The Mountain in My Shoe

by Louise Beech

  How can I be sweet when I feel so sour most of the time?

  I’m sour now. Sour and cold.

  There’s a big square pier thing past the cobbles but I have to climb over a wall to get to it cos the gate thing’s locked. There’s water on all sides. I can’t see it cos it’s dark but I can hear it splashing away underneath. Kind of scary to think of it down there. Wonder how deep it is. Bet it’s mega-freezing.

  There’s a white railing on both sides. I bet it’s to stop people jumping over. They’re not very high. Wouldn’t stop me.

  The Deep – that’s this museum with sharks and stuff in it – is all lit up on one side. On the other side real far away is the Humber Bridge.

  The water looks black like when the workmen at school were putting tar on the path. There’s this light that’s as green as a pea hanging at the end of the pier and I make my way towards it. I go up some wooden steps to a thin platform. There are gaps in the wood. It’s like the water could reach up through them with icy fingers and get me. And more metal railings to stop anyone crazy climbing over.

  There they are, Mum and Paul. Standing right at the end of the platform like I’m not even waiting for them in the boring car. I could jump in the water and they’d not notice. Just think it was a big stone and carry on talking.

  Except they’re not talking, more arguing. Paul’s voice isn’t soft but quite loud now. He’s saying something about how she’s abandoned me and how he knows what that feels like cos his dad did it to him. Mum sobs a bit. And he says if she’d just told him he could have helped. Mum sobs some more and says he has no idea at all.

  They both look green cos they’re near that light, like they feel sick or something. Or they’re gonna turn into the Incredible Hulk. I don’t like him getting cross with Mum. I don’t like Paul making her cry.

  So I go up to them and I tell Mum about the holiday to cheer her up.

  I tell her about the luxury coach and the toilet they have on it and how you can choose your seats and if you’re at the front next to the driver you can pretend you’re the one driving the coach. And that there’s lots of stops at the service stations – Anne told me all this cos she went a few times with her friend Carla – and if you’ve got a friendly driver he does games and tells you stuff about the place you’re going to and everyone passes sweets around and sometimes they all sing. I tell mum she will love it and I’ve saved almost all the money for her to do the one to Bournemouth but she just has to lend three quid off someone. I say maybe Paul will even give her it.

  Then they both go quiet and look at me. Eventually Paul says to Mum, This is what you’ve done. And I don’t know what he means. She didn’t do it all – I did. I looked up the holiday. I thought of it. I memorised all the coach seat numbers. I saved and saved and saved.

  And then Paul says to her, You should be the one taking your son on holiday. Mum says that he has no idea about it and goes back towards where the car is. Should I follow her and make her feel better? Maybe tell her that the seats on the holiday coach recline too.

  Is she even bothered about my surprise?

  Paul asks me to wait with him a minute. There’s a bunch of rotten flowers stuck in the railings and a letter. All the words have got wet and faded off. The water swishes and splashes. I remember my last lesson in art when we had to make words into the image that matched them. Splash would have been cool to do.

  I suddenly feel real tired thinking of school and stuff. That was such a long time ago. Wish I could just get into my bed at Anne’s. She got me a Doctor Who duvet and it’s mega snug. I used to wake up loads at night and lie there thinking and thinking stuff. But at Anne’s I sleep real good.

  Listen, Conor, Paul says to me. Maybe I shouldn’t have picked you up. Maybe I shouldn’t have done it like this. But when you find something out like this you don’t really think straight. You don’t plan. I don’t know what I was thinking, keeping you out until this time.

  He comes closer to me and I’m not sure what he’ll do. Then he puts an arm on my shoulder like real light and says that it’s cold and we should go and get warm in the car with Mum.

  I say, I thought you were going to tell me everything when we got to the special place. And we’re here and it’s not that special.

