Charlie and Me

by Mark Lowery

  Biting my lip, I kick Charlie with my heel, and he stops.

  The conductor studies my ticket and narrows her eyes. “Preston to St. Bernards, huh? Can I . . . ah . . . ask what your name is?”

  This is a totally unexpected question. I feel my heart jump. Why does she want to know?

  “I . . . my name?” I stammer. My mouth is seriously dry and my brain is blank.

  “Don’t tell her,” whispers Charlie from under the seat. I muffle his voice by coughing and stamping my foot. The conductor tilts her head to one side suspiciously. Blood is pumping in my ears. I need to come up with something quick.

  “Wesley . . .” I say, unsure of where this is going. “Er. Wesley Lizard.”

  Why did I say that?

  “Wesley . . . Lizard?” asks the conductor.

  “Yes. It’s. Er. Italian,” I say, sounding more and more ridiculous with every word. “My dad was from Italy. He was big in spaghetti.”

  Spaghetti?! This is awful.

  There’s a horrible pause while the conductor taps my ticket with her pencil. Then, sounding unconvinced, she says, “O-kay. Careful on your travels.” She hands me my ticket, then moves away.

  As soon as she’s gone, Charlie pokes his head up between my knees. “Ciao, Wesley,” he says in this ridiculous Italian accent. “Make-a me some spaghetti or I break-a your face.”

  I look at him for a moment. Wesley Lizard. What was I thinking? I can’t believe she bought it! Before I know it, my shoulders are shaking and my eyes are scrunched up with laughter and I can barely breathe. Then Charlie’s face turns serious and he says, “Uh-oh,” and disappears under the seat again. I look up and stop laughing immediately.

  Hen is standing over me. And her face is like thunder. “What the hell are you doing?” she snarls, sitting down angrily in the seat next to me and dumping her backpack on the table.

  Questions and Escapes

  I don’t say anything to her. I don’t know what I can say. I was kind of hoping Charlie would help me out, but by the time Hen sits down, he’s slid away under the seats. He’ll be miles away in no time; he’s like a worm.

  I’m on my own again.

  “That was a really crappy thing to do,” she snaps. “Leaving me behind after all I’ve done for you.”

  I want to explain, but all I can manage is a whispered “It was Charlie. He—”

  “Your brother?” she says, looking around. “And where is he now, then?”

  I glance around just in time to see the toilet door at the end of the train car closing. Sure enough, a moment later the occupied sign lights up to show that the bathroom is in use. Thanks a bunch, I think.

  “I had to beg them to let me on,” she continues, her voice all angry and teacherish. “Told the guard on the platform that you’ve got a terminal illness and I’ve got your medication.”

  “Sorry,” I croak. I realize that I’m hugging my backpack so tightly that the cookie tin is digging into my ribs.

  “You’re sorry? Oh, well, that’s okay, then,” she scoffs, running her hand through her blue hair. “Wish I’d never bothered.”

  Without saying anything, I take off her coat and push it toward her. I hadn’t noticed how warm I was until now. “Here,” I say.

  “Unbelievable. I don’t care about the stupid coat. I care about . . .” Her voice trails away and she starts again. “The one time I meet someone who . . .”

  Again her voice trails away. She breathes in and out a few times. Then she slaps the table and says, “Look. Forget it. You and your brother have your stupid vacation. Sorry for helping.”

  With that, she snatches the coat from me, shoulders her bag, and stomps off along the train, sitting down a few rows away on the other side of the aisle. My stomach feels like lead.

  The train rattles on and on, past fields and straggly towns with the sea beyond. After a while, Charlie comes back and dumps himself into his old seat again.

  “No, you can’t have a cookie,” I say wearily.

  “What did she want?”

  I shake my head. “She’s mad because I ran off.”

  Charlie leans in. “We’re so much better off without her. Seriously. Look at her hair. I think she might be an alien.”

  “An alien?”

  “Yeah. I saw a show about them. She probably wants to eat your brain. Anyway, I told you. This is our trip, so she can get lost.”

  “Shh,” I say, but it’s obvious when I look over that Hen can hear every word. She’s facing away from us, but she’s shaking her head and her knuckles are white on the armrest in front.

