by Claire Davis
“No. Tell me something else.”
“I haven’t got anything else.” Oskar shrugged. “Stop looking at me.”
“I can’t keep up. One minute you’re stripping and the next telling me to stop looking.” Suddenly Bear leaned against Oskar’s side, which should have been uncomfortable and horrible, but wasn’t. “You’re pretty contrary, you know?” He smelled of shampoo.
“So I’m told.” The tension in Oskar’s shoulders dropped. He allowed his head to rest on Bear’s shoulder, all out of games. “Sorry.”
“I liked it, though,” Bear mumbled. “When you took your top off.”
“You did?”
“Mm. I really did. Except I thought you might thump me. It’s always a risk, with you.” Bear slid his hand over. He pushed Oskar’s head gently against his own. “Even now, I’m not sure if you’ll head-butt me.”
“Nor am I,” Oskar said seriously.
****
“Time to broadcast! You’re in the mix! Good evening! I missed you lot, didn’t I? Coming here is the only sane time of the week, playing songs and reading out your stories. And thank you, for voting Morris and Oskar hospital DJs of Yorkshire! Touched my heart, I can tell you.” Oskar leaned wearily against the wall, head aching. “Too many things going on.” Mum, college and now Bear. “It can be hard keeping your focus, you know? All you wanna do is crack up and cry, but you can’t. Morris never did, did he? Not even when Mum lost it and hit him. Not any of the times.”
He wasn’t going to come here again, stirring up the past when it should be long forgotten. Wasn’t like he didn’t have work to do. He fiddled with the switches a while before he could make his legs move. “Thanks for listening! Same time next week. Hospital radio! Bye, Morris. Still miss you.”
He slammed the door on the way out.
Chapter 8: Work the Decks
Gareth
Dear Dad,
Sorry about that last letter, the way it started out, anyway. Been feeling grumpy and down. It’s coming up to Christmas now. Did you notice? Please tell me I don’t have to spend the holidays here like in the summer with all the other kids no-one wants. I never told you this, but we were meant to organise ourselves into groups so we could go on ‘fun activities’ like the cinema, only I just knew none of them would want me in their groups. I hid in the library. Yup, that’s pretty much where I spent the whole time, catching up and reading. Six weeks of math and biology, but at least I got a lot done, so there’s that. Also I now know about the air quality on Mount Everest.
Mr. Archer says I have to push myself forward more; nobody is going to make friends with me if I hang around the back all the time and just go red when anyone tries. But what he doesn’t say is how I’m meant to stop it. I mean, I could always paint my face another colour instead of red, I guess. Hah-hah.
Dad, you haven’t forgotten about me, have you? Actually forgotten you have a kid? The other times you disappeared or went to prison, you always showed up or wrote. Yeah, I know about prison. Three times.
I think the longest you ever went without contacting me was nine months that time you made the movie with the dog. Well, it’s coming up to seven months since you dumped me off here, so all I’m saying is—remember your son, Gareth? He is an average person who hangs around all the houses we live in. Remember?
I’m trying not to tell you this because I’m not proud of it. Remember the other boys I have to share a room with? One of them—Jason—is always showing off with the newest things like training shoes and tablets, even though we’re not allowed. That’s up to him, but anyway, just so you know, it’s not like he’d ever miss ten pounds. Though that’s not really the point.
I stole ten pounds off him.
There, I said it. Dad, I got so pissed off never having any money and the kitty I used to feed stopped coming by probably because I had nothing to give him except strokes. So one day I just went through Jason’s pockets, and there was so much cash. I took two five-pound notes. Then I went to the shop and I bought ten packs of the treats, only it’s too late because no sign of the cat.
I’m crying now, telling you this because I know you’ll be ashamed of me, and I guess so am I. It’s no surprise you wouldn’t want to see a son like that. Who would?
But you know what I would steal if I could? A week back at home with you and Bubble. And I would make every minute last. I would change personality and be the kid you want. I’d be all confident and showy, and maybe sing songs. I really would. I would help you with the movies, and ask a lot of questions about your day. I wouldn’t nag you about the drugs and drink, or make you take vitamins.
