“Hello, Claudia! Isn’t it hot? I love it though, don’t you?”
I kept my eyes on the thumbtack. I was not looking at anyone around me, not listening to a man with a hacking cough or feeling the infested chair beneath my legs. Just concentrate on the pin. Take deep breaths and count to three. One … two … thr—
“What you in here for then?”
I caught my breath. Someone had sat next to me. Close. I could see a blue school cardigan out of the corner of my eye.
“Is it a skin condition? Is that why you’ve got those gloves on?”
I turned to face Melody Bird, the girl from my class who lived across the street. The one who visited the graveyard a lot. Claudia was her mum, who my mum was now talking to. The hairs on my arm bristled. Melody made me nervous. Apart from her unnatural interest in the cemetery, she lived next door to Penny and Gordon at number one, and her house was number three; and those two numbers next to each other were bad news. “Tenplusthree” was becoming an issue for me, and I was trying to avoid it as much as I could. I’d found out that in some cities around the world, there were skyscrapers that didn’t have a “tenplusthree” floor and they just called it 12A or something, or else skipped right from 12 to 14. People wouldn’t do something like that unless there was a good reason.
Fortunately Chestnut Close stops at Mr. Charles’s house, number eleven. We’d once had a Christmas card delivered that was addressed to Mr. P. James, tenplusthree Chestnut Close. That unopened card sat on the windowsill next to our front door long into the summer because Mum couldn’t bring herself to throw it away, even though the house, and possibly Mr. P. James, didn’t exist. I was thinking about all of this while Melody talked. I didn’t really hear what she was saying, but I noticed she was sitting really close.
“Can you move back a bit?” I said.
Her large brown eyes squinted at me as she shuffled back a little in her chair.
“Why? Are you contagious or something?”
“No.”
She scratched her nose with a chewed fingernail and I turned away, focusing again on the thumbtack. A bead of sweat trickled slowly down my spine. A fan on the reception desk blew a blast of warm air every four seconds around the waiting room.
“So, can’t you tell me what’s wrong with you then?”
“No.”
She was quiet for a minute, and then I felt the heat from her arm as she edged toward me again.
“Can’t or won’t?”
I turned and faced her, leaning back slightly as if she had bad breath.
“Won’t.”
Tucking a long strand of brown hair behind one ear, she held my gaze for a moment and then shrugged.
“Fair enough.”
I looked at the thumbtack and pictured myself picking it up and pressing it into the corner of the poster on the wall. Everything where it belonged, then all would be okay. I took some notes in my mind:
Wednesday, July 23rd. 10:45 a.m. Doctor’s waiting room.
Number of people in waiting room = 9
Number of reception staff = 4
Number of fish in tank = 12
Number of thumbtacks on poster on wall = 3
Number of thumbtacks on floor = 1
“Verrucas.”
I shut my eyes for a second before turning to Melody again.
“Sorry?”
“That’s why I’m here. I’ve got a cluster of them on my big toe. They hurt like crazy. Got to have them all burnt off, I guess. You had a verruca before?”
“Nope.”
“They’re really painful.”
She whipped her head around to take a look at our mums.
“Your mum’s really pretty, isn’t she?”
I couldn’t think of an answer to that, so I kept quiet.
“Hey, I hear your neighbor has his grandchildren staying with him. That’ll be good, won’t it? Having some new faces around?”
I scowled at her.
“It’s just a couple of kids.”
She crossed and uncrossed her legs and then picked at the hem of her gray skirt.
“Apparently their mum is some kind of top businesswoman. I bet she’s rich, don’t you?”
I rubbed my forehead. My head was pounding.
“It was so hot in class yesterday. I can’t wait for summer vacation. I’ve got science after this, but I’m not going to rush back. They’re not going to know, are they?”
She studied her left palm and traced her fingernail along a couple of the lines before turning back to me.
“What doctor are you seeing? It’s not Dr. Kerr, is it? I can’t stand him. He must be about ninety and he’s always got bits of food on his shirt. Urgh.”
