His father didn’t reply. He must have returned to the hall for Ben heard his voice again, louder this time.
‘Ben!’
Ben swallowed. Here goes, he thought.
‘I’m here,’ he called.
‘Where?’
Ben glanced about him.
‘In the lounge,’ he said.
His father’s footsteps. ‘What are you doing in there?’
He didn’t reply. He didn’t have to, but couldn’t even if he’d needed to. How could he explain what he’d been doing in the lounge?
And then his father came into the room.
‘I don’t usually expect to find you in here,’ he said, and then added, ‘Janice said you ran away when you saw me.’
‘Not really.’
‘Why? There’s nothing else is there, although god knows there’s enough as it is.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Ben.
‘Don’t think so? Don’t think so? What do you mean? Can’t you keep up with it all?’
Ben decided it was better to look at the carpet. When he looked up again, he saw that his father was studying him with a pained expression. ‘God, look at you. Why do you wear those god-awful clothes?’
Ben shrugged. On a sudden impulse he pulled at the dark hoody and then tugged it over his head and threw it on the floor. His father looked at him with some surprise.
‘Anyway, while you’re here, sit down. We need to talk about tomorrow.’
Ben sat down on a couch.
‘I’m taking the day off work. I rang Mr Findlay today and he wants to see you at eleven. I’ll come with you. If you can somehow come up with some sensible explanation he may not take things any further, otherwise …’
‘Mr Findlay?’
His father looked at him in surprise. ‘Yes, Mr Findlay.’
‘Who’s Mr Findlay?’
‘Don’t get clever with me, Ben. I’ve had just about as much as I can take.’
Ben stared at his father in some alarm.
‘In fact, Ben,’ his father continued, his voice rising, ‘you might say I’ve had a proper gutsful!’
Ben retreated a little on the couch. He’d never known his father so angry. But once started, his father was set to continue. He counted down on his fingers: ‘Let me see, since we moved up here you’ve been increasingly smart, cheeky, untrustworthy, insufferable, scruffy, your schoolwork has gone to the pack, you’re kicking about with a bunch of complete losers and now you’ve been shown up to be a thief and a vandal. Don’t ask me how all this happened. I have no idea how and why it started, but believe you me, and by god and by golly, it’s going to stop! Do you hear?’
By now his father was red-faced and all but shouting.
There was a noise, and Ben looked up to see that Janice had come into the room.
‘Lay off the kid, won’t you Brian? Get off his back. Shouting’s not going to solve anything.’
His father turned quickly around to see Janice standing there. She gave Ben a small encouraging smile.
Seeing this, his father stiffened.
‘Janice …’ he said. ‘Let me handle this, would you?’
‘Sure,’ said Janice, ‘anything you say. It’s just, like … I don’t know whether you’re handling it all that well at the moment.’
‘Let me be the judge of that, will you?’ said his father.
‘Okay,’ said Janice lightly. ‘See you, Benjy.’
Something snapped in Ben when she said that. Before he could help it, he cried, ‘Don’t call me that!’
Janice turned and looked at him. ‘What?’ she asked.
‘Don’t call me Benjy! My name’s Ben!’
Janice flushed. ‘Suit yourself,’ she snapped and then added, ‘sometimes you’re as bizarre as your bloody father!’
At that she flounced out of the room and slammed the door behind her.
4
There was a silence after she’d left. Ben’s father looked curiously from the hoody Ben had discarded and then back to Ben himself.
‘Why the change of heart?’ he asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I thought you wanted to be called Benjy now?’
‘I hate that name,’ said Ben.
Again his father looked at him, scratching his head.
‘Beats me,’ he said. ‘Anyway, Mr Findlay …’ He paused, looking at Ben’s uncomprehending face. ‘And, to humour your apparent amnesia, I would remind you that Mr Findlay is the manager of the store in the mall, the store you tried to leave with an unpaid for PlayStation game tucked down your trousers.’
Ben’s eyes widened. So that was it. He felt a little panic.
‘Okay?’ said his father. ‘Mr Findlay’s at eleven. Then we need to go to the school. Ms Proctor wants another talk with you before the board meets to discuss this bloody thing with her car and the tagging and whatever else. You can’t keep denying it, Ben. There’s witnesses and there’ll be the business of compensation …’
Ben looked even more horrified.
‘That’s at one o’clock,’ said his father.
‘The best we can hope for there, I guess, is that we can get you transferred to another school; that is, if another school will have you with your current record.’
‘But …’
‘It’s a real mess,’ said his father. ‘In fact it’s worse than that, it’s a bloody dog’s breakfast.’
Ben looked up again. His father looked to be in despair. Ben felt like weeping. He remembered his father’s careworn face in the café. The unbearable separation. If only he could have talked to his father then … If only his father could have seen him … If these things could have happened, everything would be okay now, he thought.
Instead: this.
It was a mess, the worst mess he could possibly imagine.
How could he handle it?
His father had mentioned amnesia. He could really claim to have amnesia. He wasn’t there when any of this stuff happened. He genuinely had no memory of it. Was amnesia a medical condition? Could he ask to see a doctor and be checked for it. But how would a doctor do that? Were there fool-proof tests? He doubted it. They’d only think he were bluffing, shamming, trying to wriggle out of it.
