Kevin said nothing to any of this. He said nothing at all, even when Kim or his nan spoke to him, and then he only said ‘Uh,’ without looking at anyone. I ate my toast. Jamie drank his milk. Dad’s jolliness, and Kevin’s silence, made me want to be anywhere but here.
At last Kevin’s nan left, and we were ready to go. Dad drove us out of town and along narrow lanes that wound up through beech woods to a car park. We got out and gathered round the car boot, putting on wellies and scarves and hats and gloves and coats. Kevin stood waiting. He hadn’t brought a jacket, or anything else. He stood with his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie.
‘Sure you don’t want a coat, Kev?’ Dad asked again–he’d tried to lend him one before we left the house.
‘Nuh,’ went Kevin, scuffing his trainer on the stony ground.
We set off. The path led along a dried-leaf track, rustly under our feet, then opened out to downland–there was a grassy slope plunging away, and fields and roads and villages spreading out for miles and miles. We were looking all the way to Oxford, Dad said, pointing, and the towers of Didcot Power Station. We saw blue hills to the north, and all the land laid out in the sunshine–a tiny tractor ploughing a field, and two people riding horses. It was fantastic! Being up so high made me feel small and unimportant, but also big and strong, as if my feet could carry me for miles and miles, the whole length of the Ridgeway.
‘Did you know,’ I said, ‘the Ridgeway’s 85 miles long, but that’s only the marked bit? Once it was probably much longer than that. It’s one of the oldest green roads in Europe. It goes back to the Bronze Age at least.’
I’d looked it up on the internet last night. I like learning new facts. I thought of us walking where people had trudged along hundreds and even thousands of years ago, with their pack mules, with things to sell or trade.
‘Walking encyclopaedia, you are!’ Kim tweaked the end of my scarf.
And, exactly as Dad had promised, we saw red kites–five of them! First there were four, circling and swooping over a clump of trees below us. With the binoculars, we got a really good look, and heard them calling in that way that sends a shiver of excitement through me. They’re streamlined and perfect, climbing the air, riding the wind. You could easily think they’re showing off, but they don’t need to show off because flying’s what they do, what they’re made for. The light was so good that I saw the reddish-brown of their wings and tails, the white wing-patches and the black primary feathers that stretch out like fingers. Later, we saw one on its own, even closer–it had landed on a ploughed field, but took off when it saw us. Just lifted itself into the air, and glided away over the trees.
‘What, they’re the kites you’re all on about?’ Kevin said, the first time he’d spoken in actual words. ‘Them birds?’
Dad would have corrected me or Jamie, with ‘Those birds,’ but he didn’t correct Kevin.
‘Oh, sorry, Kev!’ Kim laughed and gave him a big hug, not seeming to notice that he just put up with it and waited for her to stop. ‘You must have thought we meant people flying kites on strings! Well, they do that here as well. We might see some in a bit.’
Kevin shrugged, to show it was all just as boring to him. I could have gone ‘Duh!’–I bet he would, if I said something stupid–but Dad was looking at me with a kind of warning, so I kept quiet.
We stood looking a bit longer. I thought of the amazing eyesight of a bird of prey, acute enough to see a vole or a mouse from on high. I thought of it scanning the landscape from a current of air, seeing woods and hills and valleys, not the roads and towns that human maps are made of. I thought of the freedom of having the whole sky to float in.
‘Brilliant!’ said Dad. He offered his binoculars to Kevin. ‘Want these? You’d be lucky to get a better view than this!’
Kevin shook his head. ‘Nuh. Seen it.’
Dad stood there puzzled, still holding out the binoculars. He’s so keen on bird-watching that he can’t see why everyone else isn’t. That’s one of the things he and Mum used to argue about–Mum could never understand why Dad wanted to go haring off to the Ouse Washes or Romney Marsh or the Isles of Scilly any time he got the chance. ‘To spend all day standing in a swamp? Not my idea of a weekend away.’ So Dad went, and Mum stayed at home. Now Dad could go whenever he wanted. Kim didn’t seem the sort of person who’d stop him doing what he wanted.
‘Kevin’s not much into birds, are you?’ said Kim. ‘But they’re incredible, those kites. So big! Where do they nest?’
‘Here,’ I told her, ‘in trees. They used to be really rare. You’d have had to go to south Wales to see them, once. But they’ve been released here and it’s worked really well. There are supposed to be two hundred and something breeding pairs in the Chilterns, and they’re spreading.’
