Brooks came into her office, opened the window and left the bag by it. She huffed loudly, sat down hard in her chair, said, “Firstly, we need to talk about the fact that Miss Steadman tells me you’re not participating in lessons.”
Her new sunglasses had black lenses with white around the outside.
“Can you tell me what this is all about?”
There was a long silence.
“You know all this not talking is starting to become a bit of a problem.”
She waited. “What about that dog on the playing field? Is that something to do with you?” She linked her fingers and leaned across her desk.
“I mean to get to the bottom of this because that dog’s been into school again and left a nasty mess. Daisy Bouvier’s new shoes are ruined.”
She nodded towards the bin liner. She polished her sunglasses, sighed and waited, then said, “I think it’s about time we asked your dad to come in for a chat.”
25.
“YOU CAN GO EXPLORING ON THE COMMON ON one condition,” said Mrs Cooper. She gave me an alarm clock. “When that rings, you’re to come home.”
I nodded. Me and Sam had a plan. I’d given Sam cards saying BIG, DOG and FIND, and he’d nodded like mad. He went to ask his mum if we could go on our own.
Mrs Cooper tapped on Sam’s hand, pulled the blue bag off his back. There were other conditions.
“And you’re not to let him go swimming, Cally,” she said.
I nodded. Sam didn’t want to know. He pulled his hand away from his mum and went over to the wall, felt for the calendar hanging there. The dates were in normal writing with Braille bumps on each box. I watched Sam’s fingers run over the boxes and stop where a red sticker circle had been stuck.
“It’s dangerous for Sam to swim in chlorine or cold water because it makes his asthma bad,” said Mrs Cooper with her hands on her hips. She looked hard at Sam, went over and took his hand away from scratching at the sticker and trying to peel it off.
“Really bad,” she said again. “A paddle in the stream is fine, but nothing more.”
She smoothed Sam’s hair and sighed. “Let Cally push you in the buggy.”
Sam huffed and shook his head, but she soon persuaded him he was going in the buggy or not at all. Sam’s buggy was a bit like a baby’s pushchair with three wheels. It was black and faded with orange tatty pockets that Mrs Cooper had filled with bottles of drink, carrier bags with some snacks, Sam’s puffer and the alarm clock. When Sam sat in it, his knees were up high and his elbows stuck out the side. I could see why he didn’t want to go in it.
Mrs Cooper chewed her thumb while she watched us cross the quiet road and bump on to the open common with all the ‘just-in-case’ things and Sam’s boxes of cards on his lap.
Sam stuck his arms out and I pushed left or right, straight on or round in circles, wherever he pointed. He reached for the bracken, the long grass, the tree trunks we passed. Softly he hummed, changing pitch when we went over bumps, downhill or uphill. Sometimes he just laughed and laughed or waved me to go faster.
Suddenly he sat up straight and pointed both his arms down for me to stop. He held up a card – WATER. We were by the stream and little brick bridge where Luke had gone when we first saw the flat.
Sam took off his socks and shoes and waded in. He walked against the flow, bent over so his fingers trailed in the water. He looked like he belonged there.
I met him coming out the other side and he pushed me gently to sit in the pushchair, went round the back and leaned on the handle with his skinny middle. He rested his hands on my shoulders so he could feel me lifting my arms to point left or right. At first I didn’t know where to go. But I followed my nose over the far side of the common where I’d seen Homeless run and soon we were pushing through the trees and bushes in the green gloom and standing in front of some gates.
Swan Lake was spelled out in curled metal writing along the top of the tall rusted gates. Heavy links of chain with a chunky padlock were wound round them to keep them closed.
We left the pushchair in a bush, took all our belongings in the carrier bags and I helped Sam, step by step. We crawled in through a hole, over the crumbled bricks and creeping ivy, under the tangle of branches. We pushed through the bushes, came out in an opening.
There was a small building. Green paint peeled off the door like sunburnt skin so you could see it used to be painted red underneath. Brick steps led up from beside the boarded window to the trees at the top of the bank. They circled high above a black silent lake in the middle.
Sam reached out and felt along the wall. I led him inside the open door. It must have been the ticket office for the old miniature railway Dad told me about. There was a wide counter under the window. A sweeping brush with a broken handle leaned against the wall by a camping stove, some plates, a saucepan and a big chipped dog bowl. Carrier bags and strips of cardboard were folded and piled neatly with a marker pen on top. The top one said Homeless.
In the corner thick bundles of newspapers were laid out in a long rectangle, with some blankets on top, made up into a bed. Next to it was the skin from a snake, shrivelled dry. You could see each transparent scale, outlined in white, the dark holes where its eyes once searched for sunlight. I put it in Sam’s hands. He smoothed its still head.
I found cards for Sam: BIG, DOG, and because I couldn’t find the right words gave him GONE. Then: MAN and FRIEND, because I guessed Jed lived here with Homeless. But I couldn’t stop wondering why Mum had brought Homeless to school, wondering why I had seen her walking with Jed in town.
Sam wanted to go to the lake. It’s like he knew it was there even though it didn’t make a sound, even though he couldn’t touch it. I led him down to the edge. He called, like you do when you go through a tunnel. His voice bounced round the banks, came back to us gently.
Mum was there, standing on the far side. Her red coat vivid. I imagined in my silent heart she could hear me across the still water. “Is Homeless with you?” I asked her. “Have you seen him?” And she smiled and said, Yes, I have. And one day, he’ll find you.
Sam closed his eyes. I think he was listening in his heart too. The tops of the trees shushed as if we should stay quiet in this forgotten place.
I wanted to tell Sam about the tramp, how I saw him with my mum and that Homeless had been with both of them. But his cards didn’t have the right words, or any of the little words that we use in between. And anyway, just then, Mrs Cooper’s loud alarm clock went off. Even Sam jumped. We both knew we had to go back, that there wasn’t time to go further.
Mrs Cooper hugged Sam like he’d been gone for a hundred years. It made me think he’d never been out without her before. He wriggled and wiped her kisses away. Somehow he looked different, and I felt different too. Like we’d started a journey, an adventure or something, and because we’d been together, because of that it made us stronger.
26.
NEXT EVENING DAD WAS GOING OUT FOR A pint with some lads from work and asked Mrs Cooper if she’d keep an eye out for me.
