Dad came up to see me at lunchtime on Saturday, waving a letter addressed to “The Parents of Matthew Corbin.”
“We’ll soon have you sorted out, eh, son? Get you back on your feet. Blimey, it’s hot in here.”
Unlike Mum, he had no hesitation about coming into my room. He walked in and opened my window using his bare hands, a big grin on his face, as if this mysterious letter’s arrival would suddenly cure me of all my “issues.”
“Dad, what are you doing? I don’t want my window open!”
I jumped onto my bed and pulled my knees up, hugging my legs.
“Course you do. Bit of fresh air won’t poison you, will it?”
My curtains blew in the breeze, the germs squealing with delight as they skydived onto my carpet.
“Me and your mum are off to Auntie Jean’s picnic in a bit. How about coming with us, now that you’re on the mend? All your cousins will be there.”
Auntie Jean’s Mighty Picnic used to be the highlight of my summer. A red ring would mark the date on our calendar, and I’d count the weeks until school was over and the picnic was here. It had started off as a small family get-together for my cousin Darcy’s sixth birthday, but it went so well that Auntie Jean had organized one every summer since.
Last year’s picnic had been epic. We all arrived in convoy and parked next to each other by a patch of field at a big, countryside park. The grown-ups hugged and kissed one another first and then turned their attention to the kids.
“Oliver, that can’t be you under all that hair, is it?”
“How old are you now, Darcy? Fourteen? Wow, is it eight years we’ve been doing this, Jean?”
“Make sure you’re on my team later, Matthew. How many runs did you get last year?”
I grinned at Uncle Mike, who put his arm around my shoulder.
“I think it was twelve, Uncle Mike.”
It was twelve. I just didn’t want to sound like a show-off.
Before we unpacked the cars all twenty of us went for a long walk to work up an appetite. We followed the same path that we did every year, but as always there was a disagreement over the route:
“It’s left here, Brian. I remember that tree.”
“No, it’s definitely right. And how can you remember a tree? They all look the same!”
Auntie Jean took charge and turned left and we laughed as we followed her. Toward the end of the walk we slowed down, with the youngest kids at the back whining about sore feet, but then someone shouted:
“Picnic ahoy!”
Our cars glinted in the sun at the top of the hill, and the thought of lunch helped speed us onward. There was a mad frenzy as everyone unpacked their coolers and wicker baskets, laying the picnic blankets out in one huge patchwork.
I scarfed down as many sausage rolls and ham sandwiches as I could, impatient for everyone to finish so that the real fun could begin. Finally, Uncle Mike announced:
“Okay, who’s up for some baseball?”
I was the first on my feet as the adults tried to organize the teams fairly.
“You take Uncle Reg, and we can have little Martha.”
“But Uncle Reg can’t run! That’s not fair!”
“Matthew can do the running for him. Can’t you, Matthew?”
I grinned and nodded as I smacked the smooth bat in my palm, eager to get started.
The game went on for hours until some of the adults said they wanted a rest and the younger kids drifted off to try and catch some grasshoppers. I sat next to Mum and she patted me on the shoulder.
“So you didn’t beat last year’s record then, darling? How many did you get?”
“Only nine this year, Mum.”
“Only nine, eh? Well, next year I’m sure you’ll beat it.”
Auntie Jean was passing around a huge bowl of chips and they landed in front of me.
“Go on, Matty. Dig in.”
I looked down the hill at the old brick restroom hidden in a small copse of trees.
“Mum. I think I’m just going to go wash my hands. I won’t be long.”
I headed toward the bathroom, the long grass scratching at my ankles. The sound of my family’s excited chatter faded as I stepped into the cold, dank building. The lights weren’t working and there was only a tiny rectangle of window above the sinks, so it took a while for my eyes to adjust. I didn’t feel bad, exactly; I just knew I’d feel happier if my hands were clean. I stood alone, listening to the steady drip, drip, drip of the toilet as I washed them in the darkness.
“Come on, son, it’s the Mighty Picnic! You can’t miss it, you’ve got to try and break that baseball record, remember? How many runs did you get again?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Dad walked around my room, looking at my books, my desk, my papers, almost touching things. I sensed he was daring me to ask him to leave.
“You’ve certainly been busy keeping things nice and tidy in here. Where are your dirty socks? Moldy cups? Empty soda cans? The things normal boys would have lying around?”
Did you hear how he said normal, Lion? Did you hear that? That’s not right, is it?
I said this in my head as I looked up at the misshapen wallpaper in the corner of my room. Dad’s mouth was smiling, but the rest of his face didn’t mean it. You had to be careful with him sometimes.
