The Light Jar

by Lisa Thompson

  There were more footsteps and then the sound of a car door opening and slamming shut. An engine turned on and I listened as it slowly reversed off the driveway and sped up as it trundled toward the dirt track. I squeezed my eyes together, trying not to cry. I wanted it to have been Mum so much. Where was she? Why wasn’t she coming back for me? I had thought of a reason—a horrible reason with sharp edges—for why she might not be here, but I pushed it out of my mind.

  “Come on!” said Sam, jumping up.

  “Hold on, shouldn’t we wait for a minute?” I said. “We should definitely wait for a bit and make sure he’s gone.”

  The boy with the yellow glow laughed. “Come on. You don’t really think it’s Gary, do you? How on earth do you think he found you? Do you think he had a tracker on your car or something?”

  I stayed still, hugging my knees. Maybe he had. Maybe he knew Mum had rented out that car and hidden a tracker in the trunk without her knowing. He’d not been following us, but he knew where we were from the tracking device. Maybe he’d found Mum and that’s why she hadn’t come back and now he was coming to get me. I started to cry.

  “Hey, no need for tears,” said Sam, his face full of concern. “You stay here and I’ll go and check that the coast is clear. Okay?”

  He gave me a smile and ran to the front door while I waited behind the sofa. It felt like he was quiet for ages, but then:

  “Nate! Come and see this!”

  My heart plummeted. Whatever it was, it was going to be bad news, I just knew it. I stood up and slowly made my way to the front door.

  “Look!” said Sam, a big grin on his face. On the mat by his feet was a small red-and-white card with something scribbled on it. I picked it up and read:

  I laughed. It hadn’t been Gary knocking after all. It must have been a delivery person. There was no tracker after all. Gary had no idea where I was. I felt the panic drain away down my body. Sam was jumping around beside me.

  “Cool! It must be outside. Go and see what it is, Nate.”

  I wondered who would be sending a parcel to an empty cottage. I pulled the door open and squeezed outside while Sam waited, jiggling on the spot like an excited three-year-old. Around the side, where Mum had gone searching for the door key, was a large brown plant pot. Whatever had been growing in it must have died and rotted away years ago, and stuffed behind it was a brown padded envelope. I pulled it out and went back indoors, shoving the door shut with my shoulder.

  “What is it? What is it? Open it!” said Sam, practically hysterical with excitement.

  I sat at the dining table and looked at the front. It was addressed to Mr. W. Blakelore.

  “That must be William. The gardener who lived here. Who would have sent him something? He died months ago.”

  “Just open it!” said Sam.

  I felt the flat parcel all over and gave it a shake, but it didn’t rattle. And there was no return address on the back. I put my finger into the little gap at the edge of the opening and began to pull it across, but then I stopped and turned the parcel over and stared at the address.

  Sam waved his hands in my face. “Why have you stopped? Come on!”

  I shook my head. “No. It’s not my name on the front, so it’s not mine to open.”

  Sam looked utterly baffled. “What?! But there’s no one here to know. Just do it!”

  I put the parcel on the table. “Gary used to open Mum’s mail. She said it was her name on the envelope, so it should only be opened by her. She was really brave and stood up to him, then.”

  Mum had told me to go to my room at that point and I had lain on my bed and read my Freaky Things book while they argued downstairs. I looked up at Sam.

  “It’s not addressed to me, so I’m not going to open it,” I said, and I threw the parcel back onto the table and went into the kitchen.

  I sorted the food in the kitchen into three piles: would eat, would eat if desperate, would not eat in a million years.

  Sam was watching me.

  “Was Gary always scary?” he suddenly asked.

  I stopped what I was doing for a moment and shook my head, and then I carried on moving the cans into their piles.

  “So, do you remember when it all started? When things went bad?”

  “Yep,” I said. Still sorting through the cans.

  Sam took a step closer, and I stopped what I was doing. My legs were beginning to tremble, and I slowly sat down on the kitchen floor and leaned against a cupboard door.

  “It might be good, you know,” said Sam. “To talk about it?”

