It wasn't every day that Pepper saw a tree in the living room of his house. But when it appeared, one blizzarding day, his heart struck an extra beat and his eyes widened to the size of tennis balls. The twinkling lights drapped across the boughs, the glittery balls dangling from branches, the promise of delights to come; he knew exactly what it meant for him, all he had to do was wait.
Every day as he lay down at the foot of the tree, staring up at the little red and white man twirling around on string, he waited for the floor to be piled high with boxes wrapped in brightly coloured, wafer-thin paper. Why was it there? he pondered. Was it lonely? Did it need a home? Or perhaps it was cold. That at least would explain why it was inside when the wind howled outside and the ground turned white.
He knew how that felt; to be confined to a small part of the garden, hemmed in by a metal fence with no shelter. Memories from long ago. But now nothing could taint his excitement.
Patiently he sat and on the seventh day, when he cracked open his sleepy, sticky eyes and lifted his head of his tartan, hairy rug he saw before him a pile of glimmering boxes piled randomly on top of one another.
He leapt off his rug and bounded into his carers' bedroom, throwing open the door with a headbutt.
Pepper's carers sat bolt up right in bed. He knew he'd woken them both suddenly by the rasping of their voices, the whites of their eyes and their heavy breathing, but that didn't matter. They called out to him with sounds incomprehensible and furrowed brows. Pepper just stood at the foot of the bed, staring at one and then the other with his jaw open, his lips curled into an eager smile and his tongue lolling like a limp piece of ham from the side of his mouth.
'Gimme, gimme,' he thought. 'Please, please.'
There weren't many sounds he understood but 'Come on then, Pepper,' usually meant they'd given in to his will. This time it was no different. The stockier of his carers pulled back the sheets and led Pepper back through to the lounge. Pepper scuttled alongside him and dashed toward the tree where he sat down, panting and glancing down at the presents and up at his bare, pink-skinned carer.
"You want your presents already?" he said.
Pepper just stared back at him.
"Fine," said his carer as he reached into the multi-coloured pile and pulled out two odd-shaped packages wrapped in wrinkled paper.
Pepper began to salivate. He knew what it was. He could almost taste it, almost feel the hairy texture on his tongue.
"Now," said his carer, waggling the present in front of Pepper's eyes. "At least make it last longer than a day as the ladies at the charity shop are getting suspicious of me. If they knew I bought these for you to tear up they'd never let me in their store again."
More incomprehensible sounds.
His carer handed Pepper the present, and Pepper gently clasped his mouth round the soft package.
When his carer was out of sight he thumped his body on the floor, gripped the packaged between his fore paws and frantically tore through the crisp wrapping, exposing the orange and black striped beast inside.
It had four bulbous paws, two pointed ears, a lolling red tongue and large, black plastic eyes. That's what Pepper liked the most; eyes not so big that he couldn't get his mouth round it and too small to find either.
He plucked the unsuspecting tiger from the shreds of soggy paper and gripped it between his paws.
But just as he was about to begin earnestly gouging out the black eyes with his teeth, something stopped him. The hopeful smile on the tiger's face, the piercing stare of its eyes, the eagerness of its pricked ears spoke to him silently.
Pepper could feel its warmth radiating off its fur, enveloping him like the warm comforting arms of his carer.
He tried to fight back the unfamiliar feeling, trying to tap into his deep desire, his fixation with pulling the ribbons white fluff from its squashy body-the white gold he so desperately craved-but its soothing force was stronger than he could overcome. All he could do was stare at it staring back at him.
He was defeated. He knew he could no more pluck the stuff from that toy than he could his carers. So instead he simply rested his chin upon its head and made sure it never left his side.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Monday, August 2, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Cameron's fourth birthday
When Cameron turned four
a party he did host
he invited sixteen friends
to a hall just off Fife's coast
That morning he woke up
to a flurry of fresh snow
falling from the sky
onto the icy ground below
His mother she was worried
that his friends wouldn't arrive
because the laying snow
made it so difficult to drive
The DJ had already called
to say his van was stuck
he was on his way to get a farmer
to dig him from the rut
As time ticked on the hall was dressed
so full of birthday cheer
then Cameron arrived
and wondered if his friends were here
The hall was empty, all alone
disaster on the brink
then one by one his friends turned up
Cameron was tickled pink
The music played while Auntie Kirsty
did some crowd control
but Cameron requested
that she play some Cheryl Cole
Then everyone had food
the theme was Cars, the disney movie
and Cameron's daddy joked that Grandma
burnt the adult's stovies
Parcel the parcel, musical chairs
many games they did play
then birthday cake came out
and Cameron blew the flames away
A few more games, a few more songs
then everyone said bye
"Thank you everyone for coming,"
was Cameron's reply
Then through the snow we all drove home
and Cameron was sad
til he remembered the wii was there
and then was rather glad
After a game of Wii Swordplay
slicing legs and heads and ears
Cameron opened all his presents
and that was it for another year
a party he did host
he invited sixteen friends
to a hall just off Fife's coast
That morning he woke up
to a flurry of fresh snow
falling from the sky
onto the icy ground below
His mother she was worried
that his friends wouldn't arrive
because the laying snow
made it so difficult to drive
The DJ had already called
to say his van was stuck
he was on his way to get a farmer
to dig him from the rut
As time ticked on the hall was dressed
so full of birthday cheer
then Cameron arrived
and wondered if his friends were here
The hall was empty, all alone
disaster on the brink
then one by one his friends turned up
Cameron was tickled pink
The music played while Auntie Kirsty
did some crowd control
but Cameron requested
that she play some Cheryl Cole
Then everyone had food
the theme was Cars, the disney movie
and Cameron's daddy joked that Grandma
burnt the adult's stovies
Parcel the parcel, musical chairs
many games they did play
then birthday cake came out
and Cameron blew the flames away
A few more games, a few more songs
then everyone said bye
"Thank you everyone for coming,"
was Cameron's reply
Then through the snow we all drove home
and Cameron was sad
til he remembered the wii was there
and then was rather glad
After a game of Wii Swordplay
slicing legs and heads and ears
Cameron opened all his presents
and that was it for another year
Monday, December 14, 2009
Magic legs
It was a long journey. The longest my mother had taken. With me hanging onto her back, my stumps sticking out from the cloth sling she tied round her body to support me, I was sure I made it harder. But she didn't grumble. She continued to put one foot in front of the other, walking the dusty track to the city.
"You're getting magic legs today," she had said as she buttoned up my dress, my 'best' dress. She had a broad smile on her face-not the one she wore when she laughed, the one she could hide behind, the taught smile that looked like it had been painted on. That was her way of protecting me. But the crack in her voice and the well of tears in her eyes said it all.
"Why are you so sad, mama?" I asked.
She took my face in her hands.
"I'm not sad, Dafina. I'm happy. You have a real chance of a life now, and that makes me more happy than I could possibly explain."
Magic legs. I wondered throughout our journey what the words 'magic legs' meant. They bounced through my mind, surrounded by the twinkle of promise. Would I be able to tell them what to do? Would they grant me wishes? Could I fly with them? The possibilities seemed endless to me. But when I asked mama what my magic legs were she said she didn't know. I believed her. I could tell when she wasn't telling me everything. She was always lost for words when she knew something and didn't want to tell me. The surprise of my magic legs would be for both of us, and that made me happy. I was happy my mama was going to get a present aswell. I clamped my arms round her neck tighter.
"Careful, Dafina, you'll strangle me."
"Where are my magic legs, mama?" I asked.
"The hospital. We have to find Dr Abasi," she said.
When we got to the hospital there were many other children there. They didn't seem to be waiting for magic legs like me, but they did need the doctors for something. Some were coughing, some were crying, some weren't doing or saying anything. But I didn't have time to worry about them. Dr Abasi call me into his room.
"Time for my magic legs, mama?" I asked.
She picked me up and nodded.
Dr Abasi was nice, but he smelt funny, like the hospital. It was a kind of smell that stung the inside of your nose, that made you want to hold your breath. But as soon as he showed me my magic legs I forgot all about the smell. He let me hold one of them. It was hard and shiny, nothing at all like my mama's leg but it had a brand new shiny shoe on the end. All I could think about was how that shoe would match my dress. Did the doctor know my dress was pink?
