something to say but all the words were hiding in the creases of my brain. I don’t know anyone who’s divorced, except Fifty’s Uncle Terry.
THE NOT-SO-SAD TALE OF FIFTY’S UNCLE TERRY
Fifty’s Uncle Terry left his wife and ran off with a lady he met at church, to work with poor people somewhere in Africa. One day he cut off all the fingers on one hand with a chainsaw and drove himself to the hospital because he didn’t want to upset his new lady. Soon after that they came back to England to visit a plastic surgeon and we all went round for tea to see the hand with only a thumb.
After tea Bee said, ‘We hope you get better,’ and Fifty’s mum said, ‘There’s no need to worry about Terry. He’s “found himself” in Africa.’ (She meant he was happy.) And Copper Pie said, ‘Pity he couldn’t find some fingers’. There was complete silence and red faces from everyone until Uncle Terry slapped his hand of four stumps and a thumb down on his leg and laughed till his tears rolled down his face and along his moustache.
‘But he’ll be back,’ said Copper Pie.
‘It’s just a question of when,’ said Jonno.
So, not divorce, I thought. Something more complicated.
‘He says he’s not coming back until the twins find somewhere else to squat.’ Bee sniffed between every word.
Now I understood. The twins have jobs and a car and are really old. Bee’s mum likes having ‘her boys’ at home but Bee’s dad keeps trying to chuck them out. He’d obviously given up and moved out instead.
‘Do you know where he is?’ said Jonno.
Bee shook her head. ‘They had a row and then he went to football and didn’t come back.’
Copper Pie made a strange noise and wriggled.
‘What it is?’ said Fifty. ‘Are you trying to burp?’
‘He’s at mine. I think. Bee’s dad. Maybe. At mine. Maybe.’ It came out of C.P. like a volley of bullets.
‘What?!’ shouted Bee. ‘Why didn’t you tell me right away?’
Copper Pie looked worried. More worried than when he was sent to the Head for throttling Jonno (before Jonno was a mate).
‘Don’t kill me.’
Bee didn’t – she was too busy crying.
‘Is he at yours or not, Copper Pie?’ I asked. It seemed as though someone should. There were too many ‘maybes’.
‘Yes, but I didn’t know it until Bee said she didn’t know where he was.’
‘You aren’t making any sense, Copper Pie,’ said Jonno. ‘Have you seen Bee’s dad?’
‘No.’
‘So why did you say you had?’ I asked.
‘Because I saw his trainers.’
‘But no body,’ said Fifty.
‘No. If there was a body I’d have known it was Bee’s dad.’
It wasn’t the most straightforward of conversations.
‘We’re not following you,’ said Jonno.
‘There were two big trainers at the top of the stairs when I left for school. And when I was in bed last night I heard Mum and Dad laughing so I reckoned there was someone —’
‘Laughing?’ Bee hunched her shoulders and stared down at the floor.
Jonno nudged Copper Pie who caught on pretty quickly . . . for him anyway.
‘Maybe not laughing. No. More like crying.’
I winked at him. You could tell he felt uncomfortable about harbouring the criminal at his house, even if he’d only just realised.
‘Why would Bee’s dad go to yours?’ asked Jonno. I forget that he doesn’t know everything about us. He’s only been here a few weeks but the rest of us have been friends forever.
Bee’s dad and Copper Pie’s dad play football together on Wednesdays and Sundays. It’s a team for old people and Copper Pie says they’re Rubbish with a capital R. He also says that on Wednesdays, the football’s in the pub. It made sense that Bee’s dad had gone to a mate’s. That’s what I’d do if I ran away. I’d go to Jonno’s because he’s got a fantastic bedroom with loads of techy stuff and his mum and dad are cool and he’s got no brothers or sisters to mess things up.
‘Come home with me after school,’ said Copper Pie. ‘We’ll see if he’s still there.’
‘No, thanks,’ said Bee. ‘If he doesn’t want to live with us, you can have him.’
Oh dear!
I really wanted to get on with the water bomb discussions. Should I ask Dad to order them? Should I make a sign for the stall? Who was making posters? What should we put the money in? But something told me we were meant to carry on with the sorry-your-Dad’s-gone discussion so I shut up and let Jonno and Fifty try and make things better.
Jonno asked Bee why her dad didn’t want to live with her brothers. She told him about all the things they DIDN’T do: wash up, wash their hands, wash their feet, change their socks, clean their teeth, cook, put the toilet seat back down, change the sheets, go to the supermarket, turn the telly off, clear away after tea.
And then she told him all the things they DID do: eat everything in the fridge even if it says Don’t Eat, watch telly till three o’clock in the morning on loud, bring friends home without asking, borrow Dad’s stuff and lose it, sleep in till lunchtime, borrow money from Mum (Dad won’t lend them any) and never pay it back. Eat even more. Stay in bed even later. Watch more telly.
‘Sorry, Bee, but it sounds to me like your Dad’s right,’ said Fifty. ‘I mean, they are nineteen —’
‘Twenty.’
‘That’s ancient,’ said Fifty. ‘I’m not going to live with my mum when I’m twenty.’
‘I’d rather not live with mine now,’ said Copper Pie.
‘I’m pretty sure she feels the same about you,’ said Bee. She sounded a bit more like herself – insulting – so I thought I’d say what I thought.
‘Maybe the twins should move out?’
She sighed and put her hands on her hips.
‘Of course they should move out, Keener. Everyone knows that . . . well, except Mum. But everyone knows dads aren’t meant to run away from their kids either. It’s kids that are meant to run away, not parents.’
I’d said the wrong thing, clearly.
only eight days left
As
