The Boy Who Sailed the Ocean in an Armchair

by Lara Williamson

  OPPORTUNITY: She was with Dad at the art exhibition. In fact, it was her art exhibition.

  IMPORTANT THINGS TO NOTE: Aggressive nature was seen by me in the hallway. Pearl had Dad by the wrist and her face was twisted and it was almost as if she was surrounded by a horrible black cloud of anger. I felt confused. Dad was trying to pull away but her scarlet nails dug against his flesh, stopping him. The whole thing felt menacing and wrong and weird. My stomach flopped to the floor right there and then and my mouth was as dry as the floor of a hamster’s cage. It only lasted a second but I know what I saw. Yes, I ignored it because at first I couldn’t believe it. But now, I’m certain Pearl was attacking my dad and not the other way around.

  The officer won’t divulge any further information. All she says is that Dad will be with us shortly. That’s it. She won’t say how the “altercation” happened.

  Out of the blue, Billy whispers, “I don’t like Pearl any more. She told me I’d killed my mummy. It made me sad.”

  The officer stops and looks at him. I have to explain that Mum died in childbirth, and I can see the officer visibly relaxing that there isn’t another crime to deal with. She reminds us that we must never mess about at the harbour again. “It’s dangerous,” she says, flicking her eyes towards Billy. He mentions Brian and the officer asks if there was another person lost in the water. Her hand is already on her radio.

  “No,” says Billy. “He was my snail and it was very dark down there and I didn’t see any beautiful creatures but Becket says the beautiful creature saw me.”

  And I saw Mum.

  “She gave you the bubbles of life,” I point out.

  “Then I saw heaven,” says Billy.

  If Billy doesn’t stop talking soon, the police officer is going to take us away for being totally crazy. I laugh nervously and say Billy’s being silly, but he insists he isn’t. “First of all I saw the darkness and then I saw heaven,” he repeats. As I titter with fear, there’s a small knock at the door.

  In walks Cat and I’m so happy to see her. We both run to her and cover her in hugs and she smells of wet grass and roses all rolled into one. She tells us she was so worried when she got a call from Dad and he was in a police station but he explained everything. He said the hospital had also left him messages and she was to come and pick us up while he was finishing up at the station. The police officer smiles and says that the three of us can go home straight away.

  “Oh, Cat Woman,” exclaims Billy after he’s practically hugged the life out of her. “You came for us.”

  “Excuse me?” Cat stares at him.

  “You came,” says Billy nervously. “You did come for us?”

  “No, what was the bit before that.”

  “Cat Woman?”

  She laughs for so long that tears run down her cheeks in tiny rivulets. Even the police officer looks amused. I repeat “Cat Woman” and look at her quizzically. I know it’s a daft name but she should blame her parents. At least I never laughed at it. Not to her face anyway. The police officer eventually puts her notebook back in her pocket as Cat stops laughing long enough to be able to speak.

  “It’s not Cat Woman,” she says, swallowing back more laughter. “It’s Cat Womack. Cat, short for Catherine. I’m afraid I’m not remotely like a Cat Woman, even though I wish I was. What gave you that idea?”

  “I thought it said that on your door label,” I reply, squirming.

  “I’m good with a pair of hairdressing scissors but useless with a pen. My handwriting is terrible.” Cat grins. “Have you been calling me Cat Woman all this time?”

  “Nope,” I reply, lying. “As if!”

  Billy laughs and says it was my fault for getting her name wrong. Cat tickles him in the ribs and says she’s so glad to see he finds it funny.

  I love Cat for it.

  We went to Cat’s flat so we could get cleaned up and get something to eat, and on the way Cat put on the radio and we all sang along to the songs. Cat made us a quality dinner at her flat – potato smiley faces, chicken goujons and corn on the cob drizzled with chilli butter. Billy dribbled butter all over the carpet but Cat didn’t get angry. It was ace.

  Now we’re picking up Dad and he’s sitting waiting for us outside the police station. When we arrive, he says he was so worried about us and we’re never to lean over the harbour again.

  “If I lost you two, my life wouldn’t be worth living,” he says, grabbing us both into a massive hug. “You’re my everything.”