He sat me on his doctor bed and strapped the magic legs to my little stumps. I didn't know what to expect at first but when he picked me up and stood me on the floor I felt like I was a giant. I was so tall I could see over his desk, I could see out of his window. Better than that I could walk. My steps were a little wobbly at first, mini steps, but as I got better I was striding round the room. I even managed a little skip and jump, which made the doctor and my mama laugh.
When we left the hospital with my magic legs, mama asked if I wanted to be carried home, because it was a long way. I told her no. I told her my magic legs were magic because she didn't ever have to carry me again. I told her I wanted to walk home, putting one magic foot in front of the other.
"You're getting magic legs today," she had said as she buttoned up my dress, my 'best' dress. She had a broad smile on her face-not the one she wore when she laughed, the one she could hide behind, the taught smile that looked like it had been painted on. That was her way of protecting me. But the crack in her voice and the well of tears in her eyes said it all.
"Why are you so sad, mama?" I asked.
She took my face in her hands.
"I'm not sad, Dafina. I'm happy. You have a real chance of a life now, and that makes me more happy than I could possibly explain."
Magic legs. I wondered throughout our journey what the words 'magic legs' meant. They bounced through my mind, surrounded by the twinkle of promise. Would I be able to tell them what to do? Would they grant me wishes? Could I fly with them? The possibilities seemed endless to me. But when I asked mama what my magic legs were she said she didn't know. I believed her. I could tell when she wasn't telling me everything. She was always lost for words when she knew something and didn't want to tell me. The surprise of my magic legs would be for both of us, and that made me happy. I was happy my mama was going to get a present aswell. I clamped my arms round her neck tighter.
"Careful, Dafina, you'll strangle me."
"Where are my magic legs, mama?" I asked.
"The hospital. We have to find Dr Abasi," she said.
When we got to the hospital there were many other children there. They didn't seem to be waiting for magic legs like me, but they did need the doctors for something. Some were coughing, some were crying, some weren't doing or saying anything. But I didn't have time to worry about them. Dr Abasi call me into his room.
"Time for my magic legs, mama?" I asked.
She picked me up and nodded.
Dr Abasi was nice, but he smelt funny, like the hospital. It was a kind of smell that stung the inside of your nose, that made you want to hold your breath. But as soon as he showed me my magic legs I forgot all about the smell. He let me hold one of them. It was hard and shiny, nothing at all like my mama's leg but it had a brand new shiny shoe on the end. All I could think about was how that shoe would match my dress. Did the doctor know my dress was pink?
He sat me on his doctor bed and strapped the magic legs to my little stumps. I didn't know what to expect at first but when he picked me up and stood me on the floor I felt like I was a giant. I was so tall I could see over his desk, I could see out of his window. Better than that I could walk. My steps were a little wobbly at first, mini steps, but as I got better I was striding round the room. I even managed a little skip and jump, which made the doctor and my mama laugh.
When we left the hospital with my magic legs, mama asked if I wanted to be carried home, because it was a long way. I told her no. I told her my magic legs were magic because she didn't ever have to carry me again. I told her I wanted to walk home, putting one magic foot in front of the other.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
An eye for a guy
It was the eve of Guy Fawkes, the night that every kid in the country saw the sky ablaze with rainbow-coloured explosions. For Didi Hope it was an anniversary worth celebrating for different reasons. It was a year to the day that the doctors told her she was ill. They were confident, as was she, given her age and strength and determined spirit that she would pull through. But that came as little comfort to her panic-stricken father who sobbed as the news was broken. Didi made a pact with her dad.
"This time next year, dad, you and I will be at home making a guy for Guy Fawkes night," she said as the nurse tied a floral gown around Didi.
Didi kept her promise.
Exactly a year later she raked through a box of clothes her dad had pulled from the wardrobe, clothes he assured her were no longer needed and selected the perfect outfit for her guy.
"What about this dad?" she said holding up a crisp blue shirt with a firm collar. "I think we should make him a smart Guy, after all Guy Fawkes was a smartly dressed man."
Didi's dad snuffled and gently took the shirt from her. "I think that's a perfect idea, Didi," he said with a smile before laying the shirt on his bed.
Didi then selected a pair of brown tweed trousers. "These will keep him warm, I think."
"Didi, tomorrow he'll be warmer than us," said her dad with a chuckle.
"I know," she said as she pulled a dark blue blazer with large brass buttons from the box. "But it's cold outside."
"Okay, you're the boss."
"Yes. I am," she said and selected a blue striped tie, a pair of pink socks and her dad's old golf shoes.
"Golf shoes, Didi?" said her dad with raised eyebrows.
Didi glanced up at her dad. "Why not? He might want to get a game in before we incinerate him."
"That's very decent of you."
"The condemned should always get a last request and I reckon my Guy is a golfer."
"I suppose you'll be wanting one of my clubs as well?"
Didi pondered the idea. "Nah, I can just give him a long stick. That'll do."
"That's a relief," said her dad. "At least I know I'll have a full set for the match on Saturday."
"So what are we going to stuff him with?" asked Didi.
Her dad raised a finger. "Ah ha!" he said. "Now we come to the most cunning part of my plan."
He picked up all the items of clothing and beckoned her to follow him. Outside, on the patio, was a bail of straw.
"I picked it up today from Bill Giles," he said. "I told him what I needed it for and he gave it to me for nothing."
Didi peered down at the block of straw. It was soggy and dirty and not at all what she wanted to fill her guy with. She didn't want to appear ungrateful but the idea of filling her Guy with infected straw gave her chills. It took her back to the doctor's surgery a year ago when she was told her blood was sick.
"Do you think its just spoiled on the outside?" she asked, plunging her fingers into the bail to feel if it was soggy right through.
Her dad stroked her hair and crouched down beside her. "Why don't we cut the bailer twine and see shall we? I'm sure it's clean inside."
And he was right. Whilst the outside was caked in mud and soggy from the rains the inside was dry and crisp and clean and golden in colour. It was Didi's gold.
"Excellent!" she cried as she pulled tufts of the spiky straw from the compact slices that made up the bail and scrunched them into tight balls.
"I think we should fill his trousers first, don't you?" asked her dad.
"Agreed. Then we can fill his shirt and put his jacket on," said Didi as she stuffed the balls of straw into Guy's tweed trousers.
Her dad tucked in Guy's shirt and Didi filled that too. Before long her Guy was beginning to take form.
"I think we should stitch his shirt to his trousers, Didi, otherwise his legs'll fall off."
Didi slapped her hands against her mouth and guffawed at the image of picking up Guy and seeing his legs drop to the ground. "It'd be mighty funny though."
"Not for Guy it wouldn't."
"That's true, but he was a bad man, after all. I mean he did plan on killing lots of people by blowing up the Houses of Parliament. But I agree we should probably make sure they don't fall off."
Whilst Didi's dad began sewing the shirt and trousers together Didi set about making his head. "If we use this old pillowcase and stuff it with straw we can draw a face on it."
"Brilliant idea," said her dad. "Are you going to give him a beard and moustache?"
"Did Guy Fawkes have a beard and moustache?"
Her dad nodded. "A pointed beard I seem to remember and a long handlebar moustache."
Didi pondered how she was going to make his beard when, like a bolt of lightening, an idea hit her. She rushed upstairs to her bedroom, grabbed an old wig she had, a pot of glue and some scissors and set to work.
"Didi, what are you doing?" her dad chuckled.
Didi snipped at the wig, daubed the round, straw-stuffed pillowcase with glue and stuck clumps of black hair onto it. "Making his beard," she declared. She was concentrating so hard on it her tongue curled round the corner of her mouth.
When she finished her dad stitched Guy's head onto his shirt and Didi fitted the trimmed wig to his head.
"He looks great, Dad," said Didi.
"Now for the finishing touches," her dad said as he tied Guy's tie round his neck, buttoned up his blazer and gave him a long gnarled stick for a golf club. "He looks fit to be incinerated."
Didi stared down at her creation. Shock, despair, anger, hatred, determination, sorrow, pain, joy and elation, all swept over her. She saw in that Guy the journey of her life in the last year, and was about to witness the end of a chapter. The destruction of her Guy.
