It’s supposed to be better at home, that’s what Dad said. That’s why he went, so Mom wouldn’t have to put up with Hurricane versus Volcano.
It’s not better. It’s worse. FAR WORSE. Mom can’t handle Wills on her own, not now that he’s acting up because of Dad going. Even if Dad does lose his temper with him and shout and rage, Wills does sort of do what he’s told—eventually. With Mom he only does what he’s told when he’s upset her so much that he’s sorry. Then we get the soppy I-can’t-help-it excuse, which makes me mad because even if he is sorry, it won’t stop him doing it again and again and again.
Mom hasn’t got the no-basketball threat like Dad has. She says they can’t both use it, and anyway she needs her Sunday mornings to catch up on things. I go to the library all the time. Penny says I might as well move my bed in there, and I think how peaceful that would be. When there’s nobody else around, she brings me cookies and tea while I do my homework.
“No one else gets this sort of service,” she says.
“No one else deserves it,” I grin.
Jack came in once. He crept up behind me and put his hands over my eyes. I nearly had a heart attack because I thought it was Wills, and that my secret hiding place was gone forever. As soon as Penny realized he was a friend, she gave him tea and cookies as well. I told him he was lucky because she didn’t do that for her other regulars, only me. Jack was so impressed that he came again, for the cookies, not for the books or to do his homework. Jack’s one of those annoying kids who always do well even though they don’t seem to do any work.
“It’s cool, isn’t it,” he chuckled, “being served tea and cookies by some fancy broad.”
“Don’t call her that. Penny’s my friend,” I growled.
“If she brings chocolate cookies instead of these plain ones, she can be my friend as well. Shall I ask her?” He took a step in her direction.
“No!” I hissed. “Just don’t mess things up for me, will you? I have enough of that with Wills.”
“All right, keep your hair on. I was only joking. Anyway, how come Wills hasn’t found out you come here?”
“Because he hasn’t, and because he won’t, unless someone tells him.”
“I won’t spill the beans,” said Jack, “especially if you ask that Penny for chocolate cookies.”
I kicked him under the table. “Go away, pest, and let me get on with my homework.”
“See you down the scrap yard later, then? Some of us are going to kick a ball around.”
“Maybe,” I said, and wondered if Mom would mind. Since Dad had left, I’d hardly been down there because I felt I should be home to help her.
He stood up and waved to Penny, who gave him a big smile and waved back. “Don’t forget the chocolate cookies,” he grinned at me, and scooted off as I aimed a second kick and smacked my shin against the table leg.
I did go to the scrap yard. The scrap part isn’t there anymore. There’s just this enormous concrete area where trucks used to come and dump piles of metal junk, until people complained that it was an eyesore and they didn’t want the noise all day and all night. It’s still an eyesore, because the scrap merchant’s building is falling down, and you can’t go in there because it’s dangerous, but the yard is great for soccer and skateboarding, and there’s nowhere else to go.
Jack and six other boys were already playing when I arrived. Ollie and Sam are in my class at school, but I hadn’t seen the others before. Jack called me on to his team with Ollie and Sam, and I was glad because I didn’t want to be with the boys I didn’t know.
“You dragged yourself away from your tea and cookies, then,” he smirked as I jogged in to join them. “You’re turning into a little old grandpa.”
“I didn’t see you turning them down, hypocrite,” I hit back with.
“The best place for a grandpa is in the goal,” he snickered.
I ignored him and ran into a central position. Almost right away I intercepted a pass from Ollie that was intended for Jack, and began to run with the ball.
“Pass it on to me,” Jack yelled. I ignored him again. I was enjoying myself. I was enjoying the freedom of running and not caring.
“Pass it!” yelled Jack again.
I didn’t. I dodged around two of the players on the other team, and headed for the goal. There was only one of their players left to beat now. He stood in between the two goal posts, fidgeting from side to side, betting I couldn’t get the ball past him.
