Spies, Dad, Big Lauren and Me

by Joanna Nadin

  But even though I was at the door I saw everything. I knew what was happening. And I knew Sean was crying. But I didn’t say anything. Because it wasn’t me who did the pushing or the taking. And I thought, anyway, Sean got a free lunch because he said he lost the money on the way to school. And I thought that meant it was all OK.

  But it wasn’t.

  Kyle gave me 50p. I said no but he said it was my share and I had to take it. I put it in my pocket but it shone hot like the computer game and the trainers, and I didn’t want to keep it in there so I went and put it in Miss Horridge’s collection box for children in Africa, which was our project last term. She said, ‘Thank you Billy, you’re a good boy.’

  But I’m not. Because then she told us about the Holocaust and what happened to the Jewish people, that they got sent away for being different and killed in camps. And even though the Germans who weren’t Nazis knew it was wrong, they didn’t say anything, so they were just as bad as the killers. And I knew then that I was like a German who saw the Jews go away and said nothing.

  But I still kept my mouth shut. Because I was scared. And I didn’t say a word. Not even when Sean Hawkes was dead.

  Wednesday

  2nd July

  It wasn’t all my faut. Sean brought sandwiches. He should have brought the money, but his mum didn’t have any in her purse, so he had packed lunch. And that made Kyle really angry because he said, ‘What am I going to do with cheese and pickle, you idiot?’ and then he pushed him. And I don’t think he meant it to happen, but Sean tripped at the same time and fell down, and it was a bit slow motion, like in films, because I saw every detail, like the exact bit of his forehead that hit the edge of the toilet, and the sound of the crack, and the way his head thudded against the floor then came up again a centimetre and then hit it again, and the blood that came out of his eyebrow and ran down his face. And I heard Kyle say, ‘Come on, Billy,’ but I kept looking at Sean who was lying on the toilet floor in the smelly wet, with blood all around his head and I couldn’t move. Then I heard the door shut behind me and I knew Kyle had gone.

  I said, ‘Get up, Sean.’ But he didn’t get up. And he didn’t say anything. And he wasn’t even crying any more. He was quiet. And the only noise was my heart thudding madly inside me. And just for a second it was like time had stopped for us and then I thought about Doctor Who and I wished I could go back in time and I closed my eyes and thought really hard about the second before we opened the door. But I didn’t have a Tardis or even a sonic screwdriver, and when I opened my eyes Sean was still there and the blood was making a pattern on the lino and then the door swung open behind me and I heard Sol Faragher say, ‘Oh my God, sir, Sean Hawkes is dead, sir!’ and Wing Nuts must have come in because I heard him say, ‘What on earth happened, Billy Grimshaw?’ And then time moved really quickly and I looked at Wing Nuts and I wanted to say the truth, but what came out was, ‘He fainted, sir.’ And Wing Nuts said, ‘Go to the office and get Miss Butterworth to bring his insulin and call an ambulance.’ And I must have stood still too long because then Wing Nuts said, ‘Are you deaf, Billy? Get going.’ So I did and Miss Butterworth called 999 and got the insulin kit out of her drawer and went back to the toilet where the whole school was waiting to see what had happened. But Wing Nuts wouldn’t let anyone in. Not even me. We had to go back to our classrooms and wait. Big Lauren said, ‘Is he all right? My cousin in Swansea hit his head on a lamppost and now he’s in special school.’

  I looked at Kyle but he just kept his eyes on the floor like he couldn’t see me.

  Miss Horridge came back and everyone started up saying, ‘Where’s Sean, miss? Is he dead, miss?’ She said, ‘Sit down, all of you. No, I think he just missed his breakfast and fainted and hit his head.’ Then she looked at me and into me and said, ‘It was lucky Billy was there. To raise the alarm.’

  But when she said it her cheeks were red and she touched her forehead, which meant it was a LIE. And then I knew it wasn’t lucky I was there. I didn’t save him. He was dead. And even though I didn’t do the pushing I still killed him. Because I said nothing. And that is just as bad.

