Lucky Break

by Rob Stevens

  Arnold’s mouth spread into the broadest grin. ‘Burps are just funny. Everyone knows that.’

  Arnold and I were sitting in the dark, huddled up with our knees under our chins. The sugar-rush I’d got from the snacks had long since passed, leaving me feeling tired and empty. I was beginning to suspect Arnold’s initial excitement at the idea of hanging out in the summer house was beginning to wear a little thin. Neither of us had spoken for about half an hour.

  ‘When can we go in?’ Arnold’s voice sounded strangely loud in the dark.

  ‘Soon.’

  ‘Won’t your mum wonder where you are?’

  That was a good point. Soon Mum would start looking for me. If we hid, she’d panic and think I’d been kidnapped, or something. If she found me in the summer house with Arnold she’d think he was holding me hostage. Both scenarios would finish with her freaking out and calling the police.

  I glanced at my watch. Six-thirty. Kneeling by the wood-panelled wall I peered through the window. Across the black lawn a couple of rectangles glowed orange on the dark silhouette of my house. The kitchen and Olivia’s room. Olivia was probably sketching outfits on her art pad, listening to impossibly cool music on her iPod. I imagined Mum standing at the hob cooking something tasty and listening to classical music that was supposed to depict a battle or a storm or something. I could almost feel the heat from the central heating. A sudden shiver rippled through my body.

  I realised I really hadn’t thought this through properly. An evening of adventure camped out in the summer house had seemed like a pretty fun plan – just to tide us over until tomorrow when I’d hoped to come up with a better arrangement. But the temperature was already dropping towards freezing. There was no way Arnold could sleep out here, no matter how many duvets I managed to smuggle out of the house.

  ‘Here’s the plan,’ I said, turning to Arnold. His eyes seemed to twinkle as he listened eagerly to my idea.

  I turned the handle and opened the door, telling myself to act natural.

  ‘Only me!’ I announced. So far so good. Or maybe announcing it was ‘only me’ was exactly what someone would say if they had something, or someone, to hide. ‘I mean, obviously it’s only me. Who else would I have with me? I mean if I’d met Owen Ritchie on the way home I might have invited him for tea, but that’s highly unlikely so who else would I bring home? Certainly not a peculiar foster-kid who’s just started at our school and who I hardly know.’

  I clapped a hand over my mouth. My last sentence seemed to reverberate around the huge kitchen just beyond the open utility room doorway. I considered cowering in the corner until everyone in the kitchen had forgotten what I’d just said. Except that my role was to provide a distraction for Arnold who was about to let himself in through the front door. Maybe I was taking too long. Maybe Arnold had already let himself in.

  I burst into the kitchen, half expecting to see Mum facing Arnold off in the hallway but she was stooped over a counter dicing cucumber.

  ‘Hey, Mum, how you doin’?’ I said.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘I didn’t hear you come in.’

  Really? ‘That’s cool, man.’

  ‘Why are you talking all American? You sound like a sales assistant from Hollister.’

  ‘That’s real funny. You’re a blast.’

  Mum peered at me over her glasses. I tried to think of something else to say – to continue the guise of normality I had already created so successfully. Before I could speak though I heard the unmistakeable sound of a key sliding into the front door. Mum heard it too. I knew she heard it because there was a subtle change in her expression. And because she said, ‘Someone’s at the door.’

  As she turned to head for the hall I knew I had to think fast. I had to say something clever to distract her. But there’s a big difference between knowing you have to say something clever and actually saying it. I discovered this when, unable to think what to say I watched helplessly as she walked towards the hallway.

  ‘OWWWW!’ I screamed.

  Mum spun round to see what had happened. I was just standing there so Mum looked really confused. As a bit of an afterthought I threw myself onto the floor and writhed around, clutching my knee up to my chest.

  OK, it wasn’t clever but it worked.

  Mum scurried over to me. Kneeling beside me she asked what the matter was. I kept writhing around in the style of a professional footballer trying to get an opponent sent off.