I lined myself up and took the most almighty swipe at the ball—POW! Everything seemed to go into slow motion then, like it does on the television when they do a replay to show exactly what happened. The ball flew toward the net, I held my breath, the goalie dived, the goalie missed, the ball went through his arms and past the goalposts, I leaped in the air and screamed “GOAL!” I turned around and Jack ran toward me, yelling, “GREAT GOAL, GRANDPA!” Everyone else was looking in my direction, and in the background, behind all the arms and legs, I saw Wills. I’m sure it was Wills, Wills and his horrible friends, coming out of the scrap merchant’s building, and slipping away.
DANGER! notices were all over the building. It was all boarded up to stop anyone from getting inside. Was I seeing things? Had they come from inside, or were they just passing by? Why couldn’t there be an action replay?
“Wake up, grandpa!” I heard Jack shout. “Just because you scored a goal doesn’t mean you can go to sleep.”
Someone flew past me with the ball. I didn’t know whether he was from my team or theirs. I stuck out a foot anyway, and Ollie crashed to the ground.
“What d’ya do that for?” he cried.
“Sorry,” I muttered. I pulled him up and watched as he inspected the graze on his elbow.
“Nice one,” said Jack. “You’re supposed to tackle the opposition, not your own team.”
“Sorry,” I said again.
I tried to forget about Wills and what he might have been up to. I tried to make myself believe that it wasn’t my problem. But the notices said DANGER!, and Wills was my brother—a danger to himself, Mom sometimes said. It was like all the freedom of running and not caring had been punched out of me.
“I’ve got to go home now,” I called to Jack the next time the ball went off for a goal kick.
“You’re such a pain,” he said. “We’ll be one short again.”
“I promised Mom,” I said feebly.
“You’re no fun sometimes,” he yelled at me. I felt the sting of it because I knew he was right.
I took as long as I could walking home. It was late afternoon and the stores were just closing. Everyone rushed past on their way to start their weekend, nudging, shoving, elbowing me as they went. I wanted to shout “I’m here too!” because when you’re only eleven and five feet nothing, nobody seems to notice you, and if they do notice you they still shove past as though you don’t count.
I wasn’t in a hurry to start my weekend. It was a Dad weekend, which meant it was a no-escape-from-Wills weekend. I wanted to see Dad because I missed him all the time, but with Wills there as well, in the cramped little rooms, it annoyed me even more than being at home. I wondered if I could go to Dad’s on alternate weekends from Wills, but how could I ask to do that?
I was just turning the corner at the end of our street when I heard feet pounding up behind me.
“Wait for me, bro.”
Wills caught up with me. He threw his arm around my shoulder and bent over double, coughing and heaving as if he had just run a marathon.
“Oh man,” he spluttered. “I think I might be sick.”
“Serves you right for smoking,” I said, smelling it on his clothes and walking on.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked.
“Scrap yard,” I said. I watched for his reaction.
“Scrap yard? Doing what?”
“Playing soccer. I saw you there.” I watched again.
“Me?” he snorted. “Nah, you’re imagining things. I haven’t been near that dump.”
“I saw you come out of that derelict building,” I persisted. “I know it was you, I recognized your clothes.”
“I’m not the only one with these clothes. Anyway, that building’s dangerous. Why would I go in there?”
“Why would you do half the stupid things you do?”
He grabbed my elbow. “Don’t you dare tell Mom I was in there, cuz I’ll tell her you’re a big fat liar.”
“If you want to kill yourself, it’s up to you. It would do us all a big favor.”
I pulled my elbow out of his grasp and started to stride away from him. He ran to catch up to me. As he tried to take hold of me again, something clattered to the ground. It was a knife. Wills snatched it up and put it in his pocket.
“Where did you get that from?” I hissed.
“Found it,” he said.
“Where?”
“Just somewhere.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“I’m going to throw it away so that nobody can get hurt with it.”
He marched up the road, turned on to our front path, opened the trash can, and threw the knife into it. He let the lid fall with an enormous clatter and snarled at me. “Satisfied?”
