The Parent Problem

by Anna Wilson

  As I walked to the bus stop at the end of the day I heard Aubrey loudly talking to the VTs about going into town after school ‘because The Hogs are going to McDonalds after their practice’.

  Good luck to her. The VTs will only drop her the minute someone more exciting comes along.

  I tell myself that, but I am not sure I believe it, and anyway, even if they do, will she ever want to come back from the Dark Side to be my BFF again?

  As the days have gone by, life at home has become almost as bad as life at school.

  The cherry of catastrophe has landed on top of the icing of disaster on my cake of doom.

  Here is why: Mum bounced in after work one evening to announce that she was ‘going to take some extra dance classes’ because she thought she really had a chance in the competition but that she ‘needed more practice’.

  When I groaned, Mum asked, ‘Why is that such a problem, Skye?’ in a very annoyed tone.

  Harris said he thought it was ‘COOL’ and had a go at me for being a ‘grumpy old meanie’.

  He would be a grumpy old meanie too if he had no friends and he was old enough to realize his mum is the most mortifying parent on the planet.

  But then, Harris seems immune to embarrassment. In fact, he goes out of his way to out-perform Mum in that area of life.

  For example, he has taken to carrying his old security blanket (fondly known as Bop-Bop for reasons lost in the mists of time) and waving it around like a cape while stamping in a circle around Pongo and shouting ‘Olé’. He says he is determined to help Mum ‘improve’ her idiotic Latin-style dance. I have tried kindly pointing out to him that he will get teased mercilessly if he ever lets on about any of this to his mates at school. He just sticks his tongue out and tells me to mind my own business.

  I have also said (a bit less kindly) that his act would be known as The Pongo instead of The Tango. It doesn’t have any effect. He has been practising every night after school, with Finn encouraging him every time he comes round to babysit.

  It is yet another dance-class night and Finn is due to come round any second. Mum has changed her outfit at least three times in the past ten minutes and is now asking my little brother’s advice on what to wear. As if it matters. She goes to this class twice a week and presumably sees the same people who also dress like insane parrots. I doubt they notice from one session to the next what she is wearing.

  ‘What do you think, little bean?’ Mum is asking Harris. ‘Gold and black, or red and black?’

  ‘I think both are gorgeous,’ says Harris, his eyes wide. He runs his fingers over the black feather boa Mum has flung around her neck. ‘Can I have this after you’ve finished with it? Pongo would love it.’

  Mum gives him an indulgent smile and tickles his face with the feather boa. ‘No you can’t!’ she says. ‘Pongo would most probably try to eat it – imagine the mess!’

  ‘Awwwwwwooo,’ Harris groans, his whole body collapsing with disappointment.

  ‘What about you, Skye?’ Mums asks me, holding her skirt out. ‘Do you think the black-and-gold is too much? Because I could change the gold for red?’

  She looks so anxious. I know I should say something nice, just as Harris has, but I can’t think of anything nice to say to someone who looks like an ostrich who’s been dragged through a rubbish tip backwards.

  ‘Oh noooo,’ I say. ‘Gold is not too much. I am sure all the other dancers will look as though someone has wrapped them up and left them under the Christmas tree.’

  ‘Skye,’ Mum says, letting her hands fall to her sides. ‘I don’t know why you are so moody these days. You’re always on Harris’s case about his dancing as well. Are you jealous? Is that it? Maybe you should join a class—?’

  ‘MUM!’ I say. ‘I do not want to learn how to dance. Two loonies in the family is quite enough – three if you count the dog. I can’t bear the thought of us all dancing in a line in the town hall as if we are some kind of lame family entry for Britain’s Got Talent.’

  Mum laughs. ‘Skye, you are so dramatic!’

  I snort. ‘Yeah, and you are not dramatic at all,’ I mutter, nodding at her outfit. ‘Why do I have to put up with Finn coming round to our house twice a week?’ I add.

  TWICE A WEEK.

  Tuesdays AND Thursdays.

  Kill. Me. Now.

  ‘I mean,’ I go on, ‘why don’t we all just move in together?’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ Mum snaps.

  ‘Why not?’ I say, flinging my hands in the air. ‘We might as well. Finn practically lives here already anyway, and you are always chattering away to Rob as if he’s your new best friend.’

