A Seven-Letter Word

by Kim Slater

  ‘The last time you made contact, what did you talk about?’ Maryam isn’t backing off.

  ‘My m-mum,’ I say, choosing my words carefully. I’m not going to betray Alex’s secret about his dad’s affair. ‘Ab-about her leaving.’

  ‘How did you begin such a conversation?’ Maryam says.

  ‘He j-just w-wanted to know if D-Dad got rid of all her st-stuff.’

  ‘I do not understand why a fourteen-year-old boy would be interested in this,’ Maryam persists.

  I shrug.

  ‘Tell me again what happened with your mum, Finlay,’ Maryam says. ‘If it does not upset you too much.’

  I tell her how Mum left without saying anything or telling anyone where she was going. Maryam asks if we were close.

  ‘Yes,’ I say softly. ‘Mum t-taught me how to p-play Scrabble.’

  Maryam frowns and shakes her head. ‘Forgive me for saying this, Finlay, but it seems astonishing that your mum would just walk out like that. Surely there is more to it.’

  I try to stop my eyes tearing up by blinking really fast but it doesn’t really work.

  ‘I have upset you, I am so sorry.’

  ‘No, it f-feels great to hear s-someone say that.’ I smile. ‘I n-never believed in m-my heart M-Mum w-would just l-leave.’

  ‘In that case, you should follow your heart,’ Maryam says firmly. She thinks for a moment and then smiles. ‘Sometimes, in a tough game of Scrabble, it looks as if there is no chance of placing a word, but do you just give up? No, you keep looking, keep trying.’ She reaches for my hand and squeezes my fingers hard. Her face grows serious. ‘If you feel it in your heart, Finlay, you can be sure there is a way. You don’t need Online Alex to tell you that.’

  On the spur of the moment, I tell Maryam what happened today in the game with Oliver.

  ‘He threatened you with me?’ Her mouth twists up. ‘Finlay, if you ever lose a game again because of a threat from Oliver, I will personally punch you on the nose.’ She scowls, then grins. ‘That is a real threat.’ The mischievous glint is back in her eyes. ‘Promise me?’

  I laugh. ‘I pr-promise.’

  ‘And my promise is that I will report him if he tries to do anything mean again. I have already made a good start in speaking with Mrs Adams.’

  ‘D-deal,’ I say.

  ‘This is a good time for a game.’ Maryam beams.

  I don’t feel like playing.

  ‘What is it?’ she says, watching my face.

  I shrug.

  ‘Shrug, shuffle, mumble,’ she chides. ‘Speak, Finlay. Words are important, they mean something. Never forget they are your words and even if they take a little longer to get out, they are worth waiting for, yes?’

  I suppose she’s right. But I’m not entirely sure Maryam will want to hear them.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘I’m s-so sc-scared if I h-have to do a sp-speech at the ch-ch-championsh-ships,’ I manage, finally.

  ‘Finlay, get the board.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘The board.’ She nods over at the coffee table.

  I can’t be bothered to argue. I pick up the board and look around for my tile bag.

  ‘Just the board is fine.’ She pats the seat next to her on the settee. ‘Sit here.’

  Just the board and no tiles?

  Maryam smiles. ‘Finlay, this may be your most powerful Scrabble lesson yet.’

  WHEN THE TILE BAG IS EMPTY AND ONE PLAYER HAS AN EMPTY TILE RACK, THE GAME WILL END. THE WINNER IS THE PLAYER WITH THE HIGHEST OVERALL SCORE.

  Maryam shuffles closer to me, so the board is resting half on her knees, half on mine.

  ‘Look at the board,’ she whispers.

  I stare at the board.

  Maryam looks at me and sighs as if I’m a hopeless case. ‘I mean, really look at the board, Finlay. You are looking at life.’

  I look at the plain squares, interspersed with the coloured ones. I can’t say it’s like life.

  ‘Lots of plain, ordinary squares like the ordinary days of your own week.’

  I can sort of see what she’s getting at, but it still sounds a bit crazy. I imagine the empty squares filled with tiny moving pictures of me. Going to school, feeding Neville, doing my homework, playing Scrabble. Choking on stupid words.

