Of Things Gone Astray

by Janina Matthewson

  Mrs Featherby.

  THE DAY WAS WARM AND Mrs Featherby was outside. She was outside, walking. While this was not in itself altogether unusual, her experience of it was markedly different to previous walks. Where before she would have enjoyed a solitary stroll with just the barest of acknowledgements of people she passed along the way, now that was no longer possible. People stopped to chat, whether she wanted them to or not.

  One of the young girls so given to being inappropriately dressed stopped Mrs Featherby to ask how long she was going to have to wait for her wall and went on to chat about the boy she’d started seeing. With wide eyes she described how embarrassed she was when he came to her house, as he was very neat and neither she nor her flatmate were particularly good at keeping the house tidy.

  She was lying. Her flatmate tried to keep it tidy but was unable to counter the mess the girl knew she was ever spreading forth.

  She was lying and Mrs Featherby knew it.

  The blustery old man who lived around the corner asked her how she was keeping warm and whether it wasn’t disgraceful that she’d been kept waiting as long as she had. He ranted contentedly for several minutes on the insufficiencies of your average tradesman. He told an extended fallacy about a time a plumber had pretended to fix the bathroom sink while actually stealing the taps and replacing them with similar, but inferior fittings.

  Lying had once been such a surprise to Mrs Featherby, back when she was a very young Wendy. Until she could hear the lies everywhere she had assumed most people to be honest. She hadn’t started believing people were honest again, over the long years of her solitude, but she’d forgotten just how often and how needlessly they lied.

  When Mrs Featherby got back to her garden, she found someone waiting for her.

  ‘Good afternoon, Small Girl Bonny,’ she said.

  ‘I yelled four times but you didn’t hear me,’ said the child.

  ‘No. Well, I’ve been out, you see.’

  ‘Oh. OK.’

  ‘And how are you today?’

  ‘Oh, I’m OK, I suppose.’

  ‘Just OK, my dear?’

  ‘I think my dad is sad.’

  ‘Why do you think that?’

  ‘I just think it. He used to go to work all of the time. And then he didn’t and it was really fun and he taught me my school.’

  ‘And he doesn’t do that anymore?’

  ‘No, he still does but now it’s not so fun because I think he’s sad.’

  ‘Sometimes people do get sad for a bit, but usually they come round.’

  ‘Oh.’ The girl started chewing the end of her hair.

  ‘My mum says will you come for dinner please?’ she said.

  Mrs Featherby pursed her lips and looked across the street to Small Girl Bonny’s house for a moment.

  ‘Thank you, Small Girl Bonny,’ she said. ‘That’s a very kind invitation, but I think not. I’m afraid I have,’ she paused for a moment. ‘I have some things I must attend to.’

  ‘Oh. OK,’ said the girl. ‘I have to go now, it’s my job to set the table.’

  Mrs Featherby watched the small figure run over to her house. She walked inside and headed to her kitchen where she contemplated what to prepare herself for a solitary dinner.

  Robert.

  ROBERT WAS SITTING BY THE window one Friday afternoon, after his lessons with Bonny were over. He was sitting quietly, barely moving, when Mara walked in with an expression on her face like she was bearding a lion in a particularly unpleasant den rather than addressing a quite ordinary man in her own lounge.

  ‘Why don’t you clear out the shed?’ she said. ‘And stop bothering me.’

  ‘How am I bothering you? I’m not doing anything.’

  ‘You’re bothering me. You’re sitting in here all still and moody and obsessing over things and it’s seeping through the walls. Please, just give me an hour of knowing you’re healthily distracted. Clear out the shed.’

  ‘We have a shed?’ said Robert. ‘Since when?’

  ‘It’s always been there. When we moved in you said you’d clear it out one day and do something with it. You never had time. Now you do.’

  ‘Right. OK. Sure.’

  The first problem, when he got out there, was the darkness. The windows of the shed were large but covered with grime. Robert flicked the switch that was set onto the wall. Nothing happened. He squinted up to the set of three naked bulbs that were set in a triangle on the ceiling.