"This time next year, dad, you and I will be at home making a guy for Guy Fawkes night," she said as the nurse tied a floral gown around Didi.
Didi kept her promise.
Exactly a year later she raked through a box of clothes her dad had pulled from the wardrobe, clothes he assured her were no longer needed and selected the perfect outfit for her guy.
"What about this dad?" she said holding up a crisp blue shirt with a firm collar. "I think we should make him a smart Guy, after all Guy Fawkes was a smartly dressed man."
Didi's dad snuffled and gently took the shirt from her. "I think that's a perfect idea, Didi," he said with a smile before laying the shirt on his bed.
Didi then selected a pair of brown tweed trousers. "These will keep him warm, I think."
"Didi, tomorrow he'll be warmer than us," said her dad with a chuckle.
"I know," she said as she pulled a dark blue blazer with large brass buttons from the box. "But it's cold outside."
"Okay, you're the boss."
"Yes. I am," she said and selected a blue striped tie, a pair of pink socks and her dad's old golf shoes.
"Golf shoes, Didi?" said her dad with raised eyebrows.
Didi glanced up at her dad. "Why not? He might want to get a game in before we incinerate him."
"That's very decent of you."
"The condemned should always get a last request and I reckon my Guy is a golfer."
"I suppose you'll be wanting one of my clubs as well?"
Didi pondered the idea. "Nah, I can just give him a long stick. That'll do."
"That's a relief," said her dad. "At least I know I'll have a full set for the match on Saturday."
"So what are we going to stuff him with?" asked Didi.
Her dad raised a finger. "Ah ha!" he said. "Now we come to the most cunning part of my plan."
He picked up all the items of clothing and beckoned her to follow him. Outside, on the patio, was a bail of straw.
"I picked it up today from Bill Giles," he said. "I told him what I needed it for and he gave it to me for nothing."
Didi peered down at the block of straw. It was soggy and dirty and not at all what she wanted to fill her guy with. She didn't want to appear ungrateful but the idea of filling her Guy with infected straw gave her chills. It took her back to the doctor's surgery a year ago when she was told her blood was sick.
"Do you think its just spoiled on the outside?" she asked, plunging her fingers into the bail to feel if it was soggy right through.
Her dad stroked her hair and crouched down beside her. "Why don't we cut the bailer twine and see shall we? I'm sure it's clean inside."
And he was right. Whilst the outside was caked in mud and soggy from the rains the inside was dry and crisp and clean and golden in colour. It was Didi's gold.
"Excellent!" she cried as she pulled tufts of the spiky straw from the compact slices that made up the bail and scrunched them into tight balls.
"I think we should fill his trousers first, don't you?" asked her dad.
"Agreed. Then we can fill his shirt and put his jacket on," said Didi as she stuffed the balls of straw into Guy's tweed trousers.
Her dad tucked in Guy's shirt and Didi filled that too. Before long her Guy was beginning to take form.
"I think we should stitch his shirt to his trousers, Didi, otherwise his legs'll fall off."
Didi slapped her hands against her mouth and guffawed at the image of picking up Guy and seeing his legs drop to the ground. "It'd be mighty funny though."
"Not for Guy it wouldn't."
"That's true, but he was a bad man, after all. I mean he did plan on killing lots of people by blowing up the Houses of Parliament. But I agree we should probably make sure they don't fall off."
Whilst Didi's dad began sewing the shirt and trousers together Didi set about making his head. "If we use this old pillowcase and stuff it with straw we can draw a face on it."
"Brilliant idea," said her dad. "Are you going to give him a beard and moustache?"
"Did Guy Fawkes have a beard and moustache?"
Her dad nodded. "A pointed beard I seem to remember and a long handlebar moustache."
Didi pondered how she was going to make his beard when, like a bolt of lightening, an idea hit her. She rushed upstairs to her bedroom, grabbed an old wig she had, a pot of glue and some scissors and set to work.
"Didi, what are you doing?" her dad chuckled.
Didi snipped at the wig, daubed the round, straw-stuffed pillowcase with glue and stuck clumps of black hair onto it. "Making his beard," she declared. She was concentrating so hard on it her tongue curled round the corner of her mouth.
When she finished her dad stitched Guy's head onto his shirt and Didi fitted the trimmed wig to his head.
"He looks great, Dad," said Didi.
"Now for the finishing touches," her dad said as he tied Guy's tie round his neck, buttoned up his blazer and gave him a long gnarled stick for a golf club. "He looks fit to be incinerated."
Didi stared down at her creation. Shock, despair, anger, hatred, determination, sorrow, pain, joy and elation, all swept over her. She saw in that Guy the journey of her life in the last year, and was about to witness the end of a chapter. The destruction of her Guy.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
The ugly truth
"Why are spiders so ugly, Granpa?" Daisy asked as she peered at one nestled in the middle of its orb web.
"Ugly?" he asked as he broached her side. "I think that's a matter of opinion."
"But they are though," she said pointing at the web that wafted gently in the breeze. "They have a cluster of eyes right at the front of their head, really fat, bulbous bodies and eight, hairy spindly crab-like legs. I mean if I looked like that nobody would ever sit next to me in class."
Daisy tried to impersonate what a human spider would look like by puffing out her cheeks, bending over and arching her arms.
"Ah, but can you imagine how powerful you would be. If you had eight legs think of how fast you could run. You'd win all the races at school sports day."
"I suppose," said Daisy.
"And the cluster of eyes help it spot and hunt down prey."
"Kind of like x-ray vision?"
"More like binocular vision," said Granpa.
"Wow. I'd be able to see into Tilly Parker's bedroom and see if she really did steal my Lucky Lucy doll," Daisy spat. Her eyes narrowed and her teeth ground together as images of the pigtailed mannequin playing with her doll flashed across her mind's eye.
"I'm sure she didn't steal it, Daisy. You probably lost it. You've got so many things in your room I'm surprised you know where anything is."
"I suppose spiders don't have that problem," she said as she frowned at her granpa. She knew that was exactly what he was going to say.
"They don't," he said. "You look at that web. Completely uncluttered. All he's waiting for is to catch a fly and eat it. Simple as that."
"I hate flies," Daisy said curling her lip. "I hate them more than spiders. They're ugly too."
"Well, if it wasn't for spiders we would be inundated with flies. They'd be swarming round us. Laying their eggs on everything. Plants, animals, your hair."
Daisy leapt up and began feverishly scratching her head. "Eeuw, Granpa, that's gross. It makes me all itchy."
Daisy's granpa laughed. "So do you really think spiders are ugly?"
Daisy pondered the question as a rogue fly suddenly got entangled in the spider's web. In an instant the spider lunged for the stricken insect, stunning it with its venom and wrapping it in a blanket of spun silk.
"No. Not really," she said. "They look just the way they're supposed to."
"Ugly?" he asked as he broached her side. "I think that's a matter of opinion."
"But they are though," she said pointing at the web that wafted gently in the breeze. "They have a cluster of eyes right at the front of their head, really fat, bulbous bodies and eight, hairy spindly crab-like legs. I mean if I looked like that nobody would ever sit next to me in class."
Daisy tried to impersonate what a human spider would look like by puffing out her cheeks, bending over and arching her arms.
"Ah, but can you imagine how powerful you would be. If you had eight legs think of how fast you could run. You'd win all the races at school sports day."
"I suppose," said Daisy.
"And the cluster of eyes help it spot and hunt down prey."
"Kind of like x-ray vision?"
"More like binocular vision," said Granpa.
"Wow. I'd be able to see into Tilly Parker's bedroom and see if she really did steal my Lucky Lucy doll," Daisy spat. Her eyes narrowed and her teeth ground together as images of the pigtailed mannequin playing with her doll flashed across her mind's eye.
"I'm sure she didn't steal it, Daisy. You probably lost it. You've got so many things in your room I'm surprised you know where anything is."
"I suppose spiders don't have that problem," she said as she frowned at her granpa. She knew that was exactly what he was going to say.
"They don't," he said. "You look at that web. Completely uncluttered. All he's waiting for is to catch a fly and eat it. Simple as that."
"I hate flies," Daisy said curling her lip. "I hate them more than spiders. They're ugly too."
"Well, if it wasn't for spiders we would be inundated with flies. They'd be swarming round us. Laying their eggs on everything. Plants, animals, your hair."
