Stuff

by Jeremy Strong

  I sat up sharply What would Delfine think? I slowly relaxed. It didn’t matter. I wouldn’t be around, not once Pete and I put our plan into action. Even so, it was a bit hard on her. Maybe I should leave her a letter? What was the point? She’d get used to it. She might miss me for a bit. She’d probably be upset, maybe even cry a little – after all, she really loved me. Would I miss her?

  No.

  I was going to miss Sky like crazy, which was stupid, since we weren’t even going out together. And that was another good reason to leave. There was no way we could be together. She already had a boyfriend. I admired her loyalty but it didn’t do me any favours. There was nothing for me here any longer. I checked the alarm and drifted off to sleep.

  I had a dream. It should have been about Sky. I would have liked to dream about Sky. But it was about Delfine, at least to start with. We were at school, in a cupboard, with the door shut. Don’t even ask. How am I supposed to know why we were in a cupboard? It was a dream. I deny all responsibility. You can do that with dreams – thank God.

  So, we were in this cupboard and I was drawing her. Yes. You guessed. And she started kissing me. And I was thinking (still in the dream, of course): this isn’t liver and onions, this is pasta. Spaghetti. With curry sauce. And I was still painting her, only that was it – I was painting her. Painting her body. And suddenly it wasn’t Delfine at all. It was Aunt Polly now, lying in the cupboard. (Obviously a very big cupboard.)

  Anyhow, I crashed the Citroën and woke up, sweating. Weird. I bet Salvador Dali never had dreams like that. Maybe I was mutating into a surrealist. Maybe I’d wake up and discover I’d grown a weird moustache. I waited until I’d calmed down and then tried to sleep again. I’d hardly nodded off when the alarm went. Four thirty. I was quite glad really.

  I let myself out by the back door. Yikes, it was cold at 5 a.m.! But there was no turning back now. I crept along the street feeling incredibly guilty as if my rucksack was full of stolen goods – which I suppose it was in a way. What would happen if I got stopped by the police and they searched me? How do you explain a rucksack full of egg whisks, rolling pins, casserole dishes and batteries? Luckily, the only person I saw was the milkman and he was too busy counting milk bottles and whistling out of tune. I hid behind somebody’s front hedge until he’d passed.

  The Grange looked more spooky than ever. I took a deep breath, made my way to the rear and went in. I checked behind the piano and was very relieved to see my stash lying there undisturbed. I sat on the floor, back to the wall, and waited for Pete. It was five. He’d be here soon. I looked at my pile and began to wonder how to get it all into my rucksack. I realized I might have to leave something behind.

  Ten past five. I went to the dirty window. No sign of Pete yet. Maybe Aunt Polly was playing up. Pete once told me that sometimes she came in so late it was more like early in the morning. Another time she was so drunk she tried her key at the house next door. They’d shooed her away and called her a drunken old sot.

  ‘Don’t call me an old sod!’ Aunt Polly had shouted back.

  Half past five and still no sign of Pete. If he didn’t arrive soon, we’d have to call the whole thing off. Either that or I’d have to go on my own. No, couldn’t do that. I needed Pete to be there. He knew how to lure a seal out of its ice hole. I didn’t think we’d ever find a seal, but Pete also knew six ways of making fire without matches and which cactus you could get water from if you were lost in a desert. He knew, because it had happened to him.

  Pete’s Desert Experience

  This happened when Pete was out in America visiting his parents last Christmas. They went off for a few days to look at the desert They went to Death Valley one of the hottest, most inhospitable places on earth. It was nothing but dry air, cacti, salt flats and rattlesnakes. The car broke down and they were stranded. Pete’s dad said they had to stay with the car. That was what you did in a desert emergency. Don’t wander off, stay with the vehicle. They boiled all day in the sun. At night the temperature dropped below freezing and they shivered.

  The next morning they were still there. The sun rose higher and higher. They had long since run out of water. They thought they were going to die. An old man appeared, a local Native American. He said he was a shaman –a medicine man. He had a bent hat with an eagle feather sticking out of the band. His shoes were made from rattlesnake skins. He wore a buckskin loincloth. The old man kept pointing at his chest and saying, ‘Nykee. Nykee.’

