gem, I’m sure. Where’d you get that then, boy? Who gave you this?’ she asked.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I replied, not wanting to give her anything.

  ‘Let’s have a proper look.’ She held out her hand and didn’t move it away from my face until I placed the gold ring on her flat palm.

  ‘Emerald, gold band, proper gold this is. It’s an engagement ring see. Of course you see, don’t you, tucked away in that little hut, you close your eyes and see it all before the rest of us have even woken up and greeted the day.’ She was talking to me, but her wide eyes didn’t leave the ring, not once.

  ‘This is what you drew for me, isn’t it, you little gem. You drew those rings round and round and round and now here it is, in my hand. It’s beautiful, that’s what it is.’

  She took the ring, clasping it tightly in her dirty hand, walked back through the stable doors and left me standing there empty-handed. I should never ever have given it to her. But then she came back with someone else.

  Dog moved closer to me, pushing his head and shoulders against my thigh.

  ‘Henry here will take this off your hands,’ she said. ‘He knows what to do with it. We’ll give you something for it o’course, see you right. Won’t we, Hen?’ She nudged Henry in his ribs and he laughed. He towered over me, leaning out the stable door and clapped his thick, heavy hand on my shoulder.