The Boy Who Sailed the Ocean in an Armchair

by Lara Williamson

  “What if…?” I pause and nibble the skin around my nails. “I mean, what if…?” This is harder than the world’s biggest sudoku puzzle, but I need to say it. “What if the Naked Man was Pearl’s boyfriend?” I suck in the air, waiting for Billy’s reply.

  “Nah,” says Billy flatly. “Like I said, I have a new mission for SNOOP and it is…” There’s an internal drum roll going on in my head. “Ring Pearl!”

  Seriously, this is getting silly now. I tell Billy we tried it before and Pearl didn’t reply.

  “No, we texted her and she didn’t reply,” continues Billy, being all smart.

  “Well, Dad said we couldn’t ring Pearl,” I reply, being all smart back.

  “We’re not going to actually ring her,” snaps Billy, being so smart I’m confused. He waves his toy robotic hand at me. “This thing could ring.” I half expect Billy to say “I’m a poet and I didn’t know it,” but clearly he doesn’t know it because he doesn’t say it, so we just move on.

  Billy slips out into the hallway, picks up the phone and returns with it. He looks at me and then the phone and nods. Clearly, it’s all systems go on Planet Billy.

  5… The phone is placed on Billy’s bed.

  4… Billy tells me to call out Pearl’s number.

  3… Billy begins to punch in the digits using the robotic hand.

  2… We’re through to Balti Towers. Billy wants poppadums. I make him hang up. I don’t have any pocket money to pay for them.

  1… Next attempt and apparently we’re through to Killer’s Kick-boxing. This time Billy hangs up and says he doesn’t want to talk to any killers. I say I think it was probably Kelly’s Kick-boxing. We’re never any good at hearing names properly. Ibiza Nana says we don’t listen. (Truth is, grown-ups never say anything interesting anyway.)

  0… We have lift off! The robot hand, operated at a distance by Billy, has punched in Pearl’s number correctly. Billy hisses that I should speak because I’m the oldest. I say I don’t want to. I say he should speak because it was his idea. Billy says it was Brian’s idea. My mouth drops open because I can’t put a snail on the line. Suddenly, we hear Pearl’s voice. Hello, I’m not here at the moment but if you’d like to leave your name and number I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.

  I grab the phone off the bed and hang up as Billy’s eyes fill like a paddling pool. “Why didn’t you say it was you?” Billy snivels. He wipes his nose with the robotic hand and then winces when he realizes it hurts.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I just couldn’t think of what to say.”

  “No worries,” says Billy brightly, setting down the robotic hand. “Brian can do all the talking. He’s very chatty.”

  As Billy is marching over to Brian’s penthouse shoebox, the phone rings by itself. My first thought is: it’s Pearl calling us back. Quickly I pick it up and connect before mumbling, “Hello.”

  My ears are nearly blasted off by Ibiza Nana’s booming “Hello!” back. Anyone would think she needed to speak louder because she was calling from Spain. Ibiza Nana hotfooted it to Spain a couple of years ago after Granddad Albert’s death for a “new beginning” and a “quiet life”. I pointed out that Ibiza Nana was nearly seventy so it wasn’t really a “new beginning” more a “new ending”. But Ibiza Nana didn’t listen because she was babbling on about how it was time to do her own thing even though she’d been doing her own thing since Dad left home which was over twenty years ago. Off she went to Ibiza, promising to keep in touch with us by phone. Sometimes I miss her but she rings us every week to talk about sun, sand, sangria and her sciatica. Normally I’d like to have a full conversation about sciatica because it’s on page 32 of Marvin’s Medical Manual but now isn’t the time, so I yell to Dad to come to the phone.

  Dad’s footsteps patter down the hallway and I lean out of the bedroom and hand him the hallway phone, saying it’s Ibiza Nana on the line. Dad rolls his eyes and wipes some custard cream crumbs off his T-shirt before taking the phone from me. I duck back into the bedroom to find Billy has started using my bed as his own personal trampoline. Out in the hallway I hear Dad telling Ibiza Nana not to worry because we’re eating like kings. What, burger kings?