  ‘Right,’ he said. He walked back into the house.

  ‘Babe,’ he said, poking his head round Mara’s office door.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘The lights are out.’

  ‘Do we have more bulbs?’

  ‘Right. Probably.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Right.’

  He went through to the kitchen and rummaged around. There were only two, but he decided that would do for now. He dragged a kitchen chair outside with him and changed two of the bulbs. He flicked the switch again. He looked around.

  ‘Hon,’ Robert stepped into Mara’s office again.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mara, a little too sweetly.

  ‘There’s all this wood.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘In the shed. There’s heaps of wood.’

  ‘Well. That’s what needs clearing out, tiger.’

  ‘But I think – it seems quite good.’

  ‘Good?’

  ‘The wood. I think it’s good wood. Oak or something, I think.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So maybe we should use it for something.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know. Something. Maybe I should make some stuff with it.’

  Mara turned around in her chair.

  ‘Did you take woodwork in school? Do you know how to safely use power tools?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘OK. Knock yourself out.’ She turned back to her work.

  Robert stood for a while staring at the giant pile of dark wood. He wasn’t really sure what to make, but he was sure he wanted to make something. It was the most sure he’d been about anything in months. Probably it would be best to start with something simple.

  ‘Dad?’ said a little Bonny from the garden.

  ‘Hey you,’ said Robert, stepping out of the shed. ‘You want to help me?’

  ‘Yes please,’ said Bonny. ‘Can I use a hammer?’

  ‘Not just yet, kid. We need to decide what I’m making first.’

  ‘Make a little house for little people to live in.’

  ‘A dollhouse?’

  ‘No. Not for dolls. For little people.’

  ‘Right. Of course. Do you know any little people who are in the market for a house?’

  ‘Um. No. Not right now.’

  ‘Maybe I shouldn’t build a little house till I’m sure of having a buyer at the end.’

  ‘Make a huge giant box.’

  ‘A box?’

  ‘A huge giant box.’

  ‘You might be onto something there, my friend. This calls for research.’

  ‘What’s research?’

  Robert swung his daughter into piggyback position and headed into the house. ‘Research, lass, is finding out about things you don’t know. So, if you found a new Thomas train and you didn’t know its name, what would you do?’

  ‘Um, I would ask you and you would tell me. Or I would watch the TV until that train was on and see what the other trains called it.’

  ‘Right. And that would be doing research. And the best thing about doing research is that once you’ve done it you always get to have a snack.’

  ‘I love snacks.’

  ‘Me too. We can have scones.’

  ‘With jam.’

  ‘Correct.’

  Robert sat with Bonny at the dining room table, peering at pictures of chests and wooden boxes on his laptop.

  ‘I like that one,’ said Bonny, pointing at a large carved chest that seemed to be depicting the sacking of Tro
y.

  ‘I think that one might be a bit complicated, pal. I was thinking more like this.’ Robert pointed at a simple, panelled chest.

  ‘No,’ said Bonny. ‘It’s boring.’

  ‘It’s not boring. It’s classic. It’s simple and elegant.’

  ‘It’s boring.’

  ‘Well, I’m the master carpenter in this situation. You’re just the apprentice.’

  ‘What’s a perentice?’

  ‘It means you have to do what I say. I make all the decisions. And in exchange, I bless you with my wisdom.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s not fair.’

  ‘That’s life, champ.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Tell you what, you can choose what kind of jam we have on our scones.’

  ‘Strawberry. No, raspberry. Um … Strawberry.’

  ‘You see. Making decisions is the hard part. Aren’t you glad I have to do it instead of you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Right. Good.’

  Robert spent the rest of the afternoon measuring and sawing, obsessively checking and rechecking the instructions he’d printed out. He felt very manly and proud of himself when he arranged all the pieces into different piles, and to prove it he grabbed Mara’s arse when she came out to check on him.

  ‘Look,’ he said. ‘I am man. I build.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ she said. ‘You’ve built some small piles of small wood.’

  ‘You don’t have to pretend you’re not impressed, woman.’

  ‘Oh, I am. Were it not for our small daughter, playing just outside the door, I’d have you right here, on your doubtless uncomfortable structures.’

  ‘She’ll be fine. Come on.’

  Mara laughed. Somehow her laugh seemed unsure, as if she could have just as easily cried. She looked relieved. ‘I’m too hungry. Cook for me first, then we’ll re-evaluate.’

  ‘Ah. First I shall need to hunt the mighty bison. Where be my spear, wench?’

  ‘How lucky I am to have as burly a man as you in my bed.’

  ‘You think I’m burly?’

  ‘And a man.’

  ‘But I’m not in your bed at the moment. But I can be. Just give me a moment, you won’t want all this sawdust in the sheets.’

  ‘Dinner!’

  Robert patted her on the tummy as he left the shed. ‘All right, you. Cool your jets.’

  He walked inside, a satisfied smile on his face.

  Jake.

  Jake faces away from his house, watching the dog over the road. He doesn’t like that dog. He’s not afraid of it, he just doesn’t like it. It is never friendly and happy to see people like Jake’s cousins’ dog. He always seems to be waiting to see what he can get out of a person.

  Jake is thinking about how much he doesn’t like the dog when the first flake of snow falls on his arm. He looks up at the sky and a second flake falls on his nose. He turns back to his house and calls for his mum to tell her, to tell her it’s snowing. He wants her to come out and stand with him, to stare up at the sky, which is becoming more and more full of little white spots, floating unconcernedly down to earth.

  Jake looks at the ground, willing the snow to stay, hoping it won’t melt as soon as it hits the ground, but it does, of course. It is barely there a moment before it’s lost.

  His mother still hasn’t come out. If she doesn’t come out soon they will be late for the doctor. Jake doesn’t care. He doesn’t like the doctor, with her sugary voice and sickly perfume. He wonders if she has to have extra-strong perfume because of how much time she has to spend with other people’s feet.

  The snow that has landed on Jake is melting and dripping down the back of his collar. It makes him shiver but he doesn’t want to go inside. He wants to stay and watch. He is mesmerised and still until the ground moves. Of course, it’s exactly what would happen if the worlds in snow-globes were real. The houses would fall down. The people in them could never survive.

  Jake felt like he could yell in frustration, or punch something. Snowing? Of course it wasn’t snowing. It would never have been snowing at that time of year. If it had it would have been some kind of ridiculous record, it would have made the news. But of course, only the disaster made the news; no one had bothered to mention the weather. No one cared.

  Jake cared, though. He needed to figure it out. It was such a simple part of it, such a stupid thing to not remember.

  Jake’s room was messy again, but not with his stuff. There was a light spread of his findings across the floor. A sparse sheet of what people had lost. It was made of books and dolls and bracelets and hats. There were lost sweaters and pens and balls and trophies and Jake knew what had happened to all of them.

  He was adding to his collection every day now. Some things he brought home from school. Things that had been left in the Lost and Found room for ages. Some things he stumbled over as he walked around his neighbourhood.

  When he found something, he had to come home immediately to find a space for it and chart it on his map. He’d stopped paying attention to whether or not his dad was in the house. It didn’t seem to matter. He had too many other things to think about.

  Sometimes he would think he was home alone and he’d sit in the kitchen or the lounge and then realise that his dad was not only home, he was in the same room. Jake didn’t know sometimes if his dad had come in without him noticing or if he’d been there the entire time.

  ‘Hi Dad,’ he said the first time this happened.

  His dad took a moment to look at him and when he did, his eyes took a moment to focus, they kept sliding over Jake and back across, as if he wasn’t sure where to look.

  ‘Oh,’ he said eventually. ‘Hi Jake. How are you? How’s school?’

  ‘It’s good. How’s work?’

  ‘Oh. Good.’

  ‘I’m going to go to my room now, Dad.’

  ‘OK, Jake. Sleep well.’

  Jake did not tell his dad that it was only four in the afternoon.

  Cassie.

  CASSIE THOUGHT JASPER WAS TALKING to her, but as he drew closer she realised he was on the phone.

  ‘Are you staying with him tonight?’ he was saying. ‘Do you want me to come over when I’m finished? It’s fine, it’s only an extra forty-five minutes. Are you sure? All right. OK. I’ll see you tomorrow then. Say hi. You too.’

  He glanced at Cassie as he slipped his phone into his pocket. He rubbed his face with his hands and dropped to the floor, sitting with his arms propped on his knees.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  ‘You look exhausted,’ Cassie replied. ‘Which, actually, you do quite a lot.’

  ‘Yeah, that’ll happen.’

  ‘Sure. Trying job, then, strolling around the airport?’

  ‘Cold, you are, Cass. Well cold. I just have a lot going on at the moment.’

  Cassie nodded quietly.

  ‘Exam in the morning, for one thing.’

  ‘Exam? For what?’

  ‘Oh, my degree,’ said Jasper. I’m studying physics.’

  ‘Jeepers.’

  ‘Yep. First in my family to go to university.’

  ‘Hey, really? Me too.’

  ‘Huh.’

  ‘Worried about the exam?’

  ‘Mainly worried my girlfriend’s going to miss all hers. She’s meant to have two tomorrow.’

  ‘Why would she miss them?’

  ‘Her dad. He’s not quite himself at the moment.’

  ‘Maybe that’s going around.’

  ‘He was amazing, her dad. Genius pianist. Now, he’s sort of falling apart.’

  Cassie was silent. She’d had no idea Jasper had so much going on. He always seemed so relaxed, as if there was nothing in the world to bother him. Even now, when he was talking about it, there was only the faintest crease in his forehead to show his worry.

  ‘I don’t know how you keep track of so many things at once.’

  Jasper laughed. ‘Everyone does.’ />
  ‘Do they?’ said Cassie. ‘I don’t think I do. I only have one thing.’

  ‘No you don’t.’

  ‘Only Floss.’

  ‘Why, then? What made that happen?’

  Cassie thought for a moment. ‘She was going to change my life.’

  ‘Yeah? How?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly. She just was.’

  Floss had told Cassie that she would change her life. ‘I’m going to change your life,’ she’d said, glibly, casually, as if such a thing were easy and inconsequential. And Cassie had believed her. She’d believed that when Floss returned, her life would properly start. That it would be vibrant, that it would be real. As if everything before had just been practice.

  She knew that she could never be exciting on her own.

  ‘Well,’ said Jasper. ‘That’s a bit of a cop out.’

  ‘What?’ asked Cassie.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Jasper. ‘I’m tired. I need to get back to it.’

  He stood up and rubbed ineffectively at the grass stain on his elbow.

  ‘Just give me a shout. If you need anything.’

  Delia.

  ‘MY DEAR,’ SAID DONALD TO Delia as he ushered her out of the car and into the house, ‘would you like a cup of tea and a slice of chocolate cake before the class starts? I think we’ve time.’

  ‘Of course I would,’ Delia said. ‘Of course, I always do.’

  She followed him through to the kitchen and sat down just as Mattie flowed in. ‘I’m sorry, Delia, it’s a giant cock up, obviously, isn’t it? It always is.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’ said Delia.

  ‘It’s all my fault, naturally, I just went and bloody booked two models for tonight.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And, it’s fucking horrible, and I’m sorry to be such a fucking pain in the arse, but I asked the other girl first, you see, and then completely forgot about it, and asked you as well. Giant cock up.’

  ‘Oh. It’s OK. Um, if Donald doesn’t mind driving me home again.’

  ‘Well, my darling one, I actually thought, if you’re interested, you could just join the class. For free, obviously, as it’s because of my idiocy.’

  ‘Oh, but I don’t—’

  ‘Just for fun; you don’t need to worry about being assessed if you don’t want to be. But please do, it would make me feel so much better about fucking everything up for you.’