Stuff

by Jeremy Strong

  ‘Eeeeek! A flasher!’

  How was I to know there was an old lady pruning in the garden that backs on to ours? Not my fault – she shouldn’t have looked. Anyhow, I was busy wafting foam.

  I yelled back at her, ‘I refute it, thus!’ And slammed the window shut. Oh God, how was I ever going to escape from all this?

  ‘Open this door!’ (Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.)

  I grabbed a towel, slid back the lock and La Trifle practically fell into the room.

  ‘*&?%$£@!%?&£$%*&&@?%!!’

  Why is it that when I use words like that there’s Big Trouble? Now I hadn’t used words like that and I was still in Big Trouble. To make matters worse, Tasha arrived back, heard all the shouting, came upstairs to see what was going on and joined in – on her mother’s side.

  ‘Where’s my tomato-and-ginger moisturizer? Have you used ALL my prune-juice-and-lizard’s-lymph body scrub? Are you some kind of weirdo?’

  What? Spawn of Trifle was calling me a weirdo?

  ‘You’re going to pay for all this,’ La Trifle seethed.

  Oh, but of course. I, with my millions of dosheroonies in the bank, my twenty offshore holdings, not to mention my secret account in Switzerland, would pay for everything. Just like that. I don’t think.

  I am pleased to say that I didn’t lose my cool. I held my head high and walked proudly from the bathroom.

  Tasha called after me. ‘And by the way’ she sniped, ‘if you’re going to wrap yourself in a towel you want to make sure it goes right round your body. We can see your bum.’

  Huh! How my life goes. I locked myself in my room, got out my sketch pad and set about the next stunning episode of Skysurfer.

  22

  Happy Home

  Dad was not happy. Tracey wasn’t happy. Tasha wasn’t happy I was … unhappy. So there we were in our Happy Home, staring and glaring at each other.

  ‘Can’t you, at least, try?’ pleaded Dad.

  ‘Try what?’

  ‘I know this is an awkward time for all of us, but it wouldn’t be so bad if we all tried to be useful.’

  ‘Getting my stepmother pregnant is useful?’

  ‘How dare you speak to me like that!’ snapped La Trifle.

  Dad’s forehead went all wrinkly. I could see he was concerned. I felt half angry with him and half worried for him. No, actually it was about two-thirds anger and one-third worry Well, maybe three-quarters anger …

  ‘Tracey and I love each other,’ said Dad simply. ‘You two can’t change the way we feel. Tracey is having our baby – our baby – and since you are part of me and Natasha is part of Tracey, the new baby will be part of all of us.’

  ‘That’s interesting logic,’ Tasha observed tartly.

  ‘And that’s enough from you,’ La Trifle shot back.

  I escaped upstairs. I’d been surprised by the exchanges between Tasha and her mum, but there were other things on my mind. I shut my door, put on some music, threw myself on my bed and had a think.

  I thunk like crazy. I thinked and thunked and thonked for ages. There were things about Pete that were niggling me. First there was that business with Aunt Polly and not being able to shack up at his place. Then there was his slightly disappointing (to say the least) failure to turn up at The Grange. Finally, he’d gone off with Sky. And that was annoying. A lot.

  So my state of affairs came to this:

  1. Pete was up my nose and still climbing.

  2. There was nothing at home for me.

  3. There was nothing at school for me.

  4. There was no life without Sky.

  5. So, basically, my future here was nothing.

  Conclusion: I was going to have to leave home on my own. Cue downbeat heavy music:

  Dum dum dum DUUUMMMMM!

  This was serious. All the time I had been planning to escape with Pete I hadn’t really bothered to think in much detail. I’d assumed that Pete would come up with all the answers. After all, he always seemed to know what to do, even if it meant going off with the one girl his best mate fancied. Damn Pete. Damn damn damn him to bits. He would have been company, someone to share problems with. Now I was on my own.

