All the Things That Could Go Wrong

by Stewart Foster

  I look back out of the window.

  The boy with the kite is going to get pulled up into the sky.

  The man in the canoe is going to be swept away.

  The lady in the chip van is going to catch fire.

  The plane is going to crash into the pier.

  If only those things were all I had to worry about.

  Dan: The great escape

  I wheel my bike round the side of the house and go into the kitchen.

  ‘Is that you, Dan?’ shouts Mum from the sitting room.

  ‘Yeah.’ I check the worktop to see if there’s a letter from Ben, but all there is is an electricity bill. I sigh and open the fridge.

  ‘Dan, no more Coke, love. Your teeth are going to fall out.’

  I grab a can of Coke and walk back into the hall towards the stairs.

  ‘Hey!’ my dad shouts out. ‘Don’t go hiding in your bedroom.’

  ‘I’m tired,’ I say as I trudge into the sitting room.

  Dad points at the TV. ‘Spurs are getting hammered,’ he says. ‘It’s a good game. Almost as good as the Albion. We won three-nil. You should have come.’

  ‘I thought I said—’ Mum tuts as I take a swig from my can.

  ‘Oh, that’s great, Dad. Who scored?’ my dad says sarcastically, pretending to be me.

  I don’t know why Dad keeps doing that. He’s knows I hate going to football without Ben. I sit down on the arm of the sofa next to Mum.

  ‘Dave, leave him alone, he’s had a long day.’

  ‘Was there anything in the post for me?’ I ask, hoping Mum might have put the letter in my bedroom.

  ‘No, love, I’m sorry.’ She puts her hand on my knee and smiles. ‘But hey, how did it go with Twinkling Star?’

  ‘It’s Shooting Star.’

  Harry Kane misses an open goal.

  ‘Oh, how did he miss that?’ shouts my dad.

  Mum shakes her head. ‘Yes, sorry, love. I meant Shooting Star. How did it go? Have a nice time with Alex?’

  I take another swig from my can. ‘Was okay.’

  ‘Oh, I’m glad,’ says Mum. ‘He’s seems like a nice boy. What did you talk about?’

  ‘Not much. Just did stuff on Shooting Star.’

  ‘That’s nice. I’ll text Francesca in a bit. I know she worries because he doesn’t have many friends. Maybe he could come back for tea after you’ve finished tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?!’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mum, tell me you’re joking. I’m not working with that idiot again.’

  Mum gives me a sharp look. ‘Dan! That’s not nice. You said you enjoyed it today.’

  ‘I said it was okay!’ I stand up. ‘How can you do this to me?’

  ‘I just thought it would be nice for you to have some company.’

  ‘I don’t want company. Well, not his.’

  ‘Dan, don’t storm off. Let’s—’

  ‘I need to feed Horace.’

  ‘Penalty!’ shouts Dad.

  ‘Dan!’

  I walk into the hall. No way am I going to work with Shark Face again and he’s definitely not coming for tea. I don’t want him on my road, let alone in my house.

  ‘Do me a favour, Dan, do some homework instead of going on your Xbox!’ shouts Mum, then she says something to Dad, but he doesn’t answer.

  ‘Dave!’ she snaps.

  ‘What!’

  ‘Turn the bloody TV down … I said he’s not right.’

  ‘Well, I’m bloody trying! But he’s not interested in seeing the Albion any more.’

  ‘I know, but …’ Mum’s voice fades away as she closes the sitting-room door. I think of staying to hear what they’re talking about, but I’m too mad about Shark Face. They’ll only be saying the same stuff about me and Ben, and then it’ll turn into a row. They never used to do that.

  I walk upstairs and into Ben’s room. Horace is light green all over. This means his temperature is okay, but mine is boiling. How can Mum even think that I want Shark Face here? Who cares if he’s got no friends? That’s his problem, not mine.

  I feed Horace three crickets and put the lid back on his tank. I’ll write and tell Ben how big he’s growing. He used to be the size of a mouse, but now he’s almost as big as a cat.

