by Adam Baron
Some boys from the estate came round the corner and pointed at us, clearly admiring Auntie Mill’s car as much as I did. Auntie Mill saw them and shoved her foot down, the tyres squealing as we shot away. Show off! She drove us to fencing, which was at Juni and Clay’s school, and when we got there I could sort of understand what she meant by ‘a school like yours’. Because their school certainly was different. The car park was three times bigger than our playground and the sports hall she led me into was enormous. It was also just a sports hall. Unlike ours, it wasn’t a dining hall as well. I trod on a squashed chip once playing murder ball in PE and I nearly broke my neck.
When we walked in I gawped at all the space the kids had and then stared at some photos on the wall. They showed, it said, the Langham School Year 4 Journey. Our school journeys are to Camber Sands. Last year it was drizzling, which was a relief because the year before that it had bucketed it down. A bit of a contrast to what I was looking at because these kids had been to Spain!
Now this made me pretty jealous I can tell you, and I wondered how one school could be one way, and another school a different way completely. Weren’t we all just, well, kids? What I wasn’t expecting to be envious of, however, was Juniper’s fencing. This, I imagined, was some sort of craft activity involving PVA glue, staples and bamboo. What it was, I soon realised, was not fencing at all. It was sword fighting! Lots of kids in padded white clothes and black mesh masks were trying to hit each other with real metal swords! It looked BRILLIANT. I sat down on a low bench with Auntie Mill and just stared, TOTALLY JEALOUS now, though the idea of Marcus Breen with a sword in his hand was terrifying no matter how much protection you had on.
I sent my eyes around all the kids, trying to pick out Juni. With everyone wearing masks I couldn’t see her, though Auntie Mill must have read my thoughts because she pointed towards the wall.
‘That’s her,’ she said, sitting up. I wondered how she knew until I saw the initials on the back of her suit: JW (Juniper Winters).
Juni was standing opposite someone a little shorter than her. She wasn’t fighting but waiting while a man attached a long wire to her belt. Auntie Mill explained that it was for scoring. A beep sounded if you hit your opponent or if you got hit yourself.
‘She’s having a proper match then?’
‘She’s training for a tournament. She’s really very talented, Cymbeline. You should be proud of her.’
I said I was, and it was true. A sword fighting tournament?! The other kid got wired up and the fight began. In the sword fights I have with Lance we slash at each other, jump off the sofa and shout out that we are either Luke Skywalker or Darth Vader. Juniper and the other kid didn’t shout or jump, however, and they didn’t slash each other. At first they didn’t do anything, just faced each other before Juniper took a step forward. The other kid stepped back. Then the kid stepped forward and Juniper stepped back. They did this quite a few more times and I began to get bored. But then Juniper really went for it. In a flash she leapt forward, lunging with her sword, the other kid knocking it away until the two blades were clashing together in a crazy-mad flurry. BRILLIANT! A beep sounded and I leapt up to my feet.
‘Yes!’
‘No, Cymbeline,’ Auntie Mill said, grabbing my arm and pulling me down. ‘That was against Juniper.’
‘Oh.’
‘A lucky counter-riposte. It happens.’
It certainly did. I watched again. Again Juniper and the other kid did this dance thing before Juniper got brave and leapt forward. There was whirling and a beep and I was sure that Juniper had won until Auntie Mill sort of hissed, which told me that the other kid had got that point too. Another lucky counter-riposte, I whispered to Auntie Mill, though after the fifth time I said it she told me to be quiet. When it happened for the seventh time in a row (how unlucky can you get?!) the other kid stepped forward and thrust out the hand that wasn’t holding the sword. I thought Juniper was going to shake it but instead she did something AWESOME.
She pulled her mask off and bunged it at the wall! And then she threw her sword off after it!
WOW!
Was this part of fencing? Is this what you have to do if you are the victim of seven lucky counter-ripostes? I wanted to ask Auntie Mill but she was rushing over to Juni, who didn’t seem very happy.
‘I hate this stupid sport!’ she screamed, before marching off towards the exit with Auntie Mill behind her.
Blimey.