  We thought it was his name,’ said Pete. ‘But he kept tugging at his shirt and grinning and suddenly my mum realized he was actually showing us the T-shirt. It was a Nike T-shirt. He was really proud of it. Weird!’ Pete shook his head and went on. That man was amazing. He knew everything about the desert. He whistled at birds and knew what they said. He knew every animal, every plant. He could track an ant for days and hunt it down. But, most important, he knew where to find water. He took us to some cacti and sliced one open with his knife. It was brimming! And you know what the most incredible thing of all was? That old man was blind –blind as a bucket down a well.’

  Much later a helicopter appeared and they were rescued. ‘But if it hadn’t been for that shaman,’ Pete said, ‘we’d have died.’

  End of Desert Story

  So, I really needed Pete to be with me. He knew important things. I decided to wait until six. If he didn’t turn up by then I’d go back home and we’d try again another day. Something must have happened to him. Maybe Aunt Polly had caught him creeping out.

  Six o’clock. No Pete. I decided to count up to 100 and, if he hadn’t turned up, I’d go back home. I counted to 100. No Pete. I counted to 500, then unloaded my rucksack and crept home.

  Everyone was still fast asleep, thank goodness, and no sign of Pankhurst. Bonus! I whizzed upstairs and undressed. I was just about to clamber into bed when the maniac rabbit launched herself at me from behind. Her paws raked into my shorts and the next thing I knew they were round my ankles and the rabbit was sitting in them. I could almost hear her laughing.

  ‘If that’s feminism, I don’t think it’s very civilized,’ I muttered.

  20

  My Best friend?

  So, I get to school and I’m half dead because I’ve been up since four o’clock in the morning, plus I’ve got paw scratches on my bum (again). They sting. Meantime, Pete’s as fresh as a daisy.

  ‘You look dead,’ he said.

  ‘Where were you?’

  ‘Where was I when?’

  ‘Five o’clock this morning. Remember?’

  Pete frowned, scowled, rolled his eyes, looked at me and suddenly grinned. ‘Oops. Sorry’

  ‘Is that all you can say?’

  Pete shrugged. ‘What do you want me to say?’

  ‘Pete, I was up at four thirty. I waited at The Grange for two hours. It was our big day We were supposed to escape.’

  ‘I forgot. I overslept.’

  ‘You’re hopeless. Suppose Tenzing had overslept and stayed in his tent?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Then Hillary would never have reached the top of Everest. Suppose Nelson had stayed in bed on the day of Trafalgar? He would never –’

  ‘Have got shot and died!’ Pete interrupted. ‘See! Staying in bed can be a Good Thing.’

  ‘I think you know what I mean,’ I said icily.

  ‘It was Aunt Polly’s fault. She kept me awake half the night. So, sorry, I overslept. How’s your sister today? What’s she going to do about Darcy?’

  ‘Don’t ask me, and she’s not my sister. Stepsister.’ I was pretty sure Tasha was in for a bad time with bully boy but I couldn’t see that there was anything I could do about it.

  ‘She doesn’t like him, though, does she?’

  ‘Not even Tasha could like Darcy’ I pointed out.

  ‘Is she going with someone else?’

  ‘I don’t know! Who cares? Look, there’s Sky – over by the science block.’

  Pete grinned. ‘She’s awesome.
You seen Art Works? That’s her – Skysurfer. Cool.’ I could feel Pete’s eyes studying me.

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘Course it is. And Obnoxx the Rather Unpleasant – brilliant! – that’s Darcy.’

  My heart started to beat faster. If Pete knew all this, what did the rest of the school know?

  ‘Who do you reckon is doing it?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice level.

  Pete and I looked at each other. Time almost stopped. So did my heart. Pete raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Could be anyone. I just hope they know what they’re doing, because if Darcy finds out, he’s going to be pretty mad.’ Pete turned and stared out across the playground towards the science block. ‘She is just so cute. Right! I’m going to go for it!’

  My universe continued to crumble. My closest friend seemed to be bent upon ruining any chance I had of finding True Happiness. First of all, he couldn’t be bothered to get up early enough to escape from the Gulag of Home Life, and now he was going to woo the girl of my dreams.

  ‘She’ll turn you down,’ I said, without the remotest sense of conviction.