Daisy leapt up and began feverishly scratching her head. "Eeuw, Granpa, that's gross. It makes me all itchy."
Daisy's granpa laughed. "So do you really think spiders are ugly?"
Daisy pondered the question as a rogue fly suddenly got entangled in the spider's web. In an instant the spider lunged for the stricken insect, stunning it with its venom and wrapping it in a blanket of spun silk.
"No. Not really," she said. "They look just the way they're supposed to."
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Lost and found
Rover had no idea what he was looking for. All he knew was that something wasn't quite right in his home. A scent in the house that he couldn't link to anything or anyone suggested something was missing. And when he watched his guardian write a tearful note and place it the room upstairs that was rarely opened he decided he had to do something-he took the note and went on a hunt for the owner of the smell. He knew his journey would be long and possibly fruitless but if he didn't at least try he was sure the mood in his home was always going to be somber. After taking one last look at the detached house he called home he trotted off into the dark on his uncharted journey.
For weeks the brindle Bloodhound trailed across the countryside, sniffing the ground for the salty scent etched in his memory. His travels took him down farm tracks and bridle paths, through fields of wheat and corn, into the paths of cows and sheep, through dense woodland, round ponds and reservoirs, across roads and motorways, narrowly avoiding cars, trucks and buses, and through the hustle and bustle of towns and cities. He walked through the day and through the night stopping only when he needed rest and to eat, although finding food was a challenge Rover hadn't thought through. Scraps in the wild were scarce and many a day passed, as he roamed the countryside, when Rover ate nothing but twigs and parched grass. He faired better in towns and cities as humans were so wasteful he dined like a king on what they dumped in bins and on the roadside, but he quickly realised the abundance of food came at a cost to the success of his quest. On more than one occasion he had to evade capture from humans wearing dark outfits and carrying leather leashes, and from kids desperate to snatch his sealed envelope by using the only defense he could: a deep, venomous growl. He didn't like it. He wasn't a vicious dog, but the note was part of his quest and he wasn't about to be parted with it.
Yet in those weeks he found nothing. Not even a scent that closely resembled the one he sought. Every day Rover thought about giving up but everyday he convinced himself to continue the search until nightfall. Rover's persistence paid off as one morning, after he crossed a rickety bridge that led to the back of an old farmhouse, he found it. It took him by such surprise he had to a double sniff just to be sure he was right. The scent caused a rush of blood to surge through his body, making his paws tingle, his heart flutter and his fur bristle. With his determination renewed, Rover powered on, following the scent until it led him to a quiet canal and then to the body of a young boy curled up amongst the trees. It was clutching a tattered and dirty blue knitted teddy bear and was dressed in threadbare rags that exposed his reedy arms and legs.
Rover nudged the boy's head with his nose. The boy stirred and wiped his eyes and when he spotted Rover leaning over him he scuttled backwards on his hands and knees through the undergrowth. Rover followed, not realising the boy's reaction was from blind terror. When finally the boy stopped beside the roots of a birch tree, clutching his knees tightly against his chest and trembling, Rover gingerly approached and dropped the envelope at the boy's feet. When the boy didn't pick it up, Rover nudged it closer to him and whimpered.
The boy reached out, picked up the envelope and studied it as though it was the first time he had ever seen one. Rover barked.
"Ruff!" the boy said in return. "You ruff."
Rover panted with excitement. He had fulfilled his quest. He found the missing something from his home, the cause of the disharmony. Now all he had to do was return the little human to the unopened room. But despite his efforts the boy refused to follow him. He sat beneath the trees and tore at the envelope until its contents fell out: a letter and a photograph.
Rover barked but the boy ignored him, choosing instead to pick up the glossy picture which he studied closely. Rover rounded on him and peered over the boy's shoulder. The photo was of a very small human wearing bulky white pants and clutching a blue teddy bear against its chest. Rover had a sense of what the photograph meant but it didn't click into place in his mind until he watched the boy glance down at his own bear and back at the photo. Rover realised the boy in the picture was him but much, much younger. Rover's guardians must have had the boy before they picked Rover up from the dog pound.
Again Rover tried to coax the boy out of the trees by walking toward the canal but the boy grunted and thrust the letter at him.
"No...read!" the boy said.
Rover didn't know what the boy wanted him to do, but sensing the boy's intrigue with the letter he did the first thing that came to his mind. He snatched it from the boy's hand and trotted out of the woods with it. The boy cried and ran, barefoot after him, with his blue bear in one hand and the photo in the other.
"Back, back," the boy cried.
Rover carried on. He broke through the trees and joined the gravel pathway that ran alongside the canal. With a quick glance to his side he could see the boy running after him, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight with the photograph. As Rover neared a bridge the path curved away from the canal to join a busy road. Rover, realising his opportunity, bounded toward it but the boy didn't follow. He stood stock still on the pathway, trembling. His limbs were rigid and his eyes were so wide Rover could see the whites all round them.
Rover dropped the letter and barked at him once, twice, three times, desperately willing the boy to follow but the boy didn't move. Paralysed with frustration Rover looked about himself and when he noticed a woman walking on the other side of the road he began to bark and yelp until his throat felt hoarse. The racket he caused caught her attention and when she crossed the road to approach him Rover picked up the letter and backed away, down the pathway toward the boy. The moment the woman reached the pathway she saw the boy and gasped.
"Oh my," she said, resting a hand on her heart. "Hey there," she said softly as she edged toward Rover and the boy. "Are you okay? Do you need some help?"
The boy stepped backwards. Rover, fearful that he was going to run away again, trotted toward the woman and gave her the letter. He then plucked the photo from the boy's hand and offered that to her as well.
Rover watched as she studied the photo, the boy and then scanned her eyes across the page. "Oh dear god," she said and reached into her bag. A moment later she was talking into her hand. "Police. Yeah, I need you send an officer down to the bridge on Canal Street immediately. I have a lad in front of me that I'm convinced is the one that was snatched seven years ago. Please hurry."
The woman gingerly dropped her handbag onto the path and crouched down in front of Rover and the boy.
"Read!" the boy said hesitantly.
"You want me to read it?" said the woman.
The boy nodded.
"Dear Mathew," the woman began. Rover sensed the sorrow in her quivering voice. "Happy ninth birthday, my beautiful darling boy. As I promised, I now have nine candles for your 'life light'. I will light them all tonight and say a prayer for you. Your father and I love you more than words can ever express and we will never give up hope of being reunited with you. It is that and only that that keeps us going each and every day. Where ever you are now I hope that you have peace, I hope that you have comfort, I hope that you are free from pain. You are with us and in our hearts, always and forever. Sweet dreams. Love Mum and Dad."
The woman snuffled, swept a hand across her damp eyes and offered the letter to the boy.
"M...mm...mum," the boy muttered as he took the letter from her.
The woman nodded. Rover glanced up at her and then at the boy.
"D...dad?" he asked as he crept toward the woman.
Rover watched as she extended her arms out toward the boy and let him sink into her. The woman cried out just as a black and white car pulled up on the roadside. Rover leaned toward the boy and licked his face. Mathew looked back up at him and gave him a beaming smile.
For weeks the brindle Bloodhound trailed across the countryside, sniffing the ground for the salty scent etched in his memory. His travels took him down farm tracks and bridle paths, through fields of wheat and corn, into the paths of cows and sheep, through dense woodland, round ponds and reservoirs, across roads and motorways, narrowly avoiding cars, trucks and buses, and through the hustle and bustle of towns and cities. He walked through the day and through the night stopping only when he needed rest and to eat, although finding food was a challenge Rover hadn't thought through. Scraps in the wild were scarce and many a day passed, as he roamed the countryside, when Rover ate nothing but twigs and parched grass. He faired better in towns and cities as humans were so wasteful he dined like a king on what they dumped in bins and on the roadside, but he quickly realised the abundance of food came at a cost to the success of his quest. On more than one occasion he had to evade capture from humans wearing dark outfits and carrying leather leashes, and from kids desperate to snatch his sealed envelope by using the only defense he could: a deep, venomous growl. He didn't like it. He wasn't a vicious dog, but the note was part of his quest and he wasn't about to be parted with it.
