“Was it a memorial garden?” I suddenly wish I’d thought of that for my mum. It was better than planting seeds. I could have designed THE GOODBYE GARDEN. Why oh why didn’t I put that on the list? It could have been number ten, the one I didn’t have an idea for. But I can’t hijack the idea now, not since Knuckles has taken it for his dad.
Knuckles stares at me. “What are you on about? My dad isn’t dead. He’s in prison.”
I nearly choke on Nevaeh’s cheesy biscuit.
I spend all afternoon thinking about Knuckles’s dad and how hard it must be and I realize that even though his dad isn’t dead like my mum, it’s sort of the same thing. It explains why he didn’t like talking about his dad in the beginning and why the garden was so important to him. I’m glad the bracelet broke for him. I don’t care why his dad’s in prison and I’m glad the apple tree will grow in his garden, blossom and bear pretty apples for all to see. I stare down at my bracelet. But why does it feel like nothing good is ever going to happen to me?
An hour later, something so incredibly bad happens to me that it makes me wish I’d never even believed anything good might happen. And it’s all because I am late to the school gate.
I’m talking to Nevaeh and Knuckles when I get there, five minutes late. After the bell rang we got talking about the garden again and Knuckles was saying that he’d love to do an interview with the Eden Echo, if they asked. Knuckles says he used to feel bad talking about his dad because when he said his dad was in prison it made others treat him differently. Either they stopped being friends with him or they felt sorry for him. So he kept quiet. But the garden made him feel better. It was as if his dad wasn’t gone, as if he was right there in the garden and everyone thought the garden was amazing. It made Knuckles feel special and feel that his dad was special too. I didn’t notice how slow we were walking and at first I don’t notice that Billy’s not there at the gate waiting for me. But when it becomes obvious that his whole class has gone home, I begin to panic. I tell Nevaeh and Knuckles to wait at the gate for Billy while I run around the school, checking the classrooms and the toilets, checking the muddy patches. I can see the teachers sitting in the school assembly hall and there’s a man on the stage giving a talk. They can’t see me press my face against the glass. They can’t see I’m in a flap about Billy. Sweat blooms on my shirt, leaving grey flowers.
“Billy hasn’t come to the gate yet,” shouts Nevaeh as I run back towards her. “But he can’t have gone that far. I’ll just text Mum and tell her I’m helping you look and I’ll be home soon.” She starts punching the words into her mobile phone.
“I’ll help too,” says Knuckles. “Billy will turn up, he must be around here somewhere.”
No matter what they both say, there is a horrible feeling in my stomach that won’t go away. Billy said goodbye this morning, and I didn’t say a proper goodbye back. Did it mean something? At the time I didn’t think. Dazed, I say, “Maybe he’s gone home already. Maybe I just missed him and he thought he could walk by himself.”
That’s where we go first.
I fling open the flat door and Nevaeh and Knuckles follow me into the hallway. I shout Billy’s name but he’s obviously not here, because I know he would come running. He always comes to me. In our bedroom there are paper cranes all over the floor, like the crumbs leading to the witch’s house in Hansel and Gretel. Carefully, I pick them up and put them in a large envelope along with the ones I’ve made. I know I wasn’t able to make one thousand in the end, nowhere near. But for some reason I want all the paper cranes with me, because I’m hoping their magic will bring me my biggest wish of all: finding Billy.
Billy has to come back, I tell myself.
Nevaeh stops and looks around and says our living room is lovely and the lilies are pretty. I look at our living room again. Maybe it’s not so bad after all, I think, before making my way down the hall and opening the front door.
This time SNOOP (including two new honorary members) is on the mission of a lifetime: to find Billy Rumsey. This mission cannot fail. My first thought is he’ll have gone back to our old house at Honeydown Hills.
“Is that where you used to live?” asks Nevaeh. I nod and say we moved recently and perhaps Billy was taking Brian back to look at the old house. “Is Brian his friend, maybe we could ring him first and ask?” replies Nevaeh.
