My Nutty Neighbours

by Creina Mansfield

  ‘Cool! Give us a go.’ I took them from her as she sank down on a kitchen chair. She’d been in a right sulk since she’d learned that her insurance wasn’t going to pay for a new car. She’d be lucky to end up with some clapped-out, second-hand wreck – not her style at all.

  But now she smiled and let go of the crutches. ‘It’s hard work, I can tell you. My shoulders are aching.’

  I was moving around the kitchen fast, getting a real swing as I sailed along. The pets scattered. ‘Check-up okay?’ I asked.

  ‘Tell him, Mum,’ said Helen. ‘He won’t believe it if I tell him.’

  My heart skipped a beat. ‘What? What is it, Helen. Are you okay? What’s happened?’ I sounded as panicked as I felt.

  Helen looked at me in surprise. ‘No, no, David, it’s a good thing.’ She put out her hand and stroked mine. She was grinning. I exhaled again. ‘Then what is it?’

  Mum was still taking off her coat and didn’t answer for a moment. Time froze as I imagined what had brought that smug smile to Helen’s face. She’d taken to littering the place with magazines that had bloodcurdling titles like Brides’ Bible and The Bride Beautiful. If Sullivan had proposed, Mum would start using that fluty voice she uses on the phone: Marvellous news … yes, deeply in love … planning a wonderful wedding. I stopped swinging on the crutches, paralysed with horror as a truly awful thought occurred to me. They would want me for a pageboy! No way were they getting me into a frilly shirt and a kilt.

  Mum took her time about answering and all the while Helen just sat beaming, but finally Mum said, ‘Helen’s a genius.’

  What could I say to that? ‘When did they change the criteria for qualification?’

  Helen gave me a dark look. She couldn’t wait any longer to tell me. ‘Actually, it’s official. I have a genius IQ. They did some tests at the hospital because I had a fracture, here.’ She pressed the front of her forehead where she’d hit the windscreen and I remembered the red stain like a bull’s eye on the shattered glass. ‘I scored 158 on the verbal reasoning tests. That puts me in the top category of Highly Superior. In other words, a genius. I am a genius.’

  ‘Right, a genius who cleans other people’s feet for a living,’ I said. It was bad enough having McFeeble as some sort of musical whiz kid, I could do without a brilliant sister.

  ‘I’ve told you before, I give pedicures sometimes. I’m not a chiropodist!’

  ‘Well done. Excellent verbal reasoning there, Helen, but it won’t wash.’ I thrust the crutches at her.

  ‘I’m a Mastermind,’ she sang. ‘My intellect is above superior. I’m a genius.’ She babbled on. I left her to it and went into the lounge to putt. When I tired of that, I began sock golf so I could practice my driving and chipping in the house: a rolled-up sock enabled me to practice my strokes without damaging too much of the furniture. I’d just played a brilliant dogleg par four from the front door into the far end of the lounge when McFeeble came in and sat down at the piano.

  ‘Get out. I need to practice,’ he ordered.

  I guessed he’d heard Helen’s news and didn’t like it any more than I did. He liked to think he was the only talented one in the family. But he wasn’t going to take it out on me.

  ‘I was here first.’

  ‘The piano’s in ’ere, moron. Wot am I meant to do – carry it out on me back?’

  ‘Yeah, the piano I bought for you.’ I ran my fingers over the keys. When great-uncle Albert died, I found his war medal and we had sold it for shedloads of money – most of which I gave to Ian because his first piano had been destroyed in the The Great Fire. And here he was, talking about me owing him a favour for carrying my golf clubs a few hundred yards!

  ‘Leave it alone! No way is a primitive like you gonna play this. You’d have to lose your gills and grow opposing thumbs first.’

  ‘You calling me primitive?’ He was using the piano as a shield so I couldn’t get near him.

  ‘I’m gonna make a living out of music,’ he said. ‘I’m gonna make the Stirlings rich and famous.’

  ‘Give me a break! Even classical musicians can’t be mingers.’ Though Ian had been a nauseatingly angelic-looking kid, with blonde hair and a cherub’s face, he had deteriorated rapidly. ‘Look at you,’ I taunted him.’ You’ve got the muscle mass of an eight-year-old girl. And stand up straight, you look like an old woman.’ Ian in tight leather trousers on Top of the Pops? Nightmare.