Yet in those weeks he found nothing. Not even a scent that closely resembled the one he sought. Every day Rover thought about giving up but everyday he convinced himself to continue the search until nightfall. Rover's persistence paid off as one morning, after he crossed a rickety bridge that led to the back of an old farmhouse, he found it. It took him by such surprise he had to a double sniff just to be sure he was right. The scent caused a rush of blood to surge through his body, making his paws tingle, his heart flutter and his fur bristle. With his determination renewed, Rover powered on, following the scent until it led him to a quiet canal and then to the body of a young boy curled up amongst the trees. It was clutching a tattered and dirty blue knitted teddy bear and was dressed in threadbare rags that exposed his reedy arms and legs.
Rover nudged the boy's head with his nose. The boy stirred and wiped his eyes and when he spotted Rover leaning over him he scuttled backwards on his hands and knees through the undergrowth. Rover followed, not realising the boy's reaction was from blind terror. When finally the boy stopped beside the roots of a birch tree, clutching his knees tightly against his chest and trembling, Rover gingerly approached and dropped the envelope at the boy's feet. When the boy didn't pick it up, Rover nudged it closer to him and whimpered.
The boy reached out, picked up the envelope and studied it as though it was the first time he had ever seen one. Rover barked.
"Ruff!" the boy said in return. "You ruff."
Rover panted with excitement. He had fulfilled his quest. He found the missing something from his home, the cause of the disharmony. Now all he had to do was return the little human to the unopened room. But despite his efforts the boy refused to follow him. He sat beneath the trees and tore at the envelope until its contents fell out: a letter and a photograph.
Rover barked but the boy ignored him, choosing instead to pick up the glossy picture which he studied closely. Rover rounded on him and peered over the boy's shoulder. The photo was of a very small human wearing bulky white pants and clutching a blue teddy bear against its chest. Rover had a sense of what the photograph meant but it didn't click into place in his mind until he watched the boy glance down at his own bear and back at the photo. Rover realised the boy in the picture was him but much, much younger. Rover's guardians must have had the boy before they picked Rover up from the dog pound.
Again Rover tried to coax the boy out of the trees by walking toward the canal but the boy grunted and thrust the letter at him.
"No...read!" the boy said.
Rover didn't know what the boy wanted him to do, but sensing the boy's intrigue with the letter he did the first thing that came to his mind. He snatched it from the boy's hand and trotted out of the woods with it. The boy cried and ran, barefoot after him, with his blue bear in one hand and the photo in the other.
"Back, back," the boy cried.
Rover carried on. He broke through the trees and joined the gravel pathway that ran alongside the canal. With a quick glance to his side he could see the boy running after him, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight with the photograph. As Rover neared a bridge the path curved away from the canal to join a busy road. Rover, realising his opportunity, bounded toward it but the boy didn't follow. He stood stock still on the pathway, trembling. His limbs were rigid and his eyes were so wide Rover could see the whites all round them.
Rover dropped the letter and barked at him once, twice, three times, desperately willing the boy to follow but the boy didn't move. Paralysed with frustration Rover looked about himself and when he noticed a woman walking on the other side of the road he began to bark and yelp until his throat felt hoarse. The racket he caused caught her attention and when she crossed the road to approach him Rover picked up the letter and backed away, down the pathway toward the boy. The moment the woman reached the pathway she saw the boy and gasped.
"Oh my," she said, resting a hand on her heart. "Hey there," she said softly as she edged toward Rover and the boy. "Are you okay? Do you need some help?"
The boy stepped backwards. Rover, fearful that he was going to run away again, trotted toward the woman and gave her the letter. He then plucked the photo from the boy's hand and offered that to her as well.
Rover watched as she studied the photo, the boy and then scanned her eyes across the page. "Oh dear god," she said and reached into her bag. A moment later she was talking into her hand. "Police. Yeah, I need you send an officer down to the bridge on Canal Street immediately. I have a lad in front of me that I'm convinced is the one that was snatched seven years ago. Please hurry."
The woman gingerly dropped her handbag onto the path and crouched down in front of Rover and the boy.
"Read!" the boy said hesitantly.
"You want me to read it?" said the woman.
The boy nodded.
"Dear Mathew," the woman began. Rover sensed the sorrow in her quivering voice. "Happy ninth birthday, my beautiful darling boy. As I promised, I now have nine candles for your 'life light'. I will light them all tonight and say a prayer for you. Your father and I love you more than words can ever express and we will never give up hope of being reunited with you. It is that and only that that keeps us going each and every day. Where ever you are now I hope that you have peace, I hope that you have comfort, I hope that you are free from pain. You are with us and in our hearts, always and forever. Sweet dreams. Love Mum and Dad."
The woman snuffled, swept a hand across her damp eyes and offered the letter to the boy.
"M...mm...mum," the boy muttered as he took the letter from her.
The woman nodded. Rover glanced up at her and then at the boy.
"D...dad?" he asked as he crept toward the woman.
Rover watched as she extended her arms out toward the boy and let him sink into her. The woman cried out just as a black and white car pulled up on the roadside. Rover leaned toward the boy and licked his face. Mathew looked back up at him and gave him a beaming smile.
Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Critter Twister
"Mum, it's raining cats and dogs...and mices and budgies and fishes!" Brandon exclaimed as he pressed hi s face against the patio door windows and peered into the garden.
"Yes, dear, I know the weather's bad. It was howling all night," said his mother as she flew round the lounge like a whirlwind, scooping up toys and clearing dirty dishes from the dining room table. "It kept your father and I awake most of the night."
"But look, mum, it really is raining animals," said Brandon as he ran into the kitchen and dragged her out.
"Brandon, I don't have time for you dreaming about getting a dog again. I've already told you we can't afford it. Now, I'm late for work, you're late for school and I-"
Brandon pointed outside at the thick sky that hung over the village of Uppercroft. Hundreds and hundreds of animals of all sizes and colours were falling from the sky and landing in his garden. There were dogs bouncing on his trampoline; cats in his sandpit; fish flopping about in the vegetable patch and budgies landing in the trees. "See, I told you."
"Oh my," gasped his mother. "I don't believe it."
Brandon, flushed with excitement, unlocked the patio doors before his mother could object.
"Brandon, where are you going? You might get hurt out there?"
"I have to help the animals, mum. They might be hurt," said Brandon as he slid open the door.
"Well, at least put this on," his mum said and handed Brandon his blue raincoat. "You might get wet."
Brandon raised his eyebrows. "Mum, it's not actually raining!"
"I know but those animals are probably terrified. Who knows what they might be...excreting mid-air!"
Brandon pulled on the coat and dashed outside. He dashed to the vegetable patch first and scooped up all the fish and plopped them into his fish pond.
"There you go. Burt and Ernie will keep you company and show you round," he said staring down at his goldfish.
He then emptied his mother's bird feeder on the decking outside the patio and enticed the budgies from the branches. When all the yellow feathered birds were happily pecking at the nuts Brandon picked up the chicken wire frame his father had built to protect the strawberries and gently placed it over the birds.
Next were the cats. Most of them were, as his mother suspected, terrified and hissed and lashed out with flexed claws if Brandon got anywhere near them. Brandon detached lengths of string with bits of shiny paper tied to it his father used to frighten crows away from his seedlings and dangled them in front of the cats. Like moths to a flame, the cats were mesmerised by the dazzle of the multi-coloured foil. Their eyes and heads darted about following the line of the string as Brandon pulled it into the house, leading the cats like the Pied Piper of Hamlin into his lounge. Once inside he slid the patio door shut.
"Put the cats in the kitchen, mum," he said.
"I'm supposed to be at work," his mother yelled back through the glass.
Brandon heard her but wasn't really listening. He was having too much fun. It was far better than school.
At the far end of the garden was his trampoline.
The cacophony of barking and yapping coming from the netted enclosure was deafening. Retrievers, Jack Russells, Terriers, Dachshunds and Beagles all jockeyed for position and eagerly began wagging their tails, smacking each other in the face, when they spotted Brandon approaching.
Brandon reached for the zip but before it dawned on him what was going to happen the mass of dogs surged forward, bursting through the net and knocking Brandon off his feet. A torrent of fur, teeth and tails poured from the trampoline and into the garden. Dogs swarmed all around him. Licking his face and hands and sniffing his neck and feet.