But these people: this manager, and the principal, they’d want explanations. Apologies wouldn’t be enough. They would want him to explain why he’d done these things. Only if they were satisfied with his explanations would they make it easier for him.
The trouble was, he couldn’t give them any explanations. It was that scumbag Benjy. Ben couldn’t say anything that would help them understand, could satisfy them.
Sorry wouldn’t be enough. They would throw the book at him.
That meant he’d be expelled from the school.
That meant the manager of the store would probably call in the police.
What a mess. His father was right: a proper dog’s breakfast.
All at once he understood Benjy’s sudden desire to Exchange. And he now understood what Benjy meant when he told Janice he reckoned he had it sussed.
His father had said something. He looked up.
‘What was that?’
‘I said perhaps you’ve fallen so far down there’s only one direction now.’
Ben looked at him.
‘Up again.’ His father gave a wan smile. ‘I hope so anyway.’
‘So do I,’ Ben mumbled. ‘Thanks Dad.’
His father gave him yet another slightly surprised look, and left the room.
5
That night, Ben lay in his own bed again for the first time in over half a year. He didn’t sleep though. Even if he’d wanted to, his mind was racing with too many troubled and wild, whirling thoughts. But even if his mind had been still, he would have been kept awake by the sound of angry voices coming from elsewhere in the house. There were few words he could make out, only Janice’s goading shouts and his father’s raised defence.
Perhaps he did fall asleep eventually,
for at one point he opened his eyes to daylight in his bedroom. It was a strange sensation. The previous evening had been so overwhelming he’d not paid much attention to this room. Now, he rubbed at his eyes and looked about. It was his room and not his room. The bed was his bed but it was disposed differently, facing a different way. The duvet was the same but the wallpaper was different. There were his books but the bookshelf was on a different wall. There were no model aeroplanes hanging from the ceiling and there were different posters on the wall, posters for skateboard wheels, posters of angry looking rap singers and one of a speeding red car looking much like the one parked in the drive.
He could hear a radio somewhere but no raised voices.
He didn’t want to leave his bedroom. He was usually a morning person, but this morning he couldn’t face the thought of having to deal with Janice or even trying to cope with his father’s wretchedness.
Instead he got up and hunted through the cupboard and his dresser for some clothes he felt okay in. He was able to find some jeans he used to wear and a shirt and a sweater. Dressed, he lay back down on his bed and stared at the ceiling.
It was half past seven.
He was supposed to meet with this manager, Mr Findlay, at eleven.
Three and a half hours.
What could he say to the guy?
And what about the school?
What had he done at school? A whole catalogue of things by the sound of it. Tagging? Something about a car? What was that?
He groaned.
Nobody said it would be easy.
Half an hour or so later, there was a tap at his door and his father pushed it open.
‘Oh, you’re up?’
Ben nodded. ‘I’ve been up for ages. Just didn’t feel like breakfast.’
His father gave him a look that said, I understand. Then he looked at Ben again. ‘You okay? You seem a little different.’
Ben wanted to say, I am a little different. No, I’m a lot different but knew that this was beyond explanation. Instead he said, ‘I’m okay. Just thinking about today, that’s all.’
‘Well,’ said his father dryly, ‘you’ve a lot to think about.’
He stepped right into the room, closed the door behind him, and came over to sit on the end of Ben’s bed.
‘I’m sorry I lost my rag last evening.’
Ben gave him a small smile.
‘It’s just that I can’t begin to get my head around what’s been happening to you. What’s brought about this change from the kid you used to be.’
Ben felt wretched. He desperately wanted to tell him the astonishing truth, but knew that if his father couldn’t get his head around Benjy’s behaviour, there was no way he could get his head around the real cause of it.
‘Things will be different from now on, Dad,’ said Ben. ‘I can promise you.’
His father looked at him, gratified. ‘It’s good to hear that, Ben,’ he said. ‘I just hope you haven’t left your run too late.’
They sat in silence for a while. Ben heard the radio become silent and, shortly afterwards, a door close.
‘She’s off to work,’ said his father.
No goodbyes, thought Ben.
His father glanced at him. ‘I don’t know, Ben. You’re different somehow today. You actually seem reasonable.’
‘I hope so,’ said Ben.
His father looked to be considering something. ‘Well, are you reasonable enough to tell me what’s been going on? Why the theft? Why the vandalism? You know …’
Ben nodded.
‘Don’t get angry?’
‘I’ll try.’
‘Dad, it wasn’t me. It wasn’t really me.’
His father started up, then sat down again and stared at him bleakly.
‘No,’ protested Ben. ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant that it was me but it wasn’t me.’
‘I don’t understand.’
Ben thought quickly. ‘It was like I’ve been possessed. Like I’ve been taken over. Like somebody else has been in control.’
His father was about to cut him off when something in the intensity of Ben’s explanation gave him pause.
‘It’s true, Dad. It’s true.’
His father waited.
‘It’s like I haven’t been here since we left that motel down south. It hasn’t been me, Dad. But I’m back.’