  ‘Every so often, a special day comes along.’ Maryam’s finger traces the board and lands on a deep blue triple-letter square. ‘An opportunity. A way to transform the ordinary into something special, and sometimes, if you’re lucky, into something that is truly amazing.’

  Maryam looks at me and her eyes burn with something honest and true.

  ‘One more move and you’re on a coloured square, Finlay,’ she says. ‘Who knows what this amazing opportunity can bring. Please don’t be afraid of being you, of just being who you are.’

  And then she folds up the board.

  After Maryam leaves, I turn off the lamps and sit for a while in Dad’s chair.

  Everything seems more confused and up in the air than ever. Maybe the thing to do is to clear everything from my messed-up head and start again. Like a clean board.

  I can speak if I need to, I know I can do it. It might take three times longer than anyone else, I might turn red and nearly die of embarrassment, but the words will come out eventually, if I keep trying.

  Scrabble used to take me away from my stammer troubles and even helped me forget about Mum for a little while. But lately, things have changed. Nobody can stop me achieving my goal but me. Yes, I want to win the championships to make my mum proud but for the first time, I want to feel proud of myself, too.

  Speaking in public is just an ordinary square I have to pass in order to get to the exciting bit. I’m not going to let a few tricky words stop me from getting there.

  Everything seems to make a bit more sense. Maybe Mum really is Alex’s stepmum. Or not. Maybe Mum will see me in the press if I win the championships and get in touch. Or not.

  There are no guarantees. But one thing I can be one hundred per cent certain of is that if I do well in the championships, I will be proud of myself. And Maryam will be proud of me, and Mrs Adams, too. And Dad. My Dad will be really proud.

  Mum is gone. But I still have other people I care about and who care about me.

  I am worth knowing and I am a good friend. Good things happen when you use your bonus squares, and right now, I feel like I’m standing right on the edge of one.

  THE POINTS TOTAL FOR ANY REMAINING TILES IS DEDUCTED FROM EACH PLAYER’S FINAL SCORE.

  I wake with a jolt in Dad’s chair. I don’t want to start sleeping down here fully clothed like him. I make sure both front and back doors are locked and turn off the rest of the lights downstairs.

  My legs feel almost too heavy to climb the stairs but just a few minutes later I’m lying on my bed in my pyjamas. Wide awake.

  I look over at my computer. The monitor light is winking and before I know it, I’m sitting in front of it.

  Even though it’s late, Alex is online.

  Hey! Thought you’d ditched me

  No way, I say. Was really tired but wide awake now.

  Yeah, I know the feeling. Good day?

  Yeah, I type. Apart from that idiot Oliver, giving me grief at school AGAIN!!

  How come?

  I tell him about the Scrabble game and how Oliver forced me to let him win.

  He sounds like a nasty piece of work, Alex says. The championships sound really important to you.

  I take a second to think about whether I want to get into this conversation.

  It could be a way to find my mum, I confess.

  There’s about a minute of silence with no reply and I start to yawn and think about getting back into bed again. Then Alex comes back.

  Sounds interesting. What’s the plan?

  I like the way Alex talks about it as if it’s a problem we can solve together. I tell him about my plan to try and win the championships so that Mum has a chance of seeing me. It feels weird to b
e talking to him about how hard I’m trying to find my mum, when part of me is screaming, She might be right there, with you!

  But your mum knows where to find you now, right?

  We moved, I say.

  I’ve been thinking, types Alex. You sure she didn’t leave you any clues about why she left? Sometimes clues aren’t obvious, right? She could’ve hidden something for you to find.

  Why would she do that?

  Dunno. I imagine him shrugging. Maybe she didn’t want anyone else to find it? Like your dad.

  I like Alex, but he’s talking about Dad like he’s part of the reason for Mum leaving. I pull my fingers back from the keyboard. I don’t like the way the conversation is going. I can feel the weight of the unknown pulling me down again.

  Just trying to help, Alex sends.

  Do you know when you’re coming to Nottingham? I ask.

  Not yet, Alex types. Speak tomrw. He logs off.

  I sit on the floor by Neville’s cage. Alex’s words are running through my head like a burst water pipe: Sometimes clues aren’t obvious, right? She could’ve hidden something for you to find.