  I took a breath and rested my head against the cold cabinet door as Sam sat down beside me, and then I told him what had happened.

  When I was nine, we had a World History Day at school. We all had to go in dressed as someone from the past, and the week beforehand we were all talking about who we were going to be. David Fletcher was going to stick a pillow under his shirt, put on a red beard, and go as King Henry VIII, and Amelia Worrell said she was going to wear a black wig and eyeliner and go as Cleopatra. When it came to my turn I said it was a secret, but the truth was, I didn’t actually know. Mum had been making an outfit for me, and she wanted it to be a surprise.

  She worked in the dining room in the evenings, smuggling in sheets of cardboard, newspapers, and glue. Gary had been living with us for about a year back then, and he wasn’t impressed.

  “What are you doing in there all this time?” he said, banging on the door for the third evening running.

  “Don’t come in! I don’t want to spoil the surprise,” called Mum.

  Gary huffed and raised his eyes at me, and I’d given him a weak smile as he went back to his TV program in the front room. I didn’t like it when Mum gave me too much attention. I don’t know why, but it made me feel nervous. I didn’t think Gary liked it.

  The evening before World History Day, Mum walked into the front room with a bundle of clothes. We were going to find out what she’d been spending all her time on. She was so excited, her eyes wide.

  “Right. Nate, first you need to put this on, and then I’ll show you the rest, okay?”

  She passed me a white shirt and tie, a navy suit with gold braiding on each sleeve, and a navy-and-white cap. I hesitated as I stood with the clothes folded over my arms. Gary was sitting on the sofa looking at something on his phone, his legs dangling over the arm, his shoes still on. Mum had asked him not to wear them indoors, but he never listened.

  “Go on then, Nate! Run to your room and put it on!” said Mum again.

  I quickly went upstairs and threw the clothes on my bed. I could tell it was some type of uniform; she must have found a small suit and sewn the gold bands onto the sleeves herself. I put the shirt, jacket, trousers, and cap on but left the tie off. Mum would have to help me with that one.

  When I walked into the front room, Mum jumped up and clapped her hands.

  “Look at you! You’re a proper little captain! Isn’t he, Gary?”

  Gary snorted without looking up.

  “It’s great, Mum,” I said. “But … who am I meant to be?”

  Gary snickered again and said something under his breath. I wished he’d gone out. I just wanted Mum to enjoy showing me what she’d made without him making stupid noises.

  “Wait there, I’ll go and get the best bit,” said Mum and she disappeared off into the dining room.

  “You know you don’t have to wear what she tells you,” said Gary, staring at me with his piercing blue eyes. “It’s fine to say no if you feel like an idiot.”

  He had a smile on his face like he was trying to be kind. I looked down at the costume. I didn’t feel like an idiot.

  “You don’t want the other kids to start picking on you because you look like a jerk, do you?”

  Mum came in and he quickly looked back down at his phone.

  “Ta-daaaa!” she said. “Well, what do you think?”

  She was carrying a large papier-mâché ship. It was painted dark gray, and a
long the side was written “RMS TITANIC” in black ink. I was gobsmacked. She put it down on the carpet. I could see the middle had a space cut out where I could stand, and she’d attached two red suspenders that would hook up over my shoulders. My mouth dropped. It was simply the best costume I’d ever seen in my whole life.

  “Wow!” I said. “You’ve made the Titanic! You’ve actually made the Titanic!”

  Mum laughed and clapped her hands together again. Her eyes looked a bit watery. “I know! Let’s get it on you then. Just step in, and I’ll lift it up for you.”

  I climbed carefully into the middle of the ship, and Mum put the red suspenders on my shoulders. I was going to school dressed as the Titanic, and this was the best thing in the whole world.

  “It’s two costumes in one, really, isn’t it, Mum? I’m the captain of the Titanic, and I’m the actual Titanic. It’s brilliant!”

  Mum grinned as I walked around the living room, being careful not to knock into anything. Gary had his arms folded and was watching silently.

  “So, you’re quite happy sending your son to school dressed like that, are you?”