There was another pause as his father tried to take this in.
‘Nobody’s given you anything, have they?’ asked his father finally.
‘Given me anything?’
‘You know,’ said his father.
Ben shook his head. ‘No, no. Nothing like that. Nothing, I swear. No. It’s different, it’s been like …’
‘What?’
‘You said it yesterday. It’s been like amnesia, and it’s like I’ve woken up. It’s been like a bad dream.’
‘Well that has to be an understatement if ever I’ve heard one,’ said his father grimly. ‘And even if, as you say, you’ve woken up, I’m afraid the dream’s not over yet.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Anyway, time is rushing on. I’ve got a few things to do in the city. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ said Ben. ‘I’ll be here. Promise.’
6
Once his father left, Ben decided to leave his bedroom. He made a brief exploration of the house really to find out where everything was. Once he had acclimatised himself to the interior, he opened the back door to explore the yard.
There wasn’t a lot to explore. A small lawn, a clothesline and then a concrete patio beyond with a barbecue area shaded by a cherry tree. There was some garden furniture out there and, as the morning was sunny, Ben wandered across the lawn and sat down on a wooden seat.
He had barely settled when there was a small flurry and the loblolly boy landed lightly on the barbecue. His arrival was so instantaneous, Ben guessed he had settled for the night somewhere very handy so that he could keep a watch on the house.
‘I’m surprised to see you,’ said Ben.
He was, too. He would have thought the loblolly boy would have been miles away by now, possibly in a different town altogether.
‘Well, you know,’ said the loblolly boy. ‘I do have a residual interest here.’
‘You have a bloody cheek,’ said Ben, ‘given the mess you’ve left behind. Mess I have to clean up.’
‘Well, how else are people going to remember you, if you don’t leave a mess behind?’ asked the loblolly boy.
‘I can think of dozens of ways,’ said Ben.
The loblolly boy jumped off the barbecue and sank into a chair nearer Ben.
‘What was it like last night, then?’ he asked. ‘Was it bloody?’
‘About as bloody as it could be,’ said Ben, crossly. ‘And it’s going to get worse.’
‘Take it on the chin,’ said the loblolly boy cheerfully. ‘Anyway, it builds character.’
‘I reckon I have enough character,’ said Ben. ‘I don’t need any more. Not of that sort, anyway.’
‘So what’s happening?’
‘Well, Dad’s going to pick me up in a couple of hours and we have to go downtown and talk to the manager of some store in a mall. Apparently I tried to steal a PlayStation game.’
‘You didn’t!’ said the loblolly boy in mock horror.
‘No, I bloody didn’t,’ said Ben, ‘but we know who did, don’t we?’
‘Don’t get tetchy!’
‘Then we have to go down to the school so that I can explain why I’ve apparently been tagging … oh, and damaged some car.’
‘You vandal!’
‘Shut up!’
‘I told you not to get tetchy.’
Ben looked at him. ‘Why did you do this stuff anyway? Tell me so I can pass it on.’
‘Because I felt like it,’ said the loblolly boy airily.
‘Okay, and why did you try to steal the PlayStation game?’
‘Because I wanted it.’
‘Thanks a lot,’
said Ben. ‘I’m glad you explained that so clearly. That’s going to be really helpful later on today.’
‘Glad to be of service,’ said the loblolly boy. ‘Was there anything else?’
‘Just one thing,’ said Ben.
‘Yes?’
‘Go to hell!’
7
Whether the loblolly boy went to hell or not, Ben was never to know. All he did know was that during the rest of the day he surely went to hell himself.
The first interview was bad. Although he was grateful for his father’s support, it was clear that he was trying in vain to support the insupportable.
As Benjy had tried to leave the store, an electronic beeper had alerted staff that he had some unpaid for product on his person. However, instead of coming back and explaining that it must have been an oversight, a memory lapse, the foolish boy had tried to run away, only to be caught by a couple of security guards long before he could even escape the mall.
Mr Findlay turned out to be a long-suffering man with a world-weary view of life. He had a thick moustache and he tugged one end of it when he asked his questions and he tugged it again whenever Ben answered. He’d seen too many street-smart kids like Benjy to be easily swayed by a neat appearance, a respectable parent and a contrite manner. Even so, as he listened to Ben he was reluctantly impressed. The kid seemed genuinely sorry. What made his penitence more convincing was the fact that he blamed nobody else, offered no shonky excuses, simply explained in his halting embarrassed way that it had been a moment of stupidity, a moment he really regretted and one he hoped and prayed wouldn’t happen again.
As he listened, Mr Findlay decided that there was probably no point in bringing in the police this time. Instead, at the conclusion of the interview, he gave his usual carefully honed lecture about the consequences of shoplifting. It was sharp. It was stinging. And it was very, very scary.
Then he shook hands with Ben’s father, and expressed the wish that they would never meet again under such circumstances.
Ben’s father said that he couldn’t agree more, and thanked the manager for his forbearance.
And then, with Ben continuing to mumble his regrets, they were allowed to leave.
The Loblolly Boy and the Sorcerer Page 10