Kim stared at me. ‘The things you know! How do you do it?’
I shrugged. ‘Dunno. I read stuff, and remember.’
‘Well, it’s totally amazing! Isn’t it, Kevin?’
‘Kuh,’ went Kevin.
It’s embarrassing, this sort of thing. I mean, why should anyone be surprised? Facts are everywhere–the only way not to find them would be to walk around with your eyes and ears shut. I’m lucky, Mum says, to have such a good memory. But I know that some people at school think I’m a nerd for knowing stuff and remembering things. That’s why I usually keep quiet in class. When I’m with Mum or Mike or Dad, though, they like me coming out with interesting facts, specially Dad.
When we moved off, Kevin came up close behind me and said in my ear, in a parroty squawk, ‘Did you know? Did you know? No, I didn’t,’ he went on, dropping his voice, ‘and you know what? I couldn’t give a toss. Duh!’
He’d got me down as a geeky know-all, too. So I don’t know why I carried on, but I did. ‘Milvus milvus, that’s the red kite’s Latin name.’
Kevin rolled his eyes. I took no notice. The last day of the year ought to be a good one if you ask me, and it was great up here. If he wanted to trail along looking grumpy, that was up to him. But when I noticed that Jamie was lagging behind as well, I stopped to wait.
‘That was boss, wasn’t it?’ I said to him. ‘The kites? Did you get a good look?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Only I don’t like their eyes.’
‘Don’t be soft! They’re not going to swoop down on you. They eat mainly dead things, anyway–carrion. And you couldn’t have seen their eyes, not at that range.’
‘I did, though,’ he insisted. ‘They stare like lions. Only they didn’t talk to me. The lion did.’
‘The lion talked to you? What are you on about?’
‘He did,’ Jamie said in a small voice. ‘He talked to me. He told me something.’
‘Oh, yeah? And what was that?’
‘I forget,’ said Jamie.
Something made me turn round. There was Kevin, close behind us, with a smirky little grin on his face that made me want to hit him.
6
JAMIE’S DREAM
‘I need to explain something,’ Dad said. ‘The thing is, Js, next time you come to stay, Kim will have moved in as well.’
We were in the van, going home. It was New Year now, January the second. We’d stayed up to see the New Year in, Dad and Jamie and me–not Kim, because she’d left with Kevin so that he could go to a party. So the three of us had jacket potatoes and cheese and beans for dinner, and watched a film, and played this game Dad had got for us called Dingbats, and tried to stay awake (Jamie failed, but we woke him up for Big Ben) and it was just the way I liked it.
But now this.
‘What d’you mean, moved in?’ I said. ‘I thought she had her own house.’
‘She’s selling it,’ Dad explained. ‘There’ve been a few hitches with her buyer, but the sale’s going through now. So she’ll be moving all her stuff in. The week after next, we hope.’
‘All her stuff?’ I repeated. Then it dawned on me. ‘You mean Kevin?’
‘Er, yes.’ Dad was waiting to p
ull out at a roundabout. ‘He’ll have to change schools–it’ll be tough for him, halfway through Year 8.’
Jamie was sitting between us, and I didn’t think he’d been listening properly, but he had. ‘Kevin? Kevin’s going to live at your house?’ He was almost yelling in Dad’s ear. ‘You’re having Kevin instead of us?’
‘No, no, boys, it’s not like that,’ said Dad. ‘It’s not only my house, see–it’s mine and Kim’s. We’ve bought it together. She had to get a bridging loan.’
I imagined wads of banknotes like bricks, glued together in a huge arc, bridging the gap between Kim’s house and Dad’s.
‘So, what, does that mean you’ll get married, then?’ I asked. ‘Like Mum and Mike?’
‘Well, we might. Only that’s a way off–we’ll get Kim moved in first. Look, I’m not doing this very well, am I? We’ll stop at Burger King. There’s one along here.’
So we stopped, and ordered burgers and milkshakes for me and Jamie, but Dad only had coffee. He talked, and I listened, and Jamie concentrated on stuffing himself. Dad went on and on about changes, and moving on, and it was difficult for us but he knew we’d adjust, and he was making a new life with Kim, and Kevin was part of that, but we had our own room and we could come as often as we wanted. He told us we’ll always be very very very extra-special to him because we’re his Js and he loves us, and that’s one thing that will never change.
