The Boy Who Sailed the Ocean in an Armchair Read online

  Gingerly, I open the door slightly and peep out. It’s Cat and she proffers us a dish, saying that she’s glad she didn’t miss us before we went to school. “Thank you for the lovely party last night.” I wonder if Cat heard Pearl shouting afterwards; if she did, she doesn’t say so. “I brought you a shepherd’s pie. I needed to make space in the freezer and thought you’d like it. Is your dad in?”

  There we go, that’s number three.

  Confused, Billy says, “But I don’t eat shepherds.”

  Bursting out laughing, Cat says, “There aren’t any shepherds in there. There aren’t any cottages in cottage pie either. No mud in mud pie. And definitely no spots in spotted…” Cat stops herself and repeats, “Is your dad in?”

  “Dad,” I yell, turning behind me and shouting the words as loud as I can. “Cat has brought shepherd’s pie.” There is silence, as I knew there would be. Billy tugs on my sleeve and tries to remind me that Dad is missing.

  “Missing his alarm clock,” I mutter, my teeth clenched into a smile. I prise the pie dish from Cat’s fingers and close the door behind me, resting my head on it. That was close, I tell Billy – but he’s not listening, because he’s too busy supposing that you don’t get bangers in bangers and mash either.

  Mr Beagle is saying how impressed he was with our garden designs. It seems he thinks we are all very talented, some more talented than others, granted – those being the ones who didn’t use the backs of cereal packets and crayons. To be honest, I’m not really listening and it doesn’t take long before Mr Beagle points at me and says that school isn’t a place for daydreaming.

  “Yeah,” hisses Donté Moffatt, leaning over to me. “You need to be more like orange juice.” When I mutter that I have no idea what he’s on about, Mr Beagle yells, “Concentrate!”

  “As soon as I open my mouth, you stop listening, isn’t that right, Becket?”

  “Hmmm?” Unfortunately, I wasn’t really listening, because how can I listen when my life is a whirlpool and everything feels like it’s going down the plughole.

  “Becket, please wake up. Becket, can you please pay attention to what I’m saying about POOP? Becket, the moon is made of margarine.”

  “Is it?” shouts Donté Moffatt. Mr Beagle says it isn’t but at least someone is listening.

  At any moment I could disappear too. Poof! No one would notice me fall down the plughole. I feel my cheeks flare as I look over at Nevaeh, but she’s not interested in me. I think it’s because I said I didn’t believe in butterflies and bracelets didn’t bring good things. Ever since I said that she’s been a bit funny with me. I tried to make eye contact in assembly but she looked right through me. Pretty impressive though, considering she hasn’t got X-ray eyes.

  “Okay, class – and the daydreamer over there, Becket – I want you to get your listening ears on. I have some very exciting news that I did mention to you a while back but you were all in such a hurry to escape that I don’t think you heard me.” Mr Beagle’s bum perches on the edge of the desk. He is wearing comedy socks with little cartoon characters on. “I said that POOP was going to have some very special visitors, other than your parents.” I sigh and use my maths compass to clean out my fingernails. “And since you weren’t listening the last time I mentioned it then I’m going to repeat it. The Eden Echo newspaper are coming to do a piece on our project. I can see the headline now: Bleeding Heart’s POOP. It’ll be magnificent.” Mr Beagle claps his hands together so loud they can probably hear it on the International Space Station. “They’ll want an angle, a heart-warming story to go with it. Perhaps they’ll interview one of you.”

  There is a lot of whooping, most of it from Mimi who says she’s been in the paper before. “I won a baby beauty pageant and got a crown and sash.” Mr Beagle thanks Mimi for the information. But Mimi is on a roll and when Mr Beagle says a photographer will be present she says she’ll be ready for her close-up. Mr Beagle says she needn’t bother because the photographer won’t be doing any. “Anyway,” explains Mr Beagle, “I imagine the Eden Echo will be most interested in the winner of the design competition and that leads me nicely on to the big announcement.”