“Brian,” I say, slamming the flat’s front door behind us and running down the steps, “prefers snail mail.”
Before we all go to the bus stop, I want to try to speak to Cat. The last time we were talking she seemed to have such sensible ideas about everything and made me feel calm inside, like she was throwing a tea towel over my flames. Plus she seems to have the right answers, like a mum would. Maybe she’s seen Billy and I’m worrying about nothing. But the Crops and Bobbers door is locked and there’s a tiny notice in the window saying, Back in five minutes. Thing is, I haven’t got five minutes.
Eventually the bus arrives and we all jump on board and hurry towards the back. I set down the envelope of cranes and tell Nevaeh and Knuckles how Billy was sad about us leaving our old home and how Dad’s girlfriend didn’t come with us. I tell them how things have been all muddled up recently. “I think Billy wanted it to be the same as it was before.” I look at Nevaeh. “I mean he wanted us to stay the same. But sometimes things change even when you don’t want them to. Even if you want to take a moment and stick it in a bottle and put the lid on it to save it.”
“You can’t,” whispers Nevaeh.
“But it doesn’t stop Billy wanting us to go backwards,” I reply, staring out the bus window. “He’s only seven and he doesn’t understand.”
“If the bus went backwards though,” says Knuckles, thinking, “then we’d never get anywhere other than where we started. I think that journey sounds pants. Back at the beginning every time. I’d rather go someplace new.”
“What if you had a time machine? Would you go back then?” I blink.
“I would,” says Nevaeh. “I’d want to change history so my sister lived.” She pauses. “I never told you what happened, did I?” The words explode around me like bubbles in a fizzy drink. “I’m a twin. It was me and my sister. Mum picked names for us. I was Nevaeh and my sister was Mariposa. It’s Spanish for butterfly. My mum has Spanish heritage. Only, I was okay when I was born but Mariposa wasn’t. She was so tiny and had a problem with her heart which meant that she didn’t survive more than a few days. Mum never talked about it again. Then one day years later a butterfly landed on me, like I told you. It was Mariposa. I looked it up and started drawing butterflies everywhere but I kept the reason why a secret from Mum because I didn’t want to upset her.” Nevaeh shrugs. “I made the bracelets too because I wanted good things to happen, because the worst thing that could ever happen already had.”
“But I don’t think I can believe in butterflies.”
“You don’t have to believe in butterflies,” says Nevaeh. “That’s just what I believe and it works for me. Maybe there’s something else for you.”
“I’m sorry your sister died. My mum died too.” It’s the first time I’ve told any of my new friends about my mum. The first time I’ve ever felt brave enough to do it.
Next, the craziest thing happens that makes me wonder if Nevaeh really does have a point about butterflies being souls. A Red Admiral butterfly flutters onto the bus window and stays there.
“Look! My sister has come to visit to say things will be okay.” Nevaeh is jumping up and down in excitement on her seat. “It’s Mariposa.”
I nod and inside my head I’m saying: Do you think your sister could go back and tell my mum to get in contact?
We stare at it for a moment before it flies away. But then it comes back again. Nevaeh is up out of her seat, her hands pressed flat against the window now. The butterfly waits for a second before flying away and coming back again. “It’s telling us something,” shouts Nevaeh, her cornrows bouncing. “It is. Honestly, it is.”
“I don’t understand butterfly,” I reply, picking up the envelope of paper cranes.
“Well I do,” says Nevaeh and she grabs me by the arm. “We need to follow that butterfly.” In movies they always say “Follow that taxi” but never “Follow that butterfly”. And there’s probably a good reason for that, because when Nevaeh rings the bell and we jump off the bus, the butterfly has done what butterflies do: flown off.
“Okay, what happens now?” I ask as the bus trundles away down the road towards Honeydown Hills without us. My nails make crescent moons in my palms.