  ‘Leon,’ Mum said. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘I think it’s cramp,’ I said, clenching my teeth and squeezing my eyes tightly shut. ‘In my calf.’

  ‘Just lie back,’ Mum said, pulling my leg straight and pushing my toes towards my kneecap. ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Bit better,’ I said, nodding bravely. ‘I think it’s passing.’

  ‘You gave me a fright.’ Mum combed her fingers through my hair. ‘I thought something terrible had happened.’

  ‘It just came on all of a sudden,’ I said, limping towards a dining chair.

  As my mum ran me a glass of water from the tap, I tried to peer into the hall. I couldn’t see anyone but I felt a gust of cold air on my face. Mum must have felt it too because she placed the glass on the table next to me and marched into the hallway.

  I had to cause another diversion but, short of a second bout of cramp, my mind was blank. Mum stopped in the middle of the hall, facing the front door, and planted her hands on her hips.

  ‘What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?’ she demanded.

  I followed her into the hallway, remembering to limp just in case she turned back. Expecting to see Arnold trapped like a rabbit in headlights I got ready to look shocked by the stranger’s intrusion.

  The front door was wide open – the warm house sucking in a constant gale of frigid night air. In the corner of the hall, half standing, half leaning, was a figure. Mum and I exchanged a glance. I felt a mixture of amusement and confusion.

  I was confused because the figure in the hallway was my dad, not Arnold. He’d obviously had a few drinks. I was amused because I hadn’t seen him tipsy for ages.

  ‘Hey, whizz kid,’ he chuckled.

  ‘Looks like your dad’s been out celebrating something,’ Mum commented.

  ‘A very productive meeting with Mr Schultz as it happens,’ Dad announced proudly. Tossing his jacket over the banister he did a little skip and clicked his heels together mid-air.

  I smiled and looked at Mum who just shook her head.

  Dad ruffled my hair as he passed me on his way to the living room. I went to the front door (remembering to limp about halfway there), stuck my head outside and peered around.

  ‘Arnold?’ I whispered urgently. I waited and repeated his name. Nothing.

  ‘I’m just going to check something,’ I said to Mum and stepped outside. I stalked about in the front garden for a bit calling Arnold like he was a lost cat. When he didn’t show I hurried down the garden and into the summer house, expecting to find him curled up on the floor. But it was empty.

  I returned to the front garden and went back into the hall, closing the door behind me. Mum was just coming out of the living room.

  She raised a quizzical eyebrow at me.

  ‘I had this weird feeling I’d left my bike in the garden, but I hadn’t.’

  Mum nodded slowly – almost suspiciously.

  ‘Everything else all right?’ Mum asked.

  I shrugged. ‘Yeah. Sure.’

  But everything wasn’t all right at all. Everything was the opposite of all right. Arnold was missing.

  I did a lap of the kitchen – all natural so Mum wouldn’t suspect anything.

  ‘Still looking for your bike?’ she asked, stirring something in a saucepan.

  ‘Bike?’ I said, without thinking.

  ‘Yes – the bike you thought you’d left outside.’

  ‘Oh right. Yeah. I mean no. I’m just, you know, walking. About. Walking about.’ Like I said, all natural. What
I was actually doing was checking that Arnold hadn’t sneaked in and hidden behind the bin or under the table. He hadn’t.

  ‘Casserole smells nice,’ I said as I left the room.

  ‘It’s not casserole,’ Mum called after me. ‘It’s a cassoulet.’

  I strolled casually into the living room where Dad was watching the news.

  ‘Hi, Dad,’ I said, peering behind the sofa.

  My dad turned his head and smiled at me. His mood seemed to have changed since he’d come through the door. He was serious now. Sombre, even. Maybe that was the effect this house had on him. Too many memories.

  ‘Hey, Leon,’ he said, clapping his hands together like they were cymbals. ‘How was school today?’

  ‘Fine I guess.’

  ‘Good.’

  Dad looked back at the TV. I waited for a moment but he seemed engrossed in the news so I turned to leave.

  ‘I miss him, you know,’ Dad said, his eyes watery. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d referred to Lenny in any way. I guessed the alcohol allowed him to say stuff he’d normally bottle up.