I wanted to cheer Juni up. I wanted to tell her that she was very talented, and that lucky counter-ripostes happen. I’m proud of you, I wanted to say, but instead I was aware of something odd. Very odd. For the other kid had turned from Juniper and was facing … me.
And then he was walking over.
I swallowed, staring into the black mesh of the helmet as it bore down on me. I pushed myself to my feet, backing up against the wall with the Year 4 Spanish journey on, staring at the sword in the kid’s hand. If your opponent flounces off, are you allowed to kill their relatives? I swallowed, and then swallowed again when I heard something very bizarre.
My name.
‘Cymbeline!’
The kid stopped and instead of running me through he took his helmet off.
He? No, not he.
Veronique Chang was staring at me.
Again.
When Auntie Mill had told me that I was going back to her house I’d been disappointed but at least, I’d thought, it would be a humiliation-free zone. Juni and Clay aren’t at my school so they wouldn’t know what had happened at the swimming pool, would they? This dream vanished when Veronique and Juni came out of the changing rooms together …
AND WALKED OVER TO AUNTIE MILL’S CAR.
‘I live next door,’ Veronique explained.
‘Yes,’ Auntie Mill said, yanking open her door. ‘We introduced Veronique to fencing and the school coach said she could come as a special favour to us. And now, Veronique, you have the … You seem to be coming along … well.’
‘She’s good at lucky counter-ripostes.’
‘It’s very mathematical,’ Veronique said, climbing into the back after me. ‘Which I like.’ Juni didn’t say anything. She just snatched at her seatbelt before glaring out of the window. But when I scooted in next to her she seemed, finally, to notice me.
‘What’s Cymbeline doing here? Is he going to start fencing too?’
‘Wow,’ I said, leaning forward between the seats. ‘That would be epic, Auntie Mill. If you could ask as a special favour, then I could –’
‘I don’t think so,’ Auntie Mill replied. ‘One favour is probably enough. And the kit is expensive so I don’t think your mum could … Anyway, Auntie Janet isn’t well, Juniper.’
‘Has she gone wacko again?’
‘Juniper! That’s not a phrase you should use.’
‘You did, on the phone this morning to Uncle Bill. Is that what you were arguing about?’
‘I was not arguing. I was discussing what would be best for Cymbeline. Auntie Janet is a little unwell and so Cymbeline will be at our house tonight.’
‘Well, he’s not sleeping in my room,’ Juni said.
With that, Juni hit some buttons on the TV in front of her and a programme about kids with alien parents came on. I was going to watch but Juni pulled some headphones out of one of the handy pockets and shoved them over her ears so I couldn’t hear. This left me alone with Veronique and I winced, hoping that Clay would come out of debating club soon so that I could talk to him.
But Auntie Mill got a text and told us that Clayton was getting a lift home with some other parents. She pulled out of the car park and I swallowed, really nervous about sitting next to Veronique. She still smelled like someone somewhere was eating candyfloss and I couldn’t understand because she’d been really sweaty when she took her mask off. The last time Lance came round we played football in the ball court up the road and afterwards he smelled like someone somewhere had died. Being next to her was excruciating, though. She�
��d seen me humiliated, first in the swimming pool and then when my mum came. Forget the Weetabix, how could she like me now?
I watched the alien parents with the sound off until we got to Auntie Mill’s house. We all piled out into the driveway and I waited for Juni and Veronique to run in together and talk about what happened in the pool. But – phew – it didn’t happen. Juni stomped over to the front door while Veronique stood there with her fencing bag in her hand.
‘Thank you for driving me home, Mrs Winters.’
‘Well, that’s okay, Veronique.’
‘Until next week then.’
‘Yes. Okay. I suppose.’
Auntie Mill turned to the house and I followed, before Veronique could say anything to me.