  The whole class is waiting. Admittedly some are waiting with their eyes closed because they’re less interested in who’s won than being in the paper. Mr Beagle pauses all dramatically like he’s on some imaginary TV show…

  “And the winner is Robert Absolom.” Mr Beagle claps. “I loved his DAD GARDEN. And I loved how he put everything in it that reminded him of his dad – such a super personal touch. The apple tree and the little dumper truck to pick up fallen apples was genius.” Mr Beagle wants Knuckles to stand up and take a bow. At first Knuckles goes as red as a baboon’s bum but when Mr Beagle says his dad garden was so special that his dad must be special too a small smile plays on Knuckles’s lips. As he gets up to take his bow, I spot the bracelet on Knuckles’s wrist get caught on the corner of the desk. Knuckles doesn’t realize and pulls himself up until the bracelet snaps and is lying like a tiny rubbery snake on top of the desk. I turn to Nevaeh and point at it and she turns away, her nose in the air.

  Mr Beagle says, “I haven’t finished yet.” Teachers never have. Just when you hope they’ll stop talking, they keep going. “There is another winner. I realized that the two gardens could work in harmony.”

  Mimi’s up off one bum cheek and getting ready to take a bow. Clearly she wants to win and appear in the newspaper. “Eden Echo’s Next Top Model,” she mouths.

  As I’m sniggering at how eager she is, Mr Beagle shouts, “Becket Rumsey and his wonderful healing HERB GARDEN. I had to pick this garden too because Becket had researched it so thoroughly. From my point of view, it was amazing to learn about nature’s medicine and I think the whole school will benefit from Becket’s knowledge. What’s more we can bring the herbs into class and discuss how plants such as lavender were not only used as antiseptic but also in ancient Egypt in mummifying bodies.” Mimi’s bum cheek goes right back down again and she’s shooting me eye-daggers. Hardly top model material with eyes like that, if you ask me.

  “Thank you to everyone for all your hard work, and special congratulations to Robert and Becket,” adds Mr Beagle, encouraging me to take a bow. “This garden will look fantastic. Your parents will be proud, you will be proud. I will be proud.” Clearly everyone is going to be proud. Mr Beagle says, “I just have to consider what we’ll do with that boring white wall behind. But that’s not something you need to worry about. Leave that to me. I have an idea.”

  I’ve just won POOP. But unlike Knuckles, my bracelet is still firmly on my wrist.

  Dad is sitting on the sofa when we get home. It’s as if nothing ever happened, he didn’t go AWOL and I didn’t need to spend all day at school worrying about what I’d do if Dad never returned. In fact, I had planned for Billy and me to move to Ibiza and live with Ibiza Nana. I’d even written her a letter in class:

  Hola, Ibiza Nana,

  We have decided that we would like to come live with you in Ibiza. We know you said that when you left it was time for you to think of yourself, but we think you’ve been doing that for a couple of years now and so it’s time to think of us. Therefore we will help you by coming on the next flight. I am also prepared to massage your feet when I get there, for a fee. I am afraid I cannot do this for free any longer because there is a law against children working. We are not living in the days of children going up chimneys. Although I know you were alive in those days and so you don’t think anything of it.

  Dad will not be with us. Of course, I realize this is a surprise but you did say that anyone over twenty-five should not still be living with their parents. So, that means Dad will not be coming to Ibiza. Please don’t be sad about this because you’ll have us and unlike Dad we do not smell of kippers. By the way, we will be bringing a snail in our suitcase. He doesn’t take up much space. He does like a freshly-made bed at the end of his travels, probably yours. I’ve already had him in mine so it’s someone
else’s turn. Brian will not like being in the sun, or sand, or the sea come to think of it. Actually we don’t think he’ll like Spain much so we won’t ask his opinion.

  Adiós,

  Becket Rumsey, Doctor-in-training

  Billy Rumsey, Snail Whisperer

  When we walk into the living room I realize we won’t be needing Ibiza Nana’s letter after all. Dad looks up and says “Hello”, as casual as an old man’s pair of trousers. Near his feet there is a Santa-sized black sack of rubbish. Dad’s cleared up the remnants of the party.

  With a giant leap, Billy flings himself at Dad’s belly like it’s a massive marshmallow.

  “Hello, Daddy, I was sick as a cat last night,” says Billy proudly, bouncing right back off again. When I mutter “dog”, Billy ignores me and snuggles up beside Dad. He continues, “Everywhere. I thought it was the squish and then I saw square carrots but I didn’t eat square carrots at the party, Daddy. I didn’t.”

  “It’s quiche and I had to clear it up using the underneath of the bath mat.” My jaw tightens and I fling my school bag in a corner before standing in front of Dad, arms folded. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? Dad, what’s going on? You need to tell us.”

