by Judi Curtin
‘How are we going to figure it out?’ said Beth. ‘The houses are just normal houses, and there’s no one around to ask.’
‘Let’s just wait and see,’ I said. ‘I’m sure we’ll figure it out – eventually – and then we can go looking for my dad.’
Chapter Six
For a few minutes neither of us said anything. It’s very strange not having any clue what day or month or year it is. After a bit, a huge purple car drove by.
‘Look, Molly,’ said Beth. ‘A purple car – that has to be the weirdest—’
‘Weirder than that?’ I said as an orange car came from the opposite direction, followed by two yellow ones.
Beth laughed. ‘This is like being in the 1980s again,’ she said. ‘What is it with the people in the past? Why are all the colours so bright? Haven’t they heard of black or white or grey?’
‘I guess not,’ I said. ‘Look over there.’
Just up the road, a group of teenagers came out of a house. Beth and I watched in silence as they walked past us. All the girls and a couple of the boys had long, straight hair, parted in the middle. Their clothes were all crazy bright colours. One girl was wearing a huge, long-sleeved pink and green maxi-dress that looked a bit like a tent. The others were wearing trousers with the biggest flares I had ever seen. At first I thought that everyone was weirdly tall, before I noticed that they were all wearing shoes with huge, high platform heels.
I wanted to ask one of them what date it was, but I was afraid I’d burst out laughing before I could get the words out. Anyway, they didn’t seem to notice Beth and me in our ordinary clothes – it was like we just faded into the background.
‘Wow!’ said Beth when the teenagers had disappeared around a corner. ‘Did you see that boy’s red shirt? I think it was made of silk.’
I giggled. ‘And it had to have had the biggest collar in the history of the world – if there was a sudden gust of wind he might end up flying away.’
‘And I know I sound like my dad, but those shoes they were wearing – if they fell off them I bet they’d break their legs.’
I thought about all the weird and wonderful clothes Beth and I had seen in the 1960s and 1980s. Maybe the people who looked the strangest were the coolest of all? Maybe one day I’ll have kids who will laugh at the clothes I think are so great right now. I’m not looking forward to that.
‘You’re right, and …’ I stopped talking as a little boy who looked like he was about eight or nine came along the road. He was wearing check, flared trousers and a striped tank top over a yellow shirt. I wondered who picked out his clothes – and if they’d had their eyes tested lately.
‘Let’s ask this kid what date it is,’ I said.
By now the boy was next to us. He stopped and stared at Beth and me.
‘You look funny,’ he said.
‘So do—’ Beth stopped when I pinched her arm. There was no one else around and we needed to find out when we were.
I smiled at the boy, but he didn’t smile back.
‘Hi,’ I said. ‘Do you know what date it is?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘And I don’t care either.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Never mind. Do you know what year it is?’
He picked his nose and stared at me for a minute. ‘I’m not stupid,’ he said. ‘Of course I know what year it is.’
‘So would you mind telling us?’ said Beth.
The boy said nothing as he examined whatever he’d picked out of his nose.
‘Please,’ said Beth. ‘Can you tell us what year it is – before you have to head off to your fancy dress party?’
Luckily the boy didn’t get her joke. ‘It’s 1975,’ he said. ‘And if you didn’t know that, you must be a right pair of wallies.’
‘1975,’ I whispered to Beth as I quickly did the maths in my head. ‘That means Dad’s seven years old.’
‘How could your dad be seven years old?’ laughed the boy, who had somehow managed to hear me. ‘You thought I was stupid, but you are the stupid ones. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.’
He did a little dance as he sang the last words. I don’t believe in hitting little kids, but if I did, that boy would have been in a lot of trouble. He was the most annoying creature I’d ever come across.
‘Hey, kid,’ said Beth suddenly. ‘Do you know a boy called Eddie? He lives on this street.’
Now the boy laughed even more. ‘You mean Eddie the Egghead? He lives in number seven – with his brother, Stephen the Swot – except now he’s Sick Stephen the Swot.’
I had no clue what he was going on about. I really felt like thumping the kid, but Beth was calmer than me. I guess it wasn’t her dad and uncle who were being insulted.
