“So, how about it, then? The barbecue? Auntie Jean’s? You going to come?”
I stood up and began to look at the things on my desk as if I had something really urgent that I had to deal with.
“I can’t. I’ve got a load of schoolwork to do. Tons of it,” I said, shaking my head with the utter annoyance of it all.
Dad was still grinning. He knew I was lying to him. Hovering next to me, he reached out and picked up one of my notebooks. A navy blue one that I’d filled from cover to cover to pass the time.
“But it’s vacation now. And you can’t have that much—you’ve hardly been there, have you?”
He began to flick through the book, licking a finger as he turned each page, his eyes scanning my writing. I shuddered.
“I’ve got a lot to catch up on. A … a big project, for a start.”
He didn’t look up.
“What’s this about then? All these lists? Times and stuff?” He held the book out a bit and began to read. “3:04 p.m., Mr. Charles is feeding the fish in his pond. 4:18 p.m., Mum has just come in from work. Blimey, son. You need to get out more.”
I snatched the book from him, instantly feeling infected.
“It’s for the project I just told you about. On statistics. A math thing … And I need to get started on it as soon as possible.”
He looked at me and then at the book, which I now held pinched between my thumb and index finger.
“It looks like a lot of mumbo jumbo to me, Matthew,” he said, his grin gone.
“Yeah, well. You were never very good at math, were you, Dad?” I laughed nervously, not sure if I was getting away with it. “General knowledge is your thing, isn’t it? Not numbers.”
I sat back on the bed and glanced up at the Wallpaper Lion. His wonky eye looked down at me reassuringly. You’re doing okay, he was saying.
“What do you keep looking at up there?”
Dad gazed at the bare wall.
“Nothing.”
He walked around, scanning the corners of the room, looking at the ceiling and then back at the wallpaper.
“It could do with some decorating in here—get all this old stuff off the walls. A couple of coats of paint. It’ll transform the place.”
“No!”
Dad flinched.
“You said you needed to paint downstairs, didn’t you? Remember? In the conservatory? You only got one coat on it after it was built and you talked for weeks about doing a couple more layers.”
I dropped my notebook onto my bed and Dad stared at it. I thought he was going to pick it up again, but he stepped back and his eyes were drawn downward, under my bed. I sat quickly and dangled my legs over the side, trying to hide the box of disposable gloves with my feet.
“So what’s in the letter, Dad? From the therapist? When’s my appointment?”
He was still staring under the bed.
“It’s this week … Tuesday …”
I stayed still.
“And who’s taking me?”
I casually moved my legs, just a bit, hoping to distract him. Dad stood there, seemingly puzzled by whatever glimpse he’d had.
“We’re both coming …”
He took a step forward and …
“Brian, we’ll be late again!” Mum poked her head in the doorway. Her jaw fell as she saw that Dad was actually in my room. She quickly composed herself.
“Aren’t you coming, Matthew? Oh come on, you know you’ll enjoy it when you get there.”
I kept quiet.
“Says he’s got a load of homework,” said Dad, apparently forgetting about getting a better look at what he’d seen under my bed.
“Leave that for another day, eh?” pleaded Mum. “Come with us! It’ll be fun! I know Auntie Jean would love to see you.”
I looked at them both. Mum was grinning, but her eyes were pleading. She hadn’t stepped over the threshold into my room.
“Sorry, Mum.”
Dad cleared his throat.
“Right, well, give us a call if you need us. We won’t be long. Come on, Sheila. We don’t want to be late.”
I’m not sure he realized that I hadn’t used a phone in months. Mum gave me a feeble smile and closed the door. I got up from the bed and listened to them talking quietly outside my room.
“Come on, don’t get yourself all upset, Sheila. Let’s just go and have a nice time, forget our worries for a bit.”
“We’re losing him, Brian. Did you see his face? He’s terrified! Our little boy is so frightened and there’s nothing we can do.”