  I wish Mum and Dad would just stop arguing about me and Ben and take me to see him. Then I wouldn’t have to write letters or get fed up waiting for him to reply. I could sit down next to him and he could tell me everything himself. I asked Dad to take me last weekend, and the weekend before that. But Dad always looks at Mum and says it’s not a good idea. He says it’s because it’s a long way to travel. But I don’t think it’s that. It’s because the place where Ben is is full of bad kids and I’ll get scared. But from what Ben says in his letters he’s having a nice time and it’s doesn’t sound scary at all.

  I walk into my bedroom and take his last letter from my drawer. He’s been in that place for three months, but it feels like a year. I read the last bit again.

  I’ve got to go now. I want to get in the shower before the other kids use up all the hot water. Hope you have a good week at school and remember what I said, you’ve got to be a big fish and eat all the others up or they will eat you.

  Ha!

  I sit down on my bed and read that last line over and over. You’ve got to be a big fish and eat all the others up or they will eat you.

  I open my laptop. I don’t know where Ben is exactly, but I know it’s somewhere near Milton Keynes. I search maps and type in Brighton to Milton Keynes. It’s 115 miles away and takes over two hours to drive. I can’t drive, but I could stand at the roundabout with my thumb in the air and hitchhike like people do in films. But Mum would be mad if I got a lift from strangers. I click on the train icon. It’s nearly the same distance, but the train has to go to London. Then I’ve got to get off and go on the Tube and then get on another train. I’ll get lost on the Underground on my own and I don’t have any money anyway.

  I zoom out of the map until I can see south-east England and the English Channel. I trace the coastline with my finger. If Shooting Star was ready, I could sail her up the coast to Margate and then cut in and sail down the Thames until it joins the River Colne. I zoom back in again. The river doesn’t look very wide, but then Shooting Star is a raft, not a ship. I could sail her up the River Colne and then into a stream that seems to disappear near St Albans. And then I could walk the rest of the way from there. I could do it. I’ll ask Mr Kendall if there’s a life jacket in the cave and I’ll take sandwiches and a drink and a torch so I don’t bump into the rocks if it gets dark.

  I trace my finger around the route again. It’s simple. I don’t have to look for road signs or platform numbers. I just have to get to the seafront and turn left at the pier. There’s a bit of land sticking out by Dover, but I could get round that okay.

  Dover.

  It’s really busy. I saw loads of boats and massive ferries there when we went on holiday to France. I’ll never be able to navigate Shooting Star between them.

  I close my laptop. It’s a stupid idea. How could I think it was possible? Even if I could squeeze Shooting Star between the ferries, their waves would be so big that she’d sink.

  I lie down on my side, facing the wall. Sometimes, late at night I’d knock on his wall to see if he was awake. I’d knock twice and he’d knock back twice if he was. Then he’d add some extra knocks, like he was drumming a beat. I had to repeat them and add another beat of my own. The highest number we ever got to was thirty. Then dad would shout out for us to stop.

  I raise my hand and think of knocking now. But there’s no point when I won’t get a reply.

  Alex: Things I could do to get out of going to the cave tomorrow

  I’m in bed and I’m tossing and turning. I can’t sleep. I can’t sleep because there’s a list going round and round in my head. One thing chasing another, spinning and spinning, round and round like a mad dog chasing its tail.

  I turn ont
o my side. The red numbers on my alarm clock are flashing 3.06 a.m. It’s no good, I’m going to have to write a list or I’ll be awake all night.

  I turn on the lamp. My posters light up on the walls. Han Solo is fighting Darth Vader and the Storm Troopers are surrounding him and there’s so many of them it’s like they’re surrounding me too and trapping me in my bed. But I’d rather be surrounded by the evil First Order than go to that cave again tomorrow.

  I pick up my pen and paper.

  Things I could do to get out of going to the cave:

  1. Tell Mum that everyone is going to die.

  You do that every day. I scribble it through.

  1. Tell Mum I’ve got stomach ache.

  Did that. I scribble that out as well.

  1. Paint red blobs on myself and pretend I’ve got chicken pox.

  But you’ve already had chicken pox.

  1. Go to Lizzie’s room and paint red marks on her.

  But Lizzie will freak out and scream the house down.

