The Day I Was Erased

by Lisa Thompson

  It was just as if I had never been there to break it in the first place.

  I jumped off the wall and touched the tile. It wobbled, exactly as it had when I’d accidentally knocked it off. I crouched down by the bush where I’d hidden the pieces and took a look. Maybe they’d finally got around to replacing the tile and the broken pieces of the old one would still be under the bush?

  All I found were three empty drink cans and a deflated armband.

  There was no broken tile.

  I sat on the wall and tried to think but my head felt woozy.

  Everything I’d done in the past had been … undone. The gate, the school and now this. I got up. I didn’t know what to do so I began walking. I didn’t really know where to go so I just walked around, up and down roads that I knew so well.

  I found myself in Acacia Drive. A couple of years ago the council planted a little tree along the edge of the pavement. Within a week of it being there I accidentally crashed my bike straight into it and snapped it in two. The broken tree had stayed there for months slowly rotting away until eventually, someone from the council came and dug it up, cementing over the little hole where it had been planted. But when I passed it now, the tree was there, three times my height with a scattering of red leaves circling the ground around it. I stopped and stared at it for a moment, and then I carried on.

  Not far from my primary school was a house which had a garden surrounded by an orangey-brown fence. The kind of fence that had solid panels that you couldn’t see through. One day, on our way home from school, Mum bumped into her friend, Kimberly. They stood talking for ages and ages, even though I tried tugging at my mum’s coat to make her hurry up. As I waited I ran my hand along the orangey-brown fence and touched a knot of wood, which looked like a large, staring eye. I pressed it and the circle of wood popped out and fell through to the other side. While Mum wasn’t watching, I quickly looked through the hole, gazing in at the hidden garden which turned out to be just a jumble of brambles. I passed that fence twice a day for years and took a peek through the hole every now and then. As I passed the brown fence now, the circular knot of wood was back.

  I put my hands in my pockets as I walked. Then I remembered there should be something there – the key to the boiler room that I’d locked on the night of the Centenary Ball. But my pocket was empty. I walked and walked, and by late afternoon my feet were throbbing and I could barely put one foot in front of the other. I began to make my way back to Reg’s.

  I’d tried so hard to make sense of everything; to find a rational explanation for what was going on. But it was quite obvious that I was wrong. There was no hoax. My family weren’t behind any elaborate trick to try and teach me a lesson.

  Something far worse had happened.

  I, Maxwell Beckett, had been erased.

  When I got back to Reg’s he was in the kitchen opening a can of tomato soup.

  “Hello,” he said as I appeared through the door. “Was I expecting you?”

  For once I was grateful that Reg had forgotten me. After my earlier outburst with the cabinet, he might not have been so friendly if he’d remembered who I was. I explained as simply as I could that I was his friend and then he invited me to have some dinner. My stomach was churning and, even though I didn’t feel hungry, I knew I should probably eat something.

  He told me to go and sit in the front room and wait while he finished cooking.

  Once in the lounge I went straight to the glass cabinet. Reg had put all the things back neatly on the shelves. I felt goosebumps tickle up my arms. The cabinet freaked me out a little. Had something in there caused me to be erased? I carefully opened the door and looked inside. The wooden egg which I thought had broken when I pulled everything out was back in one piece on the shelf by the black hat. I picked it up. I remembered holding it last night and turning it over in my hands and I remembered it making a little noise. I shook it again and heard a rattle.

  On top of the egg was a tiny wooden knob. I twisted it both ways. The knob moved but nothing happened. Then I pressed it inwards. There was a tiny click and the egg suddenly popped open, four sides dropping down like petals on a flower. “What the…?” I said, looking inside. A few things fell out on to the floor. I left them there for a moment as I studied the petals of the egg. Each one had some letters carved into the wood. I twisted the egg around and read.

  “M. Celeste, Amundsen, Louis Le Prince, Earhart,” I said. “What does that mean?”