  I tell him I don’t want to go back to the car until he tells me it all. I start off with a real cross voice cos I’m tired and then get nervous and say it more nice cos when he tells me everything I reckon I’ll be able to go home to bed.

  Paul says we should find somewhere out of the wind and we walk back down the steps and on to the big concrete pier. There are benches on both sides and one of those orange and white rings you save people with. It’s still cold here.

  Paul takes his jacket off and puts it around me and we sit on one of the benches. The jacket smells like men always do. I remember when Santa Claus came to visit me at Anne’s house and I was eight so of course I didn’t even believe anyway. But he smelled just like Anne’s neighbour Roy, all man and gardening and stuff. So I’d have known anyway he was a fake Santa.

  I like sitting on the bench with Paul’s jacket around me. It doesn’t totally stop the cold but it feels good.

  I bet it’s dead late now. I bet everyone in my class is in bed. Paul starts to talk and then stops. It’s like when our headmaster Mr Grimshaw had an assembly once cos a girl at a school near ours died in a car crash and he kept starting and stopping and then he had to get Mrs McCartney to finish for him. Mum isn’t here to finish for Paul and I can’t cos I don’t know what the words are.

  Paul says he’s really, really sorry. And then his mouth trembles. I’ve never seen a man cry except on telly and that was somebody on Jeremy Kyle when I had tonsillitis and was on the sofa off school. Paul isn’t exactly crying like that but he is sniffing and I don’t think it’s just the sea air.

  He asks me if I can feel it and I reckon he means the cold.

  I say, Of course, your coat is nearly as thin as mine.

  He smiles a bit then and says, Don’t you know who I am?

  To be honest I don’t. He was Paul and then Mum called him Andy but he stuck as Paul. I don’t think he’s either of those names. So I say, No, not really.

  And Paul says, Don’t you know though? Can’t you feel it?

  And I sort of get that feeling like there’s the start of a memory coming. Like when I once saw this black cat on a girl’s T-shirt and I wanted to go and rub my face against it. Of course I didn’t. I’m not a total knobhead. But Anne reminded me about the black toy cat I loved, that I left it with Mark. I remember Mark. He got me into Muhammad Ali. He was my mate. But I hadn’t thought of Blackie then until Anne reminded me. This is what I feel like now. Like Paul’s going to tell me something I sort of know but have forgotten.

  So Paul tells me about how when he was little he used to sit at the window and wait for his dad to come. Says he never did. That he’d never even met him but he used to think that a dad can’t stay away forever; he has to come one day.

  And then Paul says, Conor, I’m your dad.

  35

  The Book

  *Please stick in this leaflet so Conor will know what BFL are all about – thanks.

  BFL – Befriend for Life

  What we do

  We aim to give children in care a friend for life. We believe that, with support, all children have the capacity to change their lives for the better. For many all that’s needed to help them get their lives back on track is support and friendship.

  Befriending a child improves their lives immensely. Our volunteers help young people stay out of trouble and enable them to rebuild family relationships, which gives them stability and gives them self-confidence and ultimately independence.

  Mission

  Our mission is to offer personal support and practical guidance so children grow up confidently and happily, thus enabling them to eventually make better choices and to improve the quality of their adult lives.

  Our values
/>   We believe:

  Every child should be treated equally, with respect and kindness.

  Our volunteers make a huge difference.

  Working together we can change the lives of children in care.

  We offer a valuable and free service.

  We are committed to:

  Delivering the best service to the children we work with.

  Contributing to local policy regarding children in care.

  Building Befriend for Life to ensure the best delivery of services.

  BFL people

  We believe our volunteers make all the difference. Our success depends on the adults we accept as volunteers. We work together to embrace diversity and we draw upon the abilities, empathy and experiences of all our team.

  We strive to give everyone a voice and ensure all opinions are valued. We accept volunteers of all ages over eighteen. We commit to children over the age of five until they are able to live independently. Around thirty staff work with approximately one hundred trained volunteers to deliver our support services.

