Monday mornings are good because after assembly it’s News time and everyone gets to write about what has happened to them that week. Jacob missed two Mondays in a row last month – one when Dad let everyone have a day off after Issy died, and the next one when it was her funeral – so he had a lot of News to catch up on last week. He drew a special picture of Issy being dead in the lounge. It was too difficult to draw her lying down, so he drew her sitting up in the coffin, smiling. He wrote his News below the picture.
Issy died and I went to her fewneral.
Mrs Slade said, ‘Well done,’ and stuck one of her special Mrs Slade thinks I am a STAR stickers underneath his work.
There’s only one really interesting thing to put in his News this Monday but he can’t because it’s a secret. He chews his pencil and tries to think of something else to write.
It’s been a mostly boring week. He went to Early Drop-off Club and After-school Club on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Dad says he’ll be going every day this week too unless Mum feels better. School, school and more school. It’s starting to feel as if he lives here. He glances around the table at the other children’s work. George Hindle has written, ‘My Dad won totil wipe out on saterday.’ Last week George Hindle said his big sister is Cheryl Cole. Everyone knows George is a big fibber. Jessie Sinkinson hasn’t done any writing yet. She is drawing a huge picture of the cinema and all the people in the audience look the same. She draws this picture every Monday because her News is always that she has been to the cinema. She might be fibbing, but Jacob isn’t sure because she often gets into trouble for telling the truth. Sometimes she says, ‘This is boring’ in assembly, in a loud voice and she said, ‘You look horrible’ when Mrs Slade had her hair cut short.
Jacob thinks for a bit longer and then he decides what to write. Once he has finished he gets up and takes his book over to Mrs Slade’s desk to show her.
My Mum is like sleeping bewty.
‘That’s lovely writing!’ she says. ‘Well done, Jacob. Do you think you could write one more sentence and draw a picture? Come back and show me when you’ve finished, there’s a good boy.’
He goes back to his place and adds another sentence. Then he draws a picture and colours it in with felt tips. He hurries back to Mrs Slade’s desk and presents his book. Mrs Slade reads his work and looks at his picture.
My Mum is like sleeping bewty. She has been in bed for a week.
‘Oh, is your mum not very well? Poor Mum! Is this her? You’ve drawn her in a lovely, big, special bed, just like a princess!’
‘It’s my bunk bed,’ he says. ‘She’s on the bottom bunk. That’s where she is.’
‘Oh.’ Mrs Slade looks surprised.
‘But Dad says she isn’t lazy,’ he adds quickly.
‘Oh no, I’m sure your mum isn’t lazy, Jacob. Everyone gets ill sometimes.’
‘Do you?’
‘Oh yes.’ Mrs Slade nods.
‘Do you stay in bed all day and cry?’
‘Well, not usually. But if I was ill … or very unhappy, then I might. How about you, Jacob? Are you feeling ill or unhappy?’
‘Nope,’ he says. ‘I’m fine.’ And he is. He knows a secret and it’s going to make everything better.
‘If you ever feel sad, you know you can come and talk to me,’ Mrs Slade says, and Jacob nods, even though he doesn’t want to talk to her or any of the other grown-ups who are suddenly anxious to chat. ‘Go and find a book to read until break time. And, Jacob, you can tell me about anything that’s been happening at home, if you need to,’ she says.
He nods again, fetches the Big Book of Fairy Tales from the library corner and sits down next to Jessie Sinkinson who is drawing identical smiles on every person in her cinema. He opens the book and pretends to read, but he is really thinking about his secret.
Because it’s autumn, things are dying everywhere. The geese know it and they’re on the move, flying over the house and the school playground towards the marsh and the beach, cackling as they go. Daddy-long-legs flies are blowing everywhere at break times – there were so many last week that Jessie Sinkinson was allowed to stay indoors because she throws a wobbler if an insect so much as touches her. There were dead flies on the windowsill in the boys’ toilet, and in his bedroom, right next to Issy’s toy box, was a big, dead spider, all folded up like a hairy umbrella.
Last Monday when Jacob got home from school, Issy’s glasses case was on the kitchen table next to Mum’s handbag. The case was empty, so he thought it was probably OK to take it. He was late home because Mum had forgotten to pick him up. He wanted to take the glasses case up to his room but Dad was in there with Mum and Dad sounded cross, so he decided to put the case in a safe place, which ended up being his school bag.