  Dad asks why I didn’t ring him before the hospital did when it happened and I say my mobile fell in the water along with my paper cranes.

  When we all climb into Cat’s car, Dad sighs and says, “What a day it’s been. I didn’t mean it to turn out like that. I’m just glad you two are okay.”

  I say I’m just glad Dad is okay.

  When we get back to the flat, and say our goodbyes to Cat, Dad asks Billy to go watch TV for a bit which, in my mind, translates to: I want to talk to Becket alone again. “You know, don’t you?” Dad sighs, closing the kitchen door so Billy can’t hear our conversation.

  I nod. “I saw Pearl grab your wrist in the hallway. I felt funny inside because I thought she did it to hurt you. I just couldn’t figure it out, Dad. I was confused. Why would Pearl want to do that?”

  Dad fills the kettle and pulls out a chair and sits down. “I was confused too, son. Pearl was the loveliest person, most of the time. I don’t want to make you think she was all bad because nothing is ever black and white in this world. But Pearl had a temper and lots of little things would set her off and it was as if a switch had been flicked. When that happened she’d get so angry and it would spill out from destroying things in the house to attacking me. At times she’d hurt with words and other times she’d lash out, scratch me with her nails, push me.”

  “It’s wrong to hurt people,” I whisper.

  “Yes,” says Dad. “And I lied about everything because I felt awful about it. Whenever Pearl lashed out she said it was my fault because I made her angry. Sometimes I wondered if she was right. Afterwards she’d always say she was sorry that it had happened but I drove her to it and I had to forgive her, so I did. I forgave her over and over, but I hated how we couldn’t talk about Mum. In the end it felt like I was treading on eggshells and a big bloke like me can’t do that for long because he’d only break them.”

  “Why didn’t you leave her sooner?” I ask.

  “Because I thought I loved her. But she didn’t love me, not really. You don’t hurt people you love like that. I tried over and over to please her but it was never going to work. In the end, the day we moved out, there was a massive argument – she was so angry she destroyed her own self-portrait, the one over the mantelpiece. You two were in bed and I was glad you were asleep and didn’t hear her. After she’d gone storming off, I threw the portrait in the garden. I knew she’d come back after she’d cooled down but I decided I needed to get out – get us all out – and quick. I needed to leave her straight away. So I woke you both up, threw everything in boxes and us in the van. I’d already organized a flat for us to go to if we needed it. I left and didn’t want to look back.”

  “You should have told us.” My voice is soft, like candyfloss.

  “I should have,” replies Dad. “But you’ve been through so much. I thought I’d make it an adventure – only it wasn’t. It was a complete mess and the more you asked about Pearl, the more I wondered if I’d made a mistake leaving her behind. When Pearl first rang I was shocked.”

  “It was our fault. We went looking for her without telling you,” I reply. “Then we rang her from the flat and she must’ve seen a strange number she didn’t recognize and rung back.”

  “Nothing is your fault,” says Dad. “And when Pearl turned up again I thought it might work out if we both tried. I thought this was the right thing to do because you both needed her too. But that night, after the party, she attacked me and then rang the police and said it was the other way around.
I felt so lost.”

  “You weren’t lost, Dad, because we were here.” I swallow. “We were here with you.”

  “I know.” Dad smiles at me and says, “I think you’re right, Becket. I wish I’d told you all this earlier and maybe it would have worked out so much better. I just didn’t think it was fair to worry you. I wanted to try and protect you both from all the bad things, like a good parent should. When you were little and worried about bogeymen in the cupboard, I was there for you, and I wanted to make this situation go away too. I wanted to make your lives perfect. But I couldn’t.”

  “I don’t want things to be perfect,” I say, thinking of Mimi.

  “I’m glad,” replies Dad. “Nothing is ever perfect. Maybe imperfect is perfect, for us. From now on things are going to be good. And now I’ve got someone to talk to when things get difficult it will help. It was your nana’s idea. She phoned up one night and said I should talk to someone impartial.”

  “Camille?”

  “Yes, she was someone I don’t know who would listen,” explains Dad. “I searched for places I could go to talk to people who would understand the situation and not judge. I found Camille Ogdon, as you say. I took down her number and arranged to meet her. After that I felt strong enough to arrange going to Dovedale House, which was a centre where you could talk.”