“He’ll work it out. He’s tough, remember? Remember how good he was after we lost Callum?”
They slowly walked downstairs and I heard the front door closing behind them. I stood there for a while, in the middle of my room, listening to the silence as I wiped away my tears.
“What’s wrong with me, Lion?” I said. “Why can’t I stop?”
The Wallpaper Lion stared back at me blankly.
I bent down and took out my secret box and pulled on a pair of gloves (two pairs remaining) and then closed my window. I got some antibacterial solution from the bathroom and gave my notebook a light spray and wiped it with a clean cloth. Dad had left the letter on my desk and I peeked over the folds, not wanting to touch it.
… for your son Matthew Corbin to attend a psychology assessment with Dr. Rhodes at 10 a.m. on Tuesday, 29 July …
I picked the letter up by a corner and, standing at the top of the stairs, let it flutter down to land on the mat by the front door. I then went to the bathroom and washed my hands twelve times.
From: Melody Bird
To: Matthew Corbin
Subject: You Fainted/Verrucas!
Hi Matty!
I heard you fainted at the doctor’s. Well, actually I saw you.
Flat out on the carpet.
Are you OK? I told you, you didn’t look good.
Melody x
PS. Oh and there is good news about my verrucas! I didn’t have to have them burnt off after all, but I’ve got to use a cream every day, which is a real pain.
I stared at the screen for a while, not sure how to reply. I decided polite but distant was probably best and began to type. On my right hand I wore one latex glove (three left) and I kept my other hand in midair, not touching anything. I was trying to ration them and only wear one at a time.
To: Melody Bird
From: Matthew Corbin
Subject: Fainting
I’m not sure how you got my email address, but thank you for your concern. I’m fine now, thanks. I just got a bit overheated.
Matthew
PS. Glad to hear about the verrucas.
I clicked Send and stood up. There was a lot of noise outside. Mr. Charles was attempting to water his front yard as Casey and Teddy ran around him, jumping through the spray and squealing every time they got a blast of cold water. The old man was bright red and trying to get them to calm down, but the more he shouted, the faster they hurtled around and around. Old Nina’s lamp in the front room window of the Rectory was barely visible in the bright sunlight. I could just make out a soft, orange glow.
There was a trumpet blast as another message pinged into my inbox.
To: Matthew Corbin
From: Melody Bird
Subject: Summer Vacation
That’s good to hear! I am so happy it’s summer vacation. Although you’ve already had tons of time off, haven’t you? But at least you’re off “officially” now and not just because there’s something wrong with you. Whatever that might be … I’m not being nosey! I’ll come over and see you later, OK?
Mel. x
PS. Your mum gave my mum your email address at the doctor’s. I think she thinks you need a friend, and anyone who hates Jake is fine with me!
She typed like she talked.
To: Melody Bird
From: Matthew Corbin
Subject: Busy
I’m really busy at the moment trying to catch up on scho
olwork, so there’s no need to come over. And I have plenty of friends, thank you. And I don’t hate Jake. I just don’t like him very much—there is a difference.
M.
There was no way I wanted a verruca-ridden girl in my house.
Mr. Charles was yelling outside.
“Casey, stop it right now! Look at the mess you’ve made.”
He hosed the path, washing away a patchwork of child-sized, muddy footprints. Teddy squealed as the water sprayed his ankles; he did a funny little jump and then ran around the side of the house toward the back. Mr. Charles blasted the muddy remains of the footprints down the path to the front gate. While he wasn’t looking, Casey stepped into a muddy puddle that had settled at the edge of the yard. The back of her pink summer dress was freckled with dirt as she walked brown footprints along where Mr. Charles had just cleaned. Seeing this, he threw the hose onto the lawn and grabbed her by the tops of her arms.
“I told you to stop it, didn’t I? Why won’t you do as you’re told, you naughty girl?”
His hands left behind two bright red strips like raw bacon. Casey looked as if she was going to cry, but instead she scowled at him, refusing to allow any tears to escape.
