I go into my bedroom and write a letter to Ben.
Friday
Dear Ben
It’s the holidays so I’m going to work on Shooting Star all week except for Tuesday when I am going to the Observation Tower. I think I’m going to work on Shooting Star on my own until you get back because something happened yesterday to the weird boy I told you about.
I’ve got some more questions for you.
I can’t find any of those big drums so is okay just to use bottles?
I think Shooting Star is going to be heavy when she’s finished. Shall I get a boat trailer thing from that man you spoke to so I can take her from the cave to the sea?
Do I need that stuff that Dad used to paint the back fence, to stop Shooting Star’s wood from getting soggy?
Shall I get the mascot now or shall I wait for you to come home?
Oh, and this isn’t a question about Shooting Star, but I just wondered if you ever feel bad about what you’ve done? Because I
Never mind. I think that’s all I need to know.
Hope you’re still beating Five X.
Love Dan
PS I didn’t send a picture because she looks the same as last week. I’ll draw another one tomorrow.
Alex: Everybody is going to die, for real this time
‘Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?’
‘I’m sure.’ I look out of the car window.
‘I could help you carry the bottles?’
‘No, Dad. I said I’m fine!’
‘Okay. Sorry I asked,’ he says sarcastically, then he starts tapping his hands on the steering wheel in time to a song on the radio.
We’re driving to the cave and so far none of the things have happened that I put on my last Worry List. Everybody is still alive because people are on the buses and walking along the pavement, and Dad’s car hasn’t run out of petrol because the gauge is still showing half full, and the brakes haven’t failed because he just pressed them and now we’ve stopped at the traffic lights. That just leaves worrying about whether Dan has drunk rat poison. But I took so long getting out of the house that I could be too late already. It’s nearly 11 o’clock and he’d have stopped for a drink by now. He’ll be crawling around the cave with foam dripping out of his mouth like a zombie. He’ll chase me out onto the seafront and we’ll crash through the ice-cream kiosk and burger stalls, and tomato sauce will spread like blood all along the beach and the promenade.
Dad indicates left and we pull out onto the seafront. I shake myself out of my daydream.
Oh no! Dad’s singing and doing a dad dance in his seat beside me.
What do you mean, ooh.
When you nod your head yes.
But you wanna say no.
Dad smiles at me.
Arrgh! That’s all I need.
What do you mean, hey.
‘Dad! Can we turn it off?’ I pick at my gloves.
‘What do you mean?’ Dad sings and laughs at the same time.
‘Dad!’
‘What?’ He reaches for the radio. ‘I thought you liked Justin Bieber. Lizzie said—’
‘No, Dad. I really don’t.’
He shakes his head as he turns the radio down. ‘I don’t know, Alex. Things are hard enough without you being so difficult. You’ve been like it since Christmas. Mum says it’s your age, but I hope not or we’ve got years of this.’
Grumpy. He thinks I’m grumpy. I wish that’s all it was. If only he knew. After I got flushed, I stayed in the bathroom at home, scrubbing my hands and hair all last evening. And, when I woke up, I started scrubbing so much that my hands feel like I’ve got needles stuck in them and my head feels like it’s on fire. But Dad doesn’t really understand my OCD, so why would he understand if I told him I was being bullied? All the stories he tells me about his school and building stuff with my uncle. It’s obvious he had a great time growing up. He never got spat at or had his head almost stuck down the toilet.
We drive along the seafront in silence until we pass the pier and pull over by the aquarium.
‘I’ll catch you later.’ Dad doesn’t look at me. It’s like he’s upset with me or I’ve upset him. But I don’t want him to be either of those things. Me being bullied isn’t his fault and the worries are in my head, not his.
I slowly reach for the door handle. My head feels so mixed up. I like working on Shooting Star, but I don’t want to see Dan. Most of all though I don’t want to leave Dad when he’s gone quiet like this. I turn and look at him.
‘I’m sorry, Dad. It’s not your fault.’
Dad sighs and then a smile creeps across his face.
‘I know, mate.’ He goes to rub my head, then stops.