  “I’m a terrible spy. I made everything worse by being nosey,” I admit, hanging my head in shame.

  Dad shakes his head and says he couldn’t tell me who Camille Ogdon was in front of Pearl because he wanted to protect me and it was easier to say she was just a work acquaintance. “And how are you a spy exactly?”

  Ignoring Dad’s question, I continue, “We saw Pearl with another man.”

  Dad reaches his arm across the table and gives my hand a squeeze.

  “He was naked,” I explain.

  Dad shakes his head slowly and says, “I saw the paintings of him before Pearl destroyed them. Pearl hated me talking to other women but she did what she wanted most of the time. It doesn’t surprise me that she got herself someone else immediately. Anyway, she’s gone for good now. From today onwards, we’re going to heal.”

  “Yes, we are,” I whisper.

  None of this type of healing is in Marvin’s Medical Manual but that doesn’t matter one bit. And I bite my lip as another thought comes into my head. I don’t care one bit about saying goodbye to Pearl. It’s the easiest thing I’ve ever done.

  The next day, when Billy and I are back at school, we catch up with Knuckles and Nevaeh in the playground before we go to lessons. Suddenly Billy shouts, “Heaven.”

  Heaven? I stare at Billy who says, “Yes. Heaven. I said I saw Heaven.”

  “This isn’t Heaven, it’s my friend Nevaeh,” I reply very slowly.

  “No,” says Nevaeh, laughing. “I sort of am Heaven. Nevaeh is ‘heaven’ backwards. He’s pretty clever to work it out. It’s a sweet name when you think about it. Mum picked the names butterfly and heaven, to go together. Like twins.” Nevaeh smiles.

  “Did you tell your mum about how the butterflies helped us find Billy?” I ask.

  “Yes,” replies Nevaeh. “I got around to explaining why I’d been drawing them everywhere. I thought she’d get upset if I told her the truth, but she wasn’t. She said it felt good to think about Mariposa. It kept her alive in our minds. Mum said she’ll always look for butterflies too because she thinks I’m right, it’s Mariposa saying things are okay.”

  Nevaeh smiles as I give Knuckles a friendly punch to the stomach. “Thanks,” says Knuckles. “Just what I needed this morning; a nice sore gut.” He nudges me and I say he’s got to watch it, because I’m half water. “Eh, did you swallow that much when you fell in?” Knuckles’s eyes are wide.

  “Nah,” I reply, laughing. “It’s just a fact I found in my medical manual. Everyone’s body is at least fifty per cent water.” When I stop laughing, I say, “Thanks, Knuckles, for getting us out of the water. If it hadn’t been for you, we might have been one hundred per cent water.”

  I feel the heat off Knuckles’s red face.

  “It’s okay. You’re a mate,” says Knuckles quickly. “Anyway, my dad used to say you should always help others if they’re in need. My dad gave me lots of good advice and I haven’t forgotten any of it. Do you think the newspaper would be interested in writing about how you fell in the harbour and how it all worked out okay in the end? It sounds like the sort of story a paper would love.”

  “I think they will,” I reply. “We could tell them how your dad inspired the garden and how he told you to help others. I mean, your dad is pretty special because of all that, isn’t he?”

  Knuckles smiles and gives me a friendly punch to the arm.

  When the morning bell goes, Billy trots off into school while Mr Beagle ushers our class up to the garden patch. When we reach the garden, we see there are a few new shoots on the plants we put in on the first day we worked on the garden. My herbs are growing well and Knuckles’s tree looks a lot stronger than it did. It even has a tiny bit of white blossom beginning to appear if you look really close up. Knuckles smiles and says it just needed a little bit of love and attention. It’ll bloom properly in another few weeks.

  Mr Beagle appears behind us and says, “I’m really pleased at how well the garden is coming on. We just have a few final things to plant and then it’ll be complete and all your parents and the people from the Eden Echo can come.”

