The Boy Who Sailed the Ocean in an Armchair

by Lara Williamson

  “Oesophagus,” I murmur. “Not drainpipe. Even if I was, it has nothing to do with the bracelet so what do you care?”

  I think again about how Pearl has been lying about me. Nevaeh’s right. I am sad about it – after I spoke to Mimi, I spent ages sitting on my own on the gravel pathway, picking at a tuft of grass.

  Nevaeh writes down oesophagus – well, I think that’s what she writes but she can’t spell it properly. It looks like O-Soft-A-Gus. “I do care. I don’t give butterfly bracelets to everyone, you know. They’re only for people that need something special in their life. Then, when that special thing happens, you don’t need the bracelet and…”

  Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve heard all this malarkey before. I scribble down cerebrum for the name of the biggest part of the brain. “I don’t want to rain on your chips,” I whisper, “but butterflies aren’t dead people saying hi. They’re just butterflies and they don’t talk. They’re everywhere too. I don’t care about butterflies or caterpillars or spiders. You need to talk to my brother, Billy. He loves stuff like that. He’s got a snail.” I sigh. “Dead people can’t come back, no matter how much you wish they could.”

  “I don’t think that’s true.” Nevaeh writes the word butterfly on her science test paper, which is stupid because butterfly isn’t the answer to What is the human body’s biggest organ? “My sister did.”

  Just as my mouth drops open, Mr Beagle says, “What do you find inside your skull?” As I’m about to write down brain, Mr Beagle hollers, “A load of hot air, that’s what. Whoever is chit-chatting with their overused jawbone, can they please be quiet? This is an important test and I want to see who knows their answers, not who knows their neighbour’s answers.”

  Mimi glances over at me and grins. Seriously, she’s really got it in for me. Firstly telling me that I’m not all that great just because I’m new, then telling me that I’m being homeschooled, and now this – smiling when I get told off.

  When the bell goes, Mr Beagle says we’re to leave the test papers on the table and scram. I scram as fast as I can because I want to talk to Nevaeh about her sister.

  Nevaeh is nowhere to be seen at lunch, but Robert Absolom is sitting on the wall drawing on a piece of paper. I am about to walk past him but then something makes me stop and sit down. Robert eases away from me like I’ve got a particularly contagious disease and then puts his hand over the piece of paper so I can’t see what he’s drawing.

  I introduce myself properly and put my hand out, because that’s what Dad does when he’s meeting someone, although they usually frown because he’s covered in fish guts. Robert leaves my hand hanging and says everyone calls him Knuckles.

  “Okay, Knuckles, I’m not being nosey,” I say, even though I am being extremely nosey and want to see what he’s doodling. “Um…I only wanted to say that I didn’t mean to upset you the other day. It’s just that I thought you might be interested in plants, but maybe you’re not.”

  “Actually, I am interested,” Knuckles says through gritted teeth. He folds up the piece of paper and shoves it into his pocket. “But it’s not what you think.”

  I don’t know what I’m thinking, to be fair.

  “I’m doing it for my dad.” Knuckles’s eyes drop and he knots his fingers together in his lap. He tells me that his dad taught him everything he knew about plants. He was brilliant at making small seeds grow into great big trees. Without warning, Knuckles does a sigh so long I half expect a man with a stopwatch from Guinness World Records to jump out of a hedge. “Anyway, that’s all over now.” His jaw tightens.

  “Why?”

  “Because my dad’s gone and that’s it. You wouldn’t understand.” Knuckles rises from the wall, stuffs his hands into his trouser pockets and stalks away from me without looking back.

  Oh, I understand all right.

  SNOOP

  secret mission number two

  Billy says I must write this all down before I forget it and definitely before I eat my dinner. Although I don’t think I will ever forget what just happened to us less than twenty-five minutes ago. These are the notes from the mission we undertook earlier.

  AFTER SCHOOL: I told Billy I knew where Pearl was, or more that I had a sort of hunch thanks to what Mimi told me at school earlier. Billy asked what a hunch was. I said it didn’t matter, but we needed to find a local paper to see the ads.