  1. Sneak round to Dad’s flat and disconnect a wire from his car so he can’t take me.

  But what if I disconnect the brakes by mistake and Dad goes down the hill to the seafront and the brakes don’t work and he smashes through the railings and disappears into the sea and then he dies? Oh God, how could I even think that? I’m a terrible person.

  I scribble that out too.

  1. Tell Mum I’ve got too much homework.

  But you told her you’ d finished yesterday.

  Argh! It’s useless. I’m going to have to go. No one cares that the roof of the cave could collapse because of the weight of the buses and the trucks carrying concrete to the Observation Tower. They’ll fall into a giant hole and all the people on them will either get injured or die. And then the ambulance and the police cars will arrive and they’ll fall into the hole too.

  I stop writing. I think it’s making it worse. I put my pen and book down and lie back on my bed. I try to think of what Dr Patrick said. Imagine your worries are tiny, like a mouse, like an ant. Imagine you’re as big as an elephant. Imagine you’ve climbed the stairs and left all your worries behind. I try and try and try … I close my eyes. Slowly, slowly, one step at a time, without looking back. After ten, I stop, take a deep breath and look back. But I don’t feel safe. I feel like I’m falling all the way back down towards the monsters at the bottom of the stairs.

  I turn on my side and pull my duvet up to my chin. The clock says 3.26 a.m. I close my eyes. Only seven hours until I’m back at the cave.

  Dan: This Shooting Star is mine

  I’m down at the cave, unknotting a net. I’ve been here two hours. I’ve made two balls of string from the nets and I’ve managed to empty some bottles that Mr Kendall saved for me and I went down onto the beach and found a piece of driftwood that I might be able to use for an oar. But I still haven’t actually been able to do anything to Shooting Star. I really wish I could because the quicker I get her done, the quicker I get rid of Shark Face.

  He’s standing by the side of Shooting Star now. Every time I glance up, I can see his white trainers and the bottoms of his jeans. I bet he thinks he’s cool, but he looked a real geek in his red hoody at the cinema. I was hoping he wasn’t going to turn up, but he walked in just as I started on the net. I pretended I didn’t see him. He hasn’t spoken and neither have I.

  I pick up my penknife, put the tip against the net and pick at a knot. It’s boring, but if I keep working and ignoring him maybe he’ll go away. Why did he have to turn up? I know he can’t go home, but if I was him I’d walk round the shops or go to McDonald’s and then go on the beach and have a swim in the sea. But that’s what normal people do, not weirdos like him.

  I glance up as Shark Face shuffles his feet, then walks down the side of Shooting Star and stops by the blackboard in the opposite corner to me. He’s looking at Ben’s diagram. I don’t even want him to do that. I yank at the net. My penknife falls out of my hand onto the floor. Not only is unpicking nets boring, it’s also hard work.

  I sigh and pick up the knife.

  Shark Face turns round. ‘It would be quicker if I help.’

  ‘What?’ I glower at him. ‘I told you yesterday. I don’t want your help.’

  He shrugs. ‘Then we’re going to be stuck together for ages.’

  I can feel the bubbles rising. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘My dad said I’ve got to help you finish it.’

  ‘When did he say that?’ I stand up and walk towards Shark Face. He scratches his neck nervously with those stupid gloves. ‘What does he know anyway?’

  ‘Your mum texted my mum and then my mum told him when he picked me up. She said your mum was really pleased I was here.’

  ‘Well, I’m not!’

  Shark Face shrugs and looks back at the board.

  ‘And stop looking at the drawing. It’s MY raft, not yours.’

  He looks out at the sea. He’s making it up, but why would he? Maybe Mum did say it. She’s been so worried about me that she’s getting off work early to see Mr Francis on Wednesday. And her and Dad are arguing about me all the time. Maybe they think Shark Face will be a good influence on me. I bet teachers would think that too, that squeaky-clean Alex will make me behave better. I don’t want to be a squeaky-clean geek like Shark Face.

  But what if Shark Face is right? What if he really has to keep coming here until I’ve finished? He’ll be here next weekend and if I still haven’t finished he’ll be here for half-term too.

  I crawl under the frame and drag out a plank of wood that I need to make the base.

  ‘Come here, Shark Face,’ I say.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just come here.’

  He edges towards me like he thinks I’m going to spit on him again.