  Most of my stuff was already at The Grange. Once I’d got a few clothes together and some personal things, that was it. Ready to roll. So, where to after I had collected my kit from the old house? Leave town. Hit the road. Maybe I could get a coach out. Once I felt far enough away I’d get a job. Find a room somewhere. Start a new life. Yeah! Somewhere I could be myself at last. I was fed up with adults who only thought about themselves.

  I knew it wouldn’t be easy There’d be a lot of walking with a heavy load. I’d be sleeping rough. I’d have to toughen up. That stick insect I’d seen in the bedroom mirror wouldn’t make it. Exercise – that was what I needed.

  I got down on the floor. Fifty press-ups: that’d toughen me up for a start. Phew. I was knackered after seven. What about that load on my back? I couldn’t practise with my rucksack because that was already at The Grange. I scoured the room and eventually found my old sports bag under the bed. I tried filling it with clothes, but it wasn’t heavy enough. I shoved my hi-fi speakers in the bag. That was much better. One, two, three – Oof! Hoisted the bag on to my back. It weighed a ton. OK, walking. I held the straps tightly and set off across the room. Halfway, there was a great yank on my back and an enormous crash. I staggered round.

  My hi-fi was lying in pieces on the bedroom floor. Might have been a good idea if I’d unplugged the speakers first.

  The door burst open and Dad hurtled in. ‘What was that noise? You all right? Good God, what on earth are you doing?’

  I stood there with my bulging sports bag on my back, trailing two long leads, still connected to the disembowelled hi-fi, now spread halfway across the bedroom floor.

  Dad straightened up and took a deep breath. ‘For a split second I was worried. But no, why waste my breath? Aren’t you a bit old to be having temper tantrums?’

  ‘I wasn’t,’ I answered, sounding exactly as if I was.

  Dad spread his arms wide. ‘What’s all this, then? Why smash your CD player?’ He frowned. ‘And why do you look like the Hunchback of Notre-Dame? What’s that on your back?’

  ‘I was lifting weights.’ Hmmm, not bad. It was even fairly close to the truth. I was quite pleased with that one.

  Dad blinked at me. He opened his mouth to say something, shut it, shrugged and went away. I put the hi-fi back together. Didn’t work, of course.

  That night I tried sleeping on top of the wardrobe. Obviously, I was unlikely to find a wardrobe in the middle of nowhere, but it was the closest I could get to the sort of situation I might have to deal with. Have you ever tried sleeping on top of a wardrobe? Don’t, that’s all I can say. Mine wasn’t even a double. There was a piddling amount of room.

  Tasha came in without knocking, as per usual.

  ‘I heard strange noises,’ she said. ‘What are you doing up there?’

  ‘Trying to sleep,’ I said, because I knew she wouldn’t believe me.

  ‘You’re scared of Pankhurst!’ she chortled.

  After she’d gone I got down and tried to sleep inside instead, but it was cramped and every time I moved the empty hangers jangled. It was like having your head stuck in a giant wind chime. I wondered if maybe there was some way I could attach myself to one of the hangers and then just dangle from the clothes rail, fast asleep, like a bat, only the right way up.

  Eventually I got out and slept on the floor and pretty hard that was too. I must have fallen asleep because Dad had to wake me in the morning.

  ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘Fell out of bed.’

  ‘Why didn’t you get back in?’

  ‘Must have knocked myself out when I fell.’

  ‘How come all your bedding fell with you, your pillows landed under your head and your covers landed neatly on top of you?’

  ‘I was unconscious. I don’t know. Maybe I was sleep-fa
lling’

  ‘Sleep-falling?’

  ‘Like sleep-walking, only falling instead.’

  ‘Si, do you think you might be going mad?’

  ‘I was confused, Dad, OK? I’m fourteen. I’ve got rampant testosterone doing strange things to my body, forty metres of hair sprouting from every hole and embarrassing growths at unexpected moments. Right?’

  That scared him off.

  23

  Running Away – Fourth Attempt

  Ha ha ha! I’ve got this book, a survival handbook. It’s about what to do in all sorts of emergency situations. So, one of the things it tells you is how to jump from a motorbike into a car. It’s brilliant. It gives you really useful instructions like: Get the bike as close to the car as you can.