  Mum’s face dropped, but then she forced a smile. “Don’t be silly, Gary. He looks fantastic! Look at him! He’s bound to win a best costume prize, don’t you think?”

  Gary rubbed his chin, and I heard the scratch of his stubble against his hand. “Do they give out a prize for the most ridiculous outfit then?”

  Mum and I stood there in silence. He got up, walked out of the room, and stomped his way upstairs. Mum flinched when the bathroom door slammed.

  “Don’t you go taking any notice of him, will you, Nate? You look great. Let’s get this off and we’ll leave it in the dining room, ready for tomorrow, okay?”

  She helped me take the suspenders off, and once I was out of the ship I gave her a big hug.

  “Thanks, Mum. It’s really, really brilliant,” I said.

  I went to bed that night listening to a distant rumble of thunder as Mum and Gary talked in the bedroom next door. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but Gary kept doing that laugh he does—the one where you’re not sure if it’s real or not. Mum’s voice was going quiet then getting louder, and I knew she must be walking up and down the room. I wasn’t sure why, but something about the Titanic outfit had upset Gary, and I could sense that Mum was trying to make things all right again. I heard his sickening laugh one more time and then their bedroom door opened and closed and someone went downstairs.

  I tried to ignore the knotted feeling in my tummy. Gary had changed in the last few months, but I was hoping it was just my imagination. After all, there’d been plenty of days when he’d been really, really nice. He’d taken me to the movies only last week and he’d made me laugh so much that lemonade had shot out of my nose. That was a great day. I was just a bit worried that the good days were becoming rare and we were seeing a lot more of not-so-nice Gary.

  I stuffed my arm under my mattress and pulled out the secret string of lights from my little light jar that used to sit on the shelf. I clicked them on under the duvet and watched the bulbs twinkle in the darkness.

  The next morning, when I came down for breakfast, Mum was in the kitchen with her back to me, fiddling with something on the table. It was something gray.

  “Mum? What’s happened?” I asked. “What’s happened to the Titanic?!”

  Mum jumped. “Nate! Oh, you gave me a shock. I didn’t hear you.”

  I could see that she’d been crying, as her eyes were red, but she quickly turned away so that I couldn’t look at her. On the table was my ship, but it didn’t look like a ship any more. It was a shapeless lump of wet cardboard. She was trying to straighten the sides up, but every time she let go, the boat slumped back down again.

  “Why’s it like that?” I said, close to tears. “Why is it all floppy? It’s ruined!”

  Mum brushed her hair away from her face. “It got a bit wet in the rain last night. I’m sure we can dry it out. I’ll get my hairdryer and we’ll have a go, okay? It’s going to be fine.”

  It didn’t look fine. It looked like a pile of wet cardboard, and the gray paint had run so I could see the bold print underneath saying BAKED BEANS. Then I saw the captain’s suit was hanging over the radiator, also soaked. The drips had made a wet puddle on the tiled floor.

  “How did it get in the rain? You put it in the dining room! Who put it in the rain?!”

  Just then Gary appeared in the doorway. He was dressed in his suit, ready for work, and he stood there with a smirk on his face.

  “Something wrong?” he said, walking to the fridge and getting out some milk. Mum and I both watched him as he opened the carton of milk and drank from the spout. I felt sick.

  “Did you put my ship in the rain?” I asked, taking a small step toward him, but Mum pressed her hand on my arm.

  Gary finished drinking the milk and then wiped the white mustache away from his lips. He was about to say something when Mum butted in.

  “I put it outside. I wanted to make sure the paint was properly dry before this morning, and I didn’t know it was going to rain.”

  I looked at Mum as she fixed eyes with Gary. I knew she was lying. I couldn’t believe she was sticking up for him.

  “No, you didn’t. He did it. You wouldn’t have worked so hard on something only to let it get ruined. It was raining before I went to bed last night, and there’s no way you would have put it outside in that. Or the suit!”

  Gary closed the fridge and slowly walked around the kitchen as if he was looking for something. He wasn’t really doing anything, but his whole body was rigid and his movements were so exact it didn’t feel right. I was terrified. Any second now he was going to explode. Any second now he would do something.