  Dad’s hands tremble slightly and his Adam’s apple moves about so much it looks as if it’s on a marble run. “I’m sorry I didn’t get in contact with you. By the time I got home you’d gone to school. That’s all I’ve got to say.”

  “But you could have used Pearl’s phone to ring us.”

  Dad smoothes Billy’s hair and says softly, “No, I’m afraid I couldn’t use Pearl’s phone. Anyway, Pearl had gone by that time and then they took my phone away. They said they’d look out for any important messages left on the mobile but there weren’t any.” When I ask Dad who “they” are, Dad swallows and uses up his entire day’s worth of blinking in about ten seconds. All 28,800 of them. “The police,” whispers Dad.

  “The police?” I echo. “Why did the police take your phone?” Okay, I’m seriously lost with all this now. And it doesn’t help when Dad admits that he was arrested and put in the cells. “Put in the cells?” I echo. I’m beginning to feel like a repeating parrot (and as sick as one too).

  Dad reaches for my arm and I can feel sweat on his fingers. “Don’t jump to conclusions.” I shake my head but really I already feel like I’m on a trampoline, I’m jumping to so many conclusions. “It was a mix-up about something and nothing.”

  Let’s get this straight. “Nothing” does not get you arrested. I do “nothing” a lot and no one has arrested me yet. Ibiza Nana does “nothing” and calls it “retirement” and no one has thrown her in a cell. That’s when Dad asks Billy to go and check on Brian before dinner. “And wash your hands straight after,” shouts Dad, as Billy disappears down the hallway.

  I think this is code for: I want to talk to you alone, Becket.

  I’m right.

  “I wanted to talk to you alone, Becket. Please understand, I’m so sorry about this. Honestly, it was the last thing I meant to happen…” Dad clarifies that he only meant to be out for thirty minutes max. When I ask Dad what actually happened, he swallows and says it was a small disagreement, an argument if you will. He tries to say it was “nothing” again.

  “Who did you fight with?” As Dad doesn’t look badly injured, I’m thinking the other bloke must have been smaller. More weedy. Thing is, I can’t imagine Dad fighting anyone. That’s not really Dad. Or at least, not the Dad I used to know.

  There is a long silence before Dad says, “It was Pearl.”

  Pearl?

  “Seriously, Becket, you have to believe me. I didn’t hurt her. Pearl was just shouting and I asked her to stop. She grabbed my phone but I tried to grab it back. She ducked out of my way and used my phone to ring the police, saying I was attacking her. But I wasn’t.”

  This has got to be one of the worst things ever. It couldn’t get any worse if I found myself sitting on a public toilet only to realize there was no toilet roll. I stare at Dad, thinking: My dad attacked Pearl and the police put him in prison. But then my brain switches over and thinks: My dad has never got that angry, not even when Billy busted the TV by throwing a brick at it. (Not a plastic brick either, but a brick he’d discovered in the garden and thought needed bringing in and giving a home.)

  “Pearl’s dropped the charges,” explains Dad.

  My head slumps until my chin rests on my chest and my stomach feels like it’s on a catapult. “Do you hate Pearl that much?”

  “Oh no, Becket, you’ve got the wrong end of the stick. I love Pearl.”

  Love? Hate? I’m so confused.

  Dad asks me if I’d like to choose something from the Chinese takeaway for dinner. He says he’ll even throw in a few fortune cookies for dessert. As if a few fortune cookies are going to make this mess turn out okay.

  After we’ve finished eating, Dad brings out the little crescent moons and hands them round.

  Dad’s fortune cookie says: You will learn a lot from your mistakes.

  My fortune cookie says: Everything happens for a reason.

  Billy’s fortune cookie says: To be old and wise you have to be young and stupid.

  When Billy’s taken what’s left of his fortune cookie to show Brian, I tell Dad I’ve been thinking about what he said. “I have ideas,” I offer. “I mean, if you did get angry with Pearl.” Dad shakes his head vigorously. “Okay, but if you did you can get all these books that will help with it. There are medical books for everything and so I bet there’s a book out there that would suit you. Um…” The words get tangled in my throat. “What I’m saying is there must be a book to teach you not to be so cross with Pearl.”

  “I wasn’t and there isn’t,” sighs Dad. “But thank you, son.”