“Oh,” says Nevaeh, her head drooping. “The butterfly has gone. I thought we could follow it and it would lead us to Billy.”
There’s a volcano building inside my stomach as I storm off down the street, shouting that I’m going to have to go back to the bus stop and catch another one now. I’ve lost valuable time thanks to Nevaeh’s butterfly. Undeterred, Nevaeh and Knuckles follow me and Nevaeh is shaking her head, saying she can’t believe the butterfly got it wrong. “I was sure it was a sign,” she sighs. “I thought it would take us straight to Billy and we were going in the wrong direction on that bus. It was like it was trying to lead us somewhere else.”
“We’re definitely going in the wrong direction now,” I mutter. “We’re going away from our old house. That’s where he’ll be.” We walk along the pavement that passes candy-coloured houses. Every so often there’s a little break and you can see down towards the harbour where the sun is trying to squeeze itself through the clouds and throw golden pennies across the water. I shout back that Nevaeh and Knuckles can go home now and I’ll find Billy by myself. I shout that the bracelet is stupid. They pretend they can’t hear me and slope along behind me like two shadows. This is totally useless; I’m going to have to stop and text Dad and tell him Billy is missing. But Dad’s at Pearl’s exhibition and things are going to totally kick off when he gets this.
I sit on the wall at the end of the row of houses and pull out my mobile to type in a message: Dad, I’ve lost… Knuckles and Nevaeh sit on either side of me.
At that point a butterfly flutters past all three of us and then into one of the gardens behind. I turn to look at it. Nevaeh turns to watch too as it settles on a bush and scolds the butterfly, saying that this isn’t the time for eating. It’s the time to find Billy.
“It’s just a butterfly,” I yell, getting angry. “I don’t believe the universe cares about us enough to send help via butterflies, otherwise we’d never lose the people we love in the first place.”
Nevaeh looks at me, her eyes glittering. “You’re just saying that because you’re worried about Billy.”
“Here, take your stupid bracelet,” I spit, shoving the envelope of cranes under one armpit and tugging at the bracelet on my wrist. “I knew it was a daft idea wearing it. I’m sick of it. I wish I’d never put it on. Nothing amazing’s happened, just loads of bad things.” The elastic stretches between my fingers but doesn’t snap and then the bracelet springs back, catching the hairs on my arm and making my eyes water. I tell myself: I’m not crying, I’m not crying, I’m not crying. I am crying though. I’m crying inside, because I want my mum, I want my dad and most of all I want my Billy back.
Embarrassed, I plan to storm off to hide the tears that are already spilling down my cheeks, only Nevaeh storms off before me, rising from the wall and walking towards the path that leads to the harbour. I get all uppity that she’s storming off before me and start to follow her. “Where do you think you’re going?” I ask.
“Why should you care? You don’t think my butterflies are important so that means you can’t think I am either. I thought you and I were similar but we’re not. I believe that we haven’t lost our loved ones and you believe we have.”
There is a fireball rising up my chest and I wipe away any lipids, water, sodium and potassium from my cheeks.
Knuckles catches up and walks along beside me. After a moment he says, “I saw you in reception on the first day of school, you know. You hugged your dad and…I wanted that for myself. I felt bad about it, but I couldn’t help it either. After that I could hardly look at you, because I thought you had everything I didn’t have. I was jealous because you had a dad who was there for you when mine wasn’t. When I got home I felt sad and I wanted to cry and I remembered how Dad told me: Trees need water to grow strong and people need tears to do the same.” Knuckles gives me a faint smile. “I’m sorry, and what I’m trying to say is: crying is okay, it’ll make you stronger. My dad says so.”
I sniff a bit but manage a smile.
When we catch her up, Nevaeh is staring out across the harbour, which looks deserted except for one small person standing on his own on the harbour wall. “Who’s that?” asks Nevaeh, lifting her hand to shield her eyes against the late afternoon sunlight. “They’re standing close to the edge.”