‘Why do you call them those names?’ she asked.
‘Because they are a swot and an egghead,’ said the boy. ‘They think they’re so great, hanging around in their fancy treehouse with their crippled cat, writing their precious stories.’
I took a step towards him, but Beth pulled me back.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘Billy,’ said the boy.
‘Well, Billy,’ said Beth, pulling her phone from her pocket, and pressing a few buttons. ‘We don’t like it when you call people names.’
‘So what are you going to do about it?’ he asked.
Beth was staring at him fiercely, but this kid didn’t seem to scare easily.
‘Oh,’ said Beth. ‘If we hear you saying stuff like that again, we might ask our pet to come out from the bushes over there where he’s hiding. We’ll tell him we don’t like you – and if we don’t like you, he definitely won’t like you.’
‘I’m so scared,’ said Billy, grinning, and looking over towards the bushes. ‘Is it a pet rabbit or a little fluffy kitten?’
Beth smiled a sweet smile, as she slipped her phone into her pocket. I smiled too when I saw that she was holding her thumb carefully over the screen.
‘No,’ she said. ‘Our pet isn’t a rabbit or a kitten. His name is Leo. Say hello to the little boy, Leo.’
Suddenly there was the loud sound of a lion roaring. I could tell that it was coming from Beth’s pocket, but Billy was watching the bushes. The wind blew then, and the bushes rustled. Billy gave a little squeak of fear, and backed away.
‘Tell me, Leo, do you like little boys who call names?’ asked Beth.
There was another roar – even louder than the one before.
‘I don’t like him,’ wailed Billy. ‘Take him away.’
‘We might,’ said Beth. ‘If you’re good.’
‘And if you point us towards Eddie’s house,’ I added.
‘Eddie the……’ began Billy, but he stopped talking when Beth took a small step towards him. ‘Eddie lives over there,’ he said. ‘In the house with the yellow door.’
‘Thank you,’ said Beth. ‘See you around. Not!’
Billy started to walk quickly away from us. When he was far enough away, he turned back and shouted. ‘You two girls are crackers,’ he said. ‘And so is your stupid pet.’ Then he ran into a house and slammed the door behind him.
‘What a horrible kid,’ I said. ‘Poor Dad and Stephen – imagine having to live near that little monster.’
‘Nightmare,’ said Beth. ‘Anyway, we don’t have time to worry about the neighbours. Let’s go see what’s happening in your dad’s place.’
Chapter Seven
We stood for a second outside number 7 Castle Street. When we went back to the 1960s and the 1980s we spent most of our time with Beth’s mum, and with her uncle Graham. Now we were going to see my family, and that felt a bit weird.
‘My grandparents live here,’ I said. ‘Are we supposed to just go up and ring the bell – and if we do, and someone answers, what are we going to say?’
‘Well at least your grandparents won’t recognize you,’ said Beth. ‘Didn’t they both die when you were a baby? That means they’ve never before seen the wonderful thirteen-year-old you.
’
‘They’ve never seen the cute baby me either,’ I said. ‘It’s 1975, remember? I’m not going to be born for years and years.’
‘You’re right – this time-travel stuff can be very confusing. I can never—’
‘Shhhh,’ I said. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘What?’
‘Be quiet and you’ll hear it.’
We listened for a second, and then I heard it again. It was a little boy’s voice, coming from the back garden of number 7.
‘Come on, Pablo. You can do it.’
‘That must be your dad,’ whispered Beth.
‘Or Stephen,’ I said.
‘It doesn’t matter which,’ said Beth. ‘Let’s go before he disappears.’
I thought about arguing, but Beth was already gone. I followed her as she ran through the front gate, up the path, and down along the side of the house.
The back garden was huge, with lawns as big as a football pitch, and giant flower beds filled with bright red and yellow flowers.
‘I can’t see anyone,’ said Beth.
I was kind of glad about that. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see anyone, especially not the grandparents I couldn’t remember. Mum had made them sound very scary – not the kind of people who’d welcome a time-travelling granddaughter wandering around their garden.