I followed him as he stomped into the house and through to the kitchen, where Mom was getting dinner ready. Wills didn’t even say hello to her, just opened a cupboard, grabbed a packet of cookies, disappeared up to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him, music on LOUD.
“Hi, Mom,” I said.
“What’s wrong with Wills?” she asked.
“Everything, as usual,” I growled. “Mom, can I stay with you this weekend? I don’t want to go to Dad’s.”
“Why not?” Mom stopped what she was doing and stared at me.
“It’s so small there, Mom. It’s like we’re all on top of each other,” I said. It’s like Wills is on top of me, crushing the life out of me, I thought.
“But your father will be really upset if you don’t go,” said Mom.
“It’s only one weekend,” I argued.
“If you don’t go, then Wills won’t be able to go,” Mom sighed. “Your father can’t cope with him on his own. He relies on you to help keep the peace.”
It felt like something exploded in my head then.
“I’m fed up with being relied on,” I shouted. “I don’t want to be relied on. I want to be able to have fun and do normal boy things and get into trouble sometimes and not worry that I’m just making everything worse. Like I am now, because now I’m being a problem just as much as Wills.”
I stormed out of the kitchen and ran up to my room, slamming the door just like Wills. Then I began to cry like a big baby and that made me feel worse still. I heard Wills’s door open. I leaned against my own door in case he tried to come in, but he went downstairs and I guessed that he had gone down to find out what all the shouting was about.
How dare I start a hurricane!
Mom knocked on the door and asked to come in. She opened it and stood in the doorway. Wills came up behind her and waved to me over her shoulder.
“You all right, bro?” he asked. “Do you want to play Monopoly with me?”
He wasn’t being funny or anything, I knew that. He really thought he could cheer me up. He wanted to cheer me up. He had no idea he was the cause of my misery.
“I said stay downstairs, Wills,” Mom told him. “I want to speak to Chris on my own.”
Wills waggled his fingers at me and galloped off downstairs. Mom came in, shut the door, and sat next to me on the bed.
“You’re right,” she said. “It’s not fair that we rely on you so much. I suppose because you’re never any trouble we tend to forget that you’re just a child and shouldn’t be saddled with adult responsibilities.”
“Sometimes it all gets on top of me,” I sniffed.
“You mean Wills?” she said, stroking my hair and making me feel like I just wanted to curl up in a little ball and go to sleep. I nodded my head and leaned against her.
“Sometimes I feel that I don’t count because Wills takes everyone’s time and energy.”
Mom held me tight. “You do count,” she said, “more than you could ever imagine, but it’s not easy, I know, and I know you get a raw deal a lot of the time.”
“It’s worse since Dad went.”
All I could think about then was that Wills was doing all these things that he shouldn’t be doing. I wanted to tell Mom so that she could work it out with Dad and I could forget all about it.
“Wills doesn’t mean any harm,” said Mom. “He just gets a bit carried away sometimes. He’ll calm down more as he gets older.”
How much older? I wondered. How much calmer? And how much more carried away was he going to get before he was older and calmer?
“You don’t know what it’s like having him as a brother,” I said.
“Is there something you’re not telling me about Wills?” she asked, turning my face toward hers. “He’s not bullying you or anything like that, is he?”
“Not exactly,” I muttered. “Sometimes I don’t like the way he makes fun of me in front of his friends,” I said rather pathetically.
“I’m afraid that’s something that all older brothers and sisters do.” Mom frowned. “It’s just a way of making themselves look smart, and Wills doesn’t have many weapons in his armory. Ignore it, Chris.”
He had a knife, Mom! It’s in the trash can. If only you could see for yourself.
“I’ll go to Dad’s, if you really want me to,” was all I said.
“It’s got to be what you want as well,” said Mom. “I’m not going to force you.”
I didn’t know what I wanted anymore, except to stop the pounding in my head and the churning of my stomach.
