Bad Influence

by William Sutcliffe

  ‘Carl’s friends?’ She says it oddly, like the two words don’t match.

  ‘We came round to … to visit. To see if he’s in, I mean.’

  ‘To visit Carl?’ Then the penny drops, and her face completely changes. She flaps her arm and gives a huge, lipsticky smile. ‘Oh, come in, come in. That’s so sweet. That’s so sweet. Come in. Come in. Come through.’

  She leads us down the hall and into the living room. The house is identical to mine. The shape of the rooms and where all the doors and windows are. I could walk round the whole place blindfold. It could be my home. Except the feel of it isn’t right. From the moment we’re inside, I can sense that something’s not right.

  Even though they’ve been in the street months, it looks like they just moved in. The only furniture is a velvety, dark blue sofa in the corner and a TV on a cardboard box in the middle of the floor. On top of the telly there’s a tin of baked beans with a spoon sticking out of it. A heap of dining chairs is slumped in one corner, stacked up, half of them upside-down. There’s nothing on the walls except old wallpaper, with faded shapes where the previous owners must have had their shelves. The only light is from a single bulb above the TV, which is too bright to look at, but still leaves the room grey and murky. Even though it’s daytime, the curtains are shut, hanging in sags so you can see U-shapes of sky through gaps in the top.

  It doesn’t smell right, either. There’s something a bit sicky, a bit sweet in the air. And it’s hot. Weirdly hot. You can hear the radiators shushing to themselves.

  Suddenly Carl’s mum seems really excited, as if the two of us turning up is some kind of special occasion. ‘Would you … would you like … some squash?’ she asks. ‘Orange squash.’

  It’s years since I drank squash, but I say yes anyway. It seems like the safest answer. Olly says yes, too.

  ‘Right,’ she says. ‘Squash. Two squashes.’

  She goes into the kitchen through a little arch, and we watch her opening and shutting cupboards, slowly at first, then faster and faster, banging them open and shut, round and round the kitchen, doing each cupboard two, then three times, saying over and over again to herself, ‘Squash-squash-squash-squash-squash.’

  Every now and then she stops, looks up at us, and says, ‘I’m sure I had some. I’ve definitely got some.’

  Her hair’s getting more and more straggly, and her face is getting redder, as she keeps on going through her cupboards, shifting tins and jars and bottles backwards and forwards, looking in the same places again and again.

  ‘Can we just have juice instead?’ I say.

  She looks at me as if I’ve broken into the house, as if I’ve just appeared without warning, then her face suddenly brightens again and she says, ‘Yes – juice. Juice-juice. We have juice.’

  She opens the fridge, and it’s completely empty. There’s a tub of margarine in there and a jar of mayonnaise, but that’s it. She stares in, like she’s amazed by the emptiness. Like she’s been robbed.

  ‘Or water,’ says Olly. ‘Just water’d be good.’

  ‘Water!’ she says. ‘Water-water. We have that.’

  She gives it to us in chunky, cut-glass tumblers, the outside dripping wet from the tap and a bit sticky. Neither of us wants to drink any, but she’s staring at us, so we have to.

  ‘Very nice,’ says Olly, trying to be polite.

  This is water he’s talking about. It’s the stupidest thing Olly’s ever said and, if I wasn’t so freaked out by Carl’s mum, I’d probably wet myself laughing. As it is, I don’t even smile, I just try and remember it for later.

  ‘What are your names?’ she asks.

  ‘I’m Ben.’

  She takes a couple of steps towards me, curls up her hand and gives my cheek two strokes with the back of her fingers, like I’m her cat or her boyfriend. ‘Very nice to meet you, Ben … And you are?’

  ‘Olly,’ he says, taking a step back.

  She shuffles forward and pats him a couple of times on the top of his head.

  ‘What wonderful hair,’ she says. ‘Is it from your mother’s side or your father’s?’

  ‘Er … Mum, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, she must be very beautiful.’

  Olly shrugs and wrinkles his nose.

  ‘I’ve dyed mine once too often,’ she says, fingering her hair like she’s pulling fluff out of a carpet. ‘It’ll never be the same again.’