‘Yeah, OK, Dad.’ I was embarrassed by this kind of talk.
Jamie hadn’t quite finished his burger, but he pushed it away and leaned back in his seat. ‘Can we go now? I want to go home.’
When we got in, Dad didn’t stay long–he had to go back and sort out his van for work next day. Just a quick chat with Mum and Mike, and more about the baby, and some Happy New Yearing. Then he was gone, saying he’d see us the weekend after next. ‘And we’ll get your new binoculars then,’ he told me. ‘I promise.’
We stood on the pavement and waved as he drove away.
So that’s it, I thought. Me and Jamie with Dad, properly together for the last time. It won’t be the same any more, with Kim and Kevin in the way. Dad’ll be with them. They’ll get more of him than we will.
Moving on, he says. Right. Moving on from the Js to the Ks. Leaving us behind.
I suppose the start of the year should feel bright and new, but instead it felt like standing on the edge of something I couldn’t see. I didn’t know yet what sort of year it would be, what would happen, what might be waiting. I wasn’t sure yet whether this New Year felt safe to live in.
For a second, in the dizziness of waking up, I thought it was me that had yelled. The sound echoed in my ears–a cry of terror, suddenly choked off. Then I heard Jamie whimpering, and realised it was him.
I fumbled for the switch and clicked the bedside lamp on. ‘Jamie?’
For a few seconds I’d thought we were still at Dad’s, till our own room came into focus. Dark blue curtains, my leopard poster, our football scarves looped over the back of the chair, books and CDs on the desk. Everything looked normal except Jamie. He was huddled in his duvet, sobbing.
‘Jame?’
I swung my feet to the floor, leaned over to his bed and touched his shoulder. He made an angry sound and hunched himself away from me. Then Mum came in, pulling her dressing-gown round her, tying the belt.
‘Josh? What’s going on?’
‘It’s Jamie,’ I said. ‘He’s had a nightmare or something.’
Mum sat on his bed and cuddled him, going shh-shhshh the way she did with the baby. I sat watching, with my duvet round me, a big padded cloak. Jamie was crying like a little kid, the sobs catching at his breath like hiccups. Gradually, with the shhhing, his sobs calmed and he lay quietly in Mum’s arms. I could see his eyes open, his eyelashes wet with tears. I picked up Lowther, his bear, who’d slid to the floor, and sat him on Jamie’s pillow. Jamie didn’t say a word.
‘What was it, little J?’ Mum asked. ‘Bad dream?’
Jamie nodded and closed his eyes.
‘What did you dream?’ Mum asked gently.
‘Can’t remember,’ Jamie said, in a baby whimper.
Mum looked at me.
‘He yelled out, really yelled!’ I told her. ‘I nearly went through the roof. Then he started crying.’
Jamie pushed Mum away, wriggled out of bed and started putting socks on, his new Chelsea ones. ‘Can I have cocoa?’ he asked in a perfectly normal voice.
From Mum and Mike’s room, we heard the thin wail of the baby starting to cry, then a grunt from Mike and a creaking of the mattress.
Mum sighed. ‘Now we’re all awake. I’ll fetch Jennie in here, and perhaps Mike’ll make us all a hot drink.’ She stood up and tugged Jamie’s duvet straight.
‘And jackflap,’ Jamie called after her as she left. ‘Is there some left?’
He was wide awake now. I really thought he’d made up the nightmare just to get cocoa and flapjack at one o’clock in the morning.
‘What’s this, a midnight feast?’ Mike grumbled, looking in on his way downstairs. I heard him open the kitchen door, then give a muffled yelp, followed by a burr-ing sound and quick cat feet on the stairs. Splodge. Splodge was good at tripping people up in the dark. He arrived in our room, tail high, pleased with himself. After he’d walked slowly round my bed, he jumped up on Jamie’s. He rolled over and looked up at Jamie, wanting his tummy stroked.
‘Get off,’ Jamie said, and shoved him quite roughly. Splodge gave a yaow of complaint, and caught at the duvet with his claws.