“Now, be a good girl and go and play,” he said, patting her three times on the head. “And keep an eye on your brother, don’t let him near that pond!”
He picked the hose up again and continued washing the path. Casey folded her arms and went around to the backyard.
Saturday, July 26th. 12:15 p.m. Bedroom. Cloudy and hot.
Number of toys on next door’s lawn = 17
Number of children in next door’s yard = 2
Number of children glaring at me from next door’s yard = 1
Teddy was sitting cross-legged on the grass studying the bottom of his muddy foot. He scraped at the skin with his fingernail and inspected the dirt, then swapped to the other foot. Casey had been dancing, holding the edge of her pink dress, tiptoeing here and there in her imaginary ballet show. As she pirouetted she suddenly stopped and glared up at me. Her mouth smacked up and down and she started to laugh.
“Look, Teddy! It’s the goldfish! Look! The Goldfish Boy is in his tank!”
Teddy stood and gazed toward my window, his eyes squinting in the bright sunlight. A big smile spread across his face and he looked about ready to raise an arm to wave at me, but I quickly ducked out of sight, my heart pounding in my chest.
The sky from the office window looked almost turquoise, like the sky from a manga cartoon. It was going to be another hot day.
Monday, July 28th. 9:35 a.m. Office/nursery. Hot and sunny.
Gordon and Penny left together in their blue Fiat at 09:34 a.m. Old Nina’s lamp is on as usual in the front room window of the Rectory. Jake Bishop is cycling around in a figure eight in the middle of the road. He stops now and then to look at his phone and then carries on. Leo left for work earlier in his car that sounds like a tank.
Leo was Jake’s older brother and was famous in our area. On his last day of high school he organized a group of kids to lift the headmaster’s car and wedge it between the school gates. A crane had to be hired to get it out. A photograph of this, along with the headmaster watching through his hands, made the front page of the local paper with the headline:
SCHOOLBOY PRANK CAUSES HEADACHE
Not long after Leo was approached by the owner of a local garage who said he liked his initiative and would he be interested in an apprenticeship? He’d worked there ever since and could regularly be seen taking his silver Mini to pieces on their oil-stained driveway.
“Jake! Your inhaler!” called Jake’s mum, Sue, from the doorstep of number five. She went back inside, leaving the door ajar.
Jake did two more figure eights and then sped toward his driveway, his legs pumping furiously, braking just at the last second before hitting the step. Discarding the bike with a clatter he went in, slamming the door.
I sat back in the office chair. My reflection in the computer screen showed a blank face with hollow eyes, my skin almost translucent. I rubbed at the small dent of a scar above my right eyebrow, which seemed more noticeable than usual. I hated that scar. It was always there: my little reminder. The beetle in my guts twisted.
Callum would have been five now, probably incredibly annoying and fussing over me all the time, wanting my attention. He’d be getting to the age where he’d be embarrassed by the baby-yellow walls, maybe asking Mum and Dad for a new “big boy’s bedroom” with a dinosaur theme. The elephant mobile would have been packed away in the attic as Dad painted the room a prehistoric green. When it was ready, I’d appear with my old tub of dinosaur figures, which I’d found at the bottom of my wardrobe.
Here you go, Callum. You can have these if you like.
He would have skipped around his room shaking the tub excitedly while I pretended to be irritated, telling him to calm down a bit. He’d yank his new T. rex duvet off his bed to create a large, swirling mountain in the middle of the room. Tipping the tub of figures upside down, he’d make each one walk up the fabric’s winding pathways, finishing with a mighty battle between a triceratops and a brontosaurus at the top. I’d wander off, leaving him roaring and squealing in delight.
It might sound strange, but I miss the brother I never met. The one who died because of me.
My daydreaming was distracted by voices in the street. Melody was at the end of the alleyway beside Old Nina’s house, attempting to get across the cul-de-sac and home to number three. It looked like she’d been on one of her secret trips to the graveyard again. She had some small pieces of white paper in her hand.