  Thursday

  3rd July

  I had the idea in the middle of the night. I woke up and needed the loo and when I was coming back tiptoeing across the landing I saw Mum standing at her bedroom door in her white nightie like a ghost. The ghost said, ‘Are you all right, Billy?’ I nodded. The ghost said, ‘Go back to bed then, you’ve a long day tomorrow.’ I said, ‘Why?’ The ghost said, ‘Your trip, Billy. The war museum.’ I nodded again and the ghost disappeared and it was just dark again and I lay back in bed and looked up. And I stared hard at the glo-stars until they started to move and spell out words and the words said, Go and live with your dad, Billy. And I thought the stars were right. Because in London there would be no dead Sean Hawkes and no Kyle Perry and no trainers and Haribo and computer games all hot and loud and shouting and no Mr A M Feinstein and no Dave and no wedding. And that was PLAN D.

  When I got downstairs Mum looked at my rucksack and said, ‘Crikey, Billy, you’re going for one day. You don’t need to take the kitchen sink.’ I said, ‘I haven’t got the kitchen sink. I’m just being prepared, like Zac Black.’ Dave said, ‘You won’t be able to carry it.’ I said, ‘I can, look.’ And I did. And I could feel the straps digging into my shoulders and the bag pulling me backwards because inside were all my clothes and my Zac Black Annual and books and my Dalek money box for emergencies and the logbook to show that I’ve been training and am ready to be an assistant. But I just smiled and kept walking. Mum shrugged and said, ‘Fine. But don’t blame me when they don’t let you on to the coach.’

  But they did. Mum said, ‘Have a nice day. And don’t forget it’s Dave picking you up. I’m on my hen night.’ (Which is where her and Stacey go out with loads of other women in funny outfits and fairy wings like they’re at one of Stan’s parties.) And I said, ‘I’ll miss you, Mum.’ She said, ‘I’m only going to the bingo.’ But I didn’t mean that and I hugged her tight and in my head I said, ‘I love you, I love you.’ Mum laughed and said, ‘I’ve got to go, Billy, I’ll be late.’ So I let go and she kissed me on the forehead and Stephen Warren said, ‘Grimshaw’s a girl.’ So I went up the steps and didn’t once look back.

  Kyle wasn’t on the coach. His mum didn’t pay his five pounds so he had to stay behind with the Year 4s and do reading. Nor was Sean Hawkes. Because he was dead.

  Big Lauren was there though. But when I got near her seat she put her hand on it and shouted ‘Karen, here, I’ve saved you a place.’ So I pretended I didn’t want to sit with her anyway and carried on walking down the coach to a seat on my own where I didn’t have to talk to anyone and I could just think my own thoughts.

  And that’s what I did. I thought about the letter on the bed addressed to Mum, which said sorry, and about Mr Patel and Shoe Mania, and the concrete tortoise and Mr A M Feinstein killing Dolly for revenge, and me killing Sean Hawkes. And I thought about the sweets and computer game and trainers I’d put in a WHSmith bag and left next to the letter so Mum can give them back. And I looked out of the window at Broadley. At the Post Office and Kwiksave and the Registry Office where Mum and Dave would be on Saturday. At the pale brick houses in rows and rows. I looked at all of it disappearing behind me until there was nothing outside but the motorway and green fields. And I stayed like that just staring and thinking all the way up the M4 until the green turned into brown and red and in the sky were gold domed mosques and skyscrapers and a giant digital clock and a sign that said, Welcome to Hammersmith. And then I knew we were in London. And I knew that in there somewhere in the millions of people was Dad. And I felt good.

  Getting away was easy. Everyone was in the Holocaust exhibition looking at pictures of thin, scared women, and it was dark in there, and everyone was squashed and pushing. I ducked down and slipped behind the curtain and then I was back in the main hall looking down at the life size bomber plane and the other schools and tou
rists with cameras and guides, and I thought about Tip Number Ten which is Look Like You Know What You’re Doing. Because then you blend in and no one suspects you. So I just walked like I knew where I was going, like Dolly did on the bus to Yate. I walked right past the security guards, and past the shop, and I waited to feel a hand on my shoulder and someone saying, ‘Where are you off to?’ But no one did. Not even when I asked the coat lady for my rucksack that they made me leave behind in case it was a bomb. She just said, ‘St Laurence?’ And I nodded and took the bag and put it on my back and walked out the doors on to the steps and into the traffic and noise and hot hot sun.