“So, how about it, then? The barbecue? Auntie Jean’s? You going to come?”
I stood up and began to look at the things on my desk as if I had something really urgent that I had to deal with.
“I can’t. I’ve got a load of schoolwork to do. Tons of it,” I said, shaking my head with the utter annoyance of it all.
Dad was still grinning. He knew I was lying to him. Hovering next to me, he reached out and picked up one of my notebooks. A navy blue one that I’d filled from cover to cover to pass the time.
“But it’s vacation now. And you can’t have that much—you’ve hardly been there, have you?”
He began to flick through the book, licking a finger as he turned each page, his eyes scanning my writing. I shuddered.
“I’ve got a lot to catch up on. A … a big project, for a start.”
He didn’t look up.
“What’s this about then? All these lists? Times and stuff?” He held the book out a bit and began to read. “3:04 p.m., Mr. Charles is feeding the fish in his pond. 4:18 p.m., Mum has just come in from work. Blimey, son. You need to get out more.”
I snatched the book from him, instantly feeling infected.
“It’s for the project I just told you about. On statistics. A math thing … And I need to get started on it as soon as possible.”
He looked at me and then at the book, which I now held pinched between my thumb and index finger.
“It looks like a lot of mumbo jumbo to me, Matthew,” he said, his grin gone.
“Yeah, well. You were never very good at math, were you, Dad?” I laughed nervously, not sure if I was getting away with it. “General knowledge is your thing, isn’t it? Not numbers.”
I sat back on the bed and glanced up at the Wallpaper Lion. His wonky eye looked down at me reassuringly. You’re doing okay, he was saying.
“What do you keep looking at up there?”
Dad gazed at the bare wall.
“Nothing.”
He walked around, scanning the corners of the room, looking at the ceiling and then back at the wallpaper.
“It could do with some decorating in here—get all this old stuff off the walls. A couple of coats of paint. It’ll transform the place.”
“No!”
Dad flinched.
“You said you needed to paint downstairs, didn’t you? Remember? In the conservatory? You only got one coat on it after it was built and you talked for weeks about doing a couple more layers.”
I dropped my notebook onto my bed and Dad stared at it. I thought he was going to pick it up again, but he stepped back and his eyes were drawn downward, under my bed. I sat quickly and dangled my legs over the side, trying to hide the box of disposable gloves with my feet.
“So what’s in the letter, Dad? From the therapist? When’s my appointment?”
He was still staring under the bed.
“It’s this week … Tuesday …”
I stayed still.
“And who’s taking me?”
I casually moved my legs, just a bit, hoping to distract him. Dad stood there, seemingly puzzled by whatever glimpse he’d had.
“We’re both coming …”
He took a step forward and …
“Brian, we’ll be late again!” Mum poked her head in the doorway. Her jaw fell as she saw that Dad was actually in my room. She quickly composed herself.
“Aren’t you coming, Matthew? Oh come on, you know you’ll enjoy it when you get there.”
I kept quiet.
“Says he’s got a load of homework,” said Dad, apparently forgetting about getting a better look at what he’d seen under my bed.
“Leave that for another day, eh?” pleaded Mum. “Come with us! It’ll be fun! I know Auntie Jean would love to see you.”
I looked at them both. Mum was grinning, but her eyes were pleading. She hadn’t stepped over the threshold into my room.
“Sorry, Mum.”
Dad cleared his throat.
“Right, well, give us a call if you need us. We won’t be long. Come on, Sheila. We don’t want to be late.”
I’m not sure he realized that I hadn’t used a phone in months. Mum gave me a feeble smile and closed the door. I got up from the bed and listened to them talking quietly outside my room.
“Come on, don’t get yourself all upset, Sheila. Let’s just go and have a nice time, forget our worries for a bit.”
“We’re losing him, Brian. Did you see his face? He’s terrified! Our little boy is so frightened and there’s nothing we can do.”
“He’ll work it out. He’s tough, remember? Remember how good he was after we lost Callum?”
They slowly walked downstairs and I heard the front door closing behind them. I stood there for a while, in the middle of my room, listening to the silence as I wiped away my tears.
“What’s wrong with me, Lion?” I said. “Why can’t I stop?”
The Wallpaper Lion stared back at me blankly.
I bent down and took out my secret box and pulled on a pair of gloves (two pairs remaining) and then closed my window. I got some antibacterial solution from the bathroom and gave my notebook a light spray and wiped it with a clean cloth. Dad had left the letter on my desk and I peeked over the folds, not wanting to touch it.