  ‘Like w-what, Neville?’ I ask. ‘And why?’

  Neville sits on his haunches, nibbling a peanut while he watches me. He looks as though he’s actually considering my question.

  ‘Mum could’ve just sat me d-down and told me why she was leaving. I mean, I was t-twelve, not five.’

  Neville stuffs the peanut into his cheek pouch and selects a sunflower seed.

  Maybe she didn’t want anyone else to find it? Like your dad. Alex’s words echo in my head.

  ‘It’s ridiculous. Dad m-misses Mum as much as I do – right, Nev?’

  Even though he insists that she left us without a backward glance.

  Neville drops his half-eaten sunflower seed and scurries over to his water bottle, turning his back on me completely.

  Like me, he’s finding the whole thing impossible to work out.

  IF THE PLAYER WHO ENDED THE GAME HAS NO REMAINING TILES, AN ADDITIONAL POINTS BONUS IS ADDED TO THEIR FINAL SCORE.

  Friday

  After showering and dressing, I head off to the supermarket to get some food in before Dad gets back from Brighton, later.

  I’ve hardly touched the money he left for me. My jeans feel baggier around my middle and I realize I’ve sort of just got used to having a grumbling feeling in my stomach.

  It’s time to get myself back on track.

  I’m looking forward to seeing Dad later and I’m thinking of getting something different in to try and tempt him away from chips and beans for once. I’m so deep in thought that I don’t realize I’ve taken the long way round to the shops, past the youth club, until it’s too late.

  There’s a small crowd of young people standing outside the entrance. I pull my fleece hood up, stick my hands in my pockets and stride past, hoping nobody will notice me. But what I overhear makes me grind to a halt.

  ‘So is Oliver OK?’ someone calls out.

  ‘He’s a brave lad,’ a gruff voice replies. ‘He’ll get through it but whoever did this isn’t going to get away with it.’

  I see a tall, wide man in a heavy construction jacket with sandy hair and eyes the same shade of grey as Oliver’s standing in the middle of the group of kids. I stop to listen to what he has to say.

  ‘I’m asking you all to keep your eyes and ears open. If you see or hear anything about what happened to my son, anything at all, then you let me or the police know. Got it?’

  Lots of mumbling and nodding of heads.

  ‘Because whoever did this is a coward of the worst order.’ The big man’s voice cracks. ‘My advice to you kids is to steer clear of anyone trying to talk to you or offer you money.’

  Then Oliver’s dad is gone, back to his truck, with a murderous look on his face.

  I spot a girl from my form standing at the edge of the group.

  ‘Wh-what ha-ha— What h-happened?’ I eventually manage.

  ‘Oliver Haywood got hit by a car.’ Her eyes pop with gossip. ‘It happened last night, near the entrance to the park. A bloke came up to him, saying he had an “opportunity” for Oliver to earn a bit of cash.’

  ‘Wh-what k-kind of opp-opp—’ My fingernails dig deep into my palms.

  ‘Dunno.’ The girl shrugs. ‘Oliver got creeped out and ran off, but the man went mental and started chasing him. Oliver ran straight into the road and got hit by a car. He must’ve been really scared.’

  Something stirs in my stomach and suddenly I feel quite hot. I pull down my fleece hood and smooth my hair back.

  The girl’s face is flush with the drama of it all. ‘His dad says Oliver could’ve died. He’s OK, but he won’t be back at school for a while.’

  At the supermarket I find it hard to concentrate. I suppose I ought to feel glad that Oliver has got his comeuppance. But there’s something I can’t put my finger on that just doesn’t feel right about the whole thing.

  I take the food shopping back home, put the milk and juice in the fridge. Instead of watching TV, I do some work with the anagram book that Maryam dropped off and I revise my two-letter-word lists. Then I go back into the kitchen to check the back door is locked and leave Dad a note to say I’ll be back early evening.

  Mrs Adams has arranged for me and Maryam to practise at the youth club, now we’ve broken up from school.

  It’s great to be able to come here for once and not have to worry about Oliver throwing his weight around. The championships are taking place in Birmingham in less than a week’s time and I’m determined to really knuckle down and focus on the training.