  I got a taxi to Dad’s. I know that it’s cheaper to get the bus or the tube but I had twenty-three pounds sixty-seven in my Dalek money box and also I didn’t know which bus to get or where to get it. I just stood next to the road and waved my hands at the black car with the yellow light on top and it stopped and I opened the door and said, ‘Chadwick Heights SE3, please,’ like I knew where I was going. I could see the driver’s eyes in the rearview mirror looking at me and thinking, ‘Why is a boy getting into my car when he should be at school, and not getting taxis at all but being collected by his mum?’ But I smiled purposefully and sent thoughts to his brain, which were, ‘I’m not just a boy, I’m training to be a spy on my way to meet my superior agent, who’s also my dad, and we’re going to fight crime together and save the world.’ And it must have worked because the driver said, ‘Right-o’ and pulled out into the traffic. But when we got to Chadwick Heights I thought it had been a trick. Because it wasn’t a glass skyscraper. It was a council block like the one Nan used to live in with Grandpa Stokes, with broken bikes on the balconies and washing hanging out. And I said, ‘This isn’t it.’ The driver said, ‘Chadwick Heights, SE3. This is it. And that’ll be twenty-one pounds fifty, please.’ I said, ‘But where’s the glass windows from the floor to the ceiling and the pointed roof and the flashing red light on top?’ And the driver laughed and said, ‘Someone’s been having you on, sonny.’ And I looked in the mirror and he was watching me, waiting to see if I was purposeful, so I got the money out of the Dalek money box, which was quite hard because a lot of it was two pences and five pences and kept rolling under the seats and the driver didn’t seem very happy, so in the end I just pushed the whole piggy bank through the glass window and said, ‘There’s twenty-three pounds sixty-seven in here. You can keep the change. I don’t need money where I am going. I will be earning a fortune.’ And then I opened the door and pulled my rucksack out and ran.

  The stairs were dark and smelt of wee like the multi-storey car park at the cinema. But I could hear the driver shouting ‘Oi, sonny’ and I knew I had to move.

  Number sixty-five was on the sixth floor. It had a red door and a window that had metal across the glass, so that everything behind was covered in crisscross patterns like a prison. And I thought, ‘It doesn’t look like a loft with a bed in the air and orange juice on a tap in the fridge.’ But I didn’t know what else to do and the electricity was buzzing so madly in me because I knew I was so close, that he was behind that door. So I rang the bell.

  He was shorter than I remembered, and his face was covered in stubble like Homer Simpson, and he wasn’t wearing a suit like Zac Black or even a shirt and trousers, he was in a Radiohead T-shirt and boxer shorts. And he didn’t arch an eyebrow and say, ‘Billy, you’re here, about time, now the action will really hot up.’ He scratched his pants and said, ‘Billy? What the bloody hell are you doing here? Christ! Does your mother know?’

  But it was him. And I was home.

  Inside wasn’t like I had imagined either. The floor was swirly carpet like at Nan’s, and the walls were all covered with orange paper with chips of wood in it, and there wasn’t one big room with everything in it except the toilet, there was just one small room with a bed and a sofa and a TV, and a little kitchen with yellow cupboards that smelt of curry. I said, ‘Is this it?’

  But I don’t think Dad heard me because he said, ‘I’m calling your mum.’

  There was no answer from home and her mobile was off because she isn’t allowed to make personal calls at work and he didn’t know the airport number and I said I didn’t either, which is a LIE but it’s for the Greater Good. Then Dad said, ‘How the hell did you get here?’

  So I told him about the coach and the war museum and about being squashed in the Holocaust bit and looking purposeful and the taxi and the money and everything. And I waited for him to say, ‘Resourceful, Billy, I like it.’ But he said, ‘She’s going to murder me.’ And I thought maybe he meant an evil mortal enemy but then I realised he meant Mum and I thought, ‘Why’s he scared of Mum? He is an international spy and she is a check-in person at the airport and has no superpowers or even binoculars.’ But I didn’t say that. I said, ‘I’m hungry.’

  Dad said, ‘Right’ and opened the fridge and inside wasn’t orange juice on tap, there was a carton of milk and a jar of jam and a pizza box which Dad got out and said, ‘This is all I’ve got in. I don’t usually shop when I’m working nights.’ I looked at the pizza and the cheese was all hard and dry and the olives were shrunk like fingers after too long in the bath, but I ate it. Because it was Meat Feast. While I was chewing Dad poured me a glass of milk but I didn’t tell him I don’t drink milk any more, only on cereal, and I’d rather have Ribena, because he has more important things to remember in his head than milk. Instead I said, ‘Where can I sleep?’ Dad said, ‘Are you tired?’ I said, ‘Not now, tonight.’ And Dad said, ‘I’m working nights, Billy.’ And I said, ‘Well, I can come with you then.’ And Dad said, ‘I don’t think so.’ And I said, ‘Maybe tomorrow then, when you’ve told the big cheese.’ Dad was quiet for a bit. Then he said, ‘How long are you planning to stay, Billy?’ And I said, ‘Until I’m eighteen and can join MI5 like you, then maybe I can move next door, and we can have a special passageway in between like Zac Black and Angelica Drew, so we can be quick in an emergency.’