  ‘There’s no need to be ridiculous,’ Mum says. Her face is pink. Of course she’s cross I am being moody, but I can’t help it.

  Then it strikes me: both Harris and Mum really have got new best friends. I am the only one who has lost a best friend. And the rest of my family doesn’t seem to have noticed.

  Mum gives a funny strangled cough and then says, ‘I do think you are being silly, Skye. It is only a few hours a week. Is it really so much to ask?’ Then she turns her back on me and goes into the kitchen to make a lot of noise with the washing-up.

  I guess that means the matter is closed.

  Why am I surprised?

  No one is interested in anything I have to say any more.

  Finn arrives just as Mum has changed back into the outfit she first had on and I immediately disappear to my room to let him get on with babysitting Harris. For ‘babysitting’ read: ‘eating all the snacks, getting Pongo and Harris over-excited, and using up all the batteries in the house for monster Mario sessions’.

  Finn is always raiding the other remotes and any other device he can lay his hands on for batteries for the Wii, but guess what? I am the one who gets the blame when Mum goes to use her battery-operated electric toothbrush and it doesn’t work.

  It is no surprise therefore when I come down from solitary confinement under the duvet in my room to find Finn rummaging through the kitchen drawers. (I was reading Carrie’s War – a story about kids who get evacuated to the countryside during the Second World War. I wish I could be evacuated to escape Aubrey, Mum, Harris, Finn, the VTs . . . and pretty much anyone else who knows me.)

  ‘Hey, make yourself at home, why don’t you?’ I say. ‘I guess you’ve eaten all our snacks already?’

  Finn jumps at the sound of my voice, but quickly recovers with one of his trademark sniggers. ‘Great look,’ he says, nodding to my leopard-print onesie. ‘Don’t go jumping into the loo wearing that or the firemen might call the RSPCA when they have to come and get you out.’

  ‘Ha very ha,’ I say, deadpan. ‘I did not “jump into” the loo last time and I have no intention of “jumping into” the loo at any point in the future. Anyway, what do the firemen have to do with it? I thought your superhero dad was only a call away to solve each and every problem for a damsel in distress.’

  Finn pulls a face. ‘Yeah, well, he’s out tonight, isn’t he?’

  ‘Oh right. So I’m babysitting you then, am I?’ I joke.

  Finn’s almond eyes glitter. ‘No,’ he says with feeling.

  This is interesting. I had expected more of a comeback from him. Why is he looking uncomfortable? I scrutinize his face, waiting for more information, but none comes.

  ‘So where’s your dad gone?’ I ask.

  ‘Dunno. Just said he was meeting some friends,’ Finn replies.

  I am surprised by a feeling of pity that Finn’s tone of voice arouses in me. He kind of sounds envious of his dad. As though he wishes he were out with friends too, instead of round at ours. Not that I would blame him for feeling like this. I wish I were out with friends. Flip, I wish I had friends to go out with. Finn at least has that – The Hogs, and probably even Aubrey and the VTs now as well. Everyone loves Finn Parker. So why does he look so sad all of a sudden?

  It occurs to me that I have not bothered to ask him anything about his home life,
about the move to our street, about his old school. I haven’t asked him if he likes his new house, if he’s glad he’s moved – nothing.

  Then again, he hasn’t exactly opened up to me either. I haven’t been round to his place, even though it’s bang next door. Would I want to go if he asked? I wonder if Mum and Harris have been round while I’ve been hiding in my room. Would they go without me? I have been pretty moody lately. I guess I couldn’t blame them if they had.

  I watch Finn as he goes back to rootling through the mess of pens and old reels of Sellotape and broken pencils and rubber bands and paper-clips. He is frowning. Is he sad about something or is he just fed up with me and wants me to go away?

  I have thought this before: it is a bit odd, a fourteen-year-old boy enjoying spending so much time with Harris. If he really does have so many friends, why does he still come round here? I guess he could use the money, but it is weird that he doesn’t have anything else to do – that he’s always available. Most of the boys in my class have endless footy practice. Maybe Finn isn’t sporty. He doesn’t seem that busy with The Hogs either, though, in spite of all the drumming practice I have been subjected to. I hear him most afternoons as soon as I get in from school. It is excruciating.