  ‘You owe me,’ he reminded me, as I knew he would. I took one last swipe of the sock and sent it slamming up against the window. Then, after telling Ian exactly where he could put his piano, I left him to it.

  If it hadn’t been for that conversation, I’d have returned to The Haven after school the next day. Instead, I decided to give golf a break while Ian was in ‘precious musician’ form and instead go with Abbas to his house after school – at least his Mum made a fuss of me and fed me and made me feel like I was welcome! But if I hadn’t been in Dublin at that time, I’d never have seen what I saw. And that would have saved a whole lot of trouble.

  Bad idea

  Abbas’ house was okay. He was lucky because he had younger brothers and sisters, so he was the first to do things, not the last. They listened to him as if he knew a thing or two. No one ever called him a moron. And his Mum was quiet. She hardly spoke any English. They’d moved from Sri Lanka and settled in Dublin, in the same street where we’d had two houses. And we’d stayed with them after The Great Fire, when we’d been sort of refugees ourselves.

  Back in his house, Abbas demonstrated some techniques he’d learnt at karate. He’d joined a class in a community hall just ten minutes from Highfield Road. He hadn’t got as far as earning any belts yet, but he was going to take his first test soon. He demonstrated the yoi position, which is where you stand, legs apart and fists clenched. On a shouted instruction you’re meant to bend your front leg and lock your back leg. Don’t smile. Then punch, swift and sure, at an imaginary opponent. The punch reaches the target in a straight line, like a bullet from a gun. It was wicked.

  Abbas’ Mum fed us after we were finished attacking imaginary opponents. His brothers and sisters were full of questions about where I lived – they hadn’t been outside Dublin and I’m not sure they really believed my stories about cows and winding lanes and friendly nutters!

  I left Abbas’ house at about 8.30, in time to catch the last bus home. As I walked along, I was thinking about how things had changed over the last while. Before Helen’s accident, I’d had a list of problems to be solved, but things weren’t looking too bad now. Sure, Helen was still going out with my rugby coach, but now that I’m out of the A team, no one – not even Frazier – can accuse me of being a favourite. And I’m earning my way back in. Four tries in one game: that speaks for itself. I’d had no run-ins with Sullivan for a while. The night of Helen’s accident, without words, we seemed to reach a sort of understanding, an understanding that we were on the same side, rooting for her recovery. He spent too much time at The Haven for my liking, but more and more I was remembering why he’d once been my hero.

  And I’d begun to like country living, which was an unexpected bonus. The countryside is not all winding roads and crazy inhabitants with winding minds, though there are enough of those. There’s Andrea, for a start. I knew her now and we were getting on. There’s golf courses in the country, too. When I’d cut my handicap, Andrea would be impressed and I might finally get my chance to show her how to swing a club!

  I was just approaching the bus stop, eating a Mars Bar and feeling very content with myself, when something stopped me in my tracks. There was a pub across the road from the bus stop, and out of it came Sullivan. He wasn’t alone. He had his arm around a skinny brunette. She was tall and dressed in bright yellow, like a canary. She clung to his arm and they were laughing. She looked at him adoringly. They stopped and she put her hands on his cheeks and plonked a kiss on his forehead. He gave her a bear hug, kissed her, whispered something, then looked up in my directio
n. It was getting dark, so I couldn’t be sure if he’d seen me, or if he just happened to look my way. I scrunched the Mars Bar wrapper into a ball and threw it down. When I looked up again, they were walking to his car. He ran round to open the car door for her, then they zoomed away.

  There was a leaden weight in my stomach and it wasn’t just the three Mars bars I’d eaten on top of dinner. I couldn’t deny it: Sullivan was seeing another woman. Helen was at home, on crutches, with Brides’ Bible and Beautiful Bride, while he was here, with another woman. Who was the genius? Not Helen, obviously.