Jake was circling around the road, blocking her way each time she tried to cross. Her long hair was tied back and she was wearing black leggings, a black T-shirt, and the same old black cardigan. The only evidence that she was aware we were in the middle of a heat wave were the bright pink flip-flops that slapped against her feet as she walked left and right, trying to get past. He was saying something, but I couldn’t hear what. Finally he pedaled off, and I thought he was leaving her alone, but then he raced back, skidding to a halt just a few inches in front of her. Melody flinched, not looking at him. Stepping to one side, she went to go forward but bluffed him, turning away and walking in the opposite direction, toward my house. Even though I was watching, I still jumped when the doorbell rang. I stayed at the window but stood to one side so I couldn’t be seen. The doorbell rang again as Jake shouted at her.
“Why aren’t you answering my texts? Who do you think you are, ignoring me?”
He’d stopped at the end of our path, his bike barring her exit. I could see the top of Melody’s head as she waited for me to answer.
“What ya knocking at his house for? I thought dead people were your thing, not freaks.”
He threw his head back and laughed, showing the bright red creases of raw eczema in his neck. My stomach was in knots.
The doorbell rang once more and then Melody turned away, giving up on me. When she reached Jake at the end of our path she said something quietly to him, but I couldn’t tell what. Her head was low, her hand up to her face as she chewed on a nail. This wasn’t the happy, chatty girl I’d met in the doctor’s waiting room.
Jake leaned forward on his handlebars and glared at her. She tried moving from one side to the other, but he just rolled his bike back and forth, blocking her way.
“You’re forgetting the magic word, Melody.”
She mumbled something else.
Jake put a finger to his chin as if he was thinking about letting her pass but hadn’t quite decided yet, and then he leaned toward her and grabbed her wrist. Twisting around, she looked straight up at me. She must have known I was there all along, watching her like an idiot. I held her gaze for a moment.
“Please, Jake, just let her go,” I whispered. He held up his phone and started taking photos of her before she managed to wrench her arm away and shield her face.
“Come on, Melody. Smile! I’m going
to keep this one forever.”
I couldn’t bear it any longer. I raced downstairs and opened the front door using my shirt to cover the handle.
“Hi! Melody! Sorry about that, I was in the back …”
Jake scoffed. “Oh I see, the weirdos like to stick together, do they? You know she’s only got a thing for corpses, don’t you?”
He tipped his head back as if he was going to do that horrible snorting thing he does, but then he stopped, his mouth open as he looked across the street. The door of the Rectory had opened and Old Nina stood there watching us. After a long moment she made her way carefully down the steps to her gate. Very slowly she lifted her arm, and a long, white finger unfurled as she pointed directly at Jake, his mouth still wide as he stared back at her. Melody quickly ran over and stood beside me in the hallway. Jake hurried to get his foot on the pedal of his bike and then he turned around and sped off down the road. Old Nina dropped her hand, and Melody and I watched as she went back inside and the door of the Rectory was closed once more.
Melody paced around our small hallway, her flip-flops slapping against her feet as I tried to dodge her movements.
“Did you see that? Old Nina chased him off! Do you think she saw him being mean to me?”
“I don’t know, Melody.”
I looked down at her flip-flops on our carpet.
“He’s such a nasty piece of work. Ha! I can’t believe he ran off!”
She walked up and down, up and down. I felt dizzy. I wondered if I should ask her to take the flip-flops off inside the house, but then I remembered the verrucas.
In her hand she had some small, white pieces of paper, which she must have gotten from the graveyard. They looked like business cards. Maybe it was something to do with the church. A choir, perhaps? No, they didn’t have one. I knew this from Callum’s funeral and our feeble attempts at singing “All Things Bright and Beautiful” over my mother’s sobs. The black beetle woke up deep within my stomach. Its sharp little feet began to dig in as it scurried around again.
The Goldfish Boy Page 5
