The next night, Beth’s dad, Jim, made pasta for dinner. He makes really great pasta, so no one talked much until our plates were almost cleared.
‘We should ask Graham to join us for dinner tomorrow evening,’ said Mum as we were scraping up the last of the totally delicious, creamy sauce.
‘Yay!’ said Beth and I together. Dinner’s always much more fun when Graham’s around.
Then I remembered something. ‘Do you know why Graham hasn’t got any pictures on the walls in his house, Jim? There’s not a single picture or photograph or poster – or anything.’
Jim shook his head. ‘No idea. I’ve been visiting Graham’s house since I was a little boy, and it’s always been like that. I even asked my dad about it once – he was Graham’s brother, you know.’
‘And what did your dad say?’ asked Beth.
‘He didn’t have a clue either. I wanted to ask Graham if there was a reason, but my dad wouldn’t let me.’
‘Why?’ I asked.
Jim shook his head. ‘My dad wouldn’t say, but once, when I was a bit older, when Graham was away on his travels, Dad talked a bit more about him.’
‘What did he say?’ asked Mum.
‘He said that Graham was much younger than him, but that when he was little, he was a cute, normal kid – always laughing and running around. He said he was a bit of a daredevil.’
‘That sounds about right,’ I said, remembering him rolling down the hill, and not caring that everyone in the park was staring at him.
‘Graham’s always had a wild streak,’ said Jim. ‘But my dad did say one other thing though.’
‘What?’ asked Mum.
‘My dad went to work in London when Graham was very young – and he said that at the end of one summer, when Dad came home on holidays, Graham was like a different boy.’
‘Different how?’ I asked.
‘My dad couldn’t really explain it – even many years later he seemed mystified. He said Graham was unusually quiet that September, and a bit removed from the world – it was almost like a little part of his younger brother had died.’
‘What had happened to him?’ asked Mum.
‘That’s the strange thing – as far as the family knew, nothing at all had happened.’
‘And what did Graham say about it?’ asked Beth.
‘I’m not sure anyone asked him,’ said Jim. ‘Things were different back then. It would’ve been … the late 1950’s or … actually I remember now – my dad said it was 1960 – his last year in London. People didn’t talk about their feelings in those days – there was lots left unsaid. I think people thought that if they didn’t talk about their problems they might magically disappear.’
‘As if that was a good strategy for mental health!’ said Mum.
‘And what happened after that?’ I asked.
‘Well, nothing really,’ said Jim. ‘Next time my dad came home, Graham seemed to have snapped out of it. He might not have been exactly back to normal, but he didn’t seem quite as sad as before, and, well you know how it is – life goes on.’
‘You all know I’m very fond of Graham,’ said Mum. ‘But if you ask me, there’s something strange about a man who travels abroad as much as he does.’
‘Muuum!’ I said. ‘That’s so stupid. I’d go on holidays every single day if I could. I’d go to Africa and Australia and—’
I know you would,’ said Mum smiling. ‘But Graham’s a grown-up and grown-ups don’t do things like that. It’s almost like Graham’s running away.’
‘Running away from what?’ I asked.
‘You mean like a murder or something?’ asked Beth, giggling.
I giggled too. ‘Graham wouldn’t hurt a fly – literally,’ I said. ‘He so wasn’t happy when I tried to kill one with a newspaper last summer.’
‘And he saved those poor ducks from being knocked down,’ said Beth.
‘And remember when there was a mouse in his kitchen last winter?’ I said. ‘Graham gave it a big lump of cheese and then set it free in the garden.’
Everyone laughed.
‘You know perfectly well I didn’t mean that Graham committed a crime,’ said Mum. ‘It’s more like there’s something he can’t face up to. It’s as if trekking halfway across the world is easier for him than dealing with stuff that’s going on in his head.’
‘That’s interesting,’ I said. ‘And maybe it’s true – but it still doesn’t explain why the walls of Graham’s house are completely bare.’
‘It’s a mystery, all right,’ said Mum.
‘And some mysteries will never be solved,’ said Jim. ‘Like the mystery of who here is ready for a chocolate brownie?’
Jim’s jokes are usually pretty lame, but his brownies are amazing, so I resisted rolling my eyes, and raced Beth to the fridge to get out the dessert.