  “No,” says Charlie loudly. “She needs to leave us alone.”

  At that point, Hen suddenly stands up. As she’s turning around, Charlie runs back to the bathroom again. I feel my body go tense as she marches toward me. Luckily she’s blocked off by the conductor, who’s appeared from nowhere and is standing over my shoulder.

  “Ah, hello again, Wesley.” The conductor smiles, bending forward. Hen stands seething in the aisle next to her, waiting for her chance.

  “Hi,” I say, trying to ignore Hen and concentrate on the conductor.

  The conductor clears her throat awkwardly. “I’ve . . . ah . . . called the police and . . . ah . . . do you have any ID?”

  “ID?” I say. “What do you . . . ?”

  “All the staff on this line have been asked to look out for a boy traveling from Preston to St. Bernards. Martin . . . ah . . . Tompkins. Police thought it sounded like a bit of a coincidence when I told them about you.”

  The train sways like it’s slowing down, and I feel nauseous.

  “They told me to double-check before we reach the next stop.”

  I make a strange squeaking sound.

  “So,” she continues, “if you could just confirm your name?”

  I look around for Charlie. He’s out of the bathroom again, lingering in the aisle, and he looks back at me, shaking his head. My throat is beginning to tighten. “I’m . . .”

  “Wesley!” exclaims Hen from behind the conductor. “There you are!”

  I turn to her, eyes wide open.

  “My brother’s such a little ragamuffin,” she chuckles as she squeezes past the conductor and puts her body between us. “He’s always running off like this. Come on, this is our stop.”

  The conductor looks confused. “He’s your brother. So you’re his . . .”

  “Sister, yes. That’s how it usually works,” says Hen, like she’s dealing with a complete imbecile. “We’re the Lizards. Funny name. Dad was Egyptian.”

  “He said Italian,” says the conductor, confused.

  The train brakes hard into the station. The conductor staggers a few steps and collides with Hen.

  “Oops, careful,” says Hen pleasantly. “Dad was both. Moved out from Egypt to Italy to build pyramids. Anyway. Lovely talking with you, but we have to go.”

  I have no idea where we are.

  “Come on, Wes,” says Hen, pulling me to my feet. Her hand is digging into mine a little bit too hard as she turns to the conductor with a sweet smile. “Good luck finding this other kid.”

  With that, she practically drags me off the train, with Charlie trailing behind us. We don’t look back. On the next platform, there’s another, smaller train waiting to leave and, without checking where it’s going, she pulls me onto it just before its doors close.

  Stage 6

  Par to Newquay

  21 miles (in the wrong direction)

  Train

  Questions and Surfboards

  The train is pretty packed. Every other person here seems to be a fluffy, blond-haired dude in shorts, or a girl with denim cutoffs and a messy ponytail. We don’t even bother to look for somewhere to sit because the only spare seats have bags or surfboards propped up on them. So we just stand in between the two clattering cars along with more bulky luggage.

  “Where are we going?” I ask Hen. I’m wearing the backpack, and I can feel the sharp, comforting corners of the c
ookie tin on my back.

  “Away from the people who want to find you. Now don’t move. I’m going in here,” she commands, and she shoves her backpack down at my feet and disappears into the bathroom.

  “This is the 4:15 service to Newquay,” says a bored, nasal voice down a loudspeaker. A bunch of surfer dudes down the car cheer at the mention of Newquay. “Calling at . . .”

  “Aw! I hate Newquay!” whines Charlie. “I thought we were going to St. Bernards. What about the dolphin?”

  I try to ignore him as he stamps his foot and moans on and on about the zoo and the dolphin.

  Newquay. Right. Well, that explains the surfers. Everyone knows Newquay’s where people go to surf. And I know from our zoo trip that it’s not too far from St. Bernards, so at least we’re going in something like the right direction.

  “Look,” I say as patiently as possible, “we’ll be able to change trains and get back to St. Bernards in time for high tide. I’m sure of it. It could be much worse. We could’ve been caught by that conductor, eh?”

  Charlie shakes his head. “If we miss the dolphin because of her . . .”