Jason never noticed. I was actually going to tell him, but the day after it happened, he kicked me in the stomach so hard—just because he could—so I never did tell. He hates cats.
Sometimes I think about all the things I’ve done to piss you off that much you don’t want me anymore, and I can’t think which thing it was. Was it the fights before you dropped me off? I know I’m not funny and clever like you, and I’ll never make an actor. I don’t look handsome like you do either. Is it that? I tried to keep out of your way, you know, when you had the parties and people there all the time, but I promise if you let me come home I’ll try much harder. In fact, I’ll stay in my room all day with Bubble if you want. I’ll stop bothering you about taking drugs and drink and I won’t cook us dinner anymore if you don’t want. I will be the invisible man.
I drew a picture of Bubble the other day, and that’s why Jason kicked me. Dumb, huh? My stomach is really sore when I walk, but in a way, I don’t mind because it reminds me what a sorry loser I am.
Well, I’ve got work to do.
Love Gareth.
P.S. Please take your vitamins and look after Bubble. And give him strokes every day, and let him sleep on my bed so if he forgets me, at least he’ll still have my scent. Hah, maybe I should have slept on the bottom of your bed so you wouldn’t forget me, hah-hah-hah.
****
Oskar
The man grew bolder, moving nearer and nearer the hostel. “See?” he hissed at Bear. “It’s not my imagination, Lollipop. He doesn’t even bother trying to hide anymore.”
“I love it when you call me that.” Bear giggled. “Say it again.”
Oskar laughed despite himself. Something was happening lately, a monstrosity with no actual name except sap-sap-sappiness. He was becoming lame, and weak. It was all down to Bear and his stupid Care Bear eyes. “I’ll shove a lollipop up your arse in a minute,” he meant to say snottily; it came out in fits and laughter.
“Even better.” Bear doubled up with one hand outstretched. “Promise?” Oskar clutched the hand as he, too, almost fell over amid hysterics.
“What’re you two laughing at again? What’s the joke?” Pink-and-White trailed over and started laughing too.
“Lollipop up my ass,” Bear stuttered, which set them off again.
“Up his arse,” Oskar shrieked.
“Ass!” Bear cackled.
“Boys!” Pink shook her head and began frog-marching them towards the exit. “We’ll miss the ten-past bus if we don’t get a move on.”
They caught the bus despite hysteria. Much as he tried to check every potential hiding spot, there were no signs of the stalker once outside the confines of the hospital. Nobody followed them onto the bus. “Where did he go?” Oskar quickly scribbled down new observations. By now, they had a whole page full of details like car reg number, physical description. “Would you say brown hair? Or grey?”
Bear considered. “Dark, anyway, but he’s going bald on top.”
“Very good! When did you notice that?” Oskar ignored Bear’s dimple because it was downright distracting.
“That day he was in the car reading. You know, you have that look?”
“How old? And what look?”
“You know the look.” Bear grinned. “Forty to seventy?” His eyes met Oskar’s. The secret—or whatever it was between them—sizzled through the air
like electricity of the trouser region, only it didn’t remain there. It slammed through Oskar’s body, up and down.
“Anything else?”
“No.”
Oskar wrote more notes while Bear drew a tiny cat. “Well, it’s very strange. He knows where we live, that we go to college and probably all sorts of other stuff. Question is, who’s the dude working for? He’s not like any of the others.” He snorted. “That cat’s winking.”
“You’ve been followed before?”
“Mm.” Oskar nodded grudgingly. DSS, social services, police, local thugs, even Aunty Kath. All easy to spot and easier to identify. Once, he’d crouched down beside a load of rubbish bags until a lurker drove away, and then followed. It turned out to be an unmarked police car. He’d gone inside and shouted to leave him alone; what had happened had nothing to do with him. He sniffed ruefully. “People wanting to hurt Dad. It’s why he went into hiding.”
“Can’t he just tell the police? No-one can live their life like that.”