  ‘Now, why would she do that?’ Pete smiled. ‘I’m tall, dark, handsome, intelligent –’

  ‘I refute it, thus! You’re tall, dark and plug-ugly She’ll say no.’

  ‘Maybe, but the thing is, you won’t know unless you ask. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, as my wise old grandfather used to say’

  ‘Really? I didn’t know you had a grandfather.’

  ‘I have, but he’s not wise, and he didn’t say it. But had he been wise I’m sure he would have. It’s the sort of thing wise grandfathers say. And now I must be off. I have a date with the most beautiful girl in school.’

  Pete made a beeline for Sky. I watched miserably, my heart thumping, bumping, lurching, having hiccups, sneezing, coughing and generally falling to bits inside my chest. Pete was talking to her. She tilted her head on one side, listening. She was smiling, nodding, picking up her bag. They disappeared round the corner of the science block. Together.

  It was possibly the worst day of my life. The remainder of school passed in a kind of dreary fog. My brain had crashed. All it could do was replay that disastrous scene with Pete and Sky, over and over again. There was a moment in the replay when the film froze – the moment Sky smiled. I had never realized that a smile could pierce you like a dagger. When the smile was for someone else, it cut you into little shreds.

  I suppose I should have been pleased when Delfine turned up and suggested we walk home together. She held my hand. I felt as if I was losing everything. I wanted to be walking home with Sky. I wanted to be holding Sky’s hand. Delfine was my past, but now Pete had gone off with Sky and I had no future. Hell’s telly! I was turning into a soap opera!

  ‘You look fed up,’ said Delfine, leaning her head against my shoulder as we walked.

  ‘Bad day at the office,’ I muttered.

  ‘Want to talk about it?’

  Tell Delfine! No way! My brain (the one that had crashed) tried to come up with something suitably disastrous and diverting.

  ‘Had a test in French,’ I lied. ‘I got minus ten. Baguette was furious.’

  ‘How can you get minus ten?’ squeaked Delfine.

  ‘By answering a question.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘It’s simple. If I hadn’t answered any questions I’d have scored zero, yeah?’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘But I did answer some questions. My answers were so bad I lost marks and ended up with minus ten.’ Blimey. I’d almost convinced myself I really had taken a French test.

  Delfine was frowning. ‘I still don’t –’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. It’s just been a bad day’ Suddenly I was really tired. I didn’t want Delfine hanging on my arm any more. I wanted to be at home, on my own. I shook myself free. ‘I’ve got to go. I need some sleep.’

  ‘See you tomorrow?’ she asked, all wistful and doe-eyed.

  ‘Sure.’

  I hurried on without her, but after a few steps I took a glance back. She was walking away. I wished it was the last time. I wished I’d told her it was over. But she’d looked so desperate, as if I could crush her with a few words. I would have to tell her sometime. And then, of course, there’d be tears and tantrums and … Darcy.

  For now, though, it was time to hide away.

  21

  Time to Come Clean

  Wonder of wonders – the house was empty. No sign of Natasha. No sign of Sherry Trifle or Dad. No sign of Pankhurst. Maybe she was out in the garden, hunting rhinos. I had the place to myself. I walked into every single room making V-signs and blowing raspberries. Childish? I didn’t care. I felt a whole lot better. Didn’t do it in my own room, of course. Then I decided to be totally decadent and have a bath – a long, hot bath. I stripped off and was about to go through to the bathroom when I caught sight of myself in the long mirror on the back of my door. I stood there, looking at myself.

  This is me, I thought. I’m a stick insect. I lifted my arms and flexed my muscles. Ha ha. What muscles? The hair in my armpits had grown even more. The sex-ed video we’d seen at school said that when girls grow hair during puberty they grow twenty metres of the stuff. Baboon’s buttocks – twenty metres! Hope it doesn’t all grow at once. I don’t think it’s an overnight job. I mean, you’d think people would notice, wouldn’t you? The video couldn’t even say how quickly boys’ hair grew – it was obviously something too horrible to contemplate. It must be at least twice as much – forty metres. Forty metres! You could thatch a roof with that!

