was lying exactly as I knew he would be: diagonal across his bed with his face shoved into his pillow. His Adidas Stripes had got pushed up, and I could see the ribbed ankles of his white
sports socks. Their dirty soles confronted me; two sad eyes. Mum’s postcard was in pieces on the floor by his bed. I’d memorised what it said.
Think of you both every day. Can’t wait to see you.
Won’t be long now. All my love.
I remembered coming in here when Mum and Dad were arguing. When I was small enough to climb in next to him and not care that we were squashed together.
There wasn’t enough room, and he wouldn’t budge over, and it took some effort to balance, but I made it onto the bed beside him. His breath was jagged and sad, and it hurt the piece
inside me that felt just the same as it.
On the wall behind him was the outline of a king that he’d drawn in black marker pen. He’d pestered Mum and Dad to be able to do it for ages. Finally Mum had convinced Dad to let
him. As long as he drew a practice picture first, and showed it to them, she said, why shouldn’t kids be allowed to express themselves in their own rooms?
The king’s long hair curled outwards as though he stood in the middle of a great wind. Beyond the king a medieval castle was in the process of falling down. The drawing wasn’t
finished.
There was a new box of pens on the floor Sam still hadn’t opened. Him and Benjy both loved drawing. Benjy did these brilliant cartoons that made everyone laugh, and Sam did intricate
pictures of nature and magic. He hadn’t done any art stuff for weeks.
‘Sorry,’ I whispered, not knowing what I had to be sorry for but meaning it completely.
Sam’s throat made a weird noise.
‘I didn’t. I didn’t . . .’ I stopped, not sure exactly what I didn’t.
Sam lifted his arm up, and I ducked my head under, and we lay there like that, him face down, me tucked under his arm, until the world outside disappeared, and only the drawings that covered his
bedroom walls could be seen in the window.
Ten
Mum left on a weekend in the middle of May. Summer hadn’t started, and it had been raining for weeks. She said she would come back. Not to Silverweed, but to Derby. She
was just going away for a bit, to work things out, she said.
She’d packed the van overnight while we were sleeping.
She only took three boxes with her: one of clothes, one of cooking stuff, one of books.
‘What on
earth
is the point of having all this crap?’ I’d overheard her asking Tess on the phone.
I didn’t understand why she’d started calling everything ‘crap’, like it had all just appeared one day to annoy her. Like she hadn’t picked all the items
herself.
Sam wanted to keep all the stuff she was leaving behind, or to put it at Tess’s if it would upset Dad, but Mum wouldn’t let him.
‘It’ll only weigh you down,’ she said. ‘You’ll see one day.’
And all the time she spoke in this maddening, soothing way because she didn’t want us to be sad about what was happening. Like that was even possible.
In the morning we had breakfast together, the three of us. Dad stayed out of the way, chopping wood. Pouring out the tea, Mum pressed her lips into a white line. She didn’t look at us.
After she’d washed our plates, she crouched down and put her head against Fiasco’s.
‘Be a good girl now, won’t you? I’ll be back before you know it.’
Fiasco licked her nose.
I couldn’t stop crying. I was scared we’d never see her again. She’d talked about travelling for as long as I could remember and now she was actually going. Sam just stood
there and stared, and it was weird because they were the closest.
They used to mock me and Dad when we went out looking for rare insects or wildflowers. They preferred shopping and singing. It was always the two of them, making loads of noise. It had been that
way since forever.
Mum had on her denim shorts and a thin beige shirt I hadn’t seen before and a
sports socks. Their dirty soles confronted me; two sad eyes. Mum’s postcard was in pieces on the floor by his bed. I’d memorised what it said.
Think of you both every day. Can’t wait to see you.
Won’t be long now. All my love.
I remembered coming in here when Mum and Dad were arguing. When I was small enough to climb in next to him and not care that we were squashed together.
There wasn’t enough room, and he wouldn’t budge over, and it took some effort to balance, but I made it onto the bed beside him. His breath was jagged and sad, and it hurt the piece
inside me that felt just the same as it.
On the wall behind him was the outline of a king that he’d drawn in black marker pen. He’d pestered Mum and Dad to be able to do it for ages. Finally Mum had convinced Dad to let
him. As long as he drew a practice picture first, and showed it to them, she said, why shouldn’t kids be allowed to express themselves in their own rooms?
The king’s long hair curled outwards as though he stood in the middle of a great wind. Beyond the king a medieval castle was in the process of falling down. The drawing wasn’t
finished.
There was a new box of pens on the floor Sam still hadn’t opened. Him and Benjy both loved drawing. Benjy did these brilliant cartoons that made everyone laugh, and Sam did intricate
pictures of nature and magic. He hadn’t done any art stuff for weeks.
‘Sorry,’ I whispered, not knowing what I had to be sorry for but meaning it completely.
Sam’s throat made a weird noise.
‘I didn’t. I didn’t . . .’ I stopped, not sure exactly what I didn’t.
Sam lifted his arm up, and I ducked my head under, and we lay there like that, him face down, me tucked under his arm, until the world outside disappeared, and only the drawings that covered his
bedroom walls could be seen in the window.
Ten
Mum left on a weekend in the middle of May. Summer hadn’t started, and it had been raining for weeks. She said she would come back. Not to Silverweed, but to Derby. She
was just going away for a bit, to work things out, she said.
She’d packed the van overnight while we were sleeping.
She only took three boxes with her: one of clothes, one of cooking stuff, one of books.
‘What on
earth
is the point of having all this crap?’ I’d overheard her asking Tess on the phone.
I didn’t understand why she’d started calling everything ‘crap’, like it had all just appeared one day to annoy her. Like she hadn’t picked all the items
herself.
Sam wanted to keep all the stuff she was leaving behind, or to put it at Tess’s if it would upset Dad, but Mum wouldn’t let him.
‘It’ll only weigh you down,’ she said. ‘You’ll see one day.’
And all the time she spoke in this maddening, soothing way because she didn’t want us to be sad about what was happening. Like that was even possible.
In the morning we had breakfast together, the three of us. Dad stayed out of the way, chopping wood. Pouring out the tea, Mum pressed her lips into a white line. She didn’t look at us.
After she’d washed our plates, she crouched down and put her head against Fiasco’s.
‘Be a good girl now, won’t you? I’ll be back before you know it.’
Fiasco licked her nose.
I couldn’t stop crying. I was scared we’d never see her again. She’d talked about travelling for as long as I could remember and now she was actually going. Sam just stood
there and stared, and it was weird because they were the closest.
They used to mock me and Dad when we went out looking for rare insects or wildflowers. They preferred shopping and singing. It was always the two of them, making loads of noise. It had been that
way since forever.
Mum had on her denim shorts and a thin beige shirt I hadn’t seen before and a
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