  He took a banana off the top of the fruit bowl.

  “I’m late for work,” he said, staring at Mum before turning to me. “Enjoy your dress-up day, won’t you, Nate? I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun. Oh, and, Fiona? Could you clean this up for me?”

  Mum looked at him, puzzled.

  “Clean what up?” she said, her arms hugging herself.

  “This,” said Gary.

  He picked up the glass fruit bowl, held it at chest height, and dropped it onto the kitchen floor, where it smashed into a million pieces.

  My legs went weak, and I felt like I was going to fall to the floor with the shock. I held on to the table, my heart pounding as I watched Gary staring at Mum. She was frozen, stunned by what had just happened.

  “I’ll be late tonight,” he said. “Don’t bother making me any dinner.” And then, as if he’d just behaved perfectly normally, he turned and walked out the front door.

  I was late for school that morning. It took us an hour to sweep up the glass and pieces of fruit, and then we realized that Mum’s ankle was bleeding where a sharp piece must have hit her.

  I stuffed the wet, ruined cardboard Titanic into a black garbage bag while Mum dabbed at her leg with a tissue. She hadn’t said anything about what had happened. Was she going to pretend everything was okay?

  I went to school dressed in a black sweater and pants, and Mum smudged some black makeup across my cheeks and ruffled up my hair.

  “There. You are a perfect little chimney sweep.”

  “But that’s stupid!” I said. “I’m supposed to be a famous person. There weren’t any famous chimney sweeps!”

  Mum glared at me.

  “I’m doing my best, Nate, okay?” And then she turned her back on me.

  At school, no one knew who I was, and after the fifteenth person asked me, I lost it.

  “Just forget it, okay? I’m nobody! Just leave me alone.”

  I spent the rest of the day being left alone, which was exactly the way I wanted it.

  I sat alone at the dining table and ate some canned pineapple chunks followed by cold custard, which were both in my “would eat” pile. It was really dark outside, so as soon as I finished, I quickly went into every room in the
cottage and turned on all the lights and lamps. My dinner sloshed around in my stomach as I went, and I felt a bit sick. Then I sat on the sofa and flicked through my book.

  Do you know what King Charles II’s favorite food was? Boar’s head burgers? Swan soup? No! It was ice cream! Yes, that cheeky, curly haired monarch used to get through EIGHT scoops a day. Ice-Cream Cone Crazy! But how did they make ice cream all those hundreds of years ago with no electricity? With no ice-cream maker? Well, this lucky king had an ice house in his back garden—an underground construction made of bricks that was packed with snow and ice that the servants collected during wintertime. This ice house would stay chilly all year-round and was the perfect place to store the king’s ice cream. It was a right royal refrigerator!

  I stared at the hand-drawn picture of the curly-haired king holding an ice cream the size of a tennis racket. His eyes were wide, the crown on his head almost falling off as his teeth sank into the creamy swirl.

  “Mum was right. This book is stupid,” I said to myself as I threw it on the living room floor. “How can anyone expect to be able to store snow and ice through the summer? It’s ridiculous! I don’t know who wrote that book, but they are well and truly deluded.”

  I was talking out loud in the hope that Sam would turn up to keep me company, but there was no sign of him. I got up and took my dinner bowls to the kitchen and rinsed them under the tap.

  When I got back to the living room, Sam was sitting at the table turning my blue flashlight on and off. I was pleased to see him, but really I wanted my mum. I wanted her here now, singing in the kitchen and making me scrambled eggs. But she wasn’t. There was just a glowing yellow boy who seemed to be able to appear whenever he wanted. I took a deep breath.

  “Can you put my flashlight down, please, Sam? You’ll wear the battery out,” I said as I walked past him.

  “What’s your problem with the dark, Nate?” he said, still flicking the flashlight on and off.

  I ignored him and went over to try and sort the fire out. I’d let it die down too much, and now it was so cold I was breathing puffs of white air. I blew on my fingers to try to warm them up.