  The bus arrived and I climbed on. I sat by the window, down the back, and tried to figure out what I should do. Should I tell Helen? She should know that Sullivan was treating her badly, shouldn’t she? And she was my sister – I had to protect her from getting hurt. But then, all I could hear in my mind was Mum saying, ‘Helen’s had a terrible time lately.’ If I told her about this, would I just be making things worse? Maybe she needed Sullivan to help her get better. If she didn’t have him, would she not care about getting well again? Then again, if I didn’t tell her, I’d be storing up more trouble for her that would erupt later. Suppose Sullivan did propose? The whole wedding thing would start – dresses, flowers, Helen proud and happy – and he could still be seeing the canary-yellow woman. I could just see it now. We would get to that bit in the wedding ceremony when the guests are asked, do you knowof any reason why these two should not be bound in holy matrimony? And I’d be the pageboy who grassed on the groom. Or was I meant to keep this secret forever?

  My head hurt. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want the responsibility of telling her – there’d be tears, sulks and scenes and she’d be really upset. And I didn’t want the responsibility of not telling her, of Sullivan getting away with it and treating her like a fool. What was I going to do?

  By the time I got off the bus near The Haven, I still hadn’t made up my mind. When I went into the house, I found Helen and Mum sitting on the sofa watching a film. Helen had her foot resting on a stool, with a salad on a tray in front of her.

  I took a carrot off her plate. ‘Okay?’ She smacked my hand away.

  I threw myself on the other sofa. Starting a conversation wasn’t easy.

  ‘What yer watching?’

  ‘A film. Love Has Its Reasons.’ Dreamy music was coming from the screen.

  I groaned. It sounded like some romantic nonsense that would stuff her full of another happily ever after ending. If she’d been watching Terminator 3, I’d have had some hope she could handle her boyfriend.

  ‘Sullivan not coming round tonight?’

  ‘Mr Sullivan to you. And no, he’s got some schoolwork to catch up on.’

  Never heard it called that before. I grabbed another bit of carrot and jumped up the stairs to Ian’s bedroom.

  ‘Ian!’ He was packing. I watched him for a while.

  ‘Don’t come in my room while I’m away,’ he said.

  ‘Don’t worry, your poxy CD collection’s safe with me,’ I assured him.

  ‘Ian … what would you do if …’

  He was trying to pull the zip closed on a bulging suitcase. I did it for him, without mocking his lack of strength. He was the only person I could ask about this.

  ‘If what?’ he repeated.

  ‘If … you saw someone with someone else they shouldn’t be with?’

  ‘Wot you on about, baby bruvver? Who?’

  ‘Well, just for example, if you saw … say, Dad with another woman?’

  ‘You’ve seen Dad with another woman?’ he shrieked.

  ‘No!’

  Ian laughed. ‘Because if you had, I’d say, kick away her white stick! Get it?’

  ‘Yeah, I get it, but really, what would you do?’

  He looked at me seriously. ‘I don’t know what it is you’ve seen, Davy, and I’ve a feeling you’re not going to tell me.’

  I looked down at my feet and didn’t answer.

  ‘Look, mate,’ he said gently. ‘Whatever it is, if you want to tell me, I won’t tell anyone else. But if you don’t, then my best advice is don’t get involved. Other people’s love lives …’ He gave a whistle and shook his head. ‘It’s just very complicated. It’s best to stay out of it and let them figure it out for themselves.’

  It turns out I could be wrong about something

  Next day Dad got off work early (it must have been a slow day for data) and gave me a lift home from school. It was a bright, sunny day, just when the countryside looks its best, so he started congratulating himself on our move. ‘It’s really worked out well, hasn’t it? New hobbies, fresh air and friendly neighbours. Do you know, your mother and I have received three dinner invitations since Helen’s party?’

  ‘Great. I’m thrilled for you,’ I said. I was delighted if they’d dismissed any thoughts of returning to the city, but I like to dampen parental enthusiasm of any kind. Having an enthusiastic parent is a bit like having a kid with Attention Deficit Disorder – tiring.

  ‘Yes, we’ve moved into a good old-fashioned community,’ Dad went on, gazing over the rolling hills.

  ‘With good old-fashioned psychopaths.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Haven’t you noticed some of them are, how shall I put this, a tad peculiar?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean, Davy. These country types are the salt of the earth.’