  THE RECYCLING BINS AT 4.01 P.M.: I found a copy of the local newspaper, the Eden Echo. On page 13, underneath an ad for Charlie Chicken’s Takeaway, there was an ad for Pearl’s Painting Classes. The mobile number was correct. We had found her. Billy said: “THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER.”

  There were three venues to choose from: the Scouts’ Hall in Honeydown Hills (Sundays), Civic Centre in Tower Point (Mondays and Tuesdays) and Saint Bartholomew’s Church Hall in Eden (Wednesdays and Thursdays).

  AT 4:08 P.M.: I looked up Saint Bartholomew’s on Google Maps. It was only a short walk from our flat.

  AT 4.25 P.M.: We mentioned the church to Dad. Dad had never heard of it. Dad asked why we were religious all of a sudden. Then he said we could try the bread wafers but not the wine. We deduced from this that Dad knew nothing about Pearl’s Painting Classes.

  PLAN TO GET OUT OF THE HOUSE TO VISIT SAINT BARTHOLOMEW’S: We came up with nothing for ages. Then at 4.45 p.m. Billy said something so utterly stupid it was utterly genius. Dad actually lost the power of speech for a moment when he heard it, which was a bonus. Billy said we were going to walk his pet snail, Brian. When Dad finally regained the use of his voice he began to protest, but Billy said he’d left behind all his other friends when we moved and Brian was all he’d got. Dad gave up and said he’d get chips for dinner.

  Billy said: “Can Brian have a battered sausage?”

  Dad said he could.

  OUTSIDE THE FLAT: Billy insisted on actually taking Brian for a walk. For the record, after five minutes I made the sound of a ringing phone and said, “Hello, Hollywood? My brother, Billy, has a story that you could make into an action movie. It’s about a snail. All the action takes place five hours after you’ve left the cinema.” Then I told Billy I wasn’t waiting around for Brian any longer. Billy pulled a face and told Brian to cover his ears so he couldn’t hear what his horrible brother was saying. Whether Brian did, I’m not sure. I didn’t know where his ears were – or his hands for that matter.

  AT 5:13 P.M.: We found Saint Bartholomew’s and Billy stared at a small poster outside that said Pearl’s Painting Classes (starting at 4.30 p.m.). All welcome.

  We entered the premises.

  DESCRIPTION OF THE PREMISES: The hallway was narrow and had a large noticeboard with lots of leaflets for flower arranging and toddler groups pinned to it. There was a small woven cross high on the white wall and a basket of pink carnations. (Billy poked around in these for ages.) Off the hallway there were six wooden doors; the first led to the kitchen and the second had a sign saying it was a toilet, but it seemed to be locked because I tried the handle. The third room was a small office, with no one in there. I could hear a radio playing somewhere behind one of the other doors.

  The toilet door suddenly opened before we could investigate. Billy grabbed my arm. I think he was scared. He says he wasn’t but I am reporting it anyway. A man wearing a loose dressing gown walked out. Colour: beige (the dressing gown, not the man). The front of it fell open as he was trying to tie the cord around the waist. He was naked underneath. I think he gave us a smile, although my eyes were somewhere else so I can’t be sure. He opened one of the other doors and disappeared through it.

  Billy said: “Brian doesn’t want a battered sausage any more.” Then he said the man must be very cold.

  I could neither confirm nor deny this.

  AT 5.17 P.M.: I peered through the glass window into the room where the man had gone. Billy stood on my toes to get a better look too. The room had five easels holding canvases.

  In my line of vision: Pearl (talking to a group of people).


  We had found her. We were in Pearl’s world again.

  Mission: complete.

  Billy made a little squeak of joy. I made a little squeak too, because it felt like Billy was breaking my metatarsals (foot bones).

  Billy said it was Pearl.

  For the record, I already knew that.

  Naked Man was lying on a sofa like one of those fancy Sphynx cats with lots of hairless wrinkles. (It made my stomach curl like a fortune-telling fish from a Christmas cracker.) Pearl walked over to Naked Man and positioned him differently to the way he had been sitting before (which was quite tricky because there was an awful lot of bare flesh to avoid). Next, she touched his cheek with her finger and laughed before going back behind the easels.

  I asked Billy if he wanted to go in and talk to Pearl.

  Billy said no.

  I said this was our chance to say “hello” or “goodbye” or anything.

  Billy said no.