  I feel suddenly ashamed that I have put all my efforts into disliking Finn and casting him as the enemy in my life, when really it’s the VTs and Aubrey who are making life so horrible for me.

  Maybe Finn really hates coming round here as much as I hate having him here. Maybe Rob makes him. Maybe they need the cash?

  I ought to make a bit of an effort.

  ‘Erm, so how are you settling in?’ I blurt out.

  That was lame.

  Finn doesn’t sound off at me though – he merely shrugs. He is staring at his beaten-up high-tops, the dirty laces undone and trailing. He starts tracing a pattern on the tiled floor with his toe. He doesn’t answer me, so I find myself babbling.

  ‘I guess it must be cool having a builder for a dad – is he fixing up the house, decorating and stuff? He said he was going to soundproof the garage. That will be cool – for the band, I mean. Are you going to practise round at yours?’

  What did I say that for? (a) That would mean I would hear even more of a racket than I already do unless Rob really is going to soundproof the garage; and (b) he probably thinks I want to crash in on him and The Hogs and become a groupie or something.

  I need to put a brake on my mouth.

  Finn is staring at me now. His expression is tricky to read. It’s as if he is choosing his words carefully before speaking. It makes me feel uneasy: I don’t know if he is about to tell me to shut up or even laugh at me.

  He opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by Harris, who comes bowling into the room, dressed in the most eye-wateringly bad combination of clothes. He is lurching strangely from side to side as though there is something wrong with his legs. I can’t actually see them under all the fabric.

  ‘Ta-daaaah!’ he says, making an awkward attempt at giving us a twirl. ‘Don’t I look fabulous?’

  Harris is wearing Mum’s clothes. A lot of Mum’s clothes. He has a pink hairband in his hair to which he has fixed a red feather. On his top half is one of Mum’s spangly tops and to cover the cleavage area (eeuw and double-eeuw!) which is clearly too large for Harris, he has carefully wrapped himself in one of Mum’s long floaty scarves. On his bottom half he appears to be wearing at least two different sticky-outy ballgown-type skirts which he has hitched up to the right length by tying them round his waist with another floaty scarf.

  It is this piece of fabric which Pongo is now doing his best to demolish, pulling it while he shakes his head furiously and growling as though he is the scariest dog in the world. (He really is not.)

  To finish off this alarming outfit, Harris has borrowed a pair of Mum’s second-hand DMs – the bubblegum pink ones. This would explain his inability to walk properly as they must be at least three sizes too big.

  Finn is shaking with laughter. ‘You kill me!’

  Part of me is relieved to see Finn laughing at Harris rather than me.

  The other part of me is appalled. All I can think is, Thank goodness Harris doesn’t go to my school. A brother who dresses up in his mum’s clothes and waltzes around with his dog would put the final seal on my reputation as a weirdo.

  Harris is so happy he looks as though he might explode. ‘Pongo and I are trying on outfits for Mum’s competition,’ he says breathlessly as he bounces up and down. ‘It’s really soon! Will you come with us, Finn?’

  The clouds lift from Finn’s face. I think he is about to say, ‘Not on your life!’ and carry on laughing, but instead he smiles and says, ‘Yeah, sure!’ He actually looks chuffed that Harris has asked him.

  Why hasn’t my brother asked me? I think.

  ‘Harris,’ I say. I have to raise my voice above the sound of his thumping feet and Pongo’s growling and barking. ‘You should put Mum’s clothes away. She won’t like it if you ruin them. She’s not going to let you come to the competition with her, anyway. It will be way past your bedtime. And she certainly won’t let Pongo come.’

  ‘What do you care?’ Harris says. He sticks his tongue out. ‘You’re not interested in dancing or Mum’s competition, and you don’t even like Mum’s clothes.’

  This is of course true, but I am trying hard to think of some way of getting my brother to behave normally.

  ‘Okaaay,’ I say slowly. ‘But I don’t think it’s a good idea—’

  ‘Leave him alone!’ says Finn. He has stopped smiling and his face has hardened. ‘He’s just having a bit of fun. You know what “fun” is, right?’ he asks.