“It’s a different world, Lollipop. Once there’s millions of dollars involved, you’re talking Mafioso and corruption.” Oskar imagined. “We need a plan to find out where the stalker operates from. There must be a base.” Because he was almost sure that man had nothing to do with him. Although the guy stared at them both, his eyes were always firmly fixed on Bear. It made no sense. “Don’t you think?” Something told him not to tell Bear of his suspicions.
“I guess so. You think he means you harm?”
Oskar shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t think so. He’s had plenty of opportunity. Seems to me he just wants to watch. Sometimes he even laughs at us!”
“Yeah, that’s kind of weird. Why don’t we ask him who he is?”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Oskar asked, outraged. Truth was, he’d started to enjoy their night walks together, looking for clues. “Would Bear Grylls merely Google what elephant shit tastes like? I don’t think so. He’d track for miles—with his friend Oskar—before taming a wild bull and encouraging it to piss in a cup.”
Bear laughed helplessly, and once again Oskar couldn’t help joining in. When one human laughed, others followed—he’d read the science. It was still unnerving to be part of it, in a way.
“You do know my name isn’t really Bear, don’t you?”
“Is to me.”
Casually, Bear slid a hand over and squeezed. Oskar was aware of his heart racing and that strange skin prickle which had led to the taking off of the top fiasco the other day. Later on, he’d research this in the library. Bear’s fingers went up and down his arm. It was becoming increasingly difficult to do anything except flirt. From across the bus, Pink noticed too and winked. He ignored her. “Maybe he’s just a sad old bastard, watching us because we remind him of his son, lost at war.”
“Oh, that’s sad! Poor guy. Now I feel sorry for him.”
“Because you’re a special snowflake.” Oskar tutted. But there was no denying; Bear was coming on in leaps and bounds. Occasionally, he had started coming into the lounge with the others for a while, if only when Oskar was there. “One thing I know, though, spying always leads to something.” He read the notes, looking for any detail he might have missed. In the end, it usually came to money. Police took you down to the station, or a letter would appear with yet more fines. If it was really bad, you could expect knocking at the door late at night followed by a brick through the window. “We can’t just ignore it.”
“Whatever you say, boss. You want to meet for lunch? And don’t say yes then not turn up just because you’ve been nice to me lately.” Bear squeezed his hand again but Oskar was far too shocked to respond. “Mr. Contrary.”
****
Every day, piles of letters for the others appeared in the lounge, plus sometimes little parcels and boxes filled with treats to remind them how much they were loved. Bastards. Oskar sifted through the letters. Of course, one from the perfect Josh, who never, ever, let Stella-Artois down. Often he’d wait ’til the screams and opening ceremonies were over before coming in, because it was an embarrassment. Not that he’d be seen dead cooing over a poxy letter.
“Great! Post!” Stella-Artois snatched the letters from him as if he wasn’t good enough to hold them. “How come you never get any?”
He shrugged. “Dad’s far too busy doing things that actually matter?”
She sneered. “Oh, really? Like what? Dodging bullets and spies. Don’t make me laugh.” She chuckled and smacked his arm. “Let’s see what Josh has to say today, shall we? Girls! Letter!”
Like always, the ensuing stampede was utter outrage, indicative of a world slipping into decline. They appeared, running into the lounge like bloodthirsty zombies looking for a brain, which they weren’t likely to find in Stella-Artois. Carol Headscarf actually had no scarf; such was her desperation to shame herself.
“Letter! Is he jerking off again? I loved that letter!”
“What’s he say today? It’s better than Eastenders!”
“I love Josh!”
“Did he send poetry? Say how proud of you he is again?”
Oskar dodged the bodies shoving to get nearest to Stella-Artois and slipped away back to his room. It was solitary and cold, but at least it was genuine. No-one would ever catch him making up crap just to get attention. “Losers,” he muttered to Simon. To show indifference and fill the hostel with positive vibes, he blasted out 80s songs full volume. For a while, he nodded in time to the music, but failed to get beyond the bleakness that seemed just lately to have taken over his body.
Nobody came to see why the music was so loud.
He blasted more music, from his tablet and also the computer. The rooms swelled from the deafening sound.
Still nobody came.