  ‘Pick up the other end.’

  ‘You want me to help?’

  ‘We’ve got no choice. We’re stuck with each other.’

  ‘That’s what I said.’

  I nod at the plank. ‘Are you going to help or not?’

  Shark Face looks at the plank like he’s checking for dirt. Then he looks at his gloves.

  ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘The quicker you do it, the quicker you get out of here.’

  Shark Face grimaces. It’s like he thinks the plank is electrified and he’s scared of getting a shock.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ I ask.

  Shark Face scrunches up his face and picks up the plank.

  ‘Now put your end on the frame and I’ll do the same with mine.’

  ‘I know,’ he says. ‘I saw the diagram.’

  We rest the plank on the frame. I walk over to the corner where me and Ben put the jar of nails that we took from Dad’s shed. The light doesn’t reach here very well, but I soon find the jar, then look for the hammer. I lift the nets and move some bottles, but I can’t find it anywhere.

  ‘Here.’

  Shark Face is standing beside me with a hammer in his hand. ‘My dad put one in his bag.’

  ‘Oh. Erm …’

  Shark Face pushes the hammer towards me. I take it.

  ‘Thanks,’ I mumble. I don’t want to use anything that’s his, but I don’t want to waste time fumbling around in the dark. I unscrew the jar and take out a long nail. ‘You hold the plank still and I’ll bang the nail in.’

  Shark Face puts his hands on the plank, then looks at me suspiciously. It’s like he thinks I’m going to miss the nail on purpose and hit his hand. I don’t like him, but I would never do that. He moves his hands further apart so the plank is steady and blinks as I carefully hammer the nail in. Then I bang another nail right next to the first. Now we have to do the same to the other side of the frame. I go to tell Shark Face, but he’s already picked up another plank and is waiting for me. I bang two nails in that side, then put my hand on the plank and test it. It doesn’t budge, not sideways or up or down.

  I get another plank. Shark Face takes his end and we rest it on the frame. Ben’s instru
ctions say the planks have to be thirty centimetres apart. I look at the frame and try to guess, then my phone suddenly buzzes in my pocket. It’ll be Mum checking on me again. I look at my phone. It’s not Mum, it’s Sophie.

  Hey, Dan, we’re all going to McDonald’s. Wanna come?

  I think of what to reply. I can’t tell her that I’m at the cave, building a raft with Shark Face. She’d try to get me out of our group and she’ll spread it around school tomorrow. I think of saying I’ll meet her in half an hour, but I really need to get Shooting Star done and Mum would go mad if she found out. Wait, what if they decide to come down the seafront? It’d only take them twenty minutes to walk down the hill. It’s bad enough being stuck in the cave with Shark Face. But being seen with him? That would be even worse. Worse than when Sophie saw me in Sainsbury’s with my mum.

  I put my phone back in my pocket and pretend I never saw the message.

  Shark Face holds out a tape measure. ‘My dad put it in the bag,’ he says. ‘We have to follow the instructions.’

  ‘I know that! It’s my raft, remember.’ Sophie’s message is still in my head. Everything will go wrong if she finds out. I walk over to the doors and pull them together just in case she walks by.

  Shark Face doesn’t seem to notice I’m worried. He’s too busy looking at the light flickering as another bus rumbles overhead.

  I walk back to Shooting Star. Shark Face measures out thirty centimetres and marks the wood with a pencil, then he does the same my side. Then he holds on to the plank and I bang the nails in again.

  We do four more planks in exactly the same way until the first layer of the base is done.

  I stand back to look at Shooting Star. All the planks are straight and neat, just like in Ben’s drawing, and not one of them moves. I can’t believe we’ve done it so quickly. I feel myself smiling, but I don’t want Shark Face to see that I’m happy. But he’s not even looking at me. He’s too busy looking at the ends of his gloves like he thinks he’s worn them through.

  I walk over to the blackboard to check the drawing. Now we have to tie the planks to the frame just to make sure they’re secure. I go back to the corner and pick up one of the balls of string. I wrap it round the part where the base plank joins the frame. Shark Face puts his finger on the string and then whips it away quickly as I make a knot and pull it tight. Then we move on to the other planks.