  She sighs, as if she’s getting bored, then her face suddenly comes alive with a new idea. ‘Shall I get Carl?’ she says, all excited.

  I want to say, ‘No need,’ or something funny that would make the place seem less spooky, but I don’t dare, and just nod.

  She doesn’t go out to the stairs, but just stands where she is, tilts her head back and shouts up at the living-room ceiling, ‘CARL! CARL!’

  She raises her eyebrows and tilts her head on one side while we all wait for an answer, but there’s nothing.

  ‘COME DOWN, CARL,’ she shouts, ‘YOUR FRIENDS ARE HERE!’

  There’s still no answer, but you can hear an instant thump, then rapid footsteps.

  ‘So …’ she says, as if starting a sentence will help her think of something to say. ‘Are you … at the unit with Carl?’

  ‘The unit?’

  ‘Are you friends of his from the unit? He’s been moaning that the other boys are … are weirdos, or some other word, but you both seem very nice.’

  ‘We’re … we’re just neighbours,’ I say.

  Then Carl appears in the doorway, and when he sees us his face goes completely still. You can tell he’s angry, but it’s not like a normal person getting angry. This is something different.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he says quietly. It’s scarier than if he’d shouted it.

  ‘We just thought we’d pop in,’ I say. My voice is shaking a bit, now.

  ‘I told you not to come,’ he says.

  ‘Carl!’ says his mum.

  Then there’s the sound of a key in the door. Carl’s mum jolts and stiffens, as if she’s been prodded. She swivels her head, stares at the mess in the kitchen, then dashes in and starts frantically putting things back into cupboards and rinsing glasses.

  ‘Into the garden,’ says Carl. Before we even know what’s happening, he’s shoved us to the back door and out.

  Outside, Carl won’t look at us. You can’t tell if he’s angry or ashamed or upset or anything. For the first time ever, he looks weak. Just from the way he’s standing, you can tell he isn’t going to have a go at us.

  More than ever, I wish we weren’t there.

  The grass is up to our knees. I can tell from all the huge, straggly plants that the garden used to be a proper one, but isn’t any more. In the far corner is a droopy, old tree. Carl walks over to it, not letting us see his face. He starts picking up rotting apples off the ground near the trunk and splatting them at the fence. He does a few, then he just stops and stands there.

  For a moment, I think he might be about to cry, and I realize that the idea of him crying is more scary than anything else he could do. I’d rather he screamed at us. I’d rather he started a fight.

  Part of me knows I should go over to where he’s standing and say something to cheer him up. But what I really want to do is chuck a big, rotten apple right into his face and tell him to piss off and leave Olly and me alone for good. If there was ever a moment to get rid of him, this is it.

  ‘She’s nice, your mum,’ says Olly. ‘Very friendly.’

  Without moving his body, Carl turns his head and stares at Olly like he’s a total idiot. There’s a long silence.

  ‘What’s the unit?’ I say.

  He doesn’t answer.

  ‘What is it?’ I say. ‘The unit.’

  He’s looking at me now, but still he won’t answer.

  ‘Is it where you go to school? Is it instead of school?’

  Olly’s staring at me as if I’ve gone mad. Carl doesn’t move and doesn’t speak, but his breath’s getting
faster, and you can see the energy coiling up tighter and tighter inside him. Something’s about to snap. He’s either going to sit down right there and cry, or he’s going to go mental. I know I should stop, but I can’t.

  ‘Is it a special school?’ I say. ‘Did you get sent there?’

  ‘Shut up, Ben,’ says Olly.

  ‘Is it a special school for nutters?’ I say.

  ‘I’m going,’ says Olly. He turns and marches to the back door, but just stands there, watching us, not leaving.

  ‘That’s why you’re not at our school, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘You’re not at Mountview. You’re at a loony-bin school.’

  Carl bends over, picks up an apple and chucks it at my head. I duck, and it just misses. Then another one comes. And another. They fly right past me and into a bush, so I’ve got nothing to pick up and throw back. Then one hits me smack on the cheek and explodes in a mouldy, brown pulp. It stings my face like I’ve been slapped, and I can’t see anything.