  I said do you want to go home?

  Billy said yes.

  ON MY WAY HOME: Billy suddenly shouted that he’d forgotten Brian. I asked where Brian had gone and Billy said he’d left him in the flower basket in the church hall. So I said Billy was to channel Brian and not to move a centimetre, and I’d run back and rescue Brian. For the record, I said I would be two minutes.

  FINAL NOTE ON SECRET MISSION NUMBER TWO: Everything worked out okay with Brian.

  SECRET FINAL NOTE ON SECRET MISSION NUMBER TWO: I told Billy that was the end of my notes about what happened earlier. I said there wasn’t much else to report.

  I lied.

  WHAT REALLY HAPPENED AFTERWARDS: When I reached the church hall to rescue Brian, everyone was coming out so I waited. Then Pearl and Naked Man came out…together. I hardly recognized him with his clothes on. When they glanced my way I had to throw myself into someone’s garden. I got a hedgie (my underpants caught on the hedge and they were pulled up to my armpits). I landed beside a gnome with a fishing rod.

  Every few seconds I checked what Pearl and Naked Man were doing.

  They were talking.

  My mobile went off.

  Now they were not talking, they were looking.

  In my direction.

  Quickly I turned my phone off, slipped it into the gnome’s hand and crawled commando-style along the garden until I was hidden behind a bin.

  “Come here,” Pearl called to Naked Man. I watched as she leaned over the hedge and stared at the gnome. “That gnome has a phone. Who would do something as crazy as that?” she said.

  I was trying not to breathe but then I did it anyway because I like breathing.

  “Maybe he’s got it so he can phone gnome,” Naked Man replied. He opened his mouth wide as he laughed. I think I counted about six fillings. Anyway, having seen him naked, he’s not got much to laugh about.

  Pearl said she could swear the gnome got a phone call. Naked Man tugged Pearl’s coat. It was the pink coat Dad bought her from a boutique in the precinct near our old house. Naked Man said he wanted to go back to Pearl’s for some Quality Street.

  I wanted to go back to Pearl’s for some Quality Street. Then I realized he hadn’t said Quality Street at all, he’d said quality time. Then I realized I didn’t know where Pearl’s place was and quality time was in no way as good as having a chocolate Green Triangle.

  Naked Man kissed Pearl, a smacker right on the lips. It is not right to kiss people you work with like that. Okay, on the cheeks, yes. Maybe even both cheeks if you’re French or you can’t decide which cheek you want to go with.

  I deduced there and then that Pearl and Naked Man are a couple and she couldn’t have moved on from Dad faster if she was on a moving travelator.

  Pearl and Naked Man jumped in a car and zoomed away. Fiat Panda (white, splattered with seagull droppings).

  I prised my mobile from the cold hard hands of the gnome, climbed back over the hedge, entered the church premises and rummaged through the carnations.

  Brian was gone.

  The slippery little slimeball had seen his chance and raced off as fast as his rubbery suckers would carry him. I always knew Brian was putting on that “slow” thing. I was cursing (under my breath – I was in a church hall, after all).

  I was scared to tell Billy that Brian number two was lost.

  “I found Brian,” Billy said to me when I reached him.

  I said Billy hadn’t even put Brian in the basket, had he? Billy said he had but guess what? I didn’t want to guess. Billy then said he was just sitting on the wall waiting for me, when he turned around and looked in the mud and saw Brian. “He must’ve followed me,” said Billy.

  “Must’ve followed you,” I grunted, slapping my forehead so hard I nearly knocked myself out. Note to myself: I must not slap myself again. It hurts.

  Billy carried Brian number three carefully in his hand as we walked home. He said, “I didn’t like the rudey-nudey man whose clothes fell off.”

  “I know,” I said.

  “I didn’t much like his—”

  “YES,” I said.

  Then Billy said all this: “You don’t think Pearl was his girlfriend, do you? Because sometimes boyfriends and girlfriends take off their clothes and then they make funny laughing noises and then the lady lays an egg and becomes a mummy.”

  Where did he get that information? I asked Billy.