Then I looked along the path that ran towards the end of the garden, and saw something through the trees.
‘Look,’ I whispered. ‘Look over there.’
‘The treehouse,’ whispered Beth. ‘Come on, Moll, that’s where he has to be.’
The two of us walked along the path until we came to a thick green hedge, way taller than us. There was an iron gate, which I opened, jumping when it squeaked loudly.
We were in a dark, wooded area that you could just barely see from the house. The grass was thick and long, and there were lots of pale pink and white wildflowers. There was a warm, damp smell that reminded me of summer and adventures.
‘A secret garden!’ said Beth. ‘This is so cool. If I lived here I don’t think I’d ever go indoors.’
We followed a grassy path towards the huge tree where the treehouse was, and stood for a second at the bottom of the ladder. All we could hear was the wind in the leaves, and a bird singing somewhere far away.
Before we could decide what to do next, a crooked door in the treehouse opened, and a little boy was looking down at us. He was wearing a light brown jacket with huge red pockets, and a collar that reached right out to his shoulders.
I stared at him for a minute. He had lots of hair (which I wasn’t used to) and chubby cheeks, and a big gap where his front teeth should be – but his eyes were exactly the same.
‘Dad?’ I whispered.
‘Eddie,’ said Beth, louder. ‘You are Eddie, aren’t you?’
‘Who are you?’ he said. ‘How do you know my name? Mammy says I’m not allowed to talk to strangers.’
‘I’m Molly,’ I said. ‘And my friend is called Beth.’
‘And we’re not strangers,’ said Beth. ‘We’re …’
‘… family,’ I said.
He looked at us suspiciously. ‘You’re not my family.’ he said. ‘I don’t even know you. You’re trying to trick me.’
He stepped back and started to close the door.
‘Well, you see, sometimes families can be very big,’ I said quickly. ‘And you don’t get to know everyone at the same time.’ It felt weird to be speaking to my dad like he was a little kid. I was used to him explaining stuff to me.
He still didn’t look convinced, and I could see he was a little bit scared. Part of me wanted to run up the ladder and give him a big hug – except I guessed that would freak him out completely.
I smiled at him. ‘I promise you, Eddie,’ I said. ‘In the future you and I are going to get to know each other very well.’
Beth put one foot on the ladder. ‘This is a very cool treehouse,’ she said. ‘Could we come up and see what it’s like inside?’
Eddie thought for a minute. ‘I’ve got a cat,’ he said.
I didn’t know if that meant yes or no, but Beth started climbing up the ladder, and I followed close behind her.
Eddie moved backwards so we could get in through the tiny door and when we were inside, he closed it behind us.
The treehouse was fairly big, with plenty of room for the three of us to sit down and stretch our legs out in front of us. Over the door there was a shelf with some books and toy cars and a torch. In one corner was a big wooden box, like an ancient pirate’s chest. On the lid there was a label – TOP SECRET. In another corner we could see a cat asleep on a fluffy red cushion.
‘Pablo!’ I said.
Eddie nodded. ‘How do you know his name?’
‘Oh, we’ve heard a lot about him,’ said Beth. ‘I bet he’s only got three legs.’
‘He’s better than any cat with four legs,’ said Eddie fiercely. ‘When I found him in the garden, he could already run and jump and climb. He’s the cleverest cat in the whole world.’
‘He looks like he loves that fluffy cushion,’ I said.
‘We’re getting him his own special bed,’ said Eddie. ‘Mammy’s saving up Green Shield Stamps, and we only need one more book to have enough.’
‘What are Green Shield…?’ I started to ask, but then Pablo opened his eyes and sat up. Even though his front leg was missing, he was easily able to climb over Beth and me to get to Eddie. He sat on Eddie’s knee and licked his face. Then he patted his cheek three times with his front paw.
Eddie smiled. ‘I taught him to do that,’ he said. ‘And he doesn’t do it to anyone else – only me.’
‘He’s adorable,’ said Beth and I together.
‘Pablo is my best friend in the whole world,’ said Eddie, which was kind of cute and very sad.