After tea he popped back up to his room to collect the dead spider. Mum was in Issy’s bed with the covers over her head. He tiptoed in, picked up the spider and tiptoed out. When he got downstairs he took Issy’s glasses case out of his school bag and dropped the spider in it. He’d been thinking about the dead bird from the garden. It had been small but he wondered whether it might be easier to resurrect a really small animal. He couldn’t decide if a spider was the right size so he had a look around the house for some more dead things. He found a fly in the bathroom and a beetle on the back step that wasn’t dead, at first. The collecting bit of the job was exciting. That afternoon Mrs Slade had begun their class project about Egypt. She’d made hieroglyphic worksheets and she talked about pyramids and mummies and a special book of magic spells to bring a dead person back to life, The Book of the Dead. He liked hearing about The Book of the Dead. If Issy had died in Egyptian times, he could have put a book of spells in her coffin to help her get resurrected. He slipped the fly and the slightly squashed beetle into her glasses case – his Box of the Dead.
That night Mum slept in Issy’s bunk. He was glad. He’d been finding it hard to sleep suspended over Issy’s bed; it felt as if he was sleeping above a deep, empty space and sometimes, when he woke in the heart of the night and the dark was silent, he worried he might tumble into the emptiness like Alice in Wonderland, falling down and down and down. Sometimes the veil between real life and his dreams was as filmy as a net curtain and he wondered if Issy was in the room, if she could see him in bed, if she was watching all the time, like Heavenly Father, and he made sure to hide his head under the covers when he picked his nose, just in case.
By Wednesday he wished Mum would go back to her own room because she kept crying in the night. The first time, he got out of bed, patted the bump of her hip through the duvet and said, ‘Shush, shush,’ like he’d seen her do to Issy when she was little. It worked, and he climbed back into his bunk feeling clever and pleased with himself. But soon she was crying again and this time he didn’t know what to do to make it better. It made him want to cry too, so he slipped down the ladder and along the hall to Dad. ‘Can I get in your bed?’ he asked and Dad mumbled something which didn’t sound like no, so he crawled in on Mum’s side. Dad was a noisy sleeper, when he breathed it sounded like he was blowing up balloons, but at least he wasn’t crying.
On Thursday night Dad went Home Teaching and Jacob agreed to play football with Alma because he’d been crying. But football was boring and when he found a dead wasp Jacob hurried into the house to fetch the Box of the Dead.
Afterwards, he made sure Zippy was watching TV and Alma was still playing football before pulling a chair up to the kitchen worktop, flipping open the lid of Issy’s fish tank and plunging his hand into the water. Mrs Slade said Egyptian people liked to be buried with their pets so they wouldn’t be lonely. Jacob knew he shouldn’t kill bigger things than insects – and Mum didn’t even like him to do that – but it was OK to kill Fred because, firstly, if he prayed very hard and Fred was resurrected it would prove that Issy could come back too, and secondly, if Fred was completely dead and couldn’t be resurrected, at least he would be able to keep Issy company.
It was hard to get hold of Fred. He was very swimmy and Jacob couldn’t quite grip him as planned, so he just grabbed his tail and held him in the air above the water while he twitched and squirmed.
When Fred was dead, Jacob plopped him back in the water – he was very slimy and Jacob didn’t want him to make a mess of the Box of the Dead. He wiped his hands on his school trousers and said a prayer, copying the special, powerful words he’d heard Dad use when he gave people blessings.
‘Dear Heavenly Father, by the power and authority of the Melky-is-ick priesthood please bless this sick and afflicted fish to be resurrected. Please help thy Spirit to be with us and –’
The back door opened. ‘What’re you doing? Reckon you’ll get closer to heaven by standing on a chair?’
‘Go away, Alma.’
‘What’re you praying for?’
‘Not telling.’
‘What? Is it a secret prayer?’ Alma laughed and started to sing the words of a hymn in a high, silly voice. ‘Pray in secret, day by day!’
‘Go away.’
‘’Tis solace to my soul to know God hears my secret prayer.’
Jacob ran out of the kitchen but Alma pranced after him, singing in his high, silly voice; he wouldn’t shut up, so Jacob went upstairs to his room and got his pyjamas on. Mum was wrapped up in Issy’s duvet, facing the wall. ‘Hello, Mum,’ he said. ‘The geese are flying out to the marsh. They’re doing their flying in big arrows, taking it in turns to be in the front, just like last year.’ He paused so she could join in, but she didn’t say anything, not even ‘Oh’, or ‘That’s nice’. He waited a little while longer before he went down the corridor and got into Dad’s bed. He said one more prayer then he closed his eyes very tight and tried to make the morning come quickly.
Fred was still dead on Friday morning. No one noticed because they were too busy. Jacob watched him floating at the top of the water and tried not to mind, but when Dad said there weren’t any Shreddies left, he cried.