"Okay, okay. I get it. You're happy," he said, through clenched teeth, worried that if he opened his mouth to speak a canine tongue would end up in there.
He pulled himself up and led the dogs one by one into the lounge. They were far easier to herd than the cats. They seemed to like Brandon which made them easier than the cats to herd, but Brandon wished they would like each other. Try as he did there was little he could do to stop fights from breaking out.
"According to the news," Brandon's mother said, "there was a tornado a mile down the road. It whipped up anything in its path."
"They've come from all over the county then," said Brandon as he prised two Terriers apart.
"What on earth are you going to do with them, Brandon?"
Brandon grabbed and pen and a pad of paper. I'm going to make a list of them and if they have owner tags I'll ring the owners and if not I'll post leaflets of them around the county. I'll make sure they all get home safely."
For two months Brandon worked tirelessly to reunite the animals with their owners. It was hard work, not least for his mother who had to constantly clean up after all the animals. A task she never failed to remind Brandon about. But soon enough he had found the owners of all but one animal; a collie with a white crown of fur on his black head. Brandon called him Prince.
"Nobody wants him, mum," Brandon said one dinner time. Prince was sat by his feet peering up at him.
"You'll have to phone the pound then, Brandon," his dad said without lifting his eyes from his newspaper. "That's the only place for him now. You've done your best."
Brandon stared down at Prince and stroked his head. "Mum?" he said pleadingly.
His mother looked across at him and took his hand in hers. "Michael, I think he's deserved this one. Don't you?"
With bright, hopeful eyes and a heart pounding with excitement and anticipation Brandon glanced between his mother and father.
His dad dropped his newspaper. "Oh go on then," he said.
Brandon leaped from the dinner table and danced round the room. He threw his arms round his parents and then round Prince who was so excited himself he started barking and chasing his tail.
"Time to get you a tag, Prince," said Brandon. "With my name on it."
"Yes, dear, I know the weather's bad. It was howling all night," said his mother as she flew round the lounge like a whirlwind, scooping up toys and clearing dirty dishes from the dining room table. "It kept your father and I awake most of the night."
"But look, mum, it really is raining animals," said Brandon as he ran into the kitchen and dragged her out.
"Brandon, I don't have time for you dreaming about getting a dog again. I've already told you we can't afford it. Now, I'm late for work, you're late for school and I-"
Brandon pointed outside at the thick sky that hung over the village of Uppercroft. Hundreds and hundreds of animals of all sizes and colours were falling from the sky and landing in his garden. There were dogs bouncing on his trampoline; cats in his sandpit; fish flopping about in the vegetable patch and budgies landing in the trees. "See, I told you."
"Oh my," gasped his mother. "I don't believe it."
Brandon, flushed with excitement, unlocked the patio doors before his mother could object.
"Brandon, where are you going? You might get hurt out there?"
"I have to help the animals, mum. They might be hurt," said Brandon as he slid open the door.
"Well, at least put this on," his mum said and handed Brandon his blue raincoat. "You might get wet."
Brandon raised his eyebrows. "Mum, it's not actually raining!"
"I know but those animals are probably terrified. Who knows what they might be...excreting mid-air!"
Brandon pulled on the coat and dashed outside. He dashed to the vegetable patch first and scooped up all the fish and plopped them into his fish pond.
"There you go. Burt and Ernie will keep you company and show you round," he said staring down at his goldfish.
He then emptied his mother's bird feeder on the decking outside the patio and enticed the budgies from the branches. When all the yellow feathered birds were happily pecking at the nuts Brandon picked up the chicken wire frame his father had built to protect the strawberries and gently placed it over the birds.
Next were the cats. Most of them were, as his mother suspected, terrified and hissed and lashed out with flexed claws if Brandon got anywhere near them. Brandon detached lengths of string with bits of shiny paper tied to it his father used to frighten crows away from his seedlings and dangled them in front of the cats. Like moths to a flame, the cats were mesmerised by the dazzle of the multi-coloured foil. Their eyes and heads darted about following the line of the string as Brandon pulled it into the house, leading the cats like the Pied Piper of Hamlin into his lounge. Once inside he slid the patio door shut.
"Put the cats in the kitchen, mum," he said.
"I'm supposed to be at work," his mother yelled back through the glass.
Brandon heard her but wasn't really listening. He was having too much fun. It was far better than school.
At the far end of the garden was his trampoline.
The cacophony of barking and yapping coming from the netted enclosure was deafening. Retrievers, Jack Russells, Terriers, Dachshunds and Beagles all jockeyed for position and eagerly began wagging their tails, smacking each other in the face, when they spotted Brandon approaching.
Brandon reached for the zip but before it dawned on him what was going to happen the mass of dogs surged forward, bursting through the net and knocking Brandon off his feet. A torrent of fur, teeth and tails poured from the trampoline and into the garden. Dogs swarmed all around him. Licking his face and hands and sniffing his neck and feet.
"Okay, okay. I get it. You're happy," he said, through clenched teeth, worried that if he opened his mouth to speak a canine tongue would end up in there.
He pulled himself up and led the dogs one by one into the lounge. They were far easier to herd than the cats. They seemed to like Brandon which made them easier than the cats to herd, but Brandon wished they would like each other. Try as he did there was little he could do to stop fights from breaking out.
"According to the news," Brandon's mother said, "there was a tornado a mile down the road. It whipped up anything in its path."
"They've come from all over the county then," said Brandon as he prised two Terriers apart.
"What on earth are you going to do with them, Brandon?"
Brandon grabbed and pen and a pad of paper. I'm going to make a list of them and if they have owner tags I'll ring the owners and if not I'll post leaflets of them around the county. I'll make sure they all get home safely."
For two months Brandon worked tirelessly to reunite the animals with their owners. It was hard work, not least for his mother who had to constantly clean up after all the animals. A task she never failed to remind Brandon about. But soon enough he had found the owners of all but one animal; a collie with a white crown of fur on his black head. Brandon called him Prince.
"Nobody wants him, mum," Brandon said one dinner time. Prince was sat by his feet peering up at him.
"You'll have to phone the pound then, Brandon," his dad said without lifting his eyes from his newspaper. "That's the only place for him now. You've done your best."
Brandon stared down at Prince and stroked his head. "Mum?" he said pleadingly.
His mother looked across at him and took his hand in hers. "Michael, I think he's deserved this one. Don't you?"
With bright, hopeful eyes and a heart pounding with excitement and anticipation Brandon glanced between his mother and father.
His dad dropped his newspaper. "Oh go on then," he said.
Brandon leaped from the dinner table and danced round the room. He threw his arms round his parents and then round Prince who was so excited himself he started barking and chasing his tail.
"Time to get you a tag, Prince," said Brandon. "With my name on it."
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The Tuesday effect
Bobby sat on the window sill in her bedroom with her knees pulled up against her chest and stared out at the trucks on the road outside. She felt nothing. And as the removal men wheeled more and more of her parents' furniture out of the house and into their trucks she still felt nothing.
"It won't happen," she said to herself. "They won't move. They've been saying it for years but they've never gone through with it. They'll change their mind last minute and then they'll have to put all that stuff back again."
But as the hours ticked by hope of a reprieve started to fade. One of the trucks left and the other was almost packed full. Bobby sighed. She rested her chin on her knees and looked round her bedroom. She hadn't packed a thing. The boxes her mother gave her were still pilled up in the corner of her room, empty. She was defiant. Number eighteen Birchwood Court saved her life. To leave it would be like someone severing one of her arms.
"How are you doing in there, sweetheart?" said her mother softly through her bedroom door. "Do you need some help?"
"I'm not going," Bobby said flatly. "You'll have to leave me here."
"Darling, we've been through this. You know that 's not possible. Besides we're due to hand the keys over to the estate agents tomorrow. The new owners are moving in on Friday."
"Then they'll have to live around me, won't they."
The handle on Bobby's bedroom door turned slowly but before Bobby could get up and block the door, her mother was inside.
"Oh Roberta, look at this place. You've not packed anything. We have to be out by tonight," her mother cried, holding out her hands in a gesture of disbelief.
"I've told you I'm not going," Bobby said as she flopped onto her bed."I'm going to epancimate myself from you."
