Read Online What I Did by Christopher Wakling - Free Book Online Page A

She’s a very nice lady. You’ll be a good boy with her, won’t you?
    â€” I want to watch Meat Eaters .
    â€” After she’s spoken to you, I promise.
    â€” Predators please, now.
    â€” Billy.
    â€” Now!
    â€” No. I really need you to be good.
    â€” My head feels electric.
    â€” God, not now, Billy, please.
    â€” But—
    â€” You have to be sensible.
    â€” But—
    â€” You will be, won’t you?
    Mum sounds extraordinarily pleasing now. Please, please, please.
    I growl again a bit harder this time and kick my feet against the sofa to demonstrate superiority. Mum pinches her forehead for a second, squeezing as if she thinks that’s going to help her decide what’s next to say.
    But then the shape of Butterfly woman is in the front-room doorway. Too late, Mum! She stands up with her eyes begging for mercy which is brilliant, victory to me, and she backs away.
    Butterfly sits down on the coffee table just in front of me. She puts her jeans folder down beside her and smoothes the front of her skirt out and does another smile.
    â€” Hello again, she says.
    It’s hard to look at her face because when you feel shy faces are like bad magnets, very repulsive, so I look at the woolly butterfly instead and say, — Hello, to it.
    â€” What’s your name? she asks in a slow just-in-case-you-are-stupid voice. But I’m not the stupid one here! She is. They told her my name and she’s already forgotten it.
    â€” Billy.
    â€” Billy. That’s nice. I’m called Sheila.
    Let’s all tell each other obvious things all day shall we? No, let’s not. It’s very boring. Never suffer fools, Son. But then again don’t be rude. It would be rude to say yes you keep telling us you’re called Sheila, don’t worry we’ve got it, I know. So I don’t say that. Instead I concentrate hard on saying something nice about her name, too, and this is what I come up with: — The she-lions do most of the work in a pride.
    She laughs. — I know! That’s true. But how are you, today, Billy?
    If she wants to talk like this I suppose we have to talk like this: — I’m fine, thank you, I say. — And how are you?
    â€” I’m fine, too.
    â€” Good, I say. — Tigers are bigger than lions.
    The butterfly wiggles then and that’s because when you laugh your chest shakes. Good luck, butterfly. Your only chance of flying is if this lady here takes you to a space where they have zero gravity.
    â€” And how is your day going? she asks.
    â€” Normally, I say.
    â€” Normally? What do you mean by that?
    â€” It’s a normal day.
    â€” I see. And what makes a normal day for you?
    This is a strange question but don’t worry, I know the answer. —Twenty-four hours, I say.
    The butterfly struggles pointlessly again. It’s easier to look at the woman’s face now. She’s doing more normal smiling.
    â€” I thought you meant that there has been nothing unusual about today for you, she says.
    â€” There hasn’t, I say, — except it’s not actually normal. She looks confused, so I explain: — It’s half-term. Normally I go to school. I’m in Year One this year which is normal because I’m six. But today I’m not at school and that’s normal, too, because it’s a normal half-term day. Schools normally have half-terms in the middle and now is the middle. Everything is normal.
    â€” Everything is normal, she repeats, but her smile has faded. It sounds like she doesn’t believe me. This is annoying but maybe she is right. Is she right? Yes, I think she is! If you’re in the wrong, Son, it’s best to admit it.
    â€” Except that my hairs hurt, I admit.
    â€” Your hairs?
    â€” The hairs on my head.
    She’s sitting next to me on the sofa now, with one leg bent up under her bum so she can sit sideways and see me. Yoga has nothing to do with yoghurt.