  I smile nervously, my stomach in knots.

  For a moment, I’m surprised that I’m feeling nervous, because I realize I’m not just nervous for him but for me as well. But then I realize something that I’ve probably known deep down all along; that this trip isn’t only about him. It’s about me too. We both need to see the dolphin again. It feels like I’ve stepped into a room I’d kept locked from myself. Of course I’m doing it for me as well as for Charlie. We’ve got to get there. This is our journey. Our dolphin.

  I’ve tried not to think about the last time I saw it, but the memory of it suddenly bubbles up in my mind and for the first time, I don’t push it back down. It’s a weird kind of flashback when I replay it, not like any of my other memories. It’s not clear like a film, or misty like a dream. It’s jagged. Cracked. Like I’m watching it through a shattered window.

  Nets and Swimming

  The last morning of the vacation. Sunny. Hot, even at seven o’clock. Charlie had got us all out of bed by six. Car stuffed full again, packing was more rushed this time, so there are bags on our knees in the back. We put the cottage keys through the mailbox at reception, then started driving to St. Bernards in silence. Nice and early, so no problems getting a parking space. The bay is perfect. Tide in. Water emerald-clear, waves gently slapping the sea wall. Boats nodding up and down. Mum saying she’d miss this. A handful of tourists walking along the front. Charlie running straight to the fence, clambering up it and staring out nervously. Biting his lip. Old-timer strolling along. Saying hello but Charlie too nervous to reply. Me realizing suddenly what this dolphin meant to Charlie and why he hated the zoo so much. The dolphin is freedom. Life. The ability to do. To live, in the way that Charlie never can. Don’t get too excited. Don’t go running off. Make sure you’ve got your inhaler. You’re sick again, so you’ll have to miss out on that. Why can’t you concentrate? Sit at the table with the other airheads.

  And right then I want to hug him. Tell him I love him.

  But I don’t. Because at that moment the dolphin swims into the harbor. It’s Dad who sees it. A black fin. A patch of shade moving slowly among the boats. Charlie yelling. Relief. Happiness. Dolphin rounds the boats and moves into the space ahead of us. Then we see. The tired, labored swimming. The hoarse, painful cloud of vapor coming out of the blowhole. The tangled orange fishing net trailing from its tail. The vivid scarlet stripe of flesh above its fluke where the net has slashed the skin.

  Does it look right at us, or do I imagine that?

  All of us concentrating on it too much to notice Charlie slip between the railings. The scuffle of his feet on the ground makes us turn. Desperate shouts from Mum uselessly in her throat as he plunges, limbs windmilling, ten feet through the air. Awful splash when he hits the water. Flailing arms fighting toward the dolphin. He can’t swim! He can’t swim! Slow progress. Wave lapping over him. Spluttering. Then another wave. Charlie under the water. Dad leaping in behind him. Charlie’s outline fading as he sinks. Dad ducking down. Grabbing for him. Up for air. Back again. Old-timer going in after him. Diving gracefully. Perfect landing. Surfacing. Deep breath. The pair of them down one more time. This time Charlie pulled up by his ankle. Dad and Old-Timer clutching at a life jacket someone’s thrown over. Kicking violently with Charlie dragged floppy doll behind them to the harbor steps. Dad’s face hideous with panic. Mum screaming. Howling. Not a human sound. Someone meeting Dad on the steps to help him up. Charlie’s body hauled onto the pavement. Face gray. Eyes glassy. Looking at me but not seeing. My hollowed-out insides. Dad pumping his heart. Old-Timer blowing into his mouth. Mum shaking his arm. Again. Again. Again.

  Nothing.

  Awful silence.

  More blowing. More pumping.

  Then a splutter.

  Water bursting out of Charlie’s mouth like a volcano.

  Retching.

  Body convulsing.

  Onto his side.

  Violently sick.

  Painful, rasping breaths.

  Gulping down air.

  Mum clutching him.

  Charlie.

  Escape and Demands

  The longer we stand between the cars, the more agitated Charlie gets. He’s bouncing up and down nervously, and his eyes keep flicking toward the locked bathroom door. “We’ve gotta get away from her,” he says, nibbling his thumb. “Why can’t you see it? She’ll ruin everything.”