In assembly he pulled his jumper over his face because the Reception class did their harvest poem, without Issy. He put his head down on the table in maths when he had to answer a problem: Simon has 16 sweets. He decides to give half of the sweets to his sister. How many sweets does Simon’s sister have? At break time he found a really big dead daddy-long-legs for the Box of the Dead but George Hindle stood on it and it stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Jacob cried and Mrs Slade said he could stay indoors with Jessie Sinkinson at lunchtime and sit outside the staffroom drawing pictures with the new felt tips.
‘Why are you here?’ Jessie asked.
‘My sister’s dead.’
‘I know. Mrs Slade told us when you were off. She said we weren’t allowed to talk to you about it in case you got upset, but you got upset anyway.’ Jessie stuck the felt-tip lid to her tongue and pulled it off with a pop. ‘Did they drop your sister in a big hole or did they burn her?’
‘In a big hole.’
‘Did you see her when she was dead?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where?’
‘At my house.’
‘Were you scared?’
‘No.’
‘Was there blood and guts everywhere?’
‘No.’
‘What are you drawing?’
‘Geese.’
‘Why?’
‘I like them.’
‘Why?’
‘They’ve got special wings that make them do gliding. They can go up and down and fast and slow. And when they fly it’s – it’s a bit like a miracle.’
‘Oh.’
‘What are you drawing?’
She looked at him like he was thick. ‘The cinema.’
By the time Jacob got home from school he’d forgotten about Fred and so it was a ginormous surprise to go into the kitchen and see him there, all fishy and alive! He pressed his face to the tank and as he watched he felt like he did when he saw his presents on Christmas morning and couldn’t work out how Father Christmas managed it. Fred glided back and forth, all boggle-eyed and completely not dead, and Jacob raised both hands in the air and shook them above his head, just as he’d seen Alma do when he scored a goal. ‘Yes, yes, yes!’ he cheered.
Jacob flicks through the Big Book of Fairy Tales. There are some ace stories, but his is better.
George comes back from the library corner with The Sports Car Guide and drops it on the table.
‘Fairy tales are for girls,’ he says, pointing to a red car with doors like wings. ‘My dad’s got a Ferrari. He lets me drive it at the weekends. Bet your dad hasn’t got a Ferrari.’
The red car looks small and Jacob is glad Dad doesn’t have one because there’s no way everyone would fit in.
‘Bet you didn’t drive a Ferrari at the weekend,’ George says. ‘Bet you stayed home and watched boring telly and your dad drank beer and shouted and called you a right pain in the arse.’
‘I went to church,’ Jacob says. ‘My dad doesn’t drink beer and he’d never shout at anyone.’
Sundays smell of Mum’s perfume and the brown stuff she wipes on her face that smells damp and muddy. Yesterday didn’t smell like Sunday. Jacob didn’t want to go to church without Mum but Dad said put your best foot forward which meant stop complaining and do as you are told.
Primary was ace. Sister Anderson did ‘Here We Are Together’ in singing time. It took ages to go around the room and include everyone’s name – some people went too fast and there was lots of laughter when things got jumbled up. Afterwards there was enough time for the first five verses of ‘Follow the Prophet’. Everyone marched up and down the corridor, trailing Sister Anderson, singing, Follow the prophet, follow the prophet, follow the prophet!
Dad had forgotten to pack the Sunday bag, so Jacob had nothing to play with during Sacrament Meeting. Dad let him borrow his scriptures – thick as a brick and twice as heavy, with wafer-thin pages like the crispy toilet paper at school. Jacob flicked through the scriptures. At the end of the Bible bit there were some colour maps of where Jesus lived. They were quite interesting and they had little red arrows on them. Zippy said the arrows showed the journeys different people had taken. One map said ‘The Third Journey of Paul’ and Jacob thought if there was a map about his journeys it would be very boring; ‘The Three Hundredth Journey of Jacob (to school)’.
Yesterday at church it was Testimony Meeting. Testimony Meeting usually happens on the first Sunday of the month, but when it’s been General Conference, Testimony Meeting is moved back. Its proper name is Fast and Testimony meeting. Fasting is when you don’t drink or eat anything for twenty-four hours and the money you would have spent on food goes to the church to help the poor. Mum says seven is too young to fast, even though Dad did it. Jacob will miss breakfast when he’s eight and he’ll fast properly when he’s twelve. Alma calls Testimony Meeting ‘Starve and Cry Meeting’ because people go up to the pulpit to say their testimonies and while they’re talking they sometimes cry. Alma says they cry because they’re hungry but Dad says it’s because they’re feeling the Spirit.