  I got down on to my knees and looked at the things that had fallen out. There was a small square of thick dirty-white fabric, a silver button, a piece of knitted wool and a folded handkerchief. I unfolded the handkerchief and saw that embroidered in one corner were the letters A.E.

  “Are you ready for your soup, Maxwell?” called Reg from the kitchen.

  “Yes, Reg,” I replied.

  I quickly picked everything up and stuffed it all back into the middle of the egg. I held each petal and folded them up around the bits in the middle. It clicked shut and was in the shape of an egg again. I put it on the shelf and made my way to the sofa.

  “Here we go,” said Reg, coming into the lounge with a tray which he put on my knees.

  “Where did that egg come from, Reg?” I said. “The wooden one that you said was a musical box?” I blew on my soup and slurped at it.

  “Oh, that old thing! My grandfather won it in a card game in Vietnam. He was always getting himself into scrapes and whatnot. Did I tell you he travelled the world three times?”

  He chuckled to himself and then he shuffled off to the kitchen again and came back with two thick slices of bread and butter. I was so tired. My feet throbbed from all of the walking.

  “Reg? What would you do if you didn’t exist any more?” I said, dunking my bread into my soup.

  Reg stared at me.

  “Is that a trick question?” he asked.

  “No, it’s not a trick. I just wondered how you would spend your time.”

  Reg thought about it for a moment.

  “Well, if I didn’t exist I wouldn’t do anything. I wouldn’t be able to because I didn’t exist.”

  I frowned.

  “No, what I mean is … what if you used to exist, but something happened … some kind of magic … and you were erased from the world. You were still alive … still walking, talking, breathing and in the town where you lived … but you’d never actually been born. And all of the people you know, well, they now have no idea who you are. You’ve never existed.”

  Reg froze with a spoonful of steaming soup in front of his lips. He appeared to be giving it a great deal of thought. He blew gently on to the soup.

  “I think if that had happened, if I was still me and no one knew who I was … but I knew who they were… Well, I think I’d go and have a little fun,” he said. A wide smile spread across his face.

  “Fun?” I said. I couldn’t think of anything fun about being me at the moment. Reg sipped his soup.

  “Yes! It would be a bit like being invisible, don’t you think? You’d know all of the people around you and all of their secrets and habits and so on, but they wouldn’t have a clue who you were.” He slurped from the spoon. “No one would know your faults or your mistakes. You could be whoever you wanted to be.”

  I sat back on the sofa, my eyes drooping with tiredness. I was exhausted but I felt a little calmer. My tummy was full, I was warm and I had a roof over my head. Maybe Reg was right? Maybe not existing wasn’t such a bad thing after all? I’d made such a mess of my old life and upset a lot of people. Maybe I would have more luck in this world? Here, nobody hated me or thought I was a troublemaker or a total loser. I hadn’t made any mistakes. My family were probably around somewhere so I just had to find them and work out a way to get back into their lives.

  I leaned into the plump cushions on the sofa. I let my eyes close for a moment. Charlie Geek was here in this world and I was certain I’d be able to be friends with him again. A better friend this time too. T
hat shouldn’t be too hard. As I rested I felt Reg lift my tray off my lap and heard him head to the kitchen.

  I smiled to myself.

  Maybe in this world Maxwell Beckett could do better.

  The next morning, I woke up feeling surprisingly relaxed. Reg must have put the blanket over me before he went to bed and he’d left the fire on low. When he came into the living room wearing blue-striped pyjamas he did a little jump when he saw me.

  “What on earth are you doing on my sofa?” he said. We went through the usual questions, although this time he seemed to understand a bit quicker; maybe because it hadn’t been so long since he’d last seen me. This time I told him that my parents were friends of his and that they’d had to go away for work and that he’d agreed to look after me for a bit.

  “They told you not to forget and that it was very important that you let me stay. Don’t you remember, Reg?” I said.