  We believe that when we come together with hard work, commitment and the enthusiasm of our people we can achieve something very special. We have found that when people are given the chance to learn, work and volunteer, great things happen. Volunteers thrive as much as the children they are befriending.

  Volunteers

  If you live in the local area – for constant contact with your child you should live within twenty miles of Hull – and are over eighteen years of age and have no criminal record you can apply to be a BFL volunteer. No previous experience is needed. Our extensive and free ten-week training courses are run on a variety of days to suit anyone working full-time or with family priorities.

  Quote from one of our children

  ‘When Malcolm came into my life I knew there was one person who would listen to me and not mind how much I talked. He helped me learn how to ride my bike. We laugh lots’ – Elsie, aged nine.

  36

  Conor

  Just like that. Paul says it.

  Conor, I’m your dad.

  The words sort of sit there in the air like they’re clouds or something. I try and imagine how I’d write them in art. Kind of maybe all jumpy like a surprise. But then heavy and made of brick too.

  Then I think of when I was drawing Paul in the car and how I got a bit stuck cos I’ve only known him like four hours. And so I cheated a bit and drew my own eyes. And now I guess my eyes are his, aren’t they? Like when Len took me to my mum’s once and said I had her ears. It was a real weird thing to notice. But I looked and checked and he was right. We both have flat ears. Loads of crazy thoughts are coming to me at once and so I don’t speak.

  Paul – except he isn’t Paul now – looks at me. He asks if I’m okay. I want to ask if he’s fibbing. Ask if this is a trick like when Stan Chiswick said he was going to Florida and maybe I’d be able to go with them but he was lying.

  So I ask, Is it real? And Paul nods.

  I always imagined my dad would be some kind of secret agent or a famous person. I never thought he’d just be normal. Definitely never thought I’d find out right near The Deep. But this is actually better. If David Beckham was my dad I’d have to share him anyway cos he’s got like ten kids. Wish I could tell Sophie. She’ll be mega excited. And Bernadette. She’s got a dad. He’s nice she said. So she’ll be pleased. Cos Paul seems nice too. Maybe I can let him off shouting at Mum cos he’s my dad now.

  I have to be on his side as much as hers.

  I know you must be shocked, says Paul. I am too. I only just found out. It’s all sinking in for me as well. We’ll have to figure it out together, won’t we?

  My teeth start chattering. Now I know what to call him. But I’ve never said Dad so it’s hard. Can’t talk anyway. Teeth are too chattery. Paul says maybe we should go and get warm in the car with my mum and then he should get me home and tomorrow we can work everything out. That sounds so good.

  We walk back down the pier and climb over the wall and head to the car. I can see Mum in the back like a dark shadow. Wonder if she loves Paul? She must do. They made me. Wonder if he loves her? Maybe they will get married now. Will I go and live with them or stay with Anne? Sometimes when you find out everything it just means more questions.

  In the car I sit in the back cos I don’t want Mum to feel left out.

  Paul says to her, I told him. Then he says, Like you should have done.

  She screams out, What would have been the point when you fucked off?

  Paul (I should call him Dad really) shouts at her for swearing in front of me and says it’s probably better she wasn’t around for me. He says it’s cos of her that little George died.

  I hate this. They’re supposed to like each other now.

  But they carry on like they’ve forgotten me again.

  I try not to listen but it’s hard. Mum gets so mad she says she wishes he was dead. Paul tells her she’s a dirty whore. So Mum scrunches up the drawing I did of Paul and that makes me mad. I know that years ago when I first met her I tore all the paper up in the room – but that didn’t have any pictures on it.

  So I call her a twat like I did years ago at one of our sessions. I felt so bad about that, but now she deserves it. She is a twat. I call her it again and grab another one of my pictures and jump out of the car and climb the wall and run back up the pier. In the distance I hear them get out the car too and Mum telling Paul she loves me more than he knows and Paul saying, Well, go and tell him then.

