and his irrational hatred of scrambling and scramblers, and then being one the scramblers his neighbour so detested. Mrs Leighton let him in, but he didn’t get the usual welcome. He followed her into the kitchen. For a change Mr Leighton wasn’t at the window, but was sat down at the kitchen table fuming about something in the paper instead.
‘Mad, it’s gone, the world. The world’s gone mad,’ he said.
‘Have a biscuit,’ said Mrs Leighton.
‘I can’t, I’m too annoyed about those Mongolian bats.’
‘I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to Davidde. Have one when you’ve calmed down a bit.’
‘My tea will be cold. And everyone knows there’s no point having a biscuit with cold tea.’
‘Well … well … stick it up your backside then,’ said Mrs Leighton and she ran upstairs crying, after she’d thrown a biscuit at Mr Leighton’s head.
Davidde had never seen them like this before. They’d bickered plenty of times, but he’d never heard Mrs Leighton upstairs sobbing before and he found it a bit awkward. Mr Leighton carried on reading the paper, mumbling. Davidde followed Mrs Leighton upstairs.
‘Sorry, Davidde, love. How are you? How’s school going? We don’t see you as much as we used to.’
Davidde thought about school. It had been great, mostly, but not in the way she was thinking. He hadn’t kept up with any of his work, work he would have done if he’d called in on them more often. He thought he’d better not mention that and make things worse.
‘Everything’s fine, Mrs Leighton.’
‘How’s your father? Haven’t seen him in a while either.’
‘I haven’t seen much of him myself to be honest, Mrs Leighton.’
She sniffled.
‘Sorry, Davidde,’ she said, ‘but sometimes I can’t cope with him. He can be such a … pig.’
‘He has been quite grumpy lately.’
‘I mean, most of the time he’s fine, and I realise that I’m lucky. It’s hard for your father, and for you, losing your mother like that.’
Davidde thought about Mr Leighton downstairs, not apologising, just muttering to himself. And then Davidde realised something. For a long time he’d felt guilty about how Mr and Mrs Leighton had been so good to him over the years, especially since his mother had died. The times they’d cooked for him and helped with the homework his father couldn’t help him with, the times they’d made him cups of tea, the times he’d looked at stars with Mr Leighton. He realised, though, that they’d got something out of this as well – they enjoyed the company, and he didn’t have to feel guilty about it. He’d felt guilty about so many things – like being a burden on his father, about being bullied in school, about not having things to say to people.
He realised that he didn’t have to feel guilty about every single thing.
‘OK, Mrs Leighton, I’ll try and talk to him,’ said Davidde. As he walked back down the stairs he realised he didn’t have a clue how to do this, but he would give it a go.
Mr Leighton was at the window with his binoculars, fuming. His face was red and he was shaking.
‘Miscreants! Blaggards!’
‘Hiya, Mr Leighton. What’s happening?’
‘Oh, the usual, you know. The world going mad, idiots on the Rec and the police not taking a blind bit of notice.’
‘Mrs Leighton doesn’t seem very happy.’
‘Don’t worry about her, she’s never happy.’
Davidde thought that he wouldn’t be very happy if he was Mrs Leighton either, but he didn’t say it.
Mr Leighton put down the binoculars. He stared hard at Davidde.
‘And how’s school going?’
Davidde felt very uncomfortable. It was as if Mr Leighton knew the truth. He went to scratch his head. He felt the gel in his hair.
‘Well…’ said Davidde. Right on cue there was a tap at the window. It was his dad.
‘Come back to the house, mun, I got us an Indian. Hiya, Charlie, how’s things?’
Mr Leighton went to the door with Davidde to let him out.
‘I was
‘Mad, it’s gone, the world. The world’s gone mad,’ he said.
‘Have a biscuit,’ said Mrs Leighton.
‘I can’t, I’m too annoyed about those Mongolian bats.’
‘I wasn’t talking to you, I was talking to Davidde. Have one when you’ve calmed down a bit.’
‘My tea will be cold. And everyone knows there’s no point having a biscuit with cold tea.’
‘Well … well … stick it up your backside then,’ said Mrs Leighton and she ran upstairs crying, after she’d thrown a biscuit at Mr Leighton’s head.
Davidde had never seen them like this before. They’d bickered plenty of times, but he’d never heard Mrs Leighton upstairs sobbing before and he found it a bit awkward. Mr Leighton carried on reading the paper, mumbling. Davidde followed Mrs Leighton upstairs.
‘Sorry, Davidde, love. How are you? How’s school going? We don’t see you as much as we used to.’
Davidde thought about school. It had been great, mostly, but not in the way she was thinking. He hadn’t kept up with any of his work, work he would have done if he’d called in on them more often. He thought he’d better not mention that and make things worse.
‘Everything’s fine, Mrs Leighton.’
‘How’s your father? Haven’t seen him in a while either.’
‘I haven’t seen much of him myself to be honest, Mrs Leighton.’
She sniffled.
‘Sorry, Davidde,’ she said, ‘but sometimes I can’t cope with him. He can be such a … pig.’
‘He has been quite grumpy lately.’
‘I mean, most of the time he’s fine, and I realise that I’m lucky. It’s hard for your father, and for you, losing your mother like that.’
Davidde thought about Mr Leighton downstairs, not apologising, just muttering to himself. And then Davidde realised something. For a long time he’d felt guilty about how Mr and Mrs Leighton had been so good to him over the years, especially since his mother had died. The times they’d cooked for him and helped with the homework his father couldn’t help him with, the times they’d made him cups of tea, the times he’d looked at stars with Mr Leighton. He realised, though, that they’d got something out of this as well – they enjoyed the company, and he didn’t have to feel guilty about it. He’d felt guilty about so many things – like being a burden on his father, about being bullied in school, about not having things to say to people.
He realised that he didn’t have to feel guilty about every single thing.
‘OK, Mrs Leighton, I’ll try and talk to him,’ said Davidde. As he walked back down the stairs he realised he didn’t have a clue how to do this, but he would give it a go.
Mr Leighton was at the window with his binoculars, fuming. His face was red and he was shaking.
‘Miscreants! Blaggards!’
‘Hiya, Mr Leighton. What’s happening?’
‘Oh, the usual, you know. The world going mad, idiots on the Rec and the police not taking a blind bit of notice.’
‘Mrs Leighton doesn’t seem very happy.’
‘Don’t worry about her, she’s never happy.’
Davidde thought that he wouldn’t be very happy if he was Mrs Leighton either, but he didn’t say it.
Mr Leighton put down the binoculars. He stared hard at Davidde.
‘And how’s school going?’
Davidde felt very uncomfortable. It was as if Mr Leighton knew the truth. He went to scratch his head. He felt the gel in his hair.
‘Well…’ said Davidde. Right on cue there was a tap at the window. It was his dad.
‘Come back to the house, mun, I got us an Indian. Hiya, Charlie, how’s things?’
Mr Leighton went to the door with Davidde to let him out.
‘I was
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