  I felt guilty for lying to him again. He looked a bit anxious but then he pretended he did remember and it was fine for me to stay. He went off to the kitchen and came back with four slices of toast and jam on a plate as I lay under my blanket.

  “Thanks, Reg,” I said. This was quite nice. I usually had to wait until I heard Dad leave to do his job as a gardener before I got up. If one of them was out of the way then there’d be no arguing.

  “What time does school start for you then, young Maxwell?” Reg asked, sitting down in his armchair and resting a white bowl on his tummy. It was full to the brim with cornflakes.

  “There’s, erm, no school this week, Reg. My school is on holiday. Mum told you that already.”

  He looked a bit embarrassed and then nodded and smiled.

  “Oh yes, of course. Your parents … you’re staying with me for a while, aren’t you?”

  I smiled back, though I felt bad. It wasn’t the school holidays but Reg would never find that out and I didn’t think it was too bad telling him a white lie. Besides, the alternative was far too complicated.

  As I ate my toast, I thought about my plan for the day. I knew exactly what I was going to do.

  Today I was going to find my family and I was going to find Monster.

  Reg had run out of milk so I offered to go and get some. The nearest shop was a mini-supermarket next to the train station about half a mile away. It was a bright, crisp autumn morning and Mrs Banks was making her way along her stepping stones carrying her bin – the bin that Monster loved to have a good old snuffle through. My stomach leapt as I thought about him. I couldn’t wait to kiss his velvety ears and see his funny helicopter tail going mad when he saw me! I bet he would know who I was instantly because of our special bond.

  Mrs Banks dumped her bin on to the pavement. I suddenly thought that she might have an idea where Monster might be living.

  “Erm. Excuse me,” I said. She glared at me through her sweeping fringe. “Have you seen a beagle around here at all? With a tongue that hangs out all the time?”

  I was expecting some snide comment but she actually seemed to be thinking about it.

  “I can’t say that I have. Have you lost him?”

  I nodded. “Kind of,” I said.

  “That’s a shame,” she said. “Maybe you should put some posters up?”

  I couldn’t believe it. She was actually being nice.

  “Erm, yes … OK. Maybe I should do that,” I said, watching her carefully.

  “You could put one on my gate if you like? Lots of people stop by here to admire my garden,” she said proudly.

  I’d never heard her speak kindly before. It was strange. We both stood for a moment and looked at the garden.

  “Nice flamingo,” I said, to break the silence.

  Mrs Banks glanced towards the bird which was pinker than ever in the bright sun.

  “Oh, thank you,” she said. And then her lips did this weird thing. The corners slowly curled upwards and she smiled. I’d never seen her smile. I was so shocked I burst out laughing. Her face dropped instantly and was replaced with a scowl. She folded her arms and glared at me.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in school uniform?” she said.

  “Day off,” I said, and I quickly carried on.

  It might not have lasted long, but that was the nicest conversation I had ever had with Mrs Banks. She didn’t hate me! Maybe Reg was right. I could be whoever I wanted to be in this world and nobody hated me.

  When I got to the shop there were hundreds of commuters rushing towards the station entrance, fumbling with their tickets. A woman pushed past me, talking loudly on her mobile so that everyone could hear her conversation.

  “If Madrid want to sell it at that price then I think we should grab it with both hands. Don’t you, Damien?”

  I wondered what Madrid was selling? Whatever it was it must be quite big because it needed two hands to hold it. The woman swept through the ticket hall, managing to not bump into anyone as she twisted her body through the crowds.

  A bus pulled up and a jumble of suits and elbows emerged from the doors and rushed towards the station. A large group were coming from the car park in the other direction and as the two crowds met, a man in a navy suit stumbled and his phone shot out of his hand and went spinning across the pavement. It came to a stop beside my foot. I picked it up just as the image on the shattered screen died. I held on to the phone, still staring at it. My heart rate quickened. I recognized that photograph! It was of a girl holding candyfloss and sitting at the top of a Ferris wheel. However, this version was a bit different. In the version I knew there was a boy sitting next to her pulling a stupid face and basically ruining the whole picture. I took a deep breath as a pair of smart, black shoes appeared in front of me.