Steering wheel, germs, hand. I wish you could, Dad. I wish you could.
Dad drops his hand down on to a button by the handbrake and flips the boot. ‘Don’t forget the bottles.’
‘Okay. But don’t drive off yet.’
I get out of the car and lift the boot with the tips of my gloves. I wouldn’t normally be able to pick up the bottles, but Dad has put them in big clothes bags from Dr Barnardo’s and I think they might be clean, but I don’t know why my OCD thinks that. I pick them up and close the boot.
‘Got them?’ Dad leans across the passenger seat.
‘Yes. Thanks.’
‘Tell Dan I’ll see if I can get some more in the week.’
‘Okay.’
He nods for me to close the door, but I can’t let him drive off. Not yet. Drive safe. I have to say it, but he’s not going to like it.
‘Dad?’
‘Yes, mate?’
‘Drive safe.’
‘What? … No, Alex. I’m only going to be gone a couple of hours.’
‘Please, Dad. Just once.’
Our car will get flattened by a bus and trap Dad inside it and the petrol will leak from the tank and set all the huts along the seafront on fire and all the people in them will run down the beach and jump into the sea to escape the f lames.
‘Dad. Please.’
Dad shakes his head and looks out through the car windscreen. All he has to do is say it once and everything will be okay.
‘Dad?’
‘Okay. Okay. Drive safe,’ he sighs. ‘But this has got to stop, Alex.’
‘I know, Dad. It will. I promise.’
‘Now can you close the door? I need to get some sleep after working the night shift. And don’t forget to tell Dan you’re going with Mum to see Nan and Granddad tomorrow.’
‘I won’t.’ I nudge the door closed with my elbow. Dad pulls away. Maybe he’s tired, that’s why he’s being quiet. But somehow I think it’s my OCD that tires him out.
I dodge between traffic as I cross the road. A car beeps at me and someone shouts, ‘Use the crossing, you idiot!’ but I’m too busy looking for dog poo and seagulls to reply.
I think of turning back, but Mum will be mad with me for not getting fresh air and I don’t want to go back because I did quite like working on Shooting Star last weekend.
Dan’s legs are poking out from underneath Shooting Star like a mechanic’s when I get to the cave.
I wish it would fall down on top of him.
No I don’t.
There are bottles scattered all over the floor and there’s two dirty yellow buoys in the middle of them. Dan still hasn’t moved. He’s drunk the poison and he’s dead. My heart beats fast and my hands are sweaty.
I drop the bags on the floor; one of them falls over. I hear Dan grunt as he pulls a piece string tight under Shooting Star. He’s not dead, he’s just ignoring me like he did on the first day. A warm flood of relief washes over me. He’s a bully, but I don’t want him to die.
I walk to the back of the cave and look at the drawing of Shooting Star. I don’t want to be here with Dan, but just seeing what the raft will look like when she’s finished makes me want to work on her again.
‘Didn’t think you were coming, Shark Face.’
I sigh. For a few hours at home, I was Alex, but now I’m Shark Face again.
Dan wipes his hands on his hoody, then nods at the bags I left on the ground. ‘You got some bottles,’ he says without looking at me.
I nod. ‘My dad did.’
‘That’s what I meant.’
He picks up a bag and looks inside. He’s acting like nothing bad has happened. Like dunking somebody’s head down the toilet is something he does every day. I want to tell him how bad it felt, that it was the absolute worst thing he could do to me, but, if I tell him that, he’ll know I’m weak and he’ll get Sophie and the Georges to do it again.
He puts the bags at the back of the cave with the rest of the bottles. ‘We don’t need them yet. We’re doing this today.’ He nods at a tin of creosote and two brushes on the cave floor. ‘She’ll rot if we don’t make her waterproof.’
All the time he’s talking he’s not even looking at me. It’s like he’s talking to the air, the floor, the cave walls. It’s like he hates me so much he can’t bear to see my face. I hang my bag on the hook. Dan flips the can open with an old spoon, then picks up a brush. He glances at me quickly.