The fact that I wasn’t answering any of her questions didn’t seem to put her off. I closed my eyes, hoping she’d take the hint.
“Do you want me to get you some water? You look like you’re going to melt. Those gloves must be roasting.”
I shook my head and wiped the back of my neck with the cuff of my shirt, trying to soak up a bit of the perspiration. If I could just get that pin back on the poster, then things would be right again and maybe Melody would go away.
“Are you friends with Jake Bishop?”
“No.”
“Good. I hate him. He can be so evil sometimes. I can’t believe he lives on our street. I mean, out of everyone in the world he is the last person I’d want to have as my neighbor. Don’t you think?”
I jolted as a loud BEEP blasted the waiting room. A gruff, male voice came over the speakers asking for Mr. Andrews to go to Room 2.
“Ha! You nearly fell off your seat. You should have seen your face! You really jumped!”
As she laughed, her arm brushed against my shirt, so I slid onto the seat next to me.
“Where’re you going? Look, I’m sorry. It was just funny, that’s all.”
She was still giggling as she moved closer. I could hear my mum behind us:
“… I just don’t know what to do, Claudia. I’ve got the attendance officer on my back now. Why can’t we just get him to school? What did we do that was so wrong?”
The general hum of the waiting room had silenced as every ear strained to hear what my mum was going to say next. I cringed. Fortunately summer was right around the corner, so I figured it would all be fine soon. And when September came around, I’d make an effort to get back to normal and go in every day.
The button on my top collar was tight and it felt like I was slowly suffocating. Melody cleared her throat, ready to project another wave of verbal vomit at me, but this time I was quite grateful, as she might just drown my mum out.
“I think someone should stand up to Jake Bishop, don’t you? Didn’t you used to be friends with him once? Back in elementary school? Was he always so nasty?”
I shrugged.
“Well, I think he’s gotten away with being an idiot for far too long … Are you sure you’re okay? Your face has gone gray.”
“I’ve got a bad headache.”
She frowned, and I wondered if she was thinking she might be the cause.
“I can come to your house one day if you like? We can hang out during vacation. Keep each other company.”
Her bottom lip curled over her top and her brow furrowed as she waited for an answer. An old man shuffled by, and I tucked my legs under my chair to keep them out of the way.
“I don’t think so. I haven’t been well lately.” I gave a little cough.
She smacked the heel of her hand onto her forehead, making me flinch.
“Oh of course, the mystery illness! Well, that’s fine if you don’t want to tell me what’s wrong. We all have our secrets, don’t we?”
Her eyes narrowed, and I was wondering what she meant when there was another loud BEEP.
“Melody Bird, Room 4, please.”
“That’s me! Well, see you later, Matty.”
Her hand suddenly reached toward me, and she squeezed my forearm before she headed off along t
he corridor with her mum. My arm tingled where her hand had touched it. Not a good tingle—an infected tingle. Washing was imperative, but there was no way I was going to venture into the bathroom of a doctor’s office. I searched the baseboard for the missing thumbtack as Mum arrived next to me with a sigh.
“She’s nice, that Claudia. A bit, you know, New Agey, but she’s all right. I told her she should get herself to the salon and we’ll thread her eyebrows for her.”
Rummaging in her bag, she pulled out her phone and started texting someone. Now was my chance. My legs wobbled as I stood up and my ears began to ring. This possibly wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to go home and leave that poster like that. I bent down slowly, and just as my fingers reached the cold pin, everything went black.
I woke with a cold, wet washcloth on my forehead. The receptionist, Mum, and a nurse were all staring down at me. They fussed over me for a while, talking about whether I needed to go to the hospital, and all I wanted to say to them was: Look, could someone just put that pin back in that poster over there? My gloves had been removed, and I told Mum I had to go home immediately, but she said we were going to see Dr. Kerr even if she had to drag me.