  I sense that he’s coming towards me, but I can’t properly tell what he’s holding. It looks long and straight, and he’s got it raised above his head.

  When it cracks down against my skull I can feel that it’s something narrow but hard. I can’t see properly to defend myself, and the thing’s flying at my face, zipping towards me with the sound of air being ripped. It’s a stick of bamboo. It hits my ear, then my cheek, and the only thing I can do is curl up in a ball on the grass, while it comes down again and again on my back.

  Carl only stops when Olly jumps at him and pushes him over, barging into him with a shoulder, and as soon as there’s a moment I get up and run for it, with Olly following. We race through the house, not even looking at Olly’s mum and the man who came in, and sprint out of the front door and down the street, running all the way, only stopping outside my house.

  We stand there, doubled over, straining to get our breath back. Just being out of Carl’s house, and away from him, feels like being let off school early. I’m grinning, my body tingling with relief, and it’s a while before I realize Olly isn’t smiling back. He’s staring at me.

  ‘You’re bleeding,’ he says.

  ‘I’d better go in.’

  I don’t, though. I just stand with Olly, in the middle of the road, looking at him. There’s something missing. I have to know what he thinks. I reckon I might have won him back. We could be back to normal now. But I need to hear it from him. Something in his face means I can’t be sure until Olly says it.

  ‘He’s crazy,’ I say.

  Olly doesn’t answer. He turns away and gazes down the street, back towards Carl’s house.

  ‘He totally lost it,’ I say.

  Olly still won’t look at me.

  ‘If you hadn’t saved me …’

  ‘You made him do it,’ he says.

  ‘No, I didn’t. He’s a nutcase. Why d’you think he’s at that school?’

  Olly doesn’t answer for ages, then mutters, ‘You made him do it.’

  ‘Can’t you think of anything else to say?’ I’m angry, now. Not with Carl. With Olly.

  He just shrugs. ‘You don’t know what it’s like,’ he says, eventually.

  ‘What what’s like?’

  He shrugs again, staring at the ground.

  ‘What what’s like?’

  ‘I’m going home,’ he says, and walks off.

  He stays in the middle of the road, not looking back, as he wanders away. Near the corner, he does a little jump and kicks a stone, which pings against the side of a car.

  My Room

  When I catch sight of myself in the hall mirror, all bloody and appley, I understand why Olly was staring. It makes me stare, and it’s my face. But I can’t stand there for long. I have to get washed and changed before anyone sees me, or there’ll be questions.

  I go straight upstairs, and I’m just going past the toilet when Donny comes out and sees me. At first he looks right through me, like normal, then he does a double take and grabs my arm to stop me getting away.

  I wriggle free and run for my bedroom, but I can’t get the door shut in time. He shoves his foot in so I’m just pushing against his shoe. It’s useless. Usually he’s only in socks, and I’d be able to crunch him into submission, but today he’s got his DMs on.

  Then the door starts to push back. I keep him out for maybe ten seconds, then my feet slip and he’s in. This is typical of Donny. The only time I don’t want his attention is when I get it.

  He looks at my face, and gives a little wince. He reaches out to touch it, but I slap his hand away. He’s between me and the door, so I can’t escape.

  ‘You OK?’ he says.

  Just him asking that makes me almost start to cry, and I have to sit down on the edge of my bed. Donny being nice wasn’t what I expected. The shock of it undoes all my defences.

  ‘Who was it?’ he says. He sounds angry.

  I just shake my head.

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘No one,’ I say, my voice wobbling.

  He sits down next to me, and puts his arm round my shoulders. It feels strange at first, but then I’m glad he’s there. I can’t remember the last time he touched me friendlily. It’s probably when I was a baby. I try not to cry, and just about manage it.

  Just when I’m getting used to the idea of Donny being nice, he gets up and walks out without saying anything. I hear a tap go on and off, then he comes back with a damp flannel and sits back down next to me.

  ‘You can’t tell Mum,’ I say.

  ‘This might hurt,’ he says, and he starts to dab at the apple and blood on my face. My hands are trembling now, and I sit on them so Donny won’t notice. I can’t help wincing when Donny touches the cut on my cheek, but he’s being as gentle as he can. Twice he goes back to the bathroom and rinses out the flannel.