‘Come on, Shark Face. Are you going to help or not?’
I walk towards him slowly. I feel so mixed up. Part of me wants to help, but the other part wants to go home. I pick up a brush.
‘It’s just as well you decided to help, otherwise you really will be here all holidays.’
What?
‘What?’
‘Don’t you know?’ Your mum served my mum at Tesco yesterday. She told Mum you were loving working on Shooting Star and want to come here all the time.’
‘What? … I didn’t … I don’t!’ My breath catches in my throat.
‘That’s what my mum told me. She said that it would be good for me to have company too; she even wanted you to come back for tea the other day.’
‘What?!’
‘It’s okay. I told her you were an idiot.’ Dan smirks, then walks over to his bag.
What is my mum doing? It’s bad enough having to work with Dan let alone her becoming friends with his mum. They’ll be having coffee together in each other’s houses next and then both his parents will come to dinner and they’ll bring Dan. He’ll be coming round at Christmas, getting invited to my non-existent birthday parties. It’s bad enough having a bully at school, now he’s going to be in my house, in my sitting room, in my bedroom.
Dan puts on a pair of yellow gardening gloves that go right up to his elbows, then throws another pair at me. ‘Put them on,’ he says. ‘Don’t want you ruining yours.’
I ignore him because I know he doesn’t mean it, but also because I’ve just seen the warning labels on the tin.
Do not get on your skin.
Do not inhale.
Do not let creosote come in contact with plants.
Dan didn’t need to drink poison: he’s painting with it.
He dips his brush in the tin and starts to paint. The smell of creosote burns up my nose. I try not to breathe, but I’m too late; it’s already gone up my nose, down my throat and into my lungs. Dan dips his brush again. ‘Come on! We’ll never get her finished like this.’
‘But it’s poisonous.’
‘It’s okay. My dad said they banned the really bad stuff because it caused cancer.’
‘Cancer!’
‘But he said this stuff is okay.’
I sniff. The creosote hasn’t just filled my lungs, it’s filled the whole cave. All it needs is for a passerby to light a cigarette and the cave will ignite and explode. The fire would be so fierce ten fire engines couldn’t put it out. I’m not staying here. I need to get out.
I put my hand over my mouth and start walking out of the cave.
‘You’re such a wimp!’ shouts Dan.
I walk out onto the seafront and take a deep breath. The sea air rushes through me and cleans me like detergent.
I turn and look back at Dan. He’s painting away without any worries. No worries about the creosote. No worries about seagulls. No worries about what he did to me. He doesn’t worry about me at all, but all the time I’m thinking this I’m worried about what the creosote might do to him.
Dan: It’s not a holiday camp, but who cares!
Shark Face has already gone home and I’m clearing up the mess. I’ve got creosote everywhere, on my hands, in my hair, all over my clothes. Shark Face didn’t get any on him. He didn’t get close enough to. He just stood at the cave mouth, looking at the sea. It meant he didn’t do any work, but it also meant I didn’t have to look at him. Which was good because I still felt a bit bad about flushing his head. While I was painting, out of the corner of my eye I saw him looking at me. It was like he was waiting for me to say sorry. I am a little bit, but I can’t say it because Sophie would go mad if she found out.
I put the lid back on the creosote tin and throw the brushes into the pile of rubbish at the back of the cave. My stomach rumbles. I look at my watch. It’s 4.30 and time to go home. I text Mum like she asked me to do.
I’m leaving now. What’s for tea?
She replies straightaway.
Be careful. Wait and see. xxx
I put my phone in my pocket. She’ll think I’m being good by texting, but I only did it to warn them that I’m leaving so she can stop arguing with Dad by the time I’m home.
But sending the text doesn’t work because when I get back they’re sitting in the dining room, ready to ambush me.
‘Dan, come and sit down.’
‘I’m just getting a drink.’
‘Dan, just do as your mum says for once,’ says Dad.
I grab a drink and walk into the dining room. It doesn’t seem like they’ve been arguing, but they are sitting side by side, looking serious.