For tea (which they call supper) Auntie Mill gave us pizza, and even though I’d had it yesterday I didn’t say anything. Nor did I say that Auntie Mill’s pizza (from Marks & Spencer) was nowhere near as good as Mum’s pizza (from Iceland). Mum’s pizza (from Iceland) is flat, and doesn’t have anything on to ruin the taste, while Auntie Mill’s pizza (from Marks & Spencer) was too big and had this thing called artichoke on, which I hope never to see again. I didn’t say anything, though. I ate the edges like I’d eaten the middle the day before and then I ate some carrot sticks. Auntie Mill gave us bowls of cut-up orange, apples, bananas and grapes after, all mixed in together. There wasn’t any pudding.
‘Right,’ Auntie Mill said, tipping sugar into a cup of coffee. ‘What do you two feel like doing?’
I wanted to play on Juni’s PS4 and she wanted to do the same. Apparently, though, she felt very strongly about doing this on her own. Auntie Mill took her off for a ‘chat’ about this and, while I was waiting at the table, Clay came in, though at first I didn’t recognise him. As I said, we don’t see Auntie Mill and her family much and it had been ages since last time. Clay was now big, with long hair. And he was ill, some disease attacking his face. He had this red rash on and there were little straggly hairs above his mouth. My mum gets these but she pulls them out with tweezers. I made a note to mention tweezers to Clay but in the meantime asked if he wanted a game of football.
‘Sorry,’ he said, stuffing a slice of my pizza into his mouth. ‘Homework.’ When Auntie Mill and Juni came back in he said, ‘’Right, Mum. Dad home?’
‘No. He had to go to Zurich. A crisis came up this morning. Just after I spoke to your Uncle Bill, oddly enough.’
‘Right. But before you ask, Cymbeline’s not sleeping in my room, okay?’
Auntie Mill shook her head and went off to sort out the ‘sleeping arrangements’, and the other two disappeared. I wandered out into the garden and played football on my own, beating me and Lance’s kick-up record, though Lance would have said it didn’t count as the ball was flat. Clay can’t have used it for a while and he can’t have used the goalposts either because they’d fallen over and were covered in wet leaves. I walked over to the swing but the seat was hanging off so I climbed into the treehouse instead. Last summer I played Cowboys and Native Americans in there with Juni and Clay. Or was it the summer before? It was great but as I sat on the mouldy floor I knew we’d never play it again. Juni was only a year older than me but now, suddenly, she felt much older than that. And Clay felt like a different species. It was like the Juni and Clay I had known had disappeared and I wondered: is that what growing up is? Disappearing, and reappearing as someone else? I wished Lance was there because he’d think the treehouse was boomtastic. Would Auntie Mill let me ask him round?
I was climbing back down from the treehouse when I stopped. The plastic box! It was still there, underneath the little table. Juni and I had filled it with sweets and then defended it against Clay. I climbed back in to see if the sweets were still there, but they weren’t. The box had half a packet of Auntie Mill’s cigarettes inside, some of the filling spilling out. You’re not allowed to smoke with kids around any more so she must have to come here to do it. At least someone was using the treehouse.
Halfway down the ladder I stopped because I thought I heard Juni calling my name. But it wasn’t her. Veronique was waving at me from her bathroom window. I pretended not to see, running back into the house instead where Auntie Mill was lying on the sofa.
‘Want to sit down?’ she asked, looking up from the telly. ‘Someone round here might want to spend some time with me.’
I thought about it but when I looked at the screen I saw that it was that thing about cakes. I’m all for cakes, don’t get me wrong, but watching a telly programme about making them? Toc! Toc! These grown-ups are crazy.
‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘But can I go to bed?’
Auntie Mill shrugged and swung her legs off the sofa, setting a big glass of lemonade down on the coffee table. She led me past Clay’s room and then Juni’s, which used to have My Little Pony stickers on the door, though these had been peeled off. They looked like My Little Pony ghosts. I was going to sleep in the guest room, which we normally weren’t even allowed to play in. My schoolbag was on the bed.
‘Do you need pyjamas?’
‘I brought my own.’
‘Good. You’ll need to be up at seven tomorrow, but not before then, please. There’s a clock on the bedside table, though – sorry, can you tell the time?’
Tell the time! Of course I could. It was like she really didn’t know me at all. I said yes and put my pyjamas on. I cleaned my teeth with a new brush Auntie Mill gave me and then she walked me back to the spare room.