  I’d never have thought of that in a million years. I’d probably have the motorbike on an entirely different road, going in the opposite direction, on another day.

  Here’s another one: Make sure the car window is open.

  Really? Like I was going to hurl myself into the car through a closed window!

  And how about this staggering piece of info: This manoeuvre is best attempted at low speed.

  Flying bumbits! Who’d have thought it? And if you want to be really safe, try doing it when neither vehicle is moving. Or get someone else to do it. And, anyhow, what do you do if you’ve got a gigantic rucksack strapped to your back?

  I guess it’s quite a useful book really I was reading it to get ready for the Great Escape. It tells you how to make snow caves to shelter in and stuff like that, so it could prove a lifesaver. Think I’ll stay clear of bike-to-car transfers, though. (And vice versa.)

  Unfortunately, it doesn’t tell you what to do when the old lady from round the back knocks on the door and tells your dad that his son’s been waving his thingy at her from the bathroom window.

  ‘Simon!’ I could tell by his voice I was in trouble.

  I headed downstairs, slowly.

  Are you sure it was him?’ asked Dad.

  The old lady was astonished. ‘I don’t want an identity parade,’ she twittered. ‘It was him. He was standing at the window, stark naked, shouting and jiggling his … bits. And when I spoke to him, he said he was “futing it”, the dirty beast.’

  ‘Futing it?’ queried Dad, eyes wide.

  ‘Exactly. The beast.’

  Dad turned, but didn’t look at me. He seemed to be studying the carpet. Strange.

  Anything to say?’ he croaked.

  ‘I was having a bath.’

  ‘You were standing at the window!’ the old lady yelled.

  ‘It was when I had that foam bath, Dad,’ I explained, and I told him about shoving the froth out of the window.

  Dad kept putting a hand to his face and pulling at his nose – something I’d not seen him do before. ‘So, it was accidental?’

  ‘It was a froth emergency.’

  ‘Now I’ve heard everything,’ the neighbour hissed. ‘A froth emergency? Huh! You should be whipped.’

  Dad saw her down the garden path, still arguing. When he got back he gave me a bit of an earful. As if it was my fault! He said I shouldn’t have scared her. I said I didn’t know she was going to be there and, anyhow, if that was all it took to scare her it was a wonder she’d lived so long. So Dad said I should show respect and I’m sure you can guess where the argument went after that. Finally, he asked me why there weren’t any batteries in the TV remote.

  ‘Maybe Pankhurst ate them,’ I suggested.

  Dad looked at the rabbit. It was, after all, a strong possibility.

  I was glad to get back to my main task and over the weekend I made final preparations. I kept wanting to ring Pete to find out how things had gone with Sky but I didn’t want to know as much as I did. If she’d agreed to go out with him, then it would only make my depression worse, and it was pretty unlikely that he’d been unsuccessful. Eventually I couldn’t bear the suspense any longer – he was bound to tell me at school on Monday anyhow. I rang.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ he asked. ‘You must have sloped off pretty quick after school.’

  ‘I was with Delfine.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘How did things go with Sky?’

  ‘Sky? Yeah, brilliant.’

  ‘So, will you see her again?’

  ‘Sure. I’ll see her again on Monday. She’s amazing. She let me –’

  Click. I put down the phone. Couldn’t listen to any more. A few seconds later it rang.

  ‘What did you do that for?’

  Click. I cut the call and switched off my mobile. Maybe Pete would get the message. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him how I felt and what I thought of him. I was too churned up to speak. It could wait. Maybe I’d tell him on Monday. On the other hand, maybe I wouldn’t be at school on Monday. I could be on the road by the time school began. I could be on my way to a new life. Nothing to lose.

  That night I did my final bit of foraging for supplies. It was 2 a.m., and this time I was mostly after food. I snaffled some tins from the kitchen cupboard and removed half the sliced bread from the bag. I got a little container full of milk, filled a water bottle, packed some eggs and bacon. I was about to head back to my room when I heard a door open upstairs and a shaft of light lit the top hall. I shrank back into the shadows, and one of the cans banged against the door. I froze in horror.