… for your son Matthew Corbin to attend a psychology assessment with Dr. Rhodes at 10 a.m. on Tuesday, 29 July …
I picked the letter up by a corner and, standing at the top of the stairs, let it flutter down to land on the mat by the front door. I then went to the bathroom and washed my hands twelve times.
From: Melody Bird
To: Matthew Corbin
Subject: You Fainted/Verrucas!
Hi Matty!
I heard you fainted at the doctor’s. Well, actually I saw you.
Flat out on the carpet.
Are you OK? I told you, you didn’t look good.
Melody x
PS. Oh and there is good news about my verrucas! I didn’t have to have them burnt off after all, but I’ve got to use a cream every day, which is a real pain.
I stared at the screen for a while, not sure how to reply. I decided polite but distant was probably best and began to type. On my right hand I wore one latex glove (three left) and I kept my other hand in midair, not touching anything. I was trying to ration them and only wear one at a time.
To: Melody Bird
From: Matthew Corbin
Subject: Fainting
I’m not sure how you got my email address, but thank you for your concern. I’m fine now, thanks. I just got a bit overheated.
Matthew
PS. Glad to hear about the verrucas.
I clicked Send and stood up. There was a lot of noise outside. Mr. Charles was attempting to water his front yard as Casey and Teddy ran around him, jumping through the spray and squealing every time they got a blast of cold water. The old man was bright red and trying to get them to calm down, but the more he shouted, the faster they hurtled around and around. Old Nina’s lamp in the front room window of the Rectory was barely visible in the bright sunlight. I could just make out a soft, orange glow.
There was a trumpet blast as another message pinged into my inbox.
To: Matthew Corbin
From: Melody Bird
Subject: Summer Vacation
That’s good to hear! I am so happy it’s summer vacation. Although you’ve already had tons of time off, haven’t you? But at least you’re off “officially” now and not just because there’s something wrong with you. Whatever that might be … I’m not being nosey! I’ll come over and see you later, OK?
Mel. x
PS. Your mum gave my mum your email address at the doctor’s. I think she thinks you need a friend, and anyone who hates Jake is fine with me!
She typed like she talked.
To: Melody Bird
From: Matthew Corbin
Subject: Busy
I’m really busy at the moment trying to catch up on schoolwork, so there’s no need to come over. And I have plenty of friends, thank you. And I don’t hate Jake. I just don’t like him very much—there is a difference.
M.
There was no way I wanted a verruca-ridden girl in my house.
Mr. Charles was yelling outside.
“Casey, stop it right now! Look at the mess you’ve made.”
He hosed the path, washing away a patchwork of child-sized, muddy footprints. Teddy squealed as the water sprayed his ankles; he did a funny little jump and then ran around the side of the house toward the back. Mr. Charles blasted the muddy remains of the footprints down the path to the front gate. While he wasn’t looking, Casey stepped into a muddy puddle that had settled at the edge of the yard. The back of her pink summer dress was freckled with dirt as she walked brown footprints along where Mr. Charles had just cleaned. Seeing this, he threw the hose onto the lawn and grabbed her by the tops of her arms.
“I told you to stop it, didn’t I? Why won’t you do as you’re told, you naughty girl?”
His hands left behind two bright red strips like raw bacon. Casey looked as if she was going to cry, but instead she scowled at him, refusing to allow any tears to escape.
“Now, be a good girl and go and play,” he said, patting her three times on the head. “And keep an eye on your brother, don’t let him near that pond!”
He picked the hose up again and continued washing the path. Casey folded her arms and went around to the backyard.
Saturday, July 26th. 12:15 p.m. Bedroom. Cloudy and hot.
Number of toys on next door’s lawn = 17
Number of children in next door’s yard = 2
Number of children glaring at me from next door’s yard = 1
Teddy was sitting cross-legged on the grass studying the bottom of his muddy foot. He scraped at the skin with his fingernail and inspected the dirt, then swapped to the other foot. Casey had been dancing, holding the edge of her pink dress, tiptoeing here and there in her imaginary ballet show. As she pirouetted she suddenly stopped and glared up at me. Her mouth smacked up and down and she started to laugh.
“Look, Teddy! It’s the goldfish! Look! The Goldfish Boy is in his tank!”
Teddy stood and gazed toward my window, his eyes squinting in the bright sunlight. A big smile spread across his face and he looked about ready to raise an arm to wave at me, but I quickly ducked out of sight, my heart pounding in my chest.