‘Have you got your …?’
‘Mr Fluffy?’
I pulled out the random teddy from my bag, and climbed on to the huge bed, moving up so Auntie Mill could give me a cuddle. But she turned her head out of the doorway. There was cheering from the TV. It was the cakes. Auntie Mill said a quick goodnight and then hurried off down the stairs.
When she was gone I stared at the back of the shut door. And took a breath. For it was only then – without Juni or Clay or Auntie Mill or the real Mr Fluffy – that I properly got a sense of my situation. I’d be staying there. Auntie Mill had told me that Uncle Bill had gone away for work – for a whole WEEK. So I’d be there on my own. I looked around: the room was so tidy it was like no one had ever been in it. The carpet was soft and white and there were shiny turquoise curtains. A painting on the wall showed old-fashioned grown-ups dancing on a beach. It was all very nice, but it smelled funny, sort of like flowers made out of metal. And the bed was too big. How long would I be staying there? I felt like Oliver, all alone. It was a good job I didn’t like the artichoke pizza so I didn’t have to ask for any MORE.
Cymbeline! William! Igloo! I sat up and told myself off. I didn’t need to feel like this. Not after going home earlier. I reached into my bag and pushed aside the Asterix books until I found the thing that I’d really got Auntie Mill to take me home for.
Mum’s tablet.
The tablet was in its case and I slid it out. I typed in Mum’s super-secret password (Springfield) and then found her photos file. We’d only made it on Sunday, loading up pictures from our camera and Mum’s phone. I went into it and found what I was looking for.
Mum.
There were pictures of her. Lots of little ones, and all I had to do was touch one to wake her up. And there she’d be. Right in front of me, right there in the room.
I found myself smiling. I wasn’t alone. I touched the first one and stared at it. I’d taken it on Christmas Day. Mum was wearing a paper hat and smiling so wide it was like her smile was her whole face. I smiled too and swiped into the next: Mum in our garden on Bonfire Night, orange lines in front of her face from the sparklers. I found more, and it was so good to see her. She was smiling in all of them, even the one taken on Sunday at the National Gallery by the little girl who’d grabbed my leg. She didn’t quite have the top of her head, but her smile was still there. This was my mum – not that woman in the hospital – and she was going to be out soon anyway. The weekend was ages away. I nodded to myself and then stared, as I realised s
omething else. Some of the little pictures had video cameras next to them, so I didn’t need to be jealous of Harry Potter, did I? I had moving photos too! Okay, the first six were of me trying to beat my kick-up record but I soon found one of Mum from last summer. We were in our tent.
‘No,’ she groaned from inside her sleeping bag. ‘It’s too early. Go. Back. To. Sleep.’
The next one was a double movie selfie, both of us jumping up and down at Charlton after Johnnie Jackson got the winner. I watched that one five times and then just lay there, thinking about Mum and wondering if she was thinking about me too.
‘Line up, everyone. Chop-chop, hurry along now.’
That was Miss Phillips. The next day. But don’t worry, we weren’t going back to the swimming pool. Today was a school trip. I’d forgotten about it and didn’t ask Auntie Mill to make me any sandwiches. Mrs Stebbings made me some instead, before interfering with my hair. I thanked her and ran round into the corridor where a boy I thought was Lance was hanging his cycle hat on his peg.
‘Lance,’ I said (because I thought it was him).
The boy I thought was Lance did not answer.
‘Lance,’ I said again.
The boy I thought was Lance still did not answer and I looked at him. He had Lance’s bag, with the Charlton team written on in Sharpie (‘Jackson’ all the way down to ‘Igloo’). He had Lance’s coat. He also had Lance’s face, which really should have proved that it was him. But the boy said, ‘I’m not Lance.’
This made me frown, and I looked at the boy I thought was Lance until I was sure, like you are with a sum you’re checking. It. Was. Lance.
‘Yes you are,’ I said.
‘No I’m not.’
‘Yes you are.’
‘I’m not! I’m …’
‘What?’
The boy I thought was Lance paused. ‘I’m not Lance any more.’