Her mum chuckled as she started to pack books into a box. "I think you mean emancipate, and I'm afraid you can't do that. It's not legal. So you'll just have to come with us."
"You don't understand," Bobby wailed into her pillow. "I can't leave. I'll die."
"Roberta," said her mother. "Don't talk nonsense. You're not going to die. Your not surgically attached to this house."
Bobby flipped over and sat up on her bed. "I need her, mum."
"Need who?" said her mother as she taped up the box and began to fill another.
Bobby paused before she replied. "Tuesday."
Her mother took a long, deep breath and threw the book in her hand into the box.
Bobby knew she had worn her mother's patience wafer thin but there was no other way of delivering her reason for staying.
"You haven't mentioned that name in a while, Roberta," her mother said slowly rounding off each word like it was an automated message. "I thought she had gone."
"Not gone. This is her house. She's just...sleeping."
"And is she telling you not to leave?"
"Actually, no."
Her mother raised her eyes at Bobby quizzically.
"She thinks I'm ready to go," Bobby said. She climbed down off her bed and picked one of the numerous gymnastics trophies she had won from a shelf on the wall. She studied it closely, running a forefinger over her engraved name on the brass plate.
"But you don't believe her," her mother said and pulled another empty box from the corner of the room along with a roll of bubble wrap. Bobby's china horses were next in line for packing.
"It's not that. I'm just afraid that I might need her. If it wasn't for her I'd never have won these trophies."
"Tuesday didn't perform those routines you know," said her mother as she cut strips of wrapping and delicately rolled each ornament up.
"I know, but I would never have entered those competitions if she didn't tell me to."
"And you always do what Tuesday tells you."
"I feel better when I do. I feel invincible."
"But she's telling you you're ready to move on, to move out of here. Shouldn't you do what she says."
"Maybe, but she doesn't know what it's going to be like in that place."
"Have you spoken to her about how you feel?"
"She won't listen."
Bobby's mother sat on the edge of the bed and leaned towards Bobby. Bobby shied away and put her trophy back on the shelf.
"Why do you think that is?" asked her mother.
Bobby shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps she doesn't want to listen anymore. Perhaps she thinks I'm moaning and whining for no reason, like you do."
"I don't think that at all."
Bobby glared at her. "You did when we moved here. You even told dad. I overheard you in the kitchen. But did you bother to find out why I was moaning? No."
"I asked you, on more than one occasion."
"No, mum, you demanded to know on more than one occasion and then when I was too...afraid to answer, you ordered me to bed."
Her mother turned away and flustered over a tissue that she pulled from her pocket. She blew her nose. It was a little late but Bobby got the feeling she had made a weak, if tentative, connection with her mother.
"I've never been very good at handling emotional people, delicately," her mother confessed. "If I had a problem I was brought up to fight it head on. It's not that I lack understanding or sensitivity I'm just not built that way. I suppose you get your highly-strung side from your father."
"Why did you think I turned to Tuesday, mum? She was the only one I could rely on. When I was afraid to make friends she told me to be funny. When I was afraid to hold my hand up in class and answer a question she told me I was brainy. When I was afraid I wasn't good enough at gymnastics she told me I the best in the school. I might not have been all those things but she made me feel good. She made me feel strong."
A tear fell down her mother's cheek. It was the first time ever Bobby had seen her mother cry. Now she was the strong one and her mother weak.
Bobby sat beside her mother and placed an arm around her shoulder.
"To think. Your father and I spent all that money on therapy when really it was me that had problems not you."
"You didn't want to listen then, mum," she said. "But you do now."
"It will be okay you know. In the new house. I'll make sure of it."
Bobby smiled. "Tuesday was right. I am ready."
"It won't happen," she said to herself. "They won't move. They've been saying it for years but they've never gone through with it. They'll change their mind last minute and then they'll have to put all that stuff back again."
But as the hours ticked by hope of a reprieve started to fade. One of the trucks left and the other was almost packed full. Bobby sighed. She rested her chin on her knees and looked round her bedroom. She hadn't packed a thing. The boxes her mother gave her were still pilled up in the corner of her room, empty. She was defiant. Number eighteen Birchwood Court saved her life. To leave it would be like someone severing one of her arms.
"How are you doing in there, sweetheart?" said her mother softly through her bedroom door. "Do you need some help?"
"I'm not going," Bobby said flatly. "You'll have to leave me here."
"Darling, we've been through this. You know that 's not possible. Besides we're due to hand the keys over to the estate agents tomorrow. The new owners are moving in on Friday."
"Then they'll have to live around me, won't they."
The handle on Bobby's bedroom door turned slowly but before Bobby could get up and block the door, her mother was inside.
"Oh Roberta, look at this place. You've not packed anything. We have to be out by tonight," her mother cried, holding out her hands in a gesture of disbelief.
"I've told you I'm not going," Bobby said as she flopped onto her bed."I'm going to epancimate myself from you."
Her mum chuckled as she started to pack books into a box. "I think you mean emancipate, and I'm afraid you can't do that. It's not legal. So you'll just have to come with us."
"You don't understand," Bobby wailed into her pillow. "I can't leave. I'll die."
"Roberta," said her mother. "Don't talk nonsense. You're not going to die. Your not surgically attached to this house."
Bobby flipped over and sat up on her bed. "I need her, mum."
"Need who?" said her mother as she taped up the box and began to fill another.
Bobby paused before she replied. "Tuesday."
Her mother took a long, deep breath and threw the book in her hand into the box.
Bobby knew she had worn her mother's patience wafer thin but there was no other way of delivering her reason for staying.
"You haven't mentioned that name in a while, Roberta," her mother said slowly rounding off each word like it was an automated message. "I thought she had gone."
"Not gone. This is her house. She's just...sleeping."
"And is she telling you not to leave?"
"Actually, no."
Her mother raised her eyes at Bobby quizzically.
"She thinks I'm ready to go," Bobby said. She climbed down off her bed and picked one of the numerous gymnastics trophies she had won from a shelf on the wall. She studied it closely, running a forefinger over her engraved name on the brass plate.
"But you don't believe her," her mother said and pulled another empty box from the corner of the room along with a roll of bubble wrap. Bobby's china horses were next in line for packing.
"It's not that. I'm just afraid that I might need her. If it wasn't for her I'd never have won these trophies."
"Tuesday didn't perform those routines you know," said her mother as she cut strips of wrapping and delicately rolled each ornament up.
"I know, but I would never have entered those competitions if she didn't tell me to."
"And you always do what Tuesday tells you."
"I feel better when I do. I feel invincible."
"But she's telling you you're ready to move on, to move out of here. Shouldn't you do what she says."
"Maybe, but she doesn't know what it's going to be like in that place."
"Have you spoken to her about how you feel?"
"She won't listen."
Bobby's mother sat on the edge of the bed and leaned towards Bobby. Bobby shied away and put her trophy back on the shelf.
"Why do you think that is?" asked her mother.
Bobby shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps she doesn't want to listen anymore. Perhaps she thinks I'm moaning and whining for no reason, like you do."
"I don't think that at all."
Bobby glared at her. "You did when we moved here. You even told dad. I overheard you in the kitchen. But did you bother to find out why I was moaning? No."
"I asked you, on more than one occasion."
"No, mum, you demanded to know on more than one occasion and then when I was too...afraid to answer, you ordered me to bed."
Her mother turned away and flustered over a tissue that she pulled from her pocket. She blew her nose. It was a little late but Bobby got the feeling she had made a weak, if tentative, connection with her mother.
"I've never been very good at handling emotional people, delicately," her mother confessed. "If I had a problem I was brought up to fight it head on. It's not that I lack understanding or sensitivity I'm just not built that way. I suppose you get your highly-strung side from your father."
"Why did you think I turned to Tuesday, mum? She was the only one I could rely on. When I was afraid to make friends she told me to be funny. When I was afraid to hold my hand up in class and answer a question she told me I was brainy. When I was afraid I wasn't good enough at gymnastics she told me I the best in the school. I might not have been all those things but she made me feel good. She made me feel strong."
A tear fell down her mother's cheek. It was the first time ever Bobby had seen her mother cry. Now she was the strong one and her mother weak.
Bobby sat beside her mother and placed an arm around her shoulder.
