It takes most of the next day to finish the awning. Dad refuses to let Banks paint it with wood stuff; he says he needs to rest and not overdo it. In the afternoon our doctor makes a house call, taking Banks into the sitting room to give him the once over. He leaves a prescription and tells us Banks has a chest infection and needs to put on some weight. Banks and I watch TV in an awkward silence until I unearth Dad’s old chess set from one of the cupboards. We play until it starts to get dark and the little pieces – mostly mine – have been captured and lie in the gloom like a pile of tiny corpses. When Mum comes to the door she pauses a moment before switching the light on and asking if we want to eat. I wonder what it is she sees as she watches us.
On Sunday, Banks helps Dad finish the awning and then shifts stuff around in the shop for Mum. I stay at a distance, as if he’s their friend and not mine. There’s a sort of visitor quietness about the place, like when Aunty Janet came over from Canada and no one quite knew whether to carry on normal life or entertain her all the time. Also like Aunty Janet, Banks has conversations with Mum and Dad that I’m not part of. I see them from the window and catch them when I come downstairs. It feels like I’ve lost him; like they’re the adults and I’m just some kid who isn’t involved. I pretend I don’t care. Instead I call Joe and tell him what Banks did. I tell him he’s a hero, but Joe doesn’t say much and soon tells me he has to go.
On Monday, something happens. Just as we are finishing breakfast, the phone rings and Dad comes into the kitchen with a strange expression on his face.
‘It’s the local paper,’ he says. ‘Your friend Joe gave them our number. They want to speak to Stuart about what happened. It seems he’s the Local Hero.’
‘Stuart?’ I say. Then I realise. Stuart is Banks! Banks is called Stuart. I run upstairs and find the computer screen flashing a message:
The messages are half an hour old. I sit down on the bed. Maybe he’s right. Being a hero might help. They can’t put someone’s picture in the news and then just let them go back on the street the next day, surely?
I sit on the bed and wonder what the story will look like, what it will say. Everything seems to have happened at once and I’m not sure what I think about it.
In the end, I don’t get to see the reporter. The new term has come along and I have to go to school. I can’t put it off any longer. It’s only three days since Banks came, but it seems like for ever.
I come down in my uniform and ask Mum if she thinks he’ll be staying, but she says don’t be silly. ‘He’s not a stray dog or a child,’ she laughs. ‘He’s just getting his strength back. When your dad starts back to work, he can’t realistically stay here, can he?’ Her eyes can’t seem to meet mine, but I know she’s right.
‘There’s also that business with the ring,’ she says, and flushes.
We don’t talk about it again. I sit across the breakfast table from Banks and drink tea, and he stares at me out of his green eyes.
I leave soon after, when Joe knocks for me. I feel like a kid going off and leaving the adults to it. I’m not in the mood for school, or for people. I feel like crying and don’t know why. I want to be somewhere else, not sitting here simplifying fractions or talking about TV programmes in the canteen. At lunch, Raven pulls me away to a table on our own and I pour it all out. I tell her I want him to stay, that I want Mum and Dad to ask him; that I fear they won’t.
‘He’s not Sam,’ she says, and I don’t get that. Of course he’s not Sam! I don’t want Sam. I want Banks. I want him to be all right. Raven must see it in my face because she shakes her head – mouth full of crumbs – and pats my hand. ‘Forget it,’ she says. ‘It’s just that sometimes we don’t notice what’s right in front of us, because it’s too close to see.’
She must be right, because I don’t see it at all. My mind is whizzing round and I just want to go home. It’s only Joe who stops me from leaving after lunch. ‘You can’t,’ he says. ‘You have to think ahead. If you keep walking away you’ll never get back.’
He’s gelled his hair and looks even less like a schoolboy than ever. You can tell by looking at him that he’s been doing things the others haven’t. That’s what we share, that being apart from normal things. After school we wander into town, but everything seems changed. There’s been some subtle shift, like one of those party games where someone hides things under a cloth and takes one away. You can’t tell what it is; you just know something has altered. I’m almost glad when Joe bumps into some lad he knows. I say goodbye and head home, but I know before I get there that Banks is gone.
Mum and Dad are outside, shifting plant pots round the legs of the awning. They stop and look at me, reading my face.
‘The paper came and did the interview,’ Mum says. ‘They were very nice, took some pictures and so on. They wanted Stuart to go with them down to where it happened. I think it will do him good, don’t you?’
‘Is he coming back?’ I ask. ‘I didn’t say goodbye.’
Dad stands and sighs. ‘No, Corinne,’ he says. ‘We did what we could, but he wanted to leave; going with the reporter was a good time to do it. We sent him off with some money and warm clothes; it’s probably for the best. The paper will put him in touch with people who can help. We’re not equipped for that.’
I can’t believe it. Banks has gone without waiting for me.
‘What did he say?’ I demand. ‘He must have said something.’
Dad pushes past Mum, wiping his hands down the side of his trousers.
‘If you must know,’ he says, throwing down his gardening gloves, ‘he said he needed a drink.’