  “Okay.” I pause, my tongue doing a circuit of my lips, before adding, “Just stay away from Pearl then. If she makes you so angry that you end up in prison, then you should definitely stay away from her…” I think about how this is all down to Billy and me. We needed Pearl so much but we never thought it would end up like this. I feel worse than when I made a daddy-long-legs that Billy brought home a daddy-short-legs by accidentally standing on it.

  “Seeing Pearl and talking to her again last night made me realize that I’ve made a mess of everything. You both looked so happy to see her.” Dad eases back on the sofa, stretching his arms out. “I know she’s sorry about everything. She promised she’d never go back to the way…” The words trail off. “You’re right though, Becket. For now, I probably should let the dust settle. Not speak to Pearl.”

  Later, I’m just sinking under the duvet when the phone rings. I hear Dad’s footsteps and the bleep as the phone connects. Then:

  “Pearl, I’m so glad you’ve phoned. I wanted to talk to you.”

  A tiny teardrop escapes from my eye. “Oh, Dad,” I mouth. “What are you doing?”

  As I turn towards the wall, I feel something scratchy under my cheek. Cursing to myself that Billy has left Brian on my pillow, I use my mobile to light up my bed.

  The light falls on a paper crane waiting for me, as if it knew I needed some more magic in my life. As if it knew I needed something to believe in.

  When Billy and I get home from school, there is a letter with Dad’s name on it sitting on the hall mat. Carefully, I pick it up and stare at it. On the front, Dad’s name is written in swirly purple ink, and on the back it says DOVEDALE HOUSE.

  I think back to Camille’s phone call. She said she was from Dovedale House and I reckon I’ve just had a thought worthy of SNOOP: if you were dating someone and you were ringing them up, would you say, “Hi, it’s Becket from Flat B, above Crops and Bobbers?” No, you wouldn’t because your girlfriend or boyfriend would already know where you lived. Sweet Baby Cheeses! I need to look up DOVEDALE HOUSE on the internet.

  DOVEDALE HOUSE

  CENTRE FOR COUNSELLING

  12 CHERRY BLOSSOM WAY

  EDEN

  Serving Eden and t
he surrounding areas since 2001

  Appointments available at short notice because IT’S GOOD TO TALK.

  Camille Ogdon

  Orla O’Brien

  Kimberley Laing

  IMPORTANT INFORMATION FOR SNOOP: I don’t think Camille Ogdon is Dad’s girlfriend after all. And my suspicions have been confirmed by what I’ve just read.

  DAD: Has been seeing Camille Ogdon to talk. Maybe he’s talking about how much he loves Pearl. I mean, he’s just told me as much. He doesn’t hate her, he loves her. And that’s why we saw him at the bubblegum-pink house, he was telling Camille or Orla or Kimberley (perhaps one of them is the lady in the polka-dot scarf?) all about it. For years after Mum died Ibiza Nana said exactly the same thing: it’s good to talk. Don’t bottle it up because then the bottle gets all full of pressure and explodes.

  ME: I told Pearl about Camille Ogdon and got her all cross. That’s why she argued with Dad after the party and he was arrested. It was just a big mix-up and completely my fault for getting it wrong in the first place.

  NOTES ABOUT HOW TO PUT IT RIGHT: When Dad gets home I need to borrow his phone.

  SNOOP HAS WORKED OUT THAT: Dad loves Pearl and Pearl must love Dad more than The Naked Man or why else would she be so angry that he was going out with Camille Ogdon (even though he wasn’t going out with Camille Ogdon).

  MORE IMPORTANT INFORMATION: I got it all wrong and I made Pearl suspicious. I have to do something to bring Pearl back for good. I have to put it right and when Pearl does come back we’ll have our almost mum again. We’ll get hugs like we used to; we’ll paint pictures and eat green things (not bogeys, even if Billy likes them) instead of takeaways. Pearl will be able to attend our nativities like she used to. We’ll get 768,800 km of love too. What’s more we’ll have lots of fun because without Pearl things haven’t been much fun. Billy’s sad, Dad’s sad and I’m sad because everyone else is sad. I have an idea.

  An hour later Dad has come home from his fish delivery rounds and is in the shower singing about heartbreak at the top of his lungs. While Billy is urging Brian to walk a tightrope in the snail circus, I nip into Dad’s bedroom and take his mobile phone from his jeans pocket. I feel a bit guilty when I look over and see Mum’s photo on the bedside table. “I have to do this, Mum,” I whisper. “I’m not stealing it, just borrowing.” I sit on Dad’s bed and punch in the message to Pearl.