  As I run the wind grabs the picture out of my hand. It’s the one of Bernadette. Her face spins and spins and then the paper gets stuck in a bin. No time to get it now. No time to stop.

  I run back up the thin wooden pier to the end. There’s a locked metal gate. I bet it’s locked cos the pier on the other side doesn’t have railings and all the crazy people could jump off. I’m not a crazy though. I’m just gonna show them I might be. Scare them. That might shut them up.

  So I get over the gate and go carefully along the platform. Here I’m real close to the water. It even splashes me a bit. Looks all thick and churny, like if you touched it, it would stick. I go all the way to the end. The green light is spooky. Reckon it’s one of them ones that guides you or warns you or something. It’s so quiet except for the water. And I’m not really even cold anymore.

  Wonder what it would be like to stick a toe in the water?

  Mum’s voice makes me jump. She’s at the gate and her face is glowing in the green light. She shakes the handle and realises she can’t open it.

  Conor, she says. It’s the first time I’ve heard her use my name. Conor, she says again, and I smile. So then she smiles at me and tells me to just come back and she’s sorry.

  People are always sorry when they have to be. For a reason. Like getting someone over a gate.

  Why can’t they be sorry anyway?

  Then I see this one leaf. It’s crinkly and leather-brown and floats past me in a circle. Where did it come from? There aren’t any trees. One social worker – can’t even remember who now – said I liked being under the trees in my pram. Bernadette likes trees. Said she’s got loads near her house. Right now her pretty face is stuck in the bin. We used to sing this thing – it went, The leaves are leaving, the leaves are leaving. She said it’s kind of clever cos leaves can mean two things. Leaves that are on trees and when people leave.

  The leather-brown leaf is leaving. It can’t go. Bad luck if it leaves. So I lean over to get it for Bernadette.

  My mum yells, Conor.

  When I turn to look at her my foot slips. It’s like when you miss a step going upstairs and your heart goes mad as you feel around for it. Except this time there isn’t one. There’s nothing.

  And so I fall.

  Everyone says that those bits in films where it goes slow are done by special effect. But I think they happen in real life too. Cos when I go over the edge it takes forever. I see Mum’s face go all round-mouthed and wide-eyed
. I see the sky above me. The clouds move past and a half moon comes out like the side of a face. The wind rushes past my face even though I’m falling slow.

  And then suddenly I’m colder than I’ve ever been in my life. And wet. And it’s dark. And I can’t breathe. When I try water gushes into my mouth. Tastes thick and salty like bad chips. It’s Mum I shout first but it kind of gurgles and stays inside my head, all bubbly.

  Then I’m above the water and I cough and cough and cough. I flap my arms and legs. I’m not really a very good swimmer. We had some lessons last year at school but I missed half of them cos me and Stan pulled Jonathon Pinnock’s trousers down in the changing rooms and weren’t allowed to go anymore. Was glad. The kids laugh at my burns.

  My shoes feel dead heavy now, like two bricks. And it’s so cold.

  Then I go under again so when I yell for Bernadette her name sinks.

  When I come up, the pillars under the pier are a bit farther away. Mum is standing on the edge screaming but I can’t hear what she’s saying. Her hair is blowing all crazy like she’s got her finger in a socket. Where did Paul go? I yell for Anne but it makes me cough and cough and cough. I want to yell for Paul too but that’s not his name now.

  What should I yell? Dad?

  But he might not answer cos he might not be used to it yet.

  I’m scared if I sink again I won’t come back up cos it’s so cold my heart is stiff, and my legs can’t move much longer, and my arms can hardly lift. I wonder if George felt like this when he died. Was it hard to breathe? Mum will be sad if I go too. Don’t want to. But I’m going. I’m going. Sinking. Don’t want to. Want to get out and get warm and watch my boxing DVDs and have sausages and jam tart and go to bed.