  Billy is jumping so high now his head is nearly battering the ceiling, but that’s not what’s troubling me most. I swear I’ve just heard Dad tell Ibiza Nana he’s made a bit of a mess of things with Pearl. Who would have thought you could actually strain your ears? I just have, trying to make out what Dad’s on about. Thing is, when he mentions Pearl his voice goes all hush-hush and when he’s talking about mackerel he shouts so loud they could hear him in Timbuktu.

  Five minutes later I’ve grown bored listening and I’m looking at THE GOODBYE LIST again, noting what I’ve tried and what I haven’t. The shrine was a failure when Billy demolished it. The tattoo nearly took my skin off because I had to use a nail brush to remove it. Even with scrubbing I couldn’t get some of the letters off and was left with GOD on my hands for days. Mimi stopped me at school, pointed at it and said, “You wish.” The seeds were pointless. The balloon was wrong too. The star was beautiful but not right. The sparklers were a lost cause because I couldn’t buy any, and the poem… Well, let’s just say:

  I thought the poem would be ace

  And would bring a smile to my face

  But soon I knew, as a poet I was through

  Because I couldn’t really rhyme and it didn’t say goodbye to Mum properly anyway

  There are only two things left on THE GOODBYE LIST. Number nine: just say “goodbye”. And finally number ten, which is nothing, because I still haven’t come up with a number ten yet.

  As I’m muttering “Goodbye” over and over, Billy is attempting the world record for the number of bounces one small boy can do to annoy his older brother into kicking him in the shins. Let’s just say my metatarsals are ready to take action.

  The phone rings again in the hall.

  “Five hundred and fifty-three,” huffs Billy, bouncing up in the air. “Five hundred and fifty-four. Five hundred and fifty-five.”

  At first I think Ibiza Nana has probably forgotten to tell Dad something about her bunions and is ringing back. Tilting my head, I listen to Dad pad back to the phone. Only this time, when he talks to the person on the other end, his voice is less sing-song. In fact, he’s all hush-hush again and I try to tell Billy to shush, only he’s too busy counting and he tells me to go shush. I shush him again and it’s like we’re in a shushing competition.

  Only because I’ve got bionic ears do I hear Dad hissing quietly, “Pearl, how did you get this new number? You are not allowed to contact me. You know this is serious.”

  IMPORTANT INFORMATION FOR SNOOP: Pearl has our Eden flat phone number.

  DAD: Does not want Pearl to have our Eden flat phone number.

  NOTES ABOUT HOW PEARL GOT OUR PHONE NUMBER: A robotic hand was the culprit. Billy and I were almost entirely innocent. I suspect Dad will not believe this if he asks me how it happened. Although judging by the way Dad is whispering, I do not think he wants us to know he is on the phone to Pearl.

  SNOOP HAS WORKED OUT THAT: Pearl must have seen a strange number come up on her phone and rung it straight back and connected with Dad.

  MORE IMPORTANT INFORMATION: Why did Dad tell Ibiza Nana that he had made a mess of things with Pearl? Does this mean he was going out with Camille before he left Pearl and we all ran away because of it? (I have seen this sort of problem mentioned on daytime TV shows where everyone has bad teeth and they always pull their chairs apart before saying they’re stuck in love triangles. I am not one hundred per cent sure what a love triangle is, but it seems to involve at least three people who are all very cross.)

  CONCERNS: Too many to mention, but the main one being that Billy has just broken my bed springs. When I tell him this, he says he can’t stop now because he’s showing Brian how to relax. I say Brian is always relaxed and Billy says I don’t know Brian at all.

  With all this new information
to digest, I sit on Billy’s bed and rub my chin in the manner of a spy trying to solve a puzzle. Nothing about Dad and Pearl is making any sense to me.

  Twenty minutes later, when I’m still trying to figure things out, Dad comes into our bedroom and says Ibiza Nana was asking how we were both keeping. I pause, waiting for him to say that Pearl rang too, but he doesn’t. Instead Dad rubs his eyes and says it’s getting late and we should both get ready for bed. Then he asks why Billy is sweating like a long-haired guinea pig in a sauna and Billy says he’s been exercising.

  “Good-oh,” says Dad, kissing him on the forehead and then wiping the sweat from his lips. When Dad kisses me I blurt out that I know all about love triangles. Startled, Dad says, “Well, you can just forget about those, because you’re eleven and the only triangles you need to worry about are in your maths.” It seems Dad has cut my conversation down with a great big axe before it even began.