He banged on Bear’s wall, knowing he wasn’t in.
“Shut the fuck up!” he shouted suddenly. “I’m trying to work?”
Eventually, he picked up a college book and began flicking through the pages. Studying so many hours was nothing new, but last year, he’d had something to aim for: college. A wave of self-pity threatened to overwhelm. “Fuck sake, Simon,” he mumbled. “I have festering in my heart and bones.” Something Carol had said seemed to be stuck like a splinter. “Proud. Are you proud of me, Dad?”
The poster of Simon Le Bon had no answer but cold indifference. The word magnified like guilt or shame as he tried to think of an occasion where he had made someone proud, and then he thought about dads and fathers and the only word that really mattered was an appalling why.
He began to pace the small room, one foot in front of the other in repressed yet furious lines. “Why—why—why—why,” he chanted in a monotone voice. A dangerous urge to damage and hurt began flicking. “I have to get out of here, Simon,” he said firmly. “Time for a walk. If it’s raining, I’ll go shopping. If it’s not, I’ll go to the park.”
He stared out the window, which led to a short concrete corridor at the side of the car park. The bonnet of the now familiar red car was there, right by the hostel. “Cheeky fucker, you’ve come as close as you can.” Oskar scrabbled through the pages of his spy notepad.
“OK, time’s up, arsehole.” On the way out, he slammed the door loudly then ran down the corridor, determined to confront the guy, to get away, have a fight, anything except stay in his own head.
A few letters had somehow ended up by the exit doors, left on the floor. Nothing for him—obviously—but two more for Stella-Artois with the wretched Josh’s handwriting. It just wasn’t fair. The rage returned. It took seconds for Oskar to crumple the letters and stuff them into his pocket. “I’m only teaching her a lesson,” he said weakly, suddenly cold. The doors opened unexpectedly, making him jump back in shock. He was pretty sure Bear couldn’t have seen him pocket the mail, but his heart raced and he felt sick. “Fuck sake!”
“Sorry. What are you doing standing in the doorway?” Bear and his dimples smiled. The walls of the hostel seemed to close in. Oskar hated Bear. He
hated Stella-Artois and the idiot followers. He hated Morris, and he hated Mum. He hated everything.
“Come on, that guy’s lurking about. I’ve had enough.” He grabbed Bear’s arm—too tightly—and almost pulled him off his feet. “We’ve messed about long enough.” They fell out the doors.
“Oskar! We can’t just accost a stranger in a public car park. And please will you stop pinching my arm?”
“There’s the car!” Oskar let go and raced towards the red car. He banged on the window, noticing too late it was empty. “He’s not here.”
“Thank god for that! We could be arrested, or something. Let’s go.” Bear pulled at Oskar. “What’s got into you?”
“Stop touching me. Just stop bloody touching me!” Oskar found a pen inside his jacket, a black one he used for writing on the flipchart in the disabled loo. It was permanent, and thick. He wrote twat along the side of the car. “Hah-hah-hah.”
“Oskar!” Bear tried to grab the pen. “Stop it!” Slowly and with deliberation, Oskar drew the shape of a penis. “You’re acting like a total jerk.”
The tight band around Oskar’s head got tighter. “Fuck you,” he shouted. “I don’t care what you think.” Bear let go of the pen immediately and pulled his hand back sharply. His stupid face collapsed into hurt Care Bear. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m a jerk and you’re an idiot, always following me about. Leave me alone, why don’t you?” With every word, the tightness increased, but that was good.
Bear winced, actually winced, but instead of moving away, he gently took Oskar’s hand. “What’s happened?”
The tight band split. Morris, Mum, spilled out in wave after wave of unbearable sadness.
“What? Can’t you tell me?”
Oskar drowned under the water. He stretched out his arms towards Bear, but instead of grabbing like he meant to, his hands pushed him away.
Bear stumbled and stepped back. For a few seconds, everything stopped. Wales vanished, and Oskar was back at home, in the flat. It would be dusty by now, with massive piles of letters inside the front door. He saw himself as if in a dream, picking them up and one by one opening the bills and demands.