“I’ll go,” I said. “I miss my dad.”
Mom hugged me tight and I felt her breathing stutter.
“It’s the mess he can’t stand, isn’t it, Mom? His new place is all neat and tidy when we go there. It’s like it isn’t lived in at all.”
“He finds chaos and untidiness very difficult,” Mom agreed.
“So if we tried to be a bit tidier and if Wills gets calmer—”
I knew even as I said it that it wasn’t going to happen, not just like that, not ever probably.
“I don’t think he can be happy there, Mom,” I changed track.
“He wasn’t happy here, Chris,” sighed Mom.
A loud crash made us jump to our feet. Mom crossed to the door, turned, and said, “We’ll try to protect you from the worst,” before running downstairs.
I followed her down to the kitchen where Wills was standing, eyes glued to the ground. The sugar bowl—or what used to be the sugar bowl—and its contents were sprayed all over the floor.
“I was making us all a nice cup of tea, Mom, and it slipped,” Wills moaned. “I thought you’d like a nice cup of tea.”
“Accidents happen,” said Mom quietly. “It was a kind thought.”
“I’ll fetch the dustpan and brush,” said Wills. He walked straight over the sugar. “It’s all crunchy.” he grinned.
“I’ll do it.” Mom tried to reach the dustpan and brush first, but Wills snatched them from her.
“I spilled it,” he said. “I must clean it up.”
He started to sweep painstakingly carefully, but he couldn’t keep it up. He began brushing the sugar past the pan, then brushing it back the other way and missing again. Sugar flew around the kitchen.
“Leave it,” ordered Mom.
“S’not finished,” said Wills.
“I said leave it!” Mom shouted. “Just leave it and do as you’re told for once.”
Wills dropped the brush and pan. He stood up looking shocked. “Jeez, Mom,” he said, “there’s no need to shout.”
“There is a need. There’s every need!” she shouted again. She was shaking. I’d never seen her so angry. Wills just sort of drifted away into the living room without saying another word. Silenced.
Mom bent down and started brushing furiously.
“Can I do anything, Mom?” I murmured.
She shook her head.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” I said.
“It’s not your fault.” Suddenly she sounded exhausted.
It was the quietest evening on record after that. We ate our dinner without saying very much, except, “Don’t slurp your spaghetti” and “Doh, I always spill tomato sauce on myself,” and “You’re the best cook in the world, Mom.” Mom left me and Wills to wash up the pans, while she went to buy some more milk. I was expecting the usual fight, but Wills just got on with the job. I began to think that Mom should shout at him more often, because it seemed to work, but I didn’t like her shouting because she sounded like somebody else’s mom.
We went to watch the television when we’d finished. Mom came back and sat down on the couch. Wills tried to nuzzle up to her like a soppy dog, but Mom pulled away and told him to go back to his chair. I almost felt sorry for Wills because he looked as if he’d been punched in the face. He went upstairs to his room and stayed there, and I guessed he was working on his fossils. Mom didn’t even say goodnight to him like she usually does with big hugs and big warnings about staying in bed. She just called, “Sleep tight,” through the closed door. Wills didn’t answer.
I heard Wills’s door open in the middle of the night. The stairs creaked as he crept down them. I thought he was going into the kitchen on his usual midnight-snack hunt, but the noises were different. I was sure I heard the front door click open. I saw the security light go on through my curtains, but it did that quite often because of all the cats that prowled around outside. I got out of bed and peeped through the window. I couldn’t see anything, but there was that clicking noise again, followed by the normal kitchen noises of cupboard doors banging and knives clattering. Wills making himself a sandwich.
Knives. Was the knife still in the trash can? Was that what Wills had been doing?
Soon after that he came back upstairs and into his room. Did he have the knife with him? Where was he going to hide it? What was he going to do with it? I fell asleep with the questions buzzing around and around inside my head, like a fly that can’t get out of a window because it’s closed, but bashes against it endlessly.