  When Dad leaves the room I tell Billy I’m sleeping in his bed tonight because I don’t want a broken spring in my spine.

  “No way,” shouts Billy and adds, “what’s yours is mine and what’s mine is my own.” Then he jumps into his own bed and goes straight to sleep. Apparently, all that jumping has worn him out.

  As Billy lets out a little snore, I pad over to the window, pull back the curtain and stare out across the rooftops of Eden again. Each one looks like it has been dipped in silver oil and soft clouds like ghostly galleons sail across the sky. The star I picked out for Mum is still glistening.

  I want to say goodbye properly so much, but the words are all tangled up in my throat, like Ibiza Nana’s knitting wool after Billy has been pretending it’s a wig. My eyes begin to go so blurry from rogue tears that it’s hard to see properly and all I can do is mumble “Mum” over and over again. But the star above me, it keeps on shining, and even when I shut my eyes and let the tears spill like tiny rivers, it feels as though the star throws a veil of light on my sodden face. After five minutes of silent sobbing and thinking that if love could bring back someone who has died then Mum would be right here in the room behind me, whispering in my ear how much she loved me, I turn to go back to bed.

  That’s when it happens.

  A paper crane spirals to the floor, right beside me.

  The paper crane must be magical, I decide. It’s definitely not one of my efforts because it has been folded perfectly. It’s not the original crane either. That one is still on my desk. Nope, this is like something a magician would do. Abracadabra! Open his hat and pull out one rabbit and then a second identical rabbit would follow.

  I bring it to school with me on Monday because I can’t bear to leave it at home. For ages I stare at it under the table, not stopping even when Mr Beagle tells us to get out some paper and begin drawing our garden designs.

  “You’ve had time to consider it. You’ve been to a garden centre. Now is the time for action,” Mr Beagle continues. “And, Becket, can you stop staring at the crotch of your trousers, please?” There is a ripple of laughter as I snap my head upwards and nearly give myself whiplash. When the hysteria dies down, everyone gets out some paper and starts writing and drawing ideas for POOP.

  Nevaeh nudges me with the point of a set square from her next-door desk and when I glance up she holds up her sheet of paper, on which she has drawn a load of butterflies. She gives me the thumbs up and points to my bracelet. I give her the thumbs down and point to my bracelet. I lean over and say bracelets are a girl thing.

  “No way,” hisses Nevaeh. “Not this one. Boys need good things to happen to them too. That’s why you’ve got it on your wrist.” She reaches across the desk and tries to grab my hand, only I pull away. “Seriously, remember what I said. My sister came back and she was a butterfly and afterwards I felt really happy and it was an amazing thing. So, now I’m spreading that amazing thing about. You just don’t believe in good things, maybe because bad things have happened in the past, but mark my words, Becket Rumsey, I can feel something important is going to happen to you.”

  “What happened with your sister?” I ask.

  “She came back as a butterfly, I told you,” explains Nevaeh. “It was as if magic happened when I least expected it. One day a butterfly just landed on me. Oh, I know you’ll think there’s a logical explanation but there wasn’t.”

  Yes, I do think there is a logical explanation because butterflies land on people sometimes.

  “The thing is, the butterfly stayed on me for ages. When it eventually flew away I went straight home and looked up butterflies on the computer and it said that they were the symbol of a soul,” explains Nevaeh. “It made me think about how I’d been sad about my sister for ages but I felt happy after seeing the butterfly because it was her. It was as if the time was right to move forward.”

  Knuckles turns around and tells Nevaeh something weird happened to him too only a few days ago. “This snail flew down from the sky and landed on my head,” he hisses.

  “See,” says Nevaeh. “Magic is all around us.”

  I have to bite my cheek really hard not to laugh. But then I figure it’s no laughing matter, because a strange paper bird did exactly the same to me.

  Mr Beagle bellows that a classroom is not the place for chatting and we’re to finish up on POOP because it’s time for lunch. With that the bell parps and I don’t know what else Mr Beagle is trying to say, because the entire class are vaulting desks to escape.

  The last thing I hear from our teacher is, “Eden Echo,” but no one cares.

