quite simply, there. Ned wasn’t tall or short, chunky or particularly thin. At school Ned wasn’t in the clever classes, nor did he slouch at the back. Ned, like his hair, was just: there.
Teachers barely noticed him arrive at his new schools, or leave again a few months later. He never got to try out for any of the teams and, until recently, was never around long enough to make any friends. Unnoticeable Ned slipped through the cracks, again and again and again.
His father, Terry Waddlesworth, had once been an engineer. He’d retired from that profession before Ned was born and now sold specialist screws for a company called Fidgit and Sons. “Best in the business”, according to Terry. The job had them move around the country often, sometimes with little or no warning, and was, as far as Ned was concerned, the reason for all his woes. But that wasn’t the only issue Ned had with his father. Terry Waddlesworth had a profound dislike for anything risky or “dangerous”, which meant he rarely left the house unless going to work. He was interested in only three things: amateur mechanics, watching quiz shows on the telly, and Ned’s safety. It did not make for an environment that let growing boys …‘grow’.
They lived at Number 222 Oak Tree Lane, in Grittlesby, a suburb south of London, famed for its lack of traffic, quiet streets and generally being entirely unremarkable. It was the longest they’d stayed in any one place though, and Ned was just happy to have finally managed to make some friends, Archie Hinks and George Johnston from across the road. Despite his father’s best efforts Ned was growing roots.
“So, last day of term,” said Archie as they all headed home from school.
“Yup,” agreed Ned happily.
“And it’s your birthday,” said George. “Major event, Ned, major event. We’ll need to meet up tomorrow for the ceremonial exchanging of presents, of course.”
It would be Ned’s first birthday with the added bonus of friends. The fact that they’d even thought of gifts came as a genuine shock.
“You got me presents? Actual presents?”
“Well, I wouldn’t get too excited. Arch got me batteries last year, wrapped up in old newspaper.”
“They still had a little juice left in them,” grinned Archie.
“Your dad got anything planned?”
Ned’s face darkened.
“My dad? Doubt it. He’s not great with stuff like that. Last year we stayed in watching cartoons. I mean, cartoons! We never go anywhere. It’s like I’m made of glass or something, like he thinks the world was made to break me.”
“Cheer up, Widdler, least he cares, right?” said George.
“I know, I know …” sighed Ned.
At Ned’s gate they said their goodbyes and agreed to meet up after lunch the following day.
Ned opened the door of Number 222 and headed for the kitchen, weighing up the choice between another one of his dad’s microwave meals, or a jam sandwich. The sandwich won.
“Hi, Dad,” he called as he passed the living room.
“And the answer is – Eidelweiss,” chimed the TV.
“Dad?”
“Ned, is that you?”
“No, Dad, it’s one of the millions of visitors you get every day.”
Terry Waddlesworth walked into the kitchen, wearing the kind of tank top you could only find in a charity shop and looking unusually dishevelled.
“Neddles, I was starting to get worried.”
“Oh come on Dad, you’ve got to stop. I sent you the obligatory ‘I’m alive’ text message fifteen minutes ago and I came straight home because of tonight …”
“Because of …?” Terry was now staring through the kitchen window, and out on to the street.
Ned’s heart sank. His dad was like a satellite link when it came to knowing where his son was, but remembering anything else was often problematic. He had a habit of getting … ‘distracted’.
“You didn’t forget … did you?”
“Forget what?” asked Terry, his focus now back in the room.
“The large pile of presents and the party you’ve planned, you know, the one OUTSIDE the house, FOR MY BIRTHDAY?” said Ned, now certain that there’d be neither.
Terry’s eyes started to go a little watery and he pulled Ned in for a large hug.
“You all right, Dad? You’re not thinking about her again, are you? You know it only makes you sad.”
“Not this time, Ned, I promise. She would have loved it though. Our little boy, thirteen years old. Who’d believe it?”
“We said we wouldn’t talk about her today, Dad … and I’m not a little boy, not any more!”
“So you keep telling me.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you just let me … be,” muttered Ned, through gritted teeth and a faceful of his dad’s shirt.
“I know.”
“Dad?”
“Yes, son?”
“You can let go now.” And Ned didn’t just mean with his arms.
Ned’s dad released him at last. “I didn’t forget, son,” he said, producing an envelope and a badly wrapped present no bigger than the end of his thumb and handing them over.
Ned smiled, turning over the tiny package in his hands. “Please tell me this isn’t, like, really rare Lego. Because we’ve built just about everything you can with the stuff and I am seriously, like totally too old for it now.”
“No, Ned, it’s actually a bit rarer than that, but you’ll have to wait till tonight to open it. I do have a surprise for you though. We’re going to the circus. It’s on the green; the tickets are in the envelope.”
Ned would have loved the circus a few years ago, but he was thirteen now, and thirteen-year-olds had the internet, and cable TV and, more recently, friends. Still, any Waddlesworth outing outside the house was worth encouraging.
“Great … I love the circus,” he managed, with all the enthusiasm of a boy that still loves his father just a little bit more than the truth.
“Put them in your pocket, son. I’ve got a bit of a work crisis on. An old colleague of mine … she’s … she’s in a pickle, and I have to go and help her out, but I’ll be back later. We need to have ourselves a little talk before the show. Stay indoors till then, OK? You’ll love the circus, Ned. There’s nothing quite like it.”
Terry Waddlesworth didn’t usually mention “colleagues” and had never had a work crisis, at least not as far as Ned could