I pull out a chair and sit down. Dad looks at Mum, Mum looks at me.
‘Dan,’ Mum says, with a straight face. ‘Me and your dad have been talking.’
You mean arguing.
‘Your mum’s been talking,’ says Dad. Mum gives him a dark look.
‘It’s about the chat I had with Mr Francis,’ says Mum.
‘Yeah.’
‘Well …’
‘Mum, you don’t fancy him, do you?’
My mum laughs. ‘No, of course not … W—’
‘Because you said he looks like George Clooney.’
‘Did you?’ asks Dad.
Mum shakes her head. ‘No … No … of course I didn’t … anyway, it’s not about that.’
‘What then? I’m not changing schools.’
‘Dan, for God’s sake.’ Dad puts his hand down on the table. ‘For once … JUST … BE … QUIET!’
‘What is it then?’
‘We … I was just thinking.’ Mum pauses like she’s going to say something really bad. ‘That it might be a good idea for you to go and see Ben.’
My heart does a big thud in my chest. ‘Really, are you serious?’
Mum nods. ‘We all think it might help you settle down at school.’
Suddenly I can’t sit still any longer. My legs are twitching like I could run a hundred miles. I jump out of my seat. ‘That’s great! When can we go?’
‘See,’ says Dad. ‘This is just what we didn’t want. Getting him all worked up.’
‘I’m not worked up, I just want to see Ben.’
‘Just sit down, love,’ says Mum, holding my arm. ‘I know you’re excited.’
‘Excited? This is the best thing, ever. When? When?’
‘Thursday,’ she says.
I pull my arm away. ‘I’ll pack now – there’s loads of stuff I need to get for Ben. I’ll take our Xbox games and stuff.’ I turn to go into the hall.
‘Dan!’ Dad shouts.
I keep walking. I just want to get upstairs and start packing.
‘Dan!’ He shouts so loud I know he’ll get angry if I don’t stop.
I turn and look through the door.
‘Yeah?’
‘Look, I
know you’re excited, but this isn’t all fun.’
‘I know,’ I say, pretending to pull a serious face.
‘No, you don’t know.’ Dad stands up. ‘Dan, you’ve got to understand: Ben’s not living in a holiday camp.’
‘Yada, yada, yada.’ I start to run up the stairs.
‘Dan! … See, what did I tell you?’
I glance through the banister and see him glaring at Mum.
‘I’m just trying to make two people happy,’ she says.
Dad says something, but I’m already in my bedroom, thinking of what I can take for Ben. I go into his room, pick up two comics, then take the FIFA disc out of the Xbox and put it in its case. Then I do the same with the film about the raft. What else? What else? I run into my bedroom, think of ejecting Call of Duty, but I need to play that before I go. I look along my shelf and grab the box set of Game of Thrones.
I can’t believe I’m going to see him after all this time. My heart is beating like Rex’s and my hands are shaking like leaves. I sit down on my bed. I’ll write him a letter. If he gets it tomorrow, he’ll have time to reply to tell me what he needs.
Saturday
Dear Ben
I’ve got some great news. You might know already, but Mum just said I can come and visit you. It’s not for a few days but I can’t wait.
I’m just getting some stuff ready for you. Do you want me to bring FIFA and Call of Duty with me so we can play it with Five X? I can bring the Game of Thrones box set with me so we can watch that after if you like. Did you want me to bring your football boots too because you left them behind? Tell me if there’s anything else.
It’s a long way to Milton Keynes so I’ll have to get up early. It’ll be like it was when we went to Cornwall on holiday. Dad says you don’t live in a holiday camp but I don’t care. I just can’t wait to see you again.
I painted Shooting Star with creosote today. I haven’t drawn a picture because she doesn’t look any different but she’s waterproof now.
Mr Kendall says hello and Mum does too and sends a kiss. Mum, not Mr Kendall. That would be a bit weird!
Dad is busy at work, but I know he can’t wait for you to come back and watch the Gulls.
Love Dan
All the Things That Could Go Wrong Page 14