I follow her gaze.
It’s hard to make the person out.
But I know in my gut that it’s Billy.
I scream at Billy as I run all the way down the winding road towards the harbour. It’s not a long way but it’s too far for him to hear me. Nevaeh and Knuckles race after me and no matter how much we shout, our voices seem to be carried away on the chariots of wind. Hypnotized, Billy leans closer to the water. Too close, in fact. There’s something in his hand only I can’t make it out. Billy’s mouth seems to be moving. I propel myself forward as fast as my legs will go.
Screaming: check.
Arm-waving: check.
Panicking: check.
Stressing: check.
Wishing for stronger underpants: check.
If there isn’t a law about how far to lean over harbour walls, there should be. I watch in horror as the wall under Billy’s feet seems to disappear and Billy, in a rainbow smear of clothes, topples forward. There is a plop like a pebble breaking the surface of the water. Then there’s the whoosh of wind in my hair as I run towards the edge of the harbour wall, screaming. But I’m still too far from him. I can’t reach. Nevaeh and Knuckles are running after me, shouting that we need to get help from grown-ups and we can’t do anything stupid. As I look behind me, I see Nevaeh on her mobile.
That’s the last thing I see – on land anyway.
I jump in after Billy. The envelope in my hand flies into the air and lands on the water beside me with a slap as I break the surface.
Let me say this: falling is a funny business.
Hitting the water is not.
Down I go, dropping like a stone, down into the darkness.
I feel small.
Losing Billy feels BIG.
The world is dark without him.
I think about Billy’s nightmare.
I think I’m in it.
Like a pebble I plunge down into the water. It feels like some unseen giant has found me and covered my head in a cold black wet blanket and no matter how much I try to shake it free it won’t leave me. Worse still, I don’t even know where I’m going, but wherever it is I can’t leave Billy behind when I get there. Not my Billy. Not the baby who came home when Mum didn’t. Not Billy, who, when he was only a few days old, clutched my finger; and he still does it now, waiting for me to squeeze back.
Not Billy, who I didn’t say goodbye to.
“Billy.” My mouth is full of bubbles and my voice doesn’t carry anywhere. I am light as a feather and heavy as a brick. My arms and legs jerk at odd angles as if I’m a puppet, controlled by a puppetmaster. The envelope I was carrying has spilled all its paper cranes and it’s as though they’re flying around me in the water. When I realize I’m sinking deeper, fear sweeps over me. But it’s as if I’m fighting a monster I can’t really see. The more I kick out, the less energy I have, and the monster is so big that it makes no difference how much I fight. He wins.
Above me everyone is doing everyday stuff: coming home from school or work, going to art exhibitions. They don’t even know I’m here. And I want them to know I’ve slipped into another world bu
t they don’t. They won’t come. Dad won’t come.
I am sucked deeper.
I wish I was sitting in the armchair now.
My mouth makes a swoosh sound as I try to scream, but more water gushes into my throat. Blindly, I push forward, searching for Billy in the blackness. As I propel myself with my arms, I suddenly feel as peaceful as a school at five o’clock on a Friday. Then I see someone. It’s not Billy though.
Mum.
She was here all along. I shake my head and tell myself, This is not happening, it’s only my imagination, but I’m so happy I don’t want it to stop. Mum smiles through the water and I can see the gleam of sunlight on her teeth and her hair float behind her like dark ribbons of seaweed. I reach out my hand but it sags through the water without touching her. Mum, you were in the ocean all along. Why didn’t you say? I think she’s going to swim away from me and I frantically battle to bring her back. She tells me she knows I’ve been worrying about Billy and Dad and she’s right. I can feel I’m crying. No one can see. Mum tells me that Dad will sort it out in the end and I try to ask her why she can’t help him to sort it.
I can’t, he has to do it himself.
Why? I think.
He doesn’t know I’m here.
The Boy Who Sailed the Ocean in an Armchair Page 16