  Dad said, ‘Is that what you think I do, Billy?’ I nodded. And he laughed. But it wasn’t a happy sound, it was sort of sad and angry, and he said, ‘I’m a reporter, Billy. Not even a bloody good one . . . Do you want to know what I do all night?’ I nodded again. ‘I sit outside politicians’ houses in the car. And sometimes I look through their rubbish. I stick my hands in dustbins, in the filth. Like a bloody tramp.’ I said, ‘For clues?’ And he laughed the angry sad laugh again. He said, ‘For telephone bills that show they’ve been cheating on their wives, or their husbands. For drug packets. For receipts. For anything.’

  I could feel the electricity in me sort of stop and start to cling together and become heavier and heavier like a giant lump of lead sitting in my stomach, and I said very quietly, ‘That’s still spying.’ But Dad got angrier then, and said, ‘No it’s not. It’s disgusting. It’s cheating and betraying people. I’m the lowest of the bloody low. I didn’t leave to be Zac flaming Black, I left because I was an idiot.’

  Then he stopped shouting and put his forehead on his hand and rested it on the table. And I waited for him to say, ‘You’ve passed the test and that was all a lie and I really am a spy and let’s talk business.’ But instead the doorbell rang.

  Dad said, ‘That’ll be the police. Jesus, Billy, I just don’t need this.’

  But it wasn’t the police. It was Dave. He said, ‘Is he here?’ And Dad said, ‘He’s through there. I didn’t know. I swear.’ And Dave said, ‘I know.’ And then he was in front of me and he picked me up out of the chair and hugged me but I didn’t want to be hugged, not by him, so I kicked and fought and in the end he let go. And I could feel wet on my cheeks and I said, ‘Why did you let him in, Dad? He’s the mortal enemy.’ And Dad said, ‘He’s not the enemy, Billy. He’s Dave.’ And I said, ‘But he’s marrying Mum even though you’re the ONE and he doesn’t love me and he’ll make me call him Dad and we’re not even genetic, he only eats vegetables and I want to stay here with you, Dad, I want to be a spy and go out at night a
nd find international criminals.’ And then everyone was quiet and I could feel snot running out of my nose and I didn’t have a hanky so I wiped it on my T-shirt and tried to stop the crying sound that was coming out of me but it wouldn’t because when I looked at Dad in his pants and his stubbly face standing on the swirly carpet with the orange chipped walls I suddenly saw the truth. And the truth said, ‘You were wrong, Billy. You were wrong all along.’ The truth said, ‘We need to go home.’

  It was still afternoon when we left London. Dave had found the letter after Mum had gone to work and he called the museum and spoke to Miss Horridge and called Nan and asked her to pick up Stan from school, then driven straight to Dad’s to get me. He said he knew where I’d be, he could see it in his head. Like a superpower. Then he said, ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Billy?’ I said, ‘You would’ve stopped me.’ He said, ‘Not about running away, about Kyle Perry.’ I said, ‘What would you have done?’ He said, ‘Stopped you.’ And I thought maybe he would. Maybe he would have known a way to make it stop. I said, ‘Does Mum know?’ And Dave said, ‘No. I didn’t want to spoil her night.’ Then he said, ‘I didn’t think you liked milk, Billy.’ I said, ‘I don’t.’ And I felt a smile inside me growing like a seed.

  But I didn’t let him see it. I turned to the window again and watched London disappear behind us, the skyscrapers and mosques and giant clocks. Everything larger and louder than life. And I closed my eyes and let it wash over me like a giant bath of heat and noise. When I woke up we weren’t at Brunel Street. We were on the ring road heading for Sturford. I said, ‘You’ve missed the turning.’ Dave shook his head and said, ‘I’ve got something to show you.’ Then I saw the sign. The big white H on the blue square. And I realised where we were going.