  I’m standing by the wall in the playground, near the water fountain to be precise, when Knuckles walks past with a tennis ball in his ham hands.

  “Hey,” I say, staring at his wrist. “You’ve got one of Nevaeh’s bracelets too.” Knuckles throws the ball against the wall and then catches it. Quickly, I hold up my wrist to prove she’s given me one as well. Knuckles stops and shrugs in a So what? kind of way. He puts the ball in his pocket.

  “I sort of like it,” I mutter, twanging the rubber bracelet like a guitar string. “Anyway, who wouldn’t want a bit of magic in their life? If you could have a bit of magic happen, what would it be?” I reach down and scratch my leg.

  “My dad back,” Knuckles says as I bob back up again.

  My eyes widen. “I understand,” I reply. “I mean, I know what it’s like when someone has passed on.” I tilt my head, wanting to make conversation to prove that we’re both similar. We’ve both lost someone.

  Knuckles smirks at me and pulls the ball from his pocket again. “Passed on? You mean dead, passed on? So that’s what you meant by a better place. You really don’t have a clue about me and my dad.”

  And that’s when Knuckles walks away, bouncing the ball up and down and then kicking it at a wall.

  Oh man, I’m even more confused about him than I was before.

  At three forty, Billy and I are walking home from school when we spot Dad’s van outside a bubblegum-pink house. Not only is it very hard to miss the house, but it is also very hard to miss Dad’s van due to the giant plastic cod on the roof.

  “Why is Daddy here?” asks Billy, picking some mud out of his fingernails. He stops and stares up at the house, which has ivy strangling the walls and tiny windows that look like the top of one of Ibiza Nana’s lattice pies.

  “I don’t know. Maybe he’s delivering fish?” I explain, grimacing. A nanosecond of thought tells me he isn’t actually delivering fish because Dad doesn’t deliver to houses, only restaurants. I hoist my school bag back up onto my shoulder and stare at the house, as if I half expect it to provide some answers. It doesn’t.

  “We could go and knock on the door,” Billy offers. To reinforce this idea he knocks on my head with his knuckles. And then I knock on his but it sounds hollow. “Then we would know why Daddy is in here,” says Billy, ducking away from me.

  “What if Dad doesn’t want us to know he’s here?” Billy hasn’t thought of that. But I just have. What if this is Camille’s house? My eyes widen and the
words hula-hoop inside my head: what if this is Camille’s house? What if we’re not supposed to know Dad is here? Before I can say anything more, Billy takes off like a greyhound, dashes through the gate and then throws himself onto the grass like a splattered octopus.

  I shout the first thing that comes into my head. “Get out of there, you eejit.” Then I shout the second thing that comes into my head. “Before you get caught.” Billy isn’t budging. He says this is where he’s going to wait until Dad comes out the front door. Well, I’m not taking this lying down, even if Billy is. I march right over to him and try to drag him away by the arm. Unfortunately, Billy has managed to pull off the best trick ever and that is to assume the weight of a baby hippopotamus instead of my baby brother. As I give one final tug on Billy’s arm he yanks me down until I’m sprawled beside him.

  The door opens.

  The door closes.

  A woman with long brown hair appears on the pathway beside us, wearing a dark blue coat and red polka-dot scarf. The look on her face when she spots us is priceless. At this point, Billy’s chin is balanced on the earth and he has a mouthful of grass clenched between his teeth. When the woman bends over and asks what we think we’re doing, Billy mumbles that he’s cutting the grass.

  “What, with your teeth?” quizzes the woman.

  “Donkeys do,” says Billy, triumphantly.

  “Donkeys do,” I hiss as we walk towards home. “Man alive, why did you say that? She must have thought we were stupid, or at least you were.” Billy just shrugs and says it’s a shame we didn’t see Daddy before we had to go. I say it was probably the best option, as the lady was going to ring the police.

  As we turn into our road I realize this isn’t a love triangle any more. No, this is a love pentagon. There’s Dad, Pearl, Naked Man, Camille and now the lady in the polka-dot scarf who thinks we are human lawnmowers.

  Dad arrives home shortly after us and throws his white jacket over the sofa before tickling Billy and asking if he had a good day at school. Billy says he’s forgotten what sort of a day he had and Dad says that’s okay because it’s very easy to forget stuff.