When it was time for testimonies Jacob put Dad’s scriptures down and walked up to the pulpit. Brother Stevens got the big step out so Jacob could climb on it and be seen by the congregation. He arranged one hand on each side of the pulpit, just like Dad, and then he bore his testimony.
‘I know the Church is true. I know Joseph Smith was a prophet. I know the Book of Mormon is true. I know we have a prophet on the earth today. I know families can be together forever.’
A testimony is like a list of what you know. Although Jacob knows plenty of other things, like maths, reading, bike riding and how to tell stories, these things are not part of his testimony.
‘I love Primary and my teacher, Sister Anderson. I love my dad and my mum. I know miracles do happen. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.’
It was the first Testimony Meeting since Issy had died, so lots of people mentioned her. Dad thanked everyone for all of their help and kindness with food. Sister Valentine said she was happy to be a member of the true Church and then she cried. Zippy didn’t cry but her voice wobbled as she said it was important to keep the commandments and easy to say the wrong things when you’re upset. Brother Rimmer waddled to the pulpit to tell everyone that Alma Bradley was helping him with a very important project and Alma’s face went bright pink. The room went very quiet when Sister Anderson said Issy had appeared to her in the Temple. Jacob knelt on the pew and looked at the congregation. Several people were wiping tears from their eyes – they didn’t look hungry so they were probably feeling the Spirit. Sister Campbell got up next and said she’d been grateful for the opportunity to sacrifice her tea and give it to the Bradleys. Alma made a sort of snorting noise and even Dad, up on the stand, seemed to smile with his eyes until Sister Campbell said she hoped Sister Bradley wasn’t going inactive. Zippy made a hissing sound and Alma looked as if he’d like to swing Sister Campbell round the room by her plait but it was OK because Brother Stevens jumped up and reminded everyone that Bishop Bradley was a great guy and Sister Bradley had a terrible cold. Brother Campbell said he’d challenged all of the young men to bear testimony and promised that once they’d said the words they’d start to believe them. He extended a special invitation to Alma Bradley to bear testimony. Alma spent the rest of the meeting looking at the floor.
After church, Dad interviewed everyone who queued up outside his office and then he counted the tithing money. When it was finally time to go home their car was the only one left in the car park.
‘Can we go to the cemetery on the way home?’ Jacob asked, even though he knew it wasn’t on the way.
They had to drive past loads of massive statues to get to Issy’s part of the cemetery. When they got to the right spot, Alma wouldn’t get out of the car.
‘What’s the point? She’s not here,’ he said.
Jacob carried Dad’s scriptures with him as he followed Zippy and Dad along the grass. Issy didn’t have a headstone yet, there was just a bit of a bump in the ground where the earth had been put back. Some of the flowers from the funeral were there, all soggy and rotten brown. Dad said the ground had to settle before headstones are put in, which made it sound like the grass and the soil were wrapping themselves around Issy’s coffin – Jacob hoped they weren’t getting too comfy.
There wasn’t much to do at the grave. They looked at the ground and the rotten flowers, at the golf course behind the cemetery with its greens that stretched up to the dunes and the clouds that would eventually meet the sea on the hidden horizon.
‘Right, let’s go home and get something to eat.’
‘I’ll come in a minute.’
Dad nodded and carried on back to the car with Zippy.
Jacob lifted the scripture case, holding it against his tummy like a baby. Under its zip were thousands and millions of powerful, magical words. He didn’t know which words were the right ones, but he hadn’t known on Friday either, so maybe it didn’t matter. He closed his eyes.
‘Dear Heavenly Father, by the power and authority of the Melky-is-ick priesthood please bless this sick and afflicted girl to get resurrected. Please help thy Spirit to be with us and watch over us and … um, thank you very much. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.’
When he opened his eyes he watched as a big puff of wind gusted along the golf course and swayed the grass. It rolled into the cemetery and when it reached him he could smell the sea. He couldn’t see the sea, but he knew it was definitely there, behind the dunes. And although he couldn’t see Issy either, it felt like she was there too.
The Big Book of Fairy Tales has got some good illustrations, way more interesting than cars, but Jacob is only pretending to look at the pictures, he is actually imagining what it will be like when Issy comes back. Everyone will be so happy. Zippy will hug her and Alma will drag her outside for football practice, Dad will do a big, thankful prayer and Mum will get up and make the tea. After tea, Mum will do bedtime stories and put the clothes away in the right places. He will sleep in his own bed, Issy will sleep in the bunk beneath and they will all live happily ever after. The end.