  Every so often, he tells me I’m being brave, which isn’t something he’s ever said before.

  When it’s done, he says again, quietly, ‘Who was it?’

  I shake my head.

  ‘Was it the boy from down the road?’

  ‘It was an accident,’ I say.

  ‘It was him?’

  ‘We were just playing.’

  ‘What did he hit you with?’

  ‘We were just mucking around.’

  ‘So you’re playing with him now? He’s your friend?’

  ‘We don’t play with him. But we do stuff with him. Me and Olly.’

  ‘You, Olly and him. You’re friends?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Since when?’

  I shrug.

  ‘Don’t be an idiot, Ben. He’s a bad kid. He’s crazy. If you play with him, this is going to happen again.’

  ‘We don’t play.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He smirks for a moment, then his face goes dead serious again. ‘That boy’s bad. He’s not right in the head.’

  ‘He’s my friend.’

  ‘He beat you up.’

  ‘I got him, too. I said things.’

  Donny shakes his head, then takes one of my shoulders in each hand and turns me towards him. I feel tiny with him looming over me, staring down, looking me straight in the eye. ‘Do you want me to get him back?’ he says.

  I don’t reckon Donny’s ever been in a fight in his life but, from the way he says it, you know he means it. He’d really do it.

  It’s an exciting thought. I can see it happening, in my imagination, and it looks great. Donny’s standing over him, twice his size, and he’s punching Carl all over, and it’s so easy for him it’s not even fun. He’s hitting him again and again with a totally calm expression on his face, and I’m watching from the other side of the road. It’s right outside our house. Carl’s shouting to me, his face all twisted and red, begging me to make Donny stop, and I’m just standing there with my arms folded, taking it in, saying nothing.

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘Don’t.’

  He stands and walks to the door. ‘Get cleaned up,’ he says. ‘Have a bath.’

  �
��You won’t say anything, will you?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Won’t make any difference. Unless you wear a balaclava for a week.’

  I go to the bathroom mirror and look at the mark on my cheek, which is long and slightly lumpy – part cut, part bruise. I touch it with my little finger, and it zings with a pain that hurts but makes me want to do it again.

  I lock the door, and turn the bath on full. We’ve got old-fashioned taps that come out in a big, steamy gush.

  By dinner I’ve got my story straight. Sword fight with sticks in Olly’s garden and he got me by accident. They swallow the whole thing. They don’t even notice the way me and Donny are looking at each other.

  Through Rachel’s Wall

  It’s a while before I see Carl again or even hear his name. Me and Olly stop talking about him. It’s like the whole thing never happened.

  He even disappears from the street. I never see him or his mum anywhere. Their car3 changes position outside his house, so I know they’re around, coming and going, but I never catch sight of them. That doesn’t mean much, though. They’ve never been people you see walking around. Carl’s dad doesn’t even live there. Or if he does, he’s the Invisible Man.

  So it’s just me and Olly again. But it’s nothing like it was before Carl turned up. It feels strange. Without him, everything seems a bit aimless, a bit flat. We don’t quite know what to do any more.

  Before Carl, me and Olly just played. We were into games, mainly. But it feels like we’ve grown out of that now. Trouble is, the other stuff – the stuff that comes next, the stuff that isn’t really doing anything, but is just hanging out and walking round the shopping centre and seeing what turns up – that’s all totally boring without Carl. Because nothing turns up. He was the one who made things happen.

  Even though we don’t mention him, his absence is always with us, like an extra person in the room. Perhaps that’s why neither of us wants to say his name, because it feels as if he’s still there, changing what we do and what we say, sitting on our shoulders and whispering to us about what’s childish and what isn’t.

  I don’t miss him. I wouldn’t want him back. But when I sense that Olly’s missing him, or is thinking about him, that’s when I feel bad. That’s when I feel I’m not good enough, or interesting enough, or fun enough, and that’s when I partly wish he’d come back because, if he did, all those stupid thoughts would just go away. We’d never be bored again. And it’s only when we’re bored that I think Olly doesn’t like me as much as he used to.