  When I arrive, I spot some of the other players from the school Scrabble club who I haven’t had a match with yet. The atmosphere is relaxed and friendly.

  Today, Maryam wants us to focus on intersecting words.

  ‘This is where your two-letter words can really earn you some serious points.’ She shows me how to scan the board quickly to see if it’s possible to create a new word that will intersect with other words. ‘You will earn points for any two-letter words you can create, as well as points for your new word.’

  ‘It’s l-l-like using some-s-some-one else’s t-turn to your own ad-advantage.’ I grin. ‘Turning their words against th-them.’

  Maryam’s face turns more serious. ‘You must also guard that someone does not do the same to you.’

  Maryam has got this way of saying one thing and meaning another. There’s a deeper meaning that I know is there but I can’t quite grasp it.

  I don’t mind admitting it; sometimes Maryam gives me the creeps.

  THE OVERALL WINNER IS THE PLAYER WITH THE FINAL HIGHEST SCORE.

  As we walk home from the youth club, Maryam insists we play a word game, taking turns to brainstorm two-letter words.

  ‘QI, JO, ZA.’ I offer my three without much enthusiasm.

  ‘You will thank me for this.’ Maryam grins. ‘When you hold up your trophy, it will all be worth it, Finlay.’

  My face tingles just thinking about it. If I win, it will definitely be worth it, even with the added horror of a making a winner’s speech.

  I wave when Maryam turns down her street and increase my walking pace.

  I’m just a few steps along our road when I spot Dad’s van outside the house. I feel glad that he’s home. OK, so Dad isn’t the best cook, he sometimes speaks before he thinks, and at times he finishes my sentences. But at the end of it all, he’s my dad.

  I burst through the back door, expecting him to be rifling through the freezer for fish fingers instead of cooking something with the fresh stuff I bought and put in the fridge. But the kitchen is empty and the TV isn’t even on. Dad’s boots are cast aside at the door and his fluorescent site jacket is slung over a chair.

  ‘D-Dad?’

  ‘Up here,’ I hear him call. His voice is flat and heavy.

  My head suddenly feels all stuffy but I kick off my shoes and climb the stairs.

  Dad’s bedroom
is upside down. I mean ten times worse than before.

  Mum’s clothes are strewn about and I spot some of the photos from the chest scattered about the floor.

  Dad sees me looking at Mum’s stuff but he doesn’t even try and cover it up, he doesn’t say anything at all.

  ‘W-what h-happened?’ My words sound thin and choked.

  ‘We’ve been done over.’ Dad stands staring, his fists clenching and unclenching. ‘Robbed.’

  ‘W-why would th-thieves be interested in th-this stuff?’ I say, pushing at some of the clothes with the side of my foot.

  Dad doesn’t answer me.

  My insides pull tight as if everything has been shrunk, then stretched out again. I feel as though I’m responsible, somehow, for what has happened. Which is just stupid.

  Then my head immediately empties of any thoughts but one, and I gasp and run into my room. Neville’s cage is tilted at an angle. The wire door is wide open and his little house has been upended.

  Neville is gone.

  While the police are asking Dad questions in the living room, I stand in the gloomy hallway, listening and watching through the crack in the door.

  ‘Has anyone got any grudges against you that you know of?’ one of the policemen asks.

  ‘No, there’s nothing,’ Dad says. To the police, his voice will sound normal, but I can hear a little quiver underneath.

  The taller policeman looks around the room.

  ‘From where I’m standing, it looks as if they just wanted to mess the place up. Nice flatscreen TV over there that they didn’t bother taking. What exactly is missing?’

  It feels like someone is squeezing my heart really hard when I think about Neville.

  Dad hesitates for a second or two. ‘Haven’t really had a chance to take a proper look, as yet,’ he says.

  There’s a short silence and then I hear the shuffling of feet. One of the policemen coughs. ‘Here’s my card, sir. Give us a ring when you’ve had a proper look.’ He says it like he thinks Dad is having him on.

  ‘Best if you leave everything as it is, if you can,’ the other policeman says. ‘Better for forensics, when they get here.’