  “Where can we go?” I say.

  His face twitches and he blinks hard behind his specs. “This was meant to be our trip, you know. Me and you. I told you that she’d make us late. Now she’s dragging us off somewhere stupid. What if—”

  “Stop it!” I say. A couple of surf dudes sitting on the floor look up at me. One tells me to chill, so I turn my back on them and lower my voice to Charlie. “I promise we’ll see the dolphin tonight, whatever happens. Okay?”

  I know this is a stupid thing to promise. The ocean isn’t an aquarium, like the old man said, right? But I’m desperate. I can’t have Charlie running off again.

  He knows it’s a stupid promise too. “I’m going over there,” he sighs, and he picks his way down the aisle, fist-bumping the surfer dudes on his way past and saying stuff like, “Hey, bro, way to ride the gnarly tubes,” and “Let’s get in motion with the ocean,” in this ridiculous, gravelly American accent. Even when he’s in a bad mood, he can’t resist being crazy.

  I watch as he sits himself down uninvited on the only free seat in the car. It’s about halfway down, with his back to me, next to a couple of men with dreadlocks and silly pants who look like they’re asleep. Just as he sits down, the toilet door opens and Hen steps out.

  “Well, good job for not running off,” she says sarcastically.

  I don’t reply. She stares at me for a few moments. “So, are you going to tell me what all this is about?”

  I shrug. “What do you mean?”

  She scratches her head. “Er . . . dunno. Maybe like why are you running away? Why are you going to St. Bernards? And why are the police and a whole bunch of people who work on trains trying to catch you?”

  I’m looking at my shoes, moving imaginary dirt around on the floor. “Like I said. I’m taking my brother to see a dolphin.”

  Hen doesn’t say anything, and when I look up at her, she’s staring at me really hard. Finally she takes a deep breath. When she speaks this time, her voice is softer. “I’m trying to help you, Martin. I saw you back there in Exeter and you were . . .” She sighs, looking for the right words. “You scared me. I couldn’t just leave you there like that.”

  My face screws up. I don’t want to think about what happened in the alley.

  “Look,” she says, “just tell me the truth. You can trust me. I read your poem, remember. We’re similar, you and me. Our brains work the same way. That’s why I had to help. It’s your parents, isn’t it? You never answ
ered me back in the alley. But it’s always parents. That’s why my head’s all over the place. I’ve been through it all, remember. I haven’t seen my dad since I was a kid, and as for my mum? Well, let’s just say she doesn’t approve of anything I do ever.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whisper, but it’s like someone else is speaking. “We’re just re-creating our vacation, that’s all.”

  “Hang on,” she says, “where’s your brother?”

  Eyes toward the floor, I point down the train car to where he’s sitting. Immediately there’s a hand under my chin and she’s holding my face so I have to look at her.

  “Down there. I told you,” I protest, tears prickling behind my eyes, a basketball-size lump in my throat.

  She lets go, and we stare at each other for what seems like ages. And then her face changes like she’s just realized something.

  There’s a warm pain where her hand was and I’m trying to focus on it because the rest of my body feels like a balloon that’s floating through a room of sharp nails, ready to burst at any moment, and I can’t breathe without my chest shaking and creaking and she’s still staring and maybe Charlie will lend me his inhaler if I ask him and then Hen is speaking and it takes me a few moments to realize what she’s saying and when the words finally register they just squeeze the breath out of my body and I suddenly know what it feels like to ride a wave like these surfers then have the whole weight of the ocean just crash down on you and my legs give way and my back slides down the wall and I’m sitting on the floor.

  Time ticks by.

  I’ve covered my eyes with my arms. The rattling of the train is unbearably loud, but it isn’t loud enough to block out what she says to me next. I can’t get away from the words she said. Even minutes later, they echo through me, ricocheting around my skull and slicing through my brain like machine-gun bullets.

  “I didn’t even think about it at the time, ’cause I was so mad at you and we were in such a rush,” she’d said to me, “but nobody got on this train with us. And nobody was on the last train with you either. You’re on your own.”