  ‘Me too,’ I said.

  There was a long, awkward pause then Dad said, ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  I never said it was, I thought. ‘Thanks,’ I said.

  He said, ‘Listen, Leon – you couldn’t have done anything else.’

  But what I heard was – if only you’d done things differently.

  ‘Sure.’ I nodded. ‘Maybe we should talk about this in the morning?’ But I knew we wouldn’t. In the morning Dad would be sober and neither of us would want to bring this up. Nobody wanted to bring a downer on the day by talking about Lenny’s death over breakfast.

  As I turned to leave Dad said, ‘I don’t get it, Leon. One minute he was here, the next he was gone.’

  ‘I know, Dad.’

  ‘Where did he go?’

  I turned back wearily and said, ‘He’s gone, Dad. He’s in heaven now.’ I didn’t know if I really believed in heaven but I’d have liked to. It’d be cool if Lenny had been up there doing back flips and running riot amongst the angels – stealing their halos and playing their harps.

  Dad looked confused. ‘I wasn’t talking about Lenny.’

  ‘Who were you talking about then?’

  ‘The kid.’

  I froze. ‘What kid?’

  ‘The kid at the door. He said he was here to see you.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I told him to wait on the doorstep.’ Dad turned to face the TV. ‘As I opened the door, I dropped my keys. I bent down to pick them up and when I turned round, he’d disappeared.’ If Arnold wasn’t in the kitchen, lounge or hall there was only one other route he could have taken. I legged it up the stairs and bumped into Olivia as she came out her bedroom.

  ‘Oh you’re out at last,’ she said.

  ‘Out?’

  ‘I’ve been waiting to get in the bathroom for ages. Thought you’d fallen down the loo, or something.’

  I laughed with my sister, peering past her along the landing. I always closed my bedroom door. Always. But now it was ajar.

  ‘I’m going out in an hour and I haven’t even washed my hair yet.’

  ‘OMG. Hashtag emergency!’ I sidled past her and backed towards my room. ‘Go, go, go.’

  ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘Dandy,’ I said doing a weird two-thumbs-up thing.

  ‘Dandy?’ Olivia laughed, watching me edge away from her.

  ‘Hot date?’ I asked.

  Olivia shook her head. ‘Just a coffee with Beth.’

  ‘Well, have fun. Say hi to good old Bethy, A.K.A. the Bethster.’

  Olivia half-smiled, mimicked the two-thumbs-up thing I was still doing and went into the bathroom.

  I pushed open my bedroom door and went in, closing it fast behind me. Arnold was lying on my bed, holding a framed photograph, which lived on my bedside table.

  ‘I met your dad,’ he said. ‘He seemed pretty happy.’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Is he celebrating something?’

  ‘I think he’s had a good day at work.’

  Arnold nodded at the picture in his hands. ‘You didn’t say you’re a twin.’

  ‘I’m not.’

  I stepped forward and took the photo from him, replaced it exactly where it had come from. It was a snap taken almost exactly a year ago at the rugby match between the Panthers and the Kestrels. The two teams were bitter rivals so the home game against the Kestrels was always the biggest match of the season. We’d all gone to cheer on the Panthers. Mum, Dad, me, Lenny – even Olivia had come along. She said she was only there to check out who was the best-looking player but I think she really enjoyed it.

  Mum had asked a passer-by to take the photo. She’d wanted a ‘nice, normal’ photo of all of us. One she could send to relatives and show to friends. The more she’d begged us to pose nicely, the more Lenny had fooled around. In the picture, we were all smiling normally except Lenny who was gurning crazily – hooked fingers stretching his mouth and eyes crossed. One fat tear of pure joy was rolling down his rosy cheek.

  We all looked so happy – decked out in black and gold scarves – arms round each other like a solid scrum. A unit. A family. It turned out to be the last thing we all did together.

  Lenny was killed the following day.

  ‘You look like twins,’ Arnold said.

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘But you just said you haven’t got a twin?’

  ‘I had a twin,’ I said. ‘I haven’t any more.’