  “Can I have my phone?”

  I looked up and swallowed. It was my dad. He was standing right there. I stared at his face but he just looked blank. He didn’t know me at all.

  “I … er … erm,” I stuttered. My dad rolled his eyes and held out his hand.

  “My phone? Please? Come on, I’m in a hurry.”

  I gave it to him and when he saw the smashed screen his shoulders slumped.

  “Oh, that’s just terrific. A flat tyre and now this. Can my day get any better? Can it?”

  He looked straight at me, his forehead crumpled. He appeared to be waiting for an answer. I shrugged.

  “I dunno. Maybe?” I said.

  He sighed, glanced at his watch, then turned and did a weird running-while-trying-to-look-like-walking thing towards the station entrance. He was wearing a navy suit. I hadn’t seen him looking so smart since … well, since he used to work in London in the busy office back when I was in primary school. The one that made him really ill.

  Back then we were rich. Well, not rich exactly, but I never saw Mum’s face drop when I told her there was a school trip to pay for or that my trainers were getting too tight. Back then we could easily afford everyday stuff and we even went on holiday to Greece a couple of times. That was all because Dad used to get a bonus which meant the company he worked for would put a great chunk of money straight into his bank account every year. But then, one day, Dad stopped going to work. Just like that. It was like he woke up one morning and couldn’t find the energy to get out of bed so he just decided to stay there.

  Mum spent a lot of time whispering on the phone and she made him an appointment to see a doctor. The doctor gave him some tablets and once a week he went to see another type of doctor called Cathy. He went to see Cathy to “talk about things”. I don’t know what they talked about but after a few weeks, he stopped spending so much time in bed and started to do stuff again. He really loved being outside so one day I helped him to dig our little vegetable patch in the garden. When I say “helped” I mean I just stood there asking questions while he did all the work. I was only about six so I probably wouldn’t have been very good at it anyway.

  I remember asking him about worms and which end was their head and which end was their bottom.

  “I don’t know, Maxw
ell,” he laughed. “You’ll have to look that one up.”

  He stabbed his spade into the ground and it made a clunk sound. He bent down and moved some of the soil out the way with his hands and then he picked up a piece of red brick. He dusted the dirt off it.

  “You know, Maxwell, Cathy said something to me the other day that really made me think,” he said, staring at the brick. “She said that having a worry or an upset or sense of loss can feel like you are carrying a really heavy brick in your pocket.”

  I watched him silently as he crouched down looking at the lump in his hand.

  “She said that on some days that brick can feel like the heaviest brick in the whole wide world. It’s so heavy in your pocket that you can barely put one foot in front of the other.”

  He stood up, still looking at the brick.

  “But on some days the worry that you are carrying around with you is still there, like a brick in your pocket, but you might not notice it as much. That brick just doesn’t feel as heavy as it used to.”

  I frowned. It might have made sense to Dad but it didn’t make any sense to me. He tossed the brick to one side then carried on digging. I watched him for a bit, thinking.

  “Daddy?” I said. “When are you going back to your job?”

  He stopped again and sort of froze like a statue. I thought I might have said something really wrong but then he straightened up and wiped his forehead.

  “Soon, Maxwell. In a couple of weeks I’d say.”

  He carried on digging and I noticed his face was all scrunched up. I kicked at the ground and spotted a big pebble. It was all white and smooth and I brushed the dirt off and put it into my pocket. I looked back at my dad. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes looked all watery.

  “Daddy? Why do you do a job that you don’t like very much?”

  He stopped digging and stood the spade in front of him, resting his hands on the top of the handle. He wiped his forehead then looked straight at me, giving me a little smile.

  “Do you know something, Maxwell? I don’t really know.” He stood for a while, staring ahead. It was quite boring just watching him do nothing so I ran off to put the white pebble on the shelf in my bedroom.