‘Don’t be mean!’ I reached out to Splodge and lifted him on to my bed. Once he’d unhuffed himself from being pushed, he snuggled up to me, purring. If he got right down under the duvet, he might get away with spending the rest of the night there, instead of in his basket in the kitchen. I liked having him with me, like a furry hot-water bottle. I liked the smell of his fur and his warm cat breath when he yawned, and the pads of his paws that were cool then warm when you pressed them, and his claws that curved so neat and smooth. He was silly old Splodge, but also perfectly Cat.
‘I don’t want him,’ Jamie whined. ‘Take him away!’
Usually Jamie and I argue about who’s going to have him, and whoever’s bed Splodge chooses thinks he’s the lucky one, the favourite. But Mum’s rule is No Cats in Bedrooms, specially not in beds. And now that we’ve got the baby, Splodge isn’t even supposed to come upstairs. If she sees a suspicious bulge under the duvet, Mum hoicks him out.
‘I want Lowther,’ Jamie insisted. ‘Not Splodge.’
‘No problem, then. You’ve got Lowther.’
Splodge burrowed under the duvet, next to me, and his throaty purring seemed to spread through my own body.
Jamie’s voice went babyish again. ‘No! I don’t want him in here! Take him down!’
Now Mum was back, carrying the incredibly noisy bundle that was our baby sister. Jennie wasn’t going to let us forget she was here. Loud wails pumped out of her with barely a pause for breath.
‘Is that cat in there?’ Mum peered suspiciously at the bulge by my legs. ‘You know the rule! OUT, Splodge!’
Balancing the baby, she flipped my duvet over, and out streaked Splodge. Jamie settled back, clutching Lowther, looking triumphant at getting his own way. Couldn’t have been that scary a nightmare, I thought, if he’d forgotten it already.
Only of course he hadn’t.
7
CAT GOT YOUR TONGUE?
I like school, really, and it would be good seeing Brody and Noori. All the same, it was an effort to drag myself out of holiday mood and get back into the routine–packing my school bag, reminding myself which lessons we’d have and whether I’d done my homework. First day back it was Maths, English, double Science, French and PE.
St Luke’s Juniors is on the same site as my school, Langtree High, with a fence and a gate in between. Mum likes me to walk Jamie to school and collect him on the way back, unless she’s coming herself. Arran–he’s Jamie’s b
est friend–waits for us at the corner of Harcourt Drive, and usually we meet Noori and Brody by the paper shop, so all I do is keep Jamie in sight and make sure we cross the main road together. On the way home, though, there’s ten minutes to wait outside St Luke’s, because the juniors finish a bit later than we do. Brody has to collect his little sister, and most days Noori comes too. That time of day, there’s this gaggle of mums and toddlers and buggies and the odd dad or grandad waiting outside the juniors, so we hang back by the play area and this little garden they’ve made, with a pond and a bridge.
Sometimes, Mr Rose comes over to talk to us. When we were at St Luke’s he took our class for Year 5 and Year 6, so we know him quite well.
Everyone likes Mr Rose. He runs the football team, and organises all the matches. Mum jokes that he looks about eighteen, with his short spiked hair and his sports gear. Noori and Brody and I used to be in his team, so sometimes when he comes out we have a chat about fixtures or how Chelsea are doing, or how we’re getting on at Langtree. Quite often he doesn’t speak to us at all, because parents often want to talk to him, but he always gives us a nod and a wave.
That first day back, though, he seemed to be looking for us. He came straight over.
‘Josh?’ he called. ‘I hoped I’d catch you. I’m a bit worried about Jamie–I don’t think he’s well.’
‘Oh? What’s wrong?’ I asked. Jamie had seemed perfectly all right when we walked to school in the morning.
I followed him in through the side door. Noori and Brody waited outside.
‘He hasn’t spoken all day,’ Mr Rose told me. ‘Not a single word. Has he got a sore throat, lost his voice?’
‘Not this morning he hadn’t.’ I tried to think back as far as breakfast. We’d all been there, all four of us–I mean all five, counting Jennie in her crib. Jamie had talked then, I was sure–we’d all have noticed if he hadn’t. Yes, I remembered now. Mike had this new coffee machine he’d bought in the sales, that foamed the milk with a great hissing of steam. He was going, ‘You like-a, ah? Espresso splendido for the lovely signora.’ And Mum said, ‘That makes the coffee taste better. Definitely.’ Then Mike taught Jamie and me to count up to ten in Italian, and we’d chanted the numbers together as we walked along our street. Uno, due, tre, quattro, cinque…They were nice words to say.
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