Read Online Heading Inland by Nicola Barker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nicola Barker
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own.’
‘Don’t you have any plans? For the future, I mean?’
Wesley rearranged the gauze on his fist.
‘Not me,’ he said.
‘Why not?’
Wesley closed his eyes.
Seal Island. In the summer the boat was packed to its gills with children. Clutching their packed lunches and their cans of fizzy pop. They’d all passed the morning on the big wheel and the dodgems, eating candy-floss and bags of sticky honeycomb. And now they were headed for Seal Island. They had dreams of palm trees and Captain Hook and hidden treasure to help them over the brown sea and the lurching waves. An island, full of basking seals.
When the tide was out, you might see the sluttish brown outline of the sandbank. You might see a lethargic seal, on its edge, rolling to the bank’s perimeter, and then the flip of its tail as it swam off and under. If the tide was in, you were lucky to see that much.
Seal Island. Wesley loved it. Every day. The tears, the screams, the disappointment. He loved that stuff. He’d turn and he’d look at the children, the occasional mum, the odd uncle. And he’d think, ‘Good, they should learn that life is shit. Good they should know it.’
Iris became worried about Wesley’s motivation. ‘That’s cruel,’ she’d say, ‘to lead the little buggers into thinking that they’re getting more for their money than they’ve a right to expect.’
‘No crueller,’ Wesley said, ‘than leading them into thinking that life is anything better than a bitch.’
One day Wesley came back to Iris’s room to discover her parents there. They weren’t at all as he’d imagined.
‘Mum and Dad want me to come home again,’ Iris said, ‘and I want you to come with me, Wes.’
‘Home, where?’ he asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
She’d promised him it was close to the sea. In the back of the car, they sat. One suitcase between them. ‘Nearly there,’ she kept saying. ‘Nearly, nearly.’
Iris’s father showed Wesley the shop, the nursery, the rabbit pen, the pet section, the field with the ponies, the café. The whole kit and caboodle. Finally he showed him the owl sanctuary. Twenty cages.
‘What’s it mean?’ Wesley asked. ‘Sanctuary?’
‘Couldn’t survive in the wild,’ Iris’s father said. ‘Some come from exotic places.’
Wesley stared at the owls. They stared back. Not blinking.
‘You never told me,’ Wesley said, that night, in their bedroom, ‘that your parents were rich like this.’
‘Never asked,’ Iris said.
‘I don’t understand,’ Wesley said, ‘why anyone should want to run away from something that’s as good as here.’
Iris shrugged. ‘I’m back, aren’t I?’ she said, all saucy.
‘It’s far from the sea,’ Wesley said.
‘Fuck that shit.’
He turned to look at her.
‘You don’t even like the sea,’ she said, ‘not really. It just makes you sad and angry. It’s all mixed up in your head with some stupid fantasy about your dad.’
Wesley was injured by this. It was almost as though, he thought, Iris didn’t respect his reasons. Like his reasons weren’t good enough.
Big eyes. Big wings. Big beaks. He’d feed them little chicks and small white mice. Their keeper, Derek, told Wesley all about them. ‘See those big eyes,’ he’d say. ‘Well, that leads people into thinking that they’re wise and all, but they aren’t.’
‘No?’
‘No. Their eye sockets take up much of the space in their skulls, so their brain is as tiny as a hazelnut, just about.’
Wesley would stare at the owls for hours on end, unblinking, but only during the week. At weekends he avoided the sanctuary because then it was crowded with tourists who whistled and screamed and pointed. Some of the cages had little notices which read: mind fingers and noses. these are wild animals. do not touch wire mesh.
Wesley worked in the nursery. Sometimes he helped out in the cafeteria. Iris would trail around after him, trying to make him smile.
‘Aren’t you
‘Don’t you have any plans? For the future, I mean?’
Wesley rearranged the gauze on his fist.
‘Not me,’ he said.
‘Why not?’
Wesley closed his eyes.
Seal Island. In the summer the boat was packed to its gills with children. Clutching their packed lunches and their cans of fizzy pop. They’d all passed the morning on the big wheel and the dodgems, eating candy-floss and bags of sticky honeycomb. And now they were headed for Seal Island. They had dreams of palm trees and Captain Hook and hidden treasure to help them over the brown sea and the lurching waves. An island, full of basking seals.
When the tide was out, you might see the sluttish brown outline of the sandbank. You might see a lethargic seal, on its edge, rolling to the bank’s perimeter, and then the flip of its tail as it swam off and under. If the tide was in, you were lucky to see that much.
Seal Island. Wesley loved it. Every day. The tears, the screams, the disappointment. He loved that stuff. He’d turn and he’d look at the children, the occasional mum, the odd uncle. And he’d think, ‘Good, they should learn that life is shit. Good they should know it.’
Iris became worried about Wesley’s motivation. ‘That’s cruel,’ she’d say, ‘to lead the little buggers into thinking that they’re getting more for their money than they’ve a right to expect.’
‘No crueller,’ Wesley said, ‘than leading them into thinking that life is anything better than a bitch.’
One day Wesley came back to Iris’s room to discover her parents there. They weren’t at all as he’d imagined.
‘Mum and Dad want me to come home again,’ Iris said, ‘and I want you to come with me, Wes.’
‘Home, where?’ he asked, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
She’d promised him it was close to the sea. In the back of the car, they sat. One suitcase between them. ‘Nearly there,’ she kept saying. ‘Nearly, nearly.’
Iris’s father showed Wesley the shop, the nursery, the rabbit pen, the pet section, the field with the ponies, the café. The whole kit and caboodle. Finally he showed him the owl sanctuary. Twenty cages.
‘What’s it mean?’ Wesley asked. ‘Sanctuary?’
‘Couldn’t survive in the wild,’ Iris’s father said. ‘Some come from exotic places.’
Wesley stared at the owls. They stared back. Not blinking.
‘You never told me,’ Wesley said, that night, in their bedroom, ‘that your parents were rich like this.’
‘Never asked,’ Iris said.
‘I don’t understand,’ Wesley said, ‘why anyone should want to run away from something that’s as good as here.’
Iris shrugged. ‘I’m back, aren’t I?’ she said, all saucy.
‘It’s far from the sea,’ Wesley said.
‘Fuck that shit.’
He turned to look at her.
‘You don’t even like the sea,’ she said, ‘not really. It just makes you sad and angry. It’s all mixed up in your head with some stupid fantasy about your dad.’
Wesley was injured by this. It was almost as though, he thought, Iris didn’t respect his reasons. Like his reasons weren’t good enough.
Big eyes. Big wings. Big beaks. He’d feed them little chicks and small white mice. Their keeper, Derek, told Wesley all about them. ‘See those big eyes,’ he’d say. ‘Well, that leads people into thinking that they’re wise and all, but they aren’t.’
‘No?’
‘No. Their eye sockets take up much of the space in their skulls, so their brain is as tiny as a hazelnut, just about.’
Wesley would stare at the owls for hours on end, unblinking, but only during the week. At weekends he avoided the sanctuary because then it was crowded with tourists who whistled and screamed and pointed. Some of the cages had little notices which read: mind fingers and noses. these are wild animals. do not touch wire mesh.
Wesley worked in the nursery. Sometimes he helped out in the cafeteria. Iris would trail around after him, trying to make him smile.
‘Aren’t you
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