  ‘Actually I do,’ I say, squaring up to him. ‘Or at least, I think I can remember what “fun” was like – it seems to have disappeared since you came to live next door.’

  All my feelings of pity for him have vanished. How dare he talk to me like that in front of my brother? In my house? I actually feel as though I could slap Finn in the face right now.

  He senses how angry I am and takes a small step back. Then he sniggers. ‘I don’t believe you’ve ever had any fun in your life, Skye,’ he says. ‘Especially not with that irritating little sidekick of yours hanging around.’

  Harris has stopped prancing around and is staring at us. His freckled cheeks have paled. I am dimly aware that we are frightening him, fighting like this, when there are no grown-ups around for him to run to for support. But I don’t care.

  ‘What you do mean, my “sidekick”?’ I say. ‘I haven’t got a “sidekick”. I haven’t even got a best mate any more, thanks to you and the Volde— Izzy and Livvy Vorderman.’

  Finn’s mean expression fades and his forehead creases. ‘What?’ he says.

  ‘You and the twins – between you, you have stolen Aubrey away from me. You and your pathetic band, The Electric Warthogs. Flipping stupid name for a band as well!’

  Finn looks startled. ‘Hey, it’s not my band—’

  I am about to shout at him for being a miserable, lying, sneaky creep when there is the sound of a key in the front door, followed by the door opening and some laughter and chatter.

  ‘Mum!’ Harris cries, tripping over the jumble sale of clothes he has on and falling on Pongo in the rush to greet her.

  It certainly is Mum’s voice I can hear, but I can also hear someone else. It sounds like Rob.

  Finn and I exchange puzzled glances, then remember we were fighting a couple of seconds ago and look away. Finn coughs awkwardly.

  ‘Hi, guys!’ Mum trills, coming into the kitchen. ‘Hope you’ve had fun.’

  Her eyes are shining and her cheeks are glowing. She looks like someone who has just got off the most fantastic, exhilarating rollercoaster ever.

  Rob comes in behind her. He is looking smarter than usual. He’s wearing a jacket and some dark jeans. He is beaming and chuckling. He looks as pumped up as Mum. Maybe they have just shared a joke. Must have been a pretty funny joke . .
.

  ‘All right?’ he says to Finn. ‘Good evening?’

  Finn mumbles something I can’t hear and slouches out of the room.

  Rob’s smile fades and he looks suddenly awkward. ‘Teenagers!’ he says to Mum. ‘What can you do?’

  Mum nods. ‘Tell me about it. Skye’s not even strictly a teen yet, although from her behaviour I think she is already in training.’

  ‘Thanks a lot,’ I say. ‘So, how come he’s here?’ I ask, nodding to Rob. I know I am being rude, but Mum has annoyed me.

  Mum frowns and says, ‘Skye . . .’ but she is prevented from saying any more by Rob, who has put a hand on her arm.

  ‘’S’OK,’ he says quietly, shaking his head.

  Mum reddens. Is she going to tell him to shut up as well?

  Instead, though, she says, ‘Rob was just – er – coming round to get Finn, weren’t you?’ she says. Then she turns brusquely, so that Rob’s hand drops from her arm, picks up a pile of post on the work surface and begins riffling through it noisily.

  Rob becomes brisk. ‘Yup, that’s right,’ he says. ‘Finn!’ he calls down the hall. ‘Time to go, mate. School night and all that,’ he adds for our benefit.

  Finn appears sulkily in the living-room doorway.

  ‘Awwwwwoo!’ says Harris. ‘Can’t I come round for a bit to yours?’ he asks, sidling up to Finn. ‘You said you would let me play the drums last time I came round . . .’

  ‘Nah, Dad’s right,’ Finn says. ‘I should head home and you – ’ he says to Harris, giving him a light punch on the arm – ‘you need to go to bed.’

  I am watching all this thinking, Last time I came round? So they have been next door without me. Even my own family is blanking me now . . .

  ‘Yes,’ says Mum, agreeing with Rob. ‘Bedtime for both of you. You too, Skye,’ she says. ‘Although it looks as if I am going to have to disentangle my son from his rather unusual choice of clothing first.’ She laughs in a light, fake way and starts bustling about, clearing away the remains of the snacks Finn and Harris have littered all over the table.