  ‘Oh yeah? How about Baseball Cap? You know, what did Mike say his name was? Declan. Remember? Mike said he’d done something to his wife. Probably killed her and got her buried amongst all that wood and stuff.’

  ‘You mean the old fella that ate his way through the buffet?’ He thought for a while. ‘Oh, that was on the day of … yes, I remember. No! Mike didn’t say he’d done something to his wife. He said, “all he’d done for his wife”.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Now why would Mike say the old fella had done his wife in? I hope you haven’t been spreading slanderous stories around the neighbourhood!’

  We’d just entered the village. Dad had made me doubt my own senses. Perhaps Baseball Cap hadn’t done his wife in. Perhaps Sullivan hadn’t been seeing another woman.

  ‘You know me,’ I answered, ‘tact is my middle name. Drop me here, will you? Thanks.’ He stopped outside the village shop. I went in.

  ‘Hi! How’s the golf going?’ The shop door clanged and Andrea was standing beside me in the ‘24/7’.

  ‘Great. Haven’t been out on the course since Old … since your granddad gave me a round, but I’ve been practicing lots. How about you? How’s life in girls’ golf?’

  ‘Are you going to buy those?’ asked the man who wasn’t McDonnell, thrusting out his arm for the large brown envelopes I’d picked off the pathetic display of stationery. Was there a No Talking rule in this place? It was a shop, not a library – though granted I’d seen libraries that are more popular, and I’d known libraries that opened longer hours. I’d been the only customer until Andrea had come in, but anyone would have thought we’d slowed down a queue. I handed over the money.

  ‘Let’s get out of here.’

  ‘How’s Helen?’ asked Andrea when we got outside.

  I hesitated just too long before saying, ‘She’s getting better, thanks.’ Females pick up on that sort of thing. If you’re going to tell them less than the truth, you have to answer quickly and pick your words with care.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked immediately. ‘Is it the head injury?’ Male 0; Female 1. I started pulling the lever on the old village pump, trying to see whether any water would come out. Plus, I didn’t want to keep talking to Andrea without staring – each time I saw her she looked prettier.

  ‘No. She’s going to be fine. It’s not that.’

  ‘What then?’

  I looked at her: could I trust her? At least she could give me a female point of view, and it was driving me mad thinking about it. I decided to come clean. Male 0; Female 2.

  ‘It’s just, well, I sa
w her boyfriend kissing another woman.’

  ‘The sod. What did she say when you told her?’

  ‘I hadn’t gotten around to the telling her part actually.’ Andrea looked shocked. ‘Do you think I should? She’ll go crazy and get upset.’

  ‘You’ve got to tell her. You can’t let him get away with cheating on her like that.’ She was talking the way Helen talked.

  ‘You reckon?’ The lever of the pump came off in my hand. Andrea laughed.

  ‘I thought they were meant to make things better in the good old days,’ I complained, propping the lever against the shopfront. I remembered what had happened to great-uncle Albert’s glass ship: that had been antique and had crumbled like dust. I started telling Andrea about it as we walked out of the village towards Nutters Lane.

  ‘My great-uncle had this ship made out of spun glass. It was red, white and blue with little figures of sailors climbing up the rigging. It’s the first thing I remember about visiting him in England.’ It was worth going to his crumbling old house just to see the ship and I’d made up stories to myself where I was a sailor on board it.

  ‘What happened to it?’ Andrea asked.

  ‘It fell to pieces.’ It had happened when I’d been helping Mum and Dad clear out Albert’s house after he died.

  ‘Fell to pieces in the same way the village pump did – all on its own?’

  I laughed. ‘No, it wasn’t me, honest! I just took the protective case off and the whole thing disintegrated.’

  ‘Shame.’

  I wanted to tell her how I hated its destruction, that somehow I connected its loss with the way I felt about Albert’s death, about things changing when you don’t want them to, feelings that had come back with Helen’s accident. Helen. But I didn’t want her to think I was a wuss, so I changed the subject. When there’s something important to be said, I just can’t get it out. I prefer to make a joke, or sidetrack onto something else.

  ‘Hey, how about a round of golf next weekend? Are you up for it?’