  Upstairs, the light vanished and the door shut. Phew. Someone going to the loo. What was it with old people’s bladders? I took deep breaths, waiting for my heart to subside before attempting the stairs. I crept up like a mouse, slipped into my room and silently shut the door. It wasn’t long before I was asleep.

  Sunday breakfast was a strange business. Sherry Trifle wandered around the kitchen in an increasingly bad mood as she found more and more things missing.

  ‘I’m sure we had bread. It’s this bloody Bermuda kitchen again. It’s driving me mad. Tasha, nip to the corner shop and get some more.’

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘Why not you? You’re the only one properly dressed and we need more eggs. How come? I haven’t used any for days. I thought I had half a dozen at least.’

  Tasha got to the front door three times, only to be called back so that another missing item could be added to her list.

  The rest of the day passed in a bit of a haze. There was one strange thing, though. I was lying on my bed, drawing a new Skysurfer episode, even though I didn’t know how Miss Kovak would get it, unless I posted it to her. Anyhow, there I was and I felt this weight on the covers by my feet. I looked down and there was Pankhurst.

  I stayed absolutely still, and for a moment or two so did the rabbit. We stared at each other. I waited for her to take a leap at my throat. I was thinking, when she leaps I have to wait until the last moment and then plunge my fist down her throat so she can’t bite properly (That wasn’t in my survival handbook either, but I must have read it somewhere. Maybe it was one of those Famous Five adventures I read when I was small.)

  Pankhurst moved. Slowly. She spread her giant body over my feet, settled herself and closed her eyes.

  I was astonished. I could have sworn she was purring, except rabbits don’t purr. I could feel the enormous warmth her body gave out as she sat on my feet, as if she were trying to hatch them. I couldn’t guess what she was thinking but it was almost as if she was saying: OK, let’s call a truce. I know you’re pushing off early in the morning, so just this once I’m going to be nice to you. She stayed there an hour and a half.

  I was all geared up now for my big break. I went to bed early. I set the alarm for four and tried to sleep. Why is it that when you desperately want to get some rest, when it’s so important to you, you can’t do it? My mind went over and over all my plans, all the details, and then all my hopes. Huh. That took all of two minutes. Sleep.

  God that alarm was loud! Beyond the window was a dry, brightening dawn. I dressed, grabbed the bag of food and crept from the house. The birds were singing. The sun w
as rising. A fresh new day and a fresh new start. This was it! The Great Escape. (Again.)

  The Grange looked as spooky as it always did. I was beginning to grow quite fond of its eerie atmosphere. At least that was how I felt until I got inside. I was hauling my rucksack out from behind the broken piano when I heard a strange scraping noise from somewhere deep inside the house. Something was moving about. Probably an animal, I thought: a fox or a cat.

  Then it grunted. Cats don’t grunt. Foxes might grunt, but it didn’t sound like a fox grunt. There was more scraping. There was definitely some sort of living creature moving about in another room. Ghosts? Ghoulies? The triplets coming back to haunt their old home?

  I tiptoed to the door. There was more grunting and scraping and by this time I was pretty certain there was another person in the house. A tramp? I made my way carefully down the hall towards the noise, watching where I put my feet. So far my survival handbook had proved to be totally useless. There hadn’t been a thing on What to do if you hear a strange noise in a weird deserted house. I thought, If I ever get out of this alive, I shall write my own book, all about how to run away and survive.

  ‘God!’

  A voice – angry, fed-up, frustrated. I crept closer. Someone was in one of the big rooms ahead of me. A faint shadow flickered through an open doorway. I edged towards it.

  ‘Nnnng!’ The word was almost spat out.

  I reached the door, peered round and that was when I cried out, ‘Tasha!?’

  24

  More Revelations

  There was an enormous crash as Tasha dropped the rucksack she’d only just succeeded in lifting from the floor.

  ‘Si?!’

  ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

  Tasha paused a fraction as if she’d been caught in the act – which she had – and then her face switched from confusion to anger. ‘No, you tell me first. What are you doing here?’