His office was dark and musty. I perched on the edge of the chair and stared at my naked hands in the gloomy light as Mum told the doctor how anxious I’d become, how I liked to keep things clean all the time. She was using her posh voice, the one she used in front of teachers, people who work in banks, and Mr. Charles.
“We just don’t know what to do anymore, Dr. Kerr. We’re at a loss!”
Dr. Kerr’s bones creaked as he wrote some notes and we both waited for him to answer. In the corner was an old computer covered in a thin layer of dust. Melody was right, he did look about ninety. And I counted at least six stains of various colors on his shirt. I was just beginning to think maybe he hadn’t heard anything Mum had said when he suddenly burst into life.
“Not much we can do here, I’m afraid. I’ll refer him to a psychotherapist, arrange a face-to-face assessment. In all likelihood you’re looking at six weeks of counseling, maybe more, and then he should be feeling right as rain.”
He squinted at me, even though he hadn’t actually spoken to me at all.
Great. Can I go now? bubbled across my tongue, dangerously close to escaping.
“How long will we have to wait for an appointment, doctor?” said Mum.
He looked back down at his notes, his pen scratching once more. “Well, these things take a while, unfortunately. I think the current wait time is at least three to four months. Maybe longer.”
He kept his head down, writing, and then Mum suddenly slapped her hand on the desk. Dr. Kerr and I bounced in our chairs as if we’d both gone over a speed bump.
“Three months? Three months? Are you serious?” Mum’s posh voice was obliterated. Dr. Kerr rolled his eyes.
“Mrs. Corbin, I’m sorry, but there is a waiting list and your son isn’t an urgent case. I’ll write a letter to his school and explain. They’ll arrange a meeting with you and the local authority to discuss your son’s absence if they haven’t already done so.”
He flicked through an old Rolodex and copied something onto a yellow Post-it note.
Creak, creak, creak.
“Here are a couple of private therapists who may be able to help you—if you’re willing to pay.”
He leaned forward with the fluttering note stuck to a finger and Mum snatched it from him. Then she stood up and stormed out, leaving me sitting there on my own. Dr. Kerr just sighed and carried on writing as if I didn’t exist. I stood to go too, but stopped when I reached the door.
“I’m sorry about my mum shouting, Dr. Kerr. She’s been a bit stressed lately. You know, because of everything.”
The old man concentrated on his writing pad for a moment and then looked up. “You’re a nice boy, Matthew. Stop all this messing around now, eh? There’s a good lad.”
He looked down again and waved his hand as if he were shooing away an annoying wasp. I had been dismissed.
I went to bed while it was still light outside. My limbs felt heavy, my brain exhausted. I must have fallen asleep within minutes to the sound of a blackbird singing outside. When I woke up it was dark. My clock glowed red: 2:34 a.m. Something had disturbed me, but in that just-awake state I wasn’t sure what; and then I heard knocking on the other side of my wall.
Tap, tap, tap.
I sat up and listened again.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Can you hear that?” I whispered to the Wallpaper Lion. “She’s doing it again.”
I closed my eyes and listened.
Tap, tap, tap.
“Are you there, Goldfish Boy? Are you back in your tank?”
It was Casey. I clenched my hand into a fist, ready to thump back if she did it again. I waited for ten minutes, but there was silence.
Dad came up to see me at lunchtime on Saturday, waving a letter addressed to “The Parents of Matthew Corbin.”
“We’ll soon have you sorted out, eh, son? Get you back on your feet. Blimey, it’s hot in here.”
Unlike Mum, he had no hesitation about coming into my room. He walked in and opened my window using his bare hands, a big grin on his face, as if this mysterious letter’s arrival would suddenly cure me of all my “issues.”
“Dad, what are you doing? I don’t want my window open!”
I jumped onto my bed and pulled my knees up, hugging my legs.
“Course you do. Bit of fresh air won’t poison you, will it?”
My curtains blew in the breeze, the germs squealing with delight as they skydived onto my carpet.
