Darkness-destroyer

Alex and I walk home from school together most days at the moment. We’ve never really made actual plans to meet up, but by the time I get to the school gates she’s usually there, chatting to people and laughing. Waiting for me. The aggro boys won’t come anywhere near when she’s with me. They sometimes shoot me nasty looks in PE lessons, but I try to keep out of their way and I’m hoping they’ll get bored of the whole thing. They’re bound to move on to terrorizing someone else before too long anyway.

Today the sun is shining and it feels quite warm, even though it’s only the end of March. Alex is moaning though.

‘This country is so ridiculous,’ she says. ‘It’s hot now when we’d all totally accept it being wet and cold and then it’ll get to August and we’ll all be shivering in our winter woollies.’

I laugh. ‘Yeah, someone should do something about it! Maybe it’s the government’s fault.’

Alex sighs. ‘I just wish it’d make its mind up. Imagine living somewhere that had real weather.’

‘What’s not real about our weather?’ I ask her. ‘It feels pretty real to me.’

‘Oh, you know what I mean,’ she says, waving her hand dismissively at the sky. ‘Snow in the winter, sun in the summer. Crisp autumn days with red falling leaves and fresh spring mornings with flowers and birds singing.’

‘We have singing birds,’ I point out. ‘There are some pigeons living in the tree in our garden. I think they might be building a nest.’

‘Don’t you mean the “pigeon of peace”?’ teases Alex, and I feel myself blushing. One Christmas, when I was little, I saw a Christmas card with a dove on the front and Mum told me that it was a bird that meant peace. A few months later, I got really excited when I saw a pigeon and loudly told everyone that it was the pigeon of peace. Alex has been calling them that ever since, even though it’s not even funny any more. ‘And pigeons don’t count,’ she adds.

I can’t even pretend to know why she’s suddenly so cross with the weather, especially when it’s actually nice today. She’s been like this for a while though – funny and brilliant one minute and then grouchy and complaining the next. I wish her exams were sooner and then she could stop stressing out. It’s hard work not knowing which Alex is going to come down to breakfast every morning.

We get home and Alex opens the front door.

‘Hi, girls,’ Mum calls from her study. ‘Did you have good days?’

‘Hi, Mum, my day was OK,’ I yell back, hanging up my school bag on a hook in the hall.

‘How about you, Alex? Good day?’

‘Just peachy,’ mutters Alex, throwing her bag on to the floor and walking through to the kitchen. I follow her, stepping over her bag and sticking my head round the study door to see Mum.

‘What’s up with her?’ asks Mum, nodding in the direction of the kitchen.

‘The usual,’ I tell her. ‘Grouchy, grumpy, illogical.’

‘Ah,’ smiles Mum. ‘Nothing to worry about then!’

Then she raises her voice and calls towards the door.

‘I baked! Don’t faint in surprise! Cut yourselves a nice large piece and I’m in here if you need me.’

‘Thanks, Mum – I’m fine,’ Alex calls back, sounding a bit happier.

‘The magic of cake!’ Mum mouths at me and I giggle. She’s pretty good at dealing with Alex, which is a good job because I haven’t got a clue what to say to her when she’s in a bad mood.

I walk into the kitchen in time to see Alex cutting two huge wedges of cake, the buttercream oozing out of the middle like lava. My tummy rumbles and I suddenly realize that I’m starving. Alex hands me a plate and opens the back door.

‘Coming out?’ she asks, grabbing one of the pairs of wellies that are hanging on the welly-tree outside the back door, her plate balanced precariously in one hand. When she’s out of the way, I follow her, although my sense of balance isn’t as good as Alex’s so I have to put my plate down on the step while I tug on my wellies. Then I pick it up and walk across the lawn to where Alex is settling on to the swing.

‘So how was your day really?’ she asks me. I look at her and she’s staring at me, looking right in my eyes and giving me her full attention. She does this: when she’s busy with something else, it almost feels like she’s forgotten about me, but when she turns her laser focus on to me I feel as if nothing in the universe is more important to Alex than I am.

I sit down gingerly on the grass, patting at it with my hands to check it isn’t soaking wet and I’m not going to stand up in a minute with a drenched backside. It’s surprisingly dry though, so I relax and start munching on Mum’s cake.

‘It was OK,’ I say through a mouthful of vanilla sponge. Mum’s cakes might look a bit odd, but they taste delicious.

‘What about those boys?’

‘Oh, they’re not a problem! They won’t come anywhere near me while you’re around!’ I grin up at Alex, expecting her to smile back. But she doesn’t. She’s swinging gently and frowning – she looks worried. ‘Really, Alex, they’re terrified of you! You don’t need to worry about me.’

There’s silence for a few minutes while we eat our cake and then Alex puts her plate down on the grass.

‘You need to be able to stand up for yourself, Izzy,’ she says.

I laugh. ‘Why? Nobody’s going to bother me while I’ve got a darkness-destroying, monster-menacing ninja of a big sister, are they?’ This is a joke we’ve had since I was tiny and afraid of the dark. Alex would creep into my room and shout at the monsters who I was sure were lurking in my wardrobe. Then she’d lie down next to me and tell me stories – always stories where the dark ended up being a good thing. Mum used to find us when she came up to bed, all snuggled up and fast asleep, with Alex’s arms wrapped tightly round me.

‘I won’t always be around to rescue you, Izzy,’ Alex says in a quiet voice. I look at her, feeling puzzled. We’re a family – of course she’ll always be here.

Then I remember. I’ve done such a good job of pretending that it isn’t going to happen that I’ve actually managed to forget about it. University. In September Alex will pack her bags and Mum will put them in the car and then they’ll drive for hours and hours. And then Mum will come back with an empty car and no Alex.

I stare at the tree in our garden, trying to imagine our house without Alex. It will be so QUIET. I don’t think it’ll feel like home at all. School will be different too, knowing that there’s no chance of bumping into her in the corridors or the library; well, actually, to be totally honest there’s absolutely no chance of bumping into Alex in the library NOW because she never goes there. I’m not sure she even knows where it is. And Grandpa – I need Alex to help me be strong for him.

‘But you’ll be fine, Izzy.’ Alex is talking to me and I can tell she’s trying to cheer me up. ‘You just need to stand up to boys like that. Tell them where to go.’

And where’s that? I want to ask her. The library? But I don’t really feel like making a joke of it. Not having Alex to watch out for me is no laughing matter, especially not now when I seem to have become public enemy number one.

‘And tell Mum if it gets worse,’ she adds. This time I do laugh – loudly and right at her.

‘I can’t believe you said that!’ I tell her. ‘When have you ever got Mum to sort out your problems? Never – that’s when!’

Alex finally smiles. ‘Yes, but you’re not me,’ she says, pushing off from the ground with both feet and swinging high into the air.

And just like that I feel terrible. Because Alex has said exactly what I’ve always known. I’m not her. I’m nothing like her. I’m the person who needs other people to fight my battles because I’ve never been a battle-fighter. Nor am I a monster-menacer or a darkness-destroyer. It’s a good job that Mum didn’t have any more children after me because I would have been a rubbish big sister.

I get to my feet and gather up both our plates.

‘I’m going in,’ I tell Alex.

‘OK,’ she says, and I walk inside, leaving Alex swinging higher and higher in the garden as the air gets colder and the sky turns overcast and grey.