"To think. Your father and I spent all that money on therapy when really it was me that had problems not you."
"You didn't want to listen then, mum," she said. "But you do now."
"It will be okay you know. In the new house. I'll make sure of it."
Bobby smiled. "Tuesday was right. I am ready."
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Dan's worst weekend!
Dan had been jealous of his sister Lucy ever since she was born. He was jealous of the fact that he had to share everything with her; his bedroom, his bath, his dinner table and especially his mum. She was his and had been his for four years and he didn't want that to change. He wanted her to disappear but the only way he could do that was to ignore her. So he did. Whenever she wanted to play he would take his toys away from her, whenever she cried he ignored her, and whenever his mum was talking to her he would distract his mum by pretending to hurt himself. never played with her.
The only time he did pay attention to Lucy was when he bickered with her over everything who got to sit behind mum in the car or who had the most juice in their cup or who had the biggest dollops of ice cream.
Not once did Dan feel like he was being mean to Lucy. He felt because he was the eldest it was right that he showed it. And as Dan got older his torments grew more sinister. He would pick fights with Lucy for no reason; he would scratch himself and blame it on Lucy; he would take money from his mother's purse and blame Lucy; he would draw on the walls with crayon and give the crayons to Lucy just as his mother walked in the door and he would steal things from shops and blame it on Lucy.
No matter what his mother said or did nothing would get through to Dan.
Then one day he planned the ultimate torment. His best friend, Jack Wheeler, told Dan that Jack's mum was going to have a yard sale and sell everything they no longer wanted. When Dan heard this his mind whirred into action. Early on Saturday morning, before Lucy or his mum and dad were awake, Dan grabbed two pink toy boxes full of Lucy's toys from the bedroom and quietly carried them downstairs. He opened up the garage and dug out his father's flat trolley, placed the boxes on top and wheeled them over to Jack's house.
Mrs Wheeler was delighted when Dan turned up with more things for her to sell and agreed that she would put any money she earned from the sale of his toys aside and give it to him on Sunday. Dan left with a smug smile on his face.
The following day, whilst Dan was wheeling his muddy trucks across his mum's carpet there was a knock at the door. It was Mrs Wheeler.
"Hi Karen,"she said to Dan's mum. "I just thought I'd bring over the money I earned for Daniel for the sale of his and Lucy's toys at my yard sale. They were so popular with my customers I sold them all in an hour!"
Dan's mum took the brown envelope from Mrs Wheeler's outstretched hand with a bemused smile.
"Thanks Maggie," she said. "But what toys did Dan give you."
"Oh, erm, well, he came over yesterday morning with two pink plastic boxes full of a variety of stuff. Actually, if I'd thought about it I could have brought the boxes over too. I'll go back and get them."
"No, there's no rush, Maggie. I'll collect them later," she said before hurriedly closing the door and turning to face Dan.
Dan looked up at his mother. Strangely, she didn't look particularly mad. She was thumbing through the contents of the envelope and smiling to herself.
"Is that my money?" Dan asked, abandoning his trucks.
"You took your sister's boxes, didn't you, Daniel?"
She used his full name. She only ever called him Daniel when she was annoyed with him.
"Yes," Dan mumbled as he twiddled his fingers.
"Do you know what was in those boxes?"
"Lucy's toys," he replied, sheepishly.
Dan's mum shook her head.
"No, Daniel. They were your toys!"
Dan flicked his eyes up at his mum. Now he was the one confused.
"What? But they were in Lucy's boxes."
"I know they were. While you were at football practice on Friday Lucy had emptied all her toys from those boxes into her wardrobe, went into the garden and filled the boxes up with your Action Soldiers, Transformatons and Monster Trucs that were in the sandpit. She wanted to clean them but I wouldn't let her. I thought she would cut herself. I was going to empty the boxes yesterday and wash them before putting them back in your room but completely forgot about it."
"They were my favourite toys!" Dan blasted. "She stole them!"
"And you sold them, for a lot less than they were worth from the look of what's in this envelope," she said. "You're not feeling quite so happy with yourself now are you," she added before striding into the kitchen, still clutching the envelope.
Dan stood alone in the lounge, completely dumbfounded. He couldn't believe what had happened. His guts twisted up inside as he thought of how stupid he had been and how he had lost things that were precious to him. But worse than that was the fact that Lucy hadn't really stole his toys, she was only trying to be nice to him by cleaning them. Tears began to well in his eyes. For all the torment he inflicted on her he had now inflicted it on himself. He didn't like it. But more importantly he never did it again.
The only time he did pay attention to Lucy was when he bickered with her over everything who got to sit behind mum in the car or who had the most juice in their cup or who had the biggest dollops of ice cream.
Not once did Dan feel like he was being mean to Lucy. He felt because he was the eldest it was right that he showed it. And as Dan got older his torments grew more sinister. He would pick fights with Lucy for no reason; he would scratch himself and blame it on Lucy; he would take money from his mother's purse and blame Lucy; he would draw on the walls with crayon and give the crayons to Lucy just as his mother walked in the door and he would steal things from shops and blame it on Lucy.
No matter what his mother said or did nothing would get through to Dan.
Then one day he planned the ultimate torment. His best friend, Jack Wheeler, told Dan that Jack's mum was going to have a yard sale and sell everything they no longer wanted. When Dan heard this his mind whirred into action. Early on Saturday morning, before Lucy or his mum and dad were awake, Dan grabbed two pink toy boxes full of Lucy's toys from the bedroom and quietly carried them downstairs. He opened up the garage and dug out his father's flat trolley, placed the boxes on top and wheeled them over to Jack's house.
Mrs Wheeler was delighted when Dan turned up with more things for her to sell and agreed that she would put any money she earned from the sale of his toys aside and give it to him on Sunday. Dan left with a smug smile on his face.
The following day, whilst Dan was wheeling his muddy trucks across his mum's carpet there was a knock at the door. It was Mrs Wheeler.
"Hi Karen,"she said to Dan's mum. "I just thought I'd bring over the money I earned for Daniel for the sale of his and Lucy's toys at my yard sale. They were so popular with my customers I sold them all in an hour!"
Dan's mum took the brown envelope from Mrs Wheeler's outstretched hand with a bemused smile.
"Thanks Maggie," she said. "But what toys did Dan give you."
"Oh, erm, well, he came over yesterday morning with two pink plastic boxes full of a variety of stuff. Actually, if I'd thought about it I could have brought the boxes over too. I'll go back and get them."
"No, there's no rush, Maggie. I'll collect them later," she said before hurriedly closing the door and turning to face Dan.
Dan looked up at his mother. Strangely, she didn't look particularly mad. She was thumbing through the contents of the envelope and smiling to herself.
"Is that my money?" Dan asked, abandoning his trucks.
"You took your sister's boxes, didn't you, Daniel?"
She used his full name. She only ever called him Daniel when she was annoyed with him.
"Yes," Dan mumbled as he twiddled his fingers.
"Do you know what was in those boxes?"
"Lucy's toys," he replied, sheepishly.
Dan's mum shook her head.
"No, Daniel. They were your toys!"
Dan flicked his eyes up at his mum. Now he was the one confused.
"What? But they were in Lucy's boxes."
"I know they were. While you were at football practice on Friday Lucy had emptied all her toys from those boxes into her wardrobe, went into the garden and filled the boxes up with your Action Soldiers, Transformatons and Monster Trucs that were in the sandpit. She wanted to clean them but I wouldn't let her. I thought she would cut herself. I was going to empty the boxes yesterday and wash them before putting them back in your room but completely forgot about it."
"They were my favourite toys!" Dan blasted. "She stole them!"
"And you sold them, for a lot less than they were worth from the look of what's in this envelope," she said. "You're not feeling quite so happy with yourself now are you," she added before striding into the kitchen, still clutching the envelope.
Dan stood alone in the lounge, completely dumbfounded. He couldn't believe what had happened. His guts twisted up inside as he thought of how stupid he had been and how he had lost things that were precious to him. But worse than that was the fact that Lucy hadn't really stole his toys, she was only trying to be nice to him by cleaning them. Tears began to well in his eyes. For all the torment he inflicted on her he had now inflicted it on himself. He didn't like it. But more importantly he never did it again.
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