“Me and your mum are off to Auntie Jean’s picnic in a bit. How about coming with us, now that you’re on the mend? All your cousins will be there.”
Auntie Jean’s Mighty Picnic used to be the highlight of my summer. A red ring would mark the date on our calendar, and I’d count the weeks until school was over and the picnic was here. It had started off as a small family get-together for my cousin Darcy’s sixth birthday, but it went so well that Auntie Jean had organized one every summer since.
Last year’s picnic had been epic. We all arrived in convoy and parked next to each other by a patch of field at a big, countryside park. The grown-ups hugged and kissed one another first and then turned their attention to the kids.
“Oliver, that can’t be you under all that hair, is it?”
“How old are you now, Darcy? Fourteen? Wow, is it eight years we’ve been doing this, Jean?”
“Make sure you’re on my team later, Matthew. How many runs did you get last year?”
I grinned at Uncle Mike, who put his arm around my shoulder.
“I think it was twelve, Uncle Mike.”
It was twelve. I just didn’t want to sound like a show-off.
Before we unpacked the cars all twenty of us went for a long walk to work up an appetite. We followed the same path that we did every year, but as always there was a disagreement over the route:
“It’s left here, Brian. I remember that tree.”
“No, it’s definitely right. And how can you remember a tree? They all look the same!”
Auntie Jean took charge and turned left and we laughed as we followed her. Toward the end of the walk we slowed down, with the youngest kids at the back whining about sore feet, but then someone shouted:
“Picnic ahoy!”
Our cars glinted in the sun at the top of the hill, and the thought of lunch helped speed us onward. There was a mad frenzy as everyone unpacked their coolers and wicker baskets, laying the picnic blankets out in one huge patchwork.
I scarfed down as many sausage rolls and ham sandwiches as I could, impatient for everyone to finish so that the real fun could begin. Finally, Uncle Mike announced:
“Okay, who’s up for some baseball?”
I was the first on my feet as the adults tried to organize the teams fairly.
“You take Uncle
Reg, and we can have little Martha.”
“But Uncle Reg can’t run! That’s not fair!”
“Matthew can do the running for him. Can’t you, Matthew?”
I grinned and nodded as I smacked the smooth bat in my palm, eager to get started.
The game went on for hours until some of the adults said they wanted a rest and the younger kids drifted off to try and catch some grasshoppers. I sat next to Mum and she patted me on the shoulder.
“So you didn’t beat last year’s record then, darling? How many did you get?”
“Only nine this year, Mum.”
“Only nine, eh? Well, next year I’m sure you’ll beat it.”
Auntie Jean was passing around a huge bowl of chips and they landed in front of me.
“Go on, Matty. Dig in.”
I looked down the hill at the old brick restroom hidden in a small copse of trees.
“Mum. I think I’m just going to go wash my hands. I won’t be long.”
I headed toward the bathroom, the long grass scratching at my ankles. The sound of my family’s excited chatter faded as I stepped into the cold, dank building. The lights weren’t working and there was only a tiny rectangle of window above the sinks, so it took a while for my eyes to adjust. I didn’t feel bad, exactly; I just knew I’d feel happier if my hands were clean. I stood alone, listening to the steady drip, drip, drip of the toilet as I washed them in the darkness.
“Come on, son, it’s the Mighty Picnic! You can’t miss it, you’ve got to try and break that baseball record, remember? How many runs did you get again?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Dad walked around my room, looking at my books, my desk, my papers, almost touching things. I sensed he was daring me to ask him to leave.
“You’ve certainly been busy keeping things nice and tidy in here. Where are your dirty socks? Moldy cups? Empty soda cans? The things normal boys would have lying around?”
Did you hear how he said normal, Lion? Did you hear that? That’s not right, is it?
I said this in my head as I looked up at the misshapen wallpaper in the corner of my room. Dad’s mouth was smiling, but the rest of his face didn’t mean it. You had to be careful with him sometimes.
The Goldfish Boy Page 4