  “A boy in my class told me that’s what happens when you’re a grown-up and he heard the funny noises once. But I said I make funny noises all the time.” Billy clicked his tongue and made a little piglike snort and then growled at me. As I was about to tell him it’s okay to do animal impressions because I was pretty good at being a sloth, he tugged on my coat sleeve, forcing me to stop. “Why is it so hard to keep a mummy after she’s laid the egg?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe we’re just not the same as other people.”

  “People who have mummys?” Billy stopped and stared up at me, looking lost. “I want to be normal like them, Becket.”

  “You are normal, Billy. Not everyone has a mummy, you know.”

  “But everyone would like one,” replied Billy.

  There’s no way Pearl is coming back to us if she has Naked Man. This has thrown SNOOP into a mess. I stare up at a stain on our bedroom ceiling. It is shaped like the world, if the UK was missing. Oh, and the United States and Australia. Basically it’s nothing like the world.

  Closing my eyes, I tell myself that from this point on I’m only making paper cranes to get my wish to say goodbye to Mum, because there’s no point in wishing to find Pearl because we’ve already done that. I haven’t told Billy Naked Man is Pearl’s boyfriend, although it seems like he already guessed. He didn’t eat his chips when we got back and Brian didn’t eat the battered sausage. I ate everything instead and now my belly aches BIG time. I curl up into a tiny ball, clutching my stomach. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. By now we were supposed to have Pearl back, ready to visit the POOP garden as soon as it’s done. Now, everything in my entire life is POOP and it’s nothing to do with Project Observations Of Plants.

  At five forty-three the next morning, Billy appears in front of me like a ghost. He tugs my duvet and says he’s had another nightmare. Climbing out of bed, I take him to Mum’s armchair and adjust the swallow cushion so Billy can lie back on it. “Sit here,” I whisper and I bring my duvet over and sit down and wrap it around us two. We’re like a big caterpillar. “The armchair is safe.” And I continue the story I was telling Billy about the two boys on an armchair of their own.

  “The storm did not stop,” I say, “and the armchair was tossed about so violently that one of the boys began to slip. His brother tried to hold onto him but his clothes were so wet that he lost his grip. He couldn’t save the boy from falling into the water. The boy left on the armchair screamed that his brother had fallen and then he jumped in after him and the armchair was left bobbing on the surface with no passengers. But no matter how it rained and how much it rocked from side to side, the
armchair did not sink. It stayed right there on the ocean surface, waiting for the boys to come back. As if it knew that, before too long, they would.”

  When Billy falls asleep I think about how we’re the two boys in the story. I think about how we’re all at sea and how our past is disappearing. But most of all I think about how I’m afraid of the future.

  It makes my stomach ache all over again.

  That morning before we go to school, I remind Dad it’s our Year Six school trip to The Garden of Eden garden centre today. Dad looks at me and says he had forgotten. “I told you about it when we went shopping,” I offer, shovelling chocolate cereal into my mouth. Dad blows on his mug of tea before taking a slurp and says it’s okay and what do I need? “Three pounds,” I reply quickly. “We’re allowed to buy a pencil.”

  Dad suddenly grunts and sets his mug down, then flops his hands onto the table. “Three pounds for a pencil?” Then he says it again, even though I heard him quite clearly the first time. “In my day you could have bought a packet of pencils, felt tips, a sharpener and a big eraser for that and still had enough left over for a sherbet dip.”

  In his day he could probably have bought all those things and a Mercedes car and still had enough left over to buy a speedboat. When I tell him so, Dad snorts and says there’s three pounds in his wallet and he’ll have less of the cheek. The wallet’s in his jeans pocket in his bedroom.

  To be precise: it’s in his jeans pocket lying on the floor in his bedroom. As I’m about to reach down and seize the wallet, I notice the photo frame we bought in the shopping mall. Dad has placed a photo of Mum inside it and left it on his bedside table. My fingers reach forward and as I pick up the frame it’s as though someone is plucking on my heart strings. With the photo frame in my hand I sit, cross-legged, on the bed. Mum is standing in front of an ocean and looks so close I could almost reach into the photo and touch her. I try, but my fingers are stopped by the cold glass.

  “I wish more than anything you were here with me now, Mum.” I feel silly talking to myself. Peering closer, I see she is holding an old-fashioned glass bottle that I bet she found on the beach. I imagine Mum sending the bottle out to sea with a note inside to me saying: