All the Things That Could Go Wrong

by Stewart Foster

  ‘Can you think of any changes that might have made things worse, something different that’s affected your routine?’

  I wish I could tell him what’s happening, but he can’t do anything about me being bullied. All he would do is call the school. If I wanted to, I could do that myself. I can’t tell him about Dan, but there’s lots of other stuff that I can talk to him about. I tell him about my bad thoughts about germs on the guitar pick and the button on the crossing, and that when I go to sleep I think everyone is going to die and then when I wake up and they haven’t I think that they’re going to die today instead.

  ‘Okay, that’s a lot of things.’

  I’ve got a lot of worries.

  ‘Are you writing them down like I asked?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Dr Patrick looks at me for a long time. It’s like he doesn’t believe me or is waiting for me to say something else. Dad says I should try to tell Dr Patrick everything or he won’t be able to help, but some of the things are too embarrassing and he might not understand.

  ‘Okay,’ says Dr Patrick. ‘I’d like you to try something for me. Have you heard of the Arabian Knights, where one of them has the ability to morph into any animal he likes?’

  ‘No.’ I sit back and wonder what’s coming next. I want help, but it usually means I have to do things I don’t like, such as touching the toilet seat with my bare hands or walking on the grass with no shoes. It’s supposed to make me confront my fears, but most of the time it makes me feel worse.

  Dr Patrick leans forward. ‘Alex, it’s nothing to worry about. Think of it as a game, like Transformers, except I’m asking you to imagine you can change into an animal, not a machine.’

  Dr Patrick sees the worried look on my face.

  ‘It’s fine. Just try it for me … Close your eyes, only for a few moments.’

  I close my eyes. Everything is quiet, except for the rumble of traffic going by outside. Dr Patrick talks in a whisper, but I can hear him so clearly it’s like his mouth is right by my ear. He tells me to imagine that I’m a mouse, really tiny, and I’m at the bottom of the stairs and I’m so small that each stair looks like a huge building and they’re stacked on top of each other to become a mountain.

  ‘Alex, are you a mouse?’

  I find it silly to pretend to be a mouse, but I’d do anything to make my worries go away. I nod.

  ‘Good. Now I want you to put all your worries in little boxes, boxes you can pick up and move. Put labels on them if you like and line them up at the bottom of the stairs.’

  I screw my eyes tight and put my worries into boxes. In my mind, I label them and arrange them in a line.

  ‘Right,’ says Dr Patrick. ‘It’s very simple. I want you to imagine that you are as tiny as a mouse, but that you can climb the stairs, the buildings. Maybe imagine you have a ladder and you’re leaning it against the steps and you can scurry up them.’

  This feels even sillier, but I told Mum and Dad I’d try anything, and Dad said seeing Dr Patrick is expensive, so I screw my eyes tight and imagine I’m a mouse. It’s like I’m a rat in Ratatouille and I’m climbing from the floor up onto the shelves.

  ‘Okay,’ says Dr Patrick. ‘Now as you climb I want you to imagine that you’re growing too. With each step, you’re getting bigger. You turn from a mouse into a cat … from a cat into … a horse … or anything you want … as long as it’s bigger … and then, when you reach the top stair, I want you to feel as big as an elephant.’

  I start to climb, slowly, and imagine my skin stretching and my bones getting bigger, and with each step I slowly change from a mouse to a cat to a horse … and then … an elephant.

  ‘Okay,’ whispers Dr Patrick. ‘Now I want you to turn round and look back down the stairs. At the bottom are all your worries. Can you see them?’

  I nod.

  ‘Well, see how small they are now, now you’re at the top of the stairs, now that you’re an elephant?’ I want to tell Dr Patrick the worries are small, and some of them are, just for a while. But they haven’t all shrunk. One box is still there. And something’s jumping around in it, bashing the sides, knocking the top open.

  A cheetah springs out of it. I open my eyes quickly.

  The cheetah looked just like Dan.

  Dan: The alien lands

  I’m outside the cave, taking the tops off the bottles and emptying the dregs of Coke and lemonade onto the floor. I gave up on the planks because they kept falling off the frame every time I tried to bang in a nail. I couldn’t even tie the bottles together to make a big float because whenever I tried to pull the string tight, a bottle jumped out and went flying across the cave. It’s useless.

  I screw the top on a bottle and rest against the cave door. I watch an empty rollercoaster climb the track into the sky. On the beach some people are watching a man unloading crab nets from a small boat and a flock of seagulls are swooping above it. I look along the promenade to see if Shark Face is coming, but the only people I see are Mr Kendall drinking a cup of coffee outside his kiosk and some boys and girls skateboarding by the pier. I knew the wimp wouldn’t come. He’s probably sitting at home with his mum and sister, watching TV. Or maybe he’s tried to come, but did something really stupid like losing his gloves.

  I check the bottle top is tight, then walk back into the cave. I can’t do the planks or the bottles, but there must be something I can do on my own. I walk over to the back of the cave and Ben’s instructions.

  Unpick fishing nets.

  Yes! I can do that. I walk to the back of the cave and pick up a fishing net from a pile that me and Ben found washed up on the shore. I get a penknife from the shelf and sit down on an upturned bucket. This is easy and I don’t need anyone to help me. Especially not Shark Face, but it’s so late he’s not going to turn up to—

  ‘Hello?’ A deep voice echoes round the cave. I don’t reply.

  Between the stacks of tyres I can see a pair of men’s shoes and trouser legs. The shoes scuff across the floor.

  ‘Hello … Ah, there you are, Dan.’

  I can’t see the person’s face because the sun is shining behind him, but it sounded just like Shark Face’s dad.

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Fine, thanks,’ I mumble.

  ‘So I see. I brought the tools.’ He holds up a blue bag.

  Ha! Great. He’s brought some tools, but left Shark Face at home. I stand up.

  ‘Oh, and I brought this little bloke to help.’ He looks beside him like he thinks Shark Face is there, but there’s just an empty space.

  Ha! He’s run off. I bet just seeing the dark has scared him.

  ‘Alex, come on.’

  Shark Face drags his feet as he walks slowly across the opening and stands next to his dad. The sun comes out behind them. It’s so bright that all I can see is the shapes of their bodies like aliens getting off a spaceship. They walk towards me. Shark Face’s dad taps his hand on the corner of the frame.

  ‘So this is it,’ he says. ‘The raft. It looks good. Hard work though.’

  ‘No, it’s dead easy. I did that on my own this morning,’ I lie.

  ‘Well, I hope you leave something for Alex to do. I used to love building rafts. It’s great. What do you think, Alex?’

  Shark Face shrugs. ‘It’s okay,’ he mumbles.

  Okay? Just okay! It’s better than anything he could do. He couldn’t glue matchsticks together wearing those gloves.

  ‘… Well, I think it’s grand.’ His dad smiles. ‘Once you’ve finished, you’ll be able to sail all the way to France!’

  I fake a smile. He’s trying to be cool, like he wants to be my friend. Or maybe my mum has told them about Ben and he feels sorry for me. I hope not. I don’t want anyone to know, especially not Shark Face. I just want to be left alone to get on with Shooting Star.

  Shark Face’s dad opens the bag. ‘I’m not sure how much of this you’ll need … just a few spanners, and a hammer, and I’ve got some rope in the shed that Alex
can bring tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?!’ me and Shark Face say at the same time.

  His face is white like he’s seen a ghost and mine probably looks the same.

  Shark Face’s dad points at Ben’s diagram on the blackboard. ‘Well, looking at the detail on that, I’m pretty sure you two won’t be finishing any time soon.’

  I glance at Shark Face. He’s standing with his gloved hands stuck out by his sides. He has to get us out of this. It’s his dad. I don’t want him coming back. He’s not going to be much help; he’ll be rubbish at untying the nets with gloves on.

  His dad rests the bag on top of Shooting Star.

  ‘Anyway, I need to press on. Alex’s mum has packed some sandwiches and there’s money if you kids want to get drinks.’ He smiles at Shark Face. I think he smiles back, but I can’t tell because his face is screwed up like he can smell the fishy water in here.

  Shark Face’s dad turns away. ‘Catch you in a couple of hours, mate,’ he says as he walks off. I wait for Shark Face to run after him, but he just stands there, staring into space like his feet are glued to the floor.

  I walk round the side of Shooting Star. It’s so quiet I can hear my shoes scuff on the floor. I stop and stare at Shark Face. He stares back. We’re like two boxers in the ring getting ready to fight. I can’t tell if he’s mad with his dad for just leaving him, or if he’s scared because he’s here with me. If I was him, it’d be both.

  A truck rumbles across the road above us. Shark Face looks up at the ceiling like he thinks it’s going to fall in. Another one trundles over. Shark Face opens his eyes wide. He really is scared. That’s how I can get rid of him.

  ‘It gets really bad later,’ I say. ‘We get a load of buses and when two go across at the same time it feels like it’s tanks bashing through the ceiling.’ I grin nastily.

  He looks back up at the ceiling like he thinks a tank is falling through now. I wait for him to run, but he starts to look around the cave as the rumbling fades away.

  I sit back down on the bucket and pick at the net. If I ignore him for long enough, he’ll go for real. Out of the corner of my eye I see Shark Face walk down the side of Shooting Star. He stops by the blackboard and looks at Ben’s drawing. A bubble of anger grows inside me. I don’t even want him to look at the drawing.

  He turns away and puts his hand on the plank I couldn’t hammer in.

  ‘Don’t touch it!’ I stand up.

  He looks at me, startled. ‘But it’s loose,’ he says.

  ‘I don’t care. I don’t need your help.’

  ‘I was just—’

  ‘You were just going to get lost!’

  Shark Face takes his hand away and looks out at the sea. I stare at him and hope he’ll walk.

  ‘I didn’t want to come here.’ He looks back at me.

  ‘And I don’t want you here, so that’s good. Just go home.’

  ‘I can’t,’ he says.

  ‘Why not? Worried you might get stuck at the crossing again?’

  He gives me a hurt look, then takes a step towards the cave entrance.

  ‘That’s right,’ I say. ‘Go, Shark Face. This place has nothing to do with you.’

  A seagull squawks outside. Shark Face stops like a car at a red light. He turns round. ‘I told you, I can’t go home.’

  ‘And I said why not?’ I walk towards him.

  ‘Because, if I go back, my mum will know something’s wrong.’

  ‘There is something wrong: you’re a weirdo and I don’t like you.’

  He swallows. ‘That’s not what I meant. She’ll keep on asking me what’s wrong until I tell her.’

  My mouth opens but no words come out. Shark Face is right. He can’t go home. If his mum tells my mum he went back early, then my mum will know something is up. I can’t risk getting in any more trouble, especially as Mum’s already got to go down the school next week.

  This is the worst. How can I get rid of him without Mum finding out what I’ve done? I glance up and see Shark Face looking at me.

  ‘Stop staring at me,’ I say. ‘Just go and swim in the sea with the rest of your friends.’

  Alex: Everybody is going to die

  ‘So how did it go?

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Just all right?’

  I nod.

  Dad puts the car in gear and we pull off along the seafront. I rest my head against the window as we pass the old pier. It’s like a big black sea monster sleeping on it back with its tentacles sticking up out of the water, waiting for people passing by in dinghies and on windsurfers. Suddenly it’s going to wake up and grab the people and drag them back under the sea.

  It’s the second monster I’ve seen today.

  ‘You okay, matey?’

  I nod.

  ‘Dan seems like a good lad. Quite funny.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  If calling people names is funny. If spitting on people is funny.

  Dad looks across at me. ‘Look, I know you didn’t want to go, but it’s good that you get out and have some fresh air. Which bits of the raft did you do?’

  I don’t answer. There’s nothing to say because I didn’t do anything. Nothing. Dan wouldn’t let me touch the raft and even if he said I could I wouldn’t have been able to because all the wood and the bottles were covered in germs. He just sat on a bucket, unpicking a net, pretending I wasn’t there. I wanted to leave because I thought the buses were going to come through the roof and crush us, but I couldn’t go because there was a seagull swooping down outside and mum would have known something was up if I’d gone back to soon.

  ‘Alex? Which bits did you do?’

  ‘I untied a few knots,’ I lie.

  ‘Well, that’s a start. Maybe you’ll get to do more tomorrow.’

  ‘What? No, Dad. I can’t. I’ve got—’

  ‘It’ll be good for you, Alex. Me and Mum have been worried about you. You’ve been stuck in the house too much these past few months. You’ve stopped hanging out with Elliott and you know your OCD has been getting worse.’

  I press my head hard against the window. This isn’t happening. I screw my eyes tight shut. I’m dreaming. I’m dreaming. It’s one massive horrible dream.

  I open my eyes slowly. It’s not a dream because Dad is still talking about the raft, saying Mum is going to make me and Dan more sandwiches for tomorrow. But I’m not listening because thoughts of crashing buses and seagulls dropping poo are rushing through my head. I roll my head against the window and try to make them go away. I don’t think Dad has even noticed because now he’s talking about how he wished it was him building the raft because he used to love building things when he was my age. I wish it was him building it too. Maybe he’d like to work with Dan. Maybe he thinks I’m so useless that he wishes Dan was his son.

  ‘I’d love it,’ he says. ‘Remember what I told you about when me and Uncle Tony built a go-kart? We made it out of wooden pallets and Uncle Tony got on it and forgot to put his feet down to brake and crashed into a wall.’

  Dad laughs and I force a smile. He’s trying to cheer me up, but it will take more than Uncle Tony and his broken leg to do that. I wish I could tell Dad why I hated it at the cave, and what was happening at school, but every time I think about it I get a horrible feeling in my chest like an elephant has sat on it. He wants me to be like Dan, to play and build things like he did when he was a boy.

  I used to be able to. When I was eight, before my worries started, we built an obstacle course in the garden with poles I had to climb over and a net I had to crawl under. At the end we had a rope and I’d swing from it and land in the sandpit. Dad said it was like an army assault course and every time I went on it he timed me with a stopwatch and gradually I got faster. It took me two minutes when I first had a go. It took me one minute and five seconds at the end. If I tried now, I wouldn’t even get started. I would just be standing on the patio, too scared to even go on the grass.

  ‘Alex … You’re miles away.’
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  I wish I was.

  ‘I guess you really are tired.’ Dad smiles and reaches across to rub my head.

  Germs on the steering wheel. Germs on his hands. Germs on my head.

  I pull away before he can touch me.

  Dad sighs. ‘I don’t know, Alex,’ he says. ‘I can’t even rub your head.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Dad stares at the road and doesn’t answer.

  I wish I could let him do it. I wish I could let him hug me, but every time he comes near me all I can think of is germs. I heard him talking to Mum once. He told her I made him feel dirty, but he washes and showers like everyone else. I can hug Mum and Lizzie, but not him and I don’t know why. Mum said it’s just a phase I’m going through. I hope it is because I’d love to be able to hug Dad right now.

  On the seafront a boy’s red kite is flying high in the sky. A man is paddling a canoe through the waves, a lady is serving chips from a chip van and a little aeroplane is dragging a sign across the sky that says:

  BRIGHTON OBSERVATION TOWER. GRAND OPENING TUESDAY 21st APRIL

  I can feel Dad looking at me.

  ‘Do you want to go to that?’ he asks. ‘I know Mum wants to take you to see your nan and granddad some time in the holidays, but we can work around that.’

  I nod. I’m thinking of going with Elliott, but I’m worried about all the people who will be there and I’m worried that if I do go on it then the observation deck will spin to the top of the tower and fly off through the air. I do want to go but I’ve got to get through tomorrow and another week of school before I can even think about it any more.

  Dad smiles at me kindly. ‘It’s okay, mate,’ he says. ‘We’ll get this OCD sorted.’

  ‘Hope so,’ I mumble.

  Dad looks across at me. ‘We will,’ he smiles and looks at me like he means it.

  I know Dad wants to help but he’s so busy at work and I’m not sure he really understands what’s in my head. Even I don’t sometimes.