  I had nothing like a roof on me – not even a small porch, not even enough to make a toupee for Dad’s bald patch. My chest was puny and, generally speaking, I felt about as sexy as a combful of dandruff. I thought of Pete. He was much better built than I was. He was taller, stronger, better looking and he looked older. No wonder Sky went off with him. Groan groan. It was time to drown my sorrows in the bath, and quite possibly myself.

  I locked the door, turned on the taps and waited for the tub to fill. My eyes wandered around the room. It was amazing how much stuff those women had brought with them. When it was just Dad and me we had soap and shampoo. Full stop. Soap and shampoo. Now there was so much bath foam and bath mix and moisturizer and shower gel and hair goo and heaven alone knows what. I was sure it was manufacturing itself. Or maybe all the bottles were secretly mating at night and producing baby bottles that grew during the day until they were big, adult bottles, and then they mated and produced even more bottles and the bathroom was slowly being invaded by a monstrous regiment of bottled bubbles in 100 different colours and smells. Awesome!

  I sat on the edge of the tub, got a bottle of bath foam and tipped the contents alongside the running tap. Then I got another bottle and tipped that in. The water was already foaming up. I added a couple more bottles and, all of a sudden, the foam was everywhere, piling up and sliding over the top of the bath, down the sides and across the floor. Great bubbling peaks formed vast mountain ranges across the top of the bath and somewhere, beneath it all, was the bath water.

  I hacked my way through the froth, plunging into it all and diving down into the warm water. My eyes began to sting. I rose up from under the waves and stood there, with foam piled up as high as my navel. I yodelled loudly. Then louder. I yelled out: ‘I am the King of Froth and all must obey me or I shall fruth froth down your froat until you are fruffocated! Odle-layee-dee!’

  ‘Simon? Is that you?’

  Flying bumbits! It was La Trifle!

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What are you doing in there?’

  Now, excuse me a moment, but what on earth did she think I was doing in the bathroom? Ice-skating? Uncovering a long-forgotten Roman mosaic floor, cunningly concealed beneath the lino?

  ‘I’m building a particle accelerator,’ I said, standing there with froth up to my nipples.

  ‘There’s foam on the hall carpet out here,’ said La Trifle.


  Oh piddle. I tried to explain. ‘That’s what my particle accelerator does,’ I said solemnly. ‘It accelerates foam particles.’

  ‘Have you been using my bath foam?’

  ‘Only a tiny bit.’

  ‘How come it’s leaking out beneath the door?’

  ‘It’s leaking out?’ I cried. ‘Oh no! My particle accelerator has created Rogue Foam! Don’t let it escape downstairs or the whole world will perish! For pity’s sake, stop the foam BEFORE WE ALL DIE!’

  It was a serious mistake to do this. I thought it would amuse the Trifle. I thought I could make her laugh, jolly her along a bit, and then she’d go away. But, of course, you need someone with a sense of humour for that to work. No wonder it didn’t. It only made matters worse. She hammered on the door so hard the towel fell off the hook.

  ‘Let me in at once! I want to see what you’re up to!’

  ‘But I’m in the bath, nudely naked and nuddified.’

  ‘Let me in!’ (Hammer, hammer, hammer.)

  I pulled the plug. I could hear water swirling out but the foam didn’t budge. It just stayed there, a great mountain of the stuff. I tried to push it down the plughole. Have you ever tried pushing foam down a plughole? No? Well don’t, because you can’t. It’s impossible. Your hands go straight through it. It really was Rogue Foam. I switched on the shower and tried to spray it to bits.

  ‘Is that the shower you’ve got on now? What are you doing?!’ screeched La Trifle.

  ‘Having a shower,’ I explained simply.

  ‘But you’ve just had a bath.’

  ‘I’m very dirty’ I said.

  ‘Get out of there right now!’ (Hammer, bang, hammer, bang.)

  ‘I am getting out.’

  I rushed to the window, flung it open, dashed back to the bath and began to scoop up armfuls of froth, carrying them across to the window and pushing them out. Some floated away on the breeze. Some clung to the house wall. Some fell into the back garden. I leaned out of the window and tried to give the bubbles a helping waft of wind by waving my arms around. A big wodge stuck on the wall above the window. I stood on the bathroom stool and flicked at them, trying to get rid of all the evidence.