  Everyone whoops and this time they mean it. The garden really is something to be proud of. We’ve turned a boring, unused patch of ground into a green space that’s not only lovely to look at but when you brush past the herbs they give off a heavy scent that fills the air. Mr Beagle rolls his sleeves up and helps us plant the very last herb, which is sage. He says, “Looking after plants is like looking after friendships. Remember I said this would work on different levels?”

  There are a few titters because we can’t see what Mr Beagle is getting at.

  Seeing everyone’s confusion, Mr Beagle explains, “If we water friendships they will grow. If we turn our backs on them will they begin to wilt and perhaps die. I think we all have it in us to learn a lesson from growing plants, about how to love and care for our friends. And recently I have seen how my wonderful class have looked after each other.”

  Blimey! Mr Beagle is really deep. I just thought it was about giving us a job to do to keep us busy. Thinking about it though, Mr Beagle is right. There’s just one thing still niggling me.

  “Sir.” I put my hand up. “The white wall at the back still looks a bit boring.”

  “Ah, well, I’m glad you’ve mentioned that,” replies Mr Beagle. “I will hire a fabulous painter to bring it to life. What I want is a professional job by a true artist, someone who has an eye for colour and can execute a piece of art that we will want to look at for years.”

  Nevaeh makes a tiny arc in the mud with her shoe.

  At lunch break I find her and say no artist will be able to make a good job of it. It’ll probably be rubbish. But as I’m in the middle of telling her this, Mimi catches up with us and tells us to stop, she has something to say.

  “I’m a weed! A beautiful weed, but still a weed.” We look at her as if she’s gone bonkers. Mimi explains, “I haven’t been looking after my friendships, like Mr Beagle said. I’ve sort of pushed my way into every corner and I look like a flower, but I reckon I’ve been taking over. And that sort of makes me a weed, doesn’t it?”

  “No,” says Nevaeh. “You’re not. Well, not really.”

  “Thanks,” replies Mimi, giving Nevaeh a tiny punch on the arm. Nevaeh looks surprised and mouths “Ouch”. “Sorry, I’ve started at Kelly’s Kickboxing as a new after-school club. I dropped French and ballet. To be honest, I was only doing them to please Mum, but I stood up to her and said from now on I was going to pick my own hobbies. Anyway, that’s not what I’m talking about. I know I’ve not been the best friend. I’m really sorry for everything, Becket. I didn’t l
ike you when you came into our class because everyone liked you and it was as if everything you did was perfect. Your crane was better than my object, you were better at science, you won the garden competition. I was jealous and got so caught up in trying to be the best at everything that I’ve forgotten how to be myself.”

  “Thanks for saying sorry. Yourself is good enough,” I reply, shrugging. I mean it from all four chambers of my heart.

  The garden is finished, and on the day the parents are coming to look at it, Knuckles and I go to make sure no rubbish has found its way in before they turn up. I find a tiny snowdrop just below the apple tree. When I show it to Knuckles, he says we didn’t even plant snowdrops but look how one has found its way here anyway. He says it goes to prove that no matter what we think we have, sometimes something completely random turns up and that’s okay too, because it makes us stop and think differently.

  “Anyway, it’s a sign,” says Knuckles.

  “Of what?” I stare at the tiny snowdrop. It’s so delicate that it looks swamped by herbs and I imagine the tiniest puff of wind might blow it over.

  “Winter is over,” replies Knuckles, grinning. “This snowdrop proves it. The darkest days are gone and spring is here.” It reminds me of something Nevaeh said about it always being darkest before the dawn.

  There’s a tiny flutter in my belly because, yes, I really feel like winter is behind me and now I can look forward. Knuckles says we’d better go and greet all the parents because they’ve probably started arriving.

  “I wonder what’s on the wall,” I say as we slope away. Mr Beagle has covered it with tarpaulin and wouldn’t tell the class a single thing about the artist or what was being painted. The artist also seems to have painted it at the weekend because we’ve never seen anyone working on it.

  Mr Beagle is waiting in the playground with the rest of the school and parents. We give him the thumbs up to say the garden looks great and we’re ready. Mr Beagle tells the parents they must come and see what wonders have been done, and we all troop towards the garden. I’m walking with Dad and Billy. Cat has come too. It makes me smile.