Pablo curled up in Eddie’s arms, and Eddie sang to him.
‘This is his favourite song,’ he said. ‘I sing it to him every day.’
I didn’t know that cats could have favourite songs, but Pablo certainly seemed to like this one. He purred loudly, then closed his beautiful green eyes, and fell fast asleep.
‘Haven’t you got a brother?’ asked Beth.
‘He’s called Stephen,’ said Eddie. ‘I’m seven and he’s eight.’
‘Where is he today?’ I asked. ‘Why isn’t he out here having fun with you and Pablo?’
‘Stephen is sick,’ said Eddie. ‘He’s in hospital.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Beth. ‘Has he been there for long?’
Eddie shrugged. ‘I can’t remember - ages and ages and ages, I think.’
Little kids don’t really understand time, so I wondered if Stephen had been sick for days or weeks or months.’
‘But I guess you go and visit your brother every day?’ I said. ‘So you can tell him all about what you and Pablo are up to.’
Eddie shook his head. ‘I asked, but Mammy and Daddy won’t let me go. They say the hospital is only for sick kids.’
‘That’s harsh,’ said Beth.
I made a face at her. Those were my grandparents she was dissing – and maybe it wasn’t even their fault. Maybe hospitals had rules about child visitors in 1975.
‘Mammy and Daddy go to the hospital every single day,’ said Eddie. ‘And they stay there for a long time. They don’t play with me anymore. When Mammy puts me to bed she doesn’t read me stories – she says she’s too tired. Last night I cried for a story, so she started one, but she fell asleep after the first page.’
I could feel tears coming to my eyes. Eddie was just a little kid, and couldn’t really understand what was going on. None of this was his fault, but he was still having a hard time.
‘Stephen must miss you and Pablo,’ I said.
‘Pablo is mine,’ said Eddie. ‘I’m the one who found him and minded him when he was a tiny baby kitten. Pablo is mine – only mine!’
‘Sharing is caring,’ I said, sounding a lot like my mum.
&nbs
p; ‘I can share,’ said Eddie. ‘Sometimes I let Stephen play with Pablo and feed him and things like that. But Pablo will always love me the best.’
‘OK,’ I said. ‘We get it. Pablo is yours.’
‘Only mine,’ he repeated.
Then I remembered I had a job to do. ‘Before Stephen got sick I guess you two played out here a lot?’ I said.
Eddie smiled a very cute, gap-toothed smile. ‘Every single day,’ he said. ‘It’s our favourite place in the universe.’
‘What did you do?’ asked Beth.
Now Eddie looked shy and embarrassed. ‘If I tell you you’ll laugh at me.’
‘We won’t, we promise,’ I said.’
‘We just do stupid things,’ said Eddie, with his head down.
‘Why don’t you tell us and we’ll decide if they’re stupid or not,’ I said.
He looked up again, and his innocent, hopeful face made me want to cry. Why was he so shy and lacking in confidence?
‘Stephen and me wrote stories,’ he said. ‘We’re going to be famous writers when we grow up – like Enid Blyton – so we have to practise a lot now. We write every day – well, we did write every single day, until Stephen got sick.’
‘But writing’s not stupid,’ said Beth.
‘Writing’s really great!’ I said. ‘Don’t give up, Eddie. I’d love if you grew up to be an author.’
As I said the words, I felt sad. That’s the trouble with time-travelling – you know how things are going to turn out. My dad’s not a writer – well, not yet anyway – and neither is Stephen.
‘Billy says writing’s stupid,’ said Eddie then. ‘Billy says only sissies write stories. He calls Stephen and me bad names.’
‘You shouldn’t listen to Billy,’ I said. ‘I bet he’s just jealous. He has no clue how good you are.’
‘Stephen and me showed Billy one of our stories,’ said Eddie. ‘We wanted to show him that they weren’t stupid.’
The look on his face told me that hadn’t been a great idea. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what happened next, but Eddie told us anyway.
‘Billy grabbed the page and ran away,’ he said. ‘Then he read the story out loud to all the other kids. He put on a silly voice – and everyone laughed at us.’