  Arnold sat up straight and swung his feet onto the floor. One green toe peeked through the hole in his trainer like a turtle’s head.

  ‘What happened? Did he die?’

  ‘No, he was beamed up by aliens,’ I said.

  Arnold looked at me blankly. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Of course he died.’

  ‘So why did you say he’d been beamed up by aliens?’

  ‘Sorry. I just thought it was obvious that he must have died when I said I haven’t got a twin any more.’

  ‘Oh.’

  I dropped into the chair at my desk. Swivelled around a bit.

  ‘Do you take everything people say literally?’ I asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  I thought for a moment. ‘What would you think if I said someone had egg on their face?’

  ‘What, like runny egg? Dribbling down their chin?’ He smiled.

  ‘No.’ I laughed. ‘It’s an expression. It just means they’re embarrassed.’

  ‘Why not just say that then? It’d be quicker than saying about the egg. And clearer.’

  ‘True. I guess you don’t get sarcasm, either?’

  He shook his head. ‘I know it’s when people say something they don’t mean. Or the opposite of what they mean. I just don’t get how you’re supposed to know which it is though.’

  ‘By how someone says it. If I said to you “nice jumper” it would mean “I like your jumper”.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘But if I said, “nice jumper”,’ I said, with heavy sarcasm, ‘it would mean “man, that’s a really dodgy jumper”. See the difference?’

  Arnold looked at me for a moment, nodding thoughtfully.

  ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘They both sounded like a compliment to me.’

  ‘You’re a bit of a fruitcake, d’you know that?’

  After a brief pause Arnold clicked his fingers, smiling. ‘That’s an expression right?’

  ‘Right. I just mean you’re pretty unique.’

  ‘And when you said your brother was beamed up by aliens, you were being sarcastic?’

  ‘Bingo!’ I reached over and high-fived Arnold.

  We both laughed for a bit then he said, ‘That’s sad about your brother.’

  I shrugged like I always do when people say that. Then I waited because people normally don’t know what to say next so there’s a sort of respectful silence before they chan
ge the subject. It’s natural I suppose. No one wants to talk about death and everyone’s terrified of putting their foot in it – saying the wrong thing or upsetting me.

  ‘Was he murdered?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Was he murdered? You know – killed by someone?’

  ‘Yeah – I know what murdered means, Arnold. And no, he wasn’t.’

  ‘Cancer?’

  I shook my head. ‘It was an accident. He ran across a road without looking. Someone was driving faster than they should have been and knocked him down.’

  ‘Was there any blood?’

  ‘What kind of question is that?’

  ‘I’ve often wondered what actually kills someone in that situation …’

  ‘You can’t ask stuff like that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Arnold’s innocent expression softened my resolve. ‘He had massive head injuries, OK? He died instantly.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Good?’

  ‘I mean it’s good that it was quick. Imagine if he’d been trapped under the car, conscious but in agony, writhing around and dying a slow painful death.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Arnold.’

  ‘I’m just saying he was lucky.’

  ‘Lucky? Lottery winners are lucky. Lenny was run over and killed on his way to school. It’s hardly the jackpot is it?’

  ‘I just meant …’ Arnold sighed. Chewed his lip. ‘Were you there?’

  I nodded.

  ‘What was it like?’

  ‘Are you always this direct?’

  ‘If you don’t want to talk about it …’

  I sort of snorted at this but realised that I actually did want to talk about it. I hadn’t ever talked about it because people were usually too tactful to ask. People at school avoided me because they were scared of saying something insensitive. Even my friends didn’t talk to me so much because they didn’t know what to say. I just spent my life wrapped in lonely, polite silence. Arnold’s direct curiosity was a welcome change.

  ‘It was surreal,’ I said. ‘Mum was with us. Lenny and I were charging about, playing chase. One minute he was laughing and running and full of life. A second later – a split second – he was gone. All the joy and mischief and life had been knocked out of him. I remember the car screeching and Mum screaming. I remember clinging onto her. That was the best I could do. If only I’d warned him somehow – or tried to grab him …’