The Boy Who Hit Play Page 12

  Forget It

  The wind blasts through the open door and into our faces like a kid that’s just won and wants to rub it in.

  I try to push it away.

  It laughs past my fingers.

  The truth sits in my stomach like a worm I can’t spit out.

  I get up.

  ‘Elvis.’ Dad tries to catch me.

  I shake my head and twist away. ‘I wanna go out.’

  ‘In that?’ A piece of tree bounces off the window. Dad’s eyes bunch together.

  I go for the door. ‘Yeah.’

  He tries to catch my arm. I pull it away and go.

  Out into the full force of the storm. A jackdaw gets chucked about and thrown back into its nest in the wall with a stick that’s way too big to fit in. It hangs on to the stick.

  I see the shadow of Kirsten standing, arms folded, hair flying.

  I turn away, down the path kicking up rocks. My eyes are rain-sting blind slits. Sand is drilling into my skin and under my sleeves. Purple light comes at me from all sides, poking and prodding its way under my jumper and down my socks.

  I think about the Aftenposten.

  We share sixty per cent of our DNA with tomatoes and we are nothing like tomatoes.

  I think about Jean and Steinar.

  You are not all the time guessing.

  I think about Bjorn.

  His chainsaw badger bounces in my head.

  I get down to the water and curl up into the grass.

  And think about my life.

  *

  How I always felt like a loose piece of puzzle rattling in a box and all the other bits had fallen out, And I didn’t know what the picture was on the front. Or what kind of shape I was meant to make. I just wanted to build some edges to give me something to hold on to. So I could fill in the gaps.

  Now I’ve got edges.

  And I just want to tear them all to pieces.

  Reaching Out

  Someone touches me on the shoulder.

  I don’t look up.

  ‘I’m not going back, Dad.’

  ‘I’m not your dad.’

  I look round. It’s Lene. Embarrassing.

  I hold my hands up sideways like cheek wipers.

  ‘My eyes hurt,’ I yell.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And my ears.’

  ‘Yes.’ she says.

  ‘I hate this stupid storm,’ I scream and the storm carries on and takes no notice.

  My trousers are soaking.

  A massive bird makes a weird noise and swoops over us. It cocks its head sideways checking us out.

  ‘White-tailed eagle.’ Lene points. ‘He lost his mate last winter.

  The eagle bounces off. Whipped on the wind.

  I wonder how much she heard before. She was on the iPad. Maybe she wasn’t listening.

  ‘My dad’s dead, actually,’ she shouts and squats down in the grass. ‘If it helps.’

  OK, so maybe she heard everything.

  I don’t know what to say to that. We turn away from a sand blast. ‘Sorry,’ I say. It’s weird not being the one with the problem.

  ‘He died when I was a baby.’ She ducks a twig. ‘I never met him.’

  We watch a jellyfish blub up on to the sand, spat out of the waves.

  ‘Your mum seems nice,’

  ‘Your dads seem nice,’

  we say together.

  Lene half smiles.

  ‘They’re not my dads,’

  ‘That’s not my mum,’

  we say in sync.

  ‘She’s my aunt.’ She pulls her hair into her fist. ‘I come here every summer.’

  ‘Dad’s my dad. Lloyd’s his best friend,’ I say. ‘Actually he’s more like a family pet we look after.’

  She smiles. And out at sea one patch of sky turns white in the middle of the purple. ‘The weather’s like this here,’ she says. ‘It does what it wants. In the winter the winds can get up to seventy miles an hour.’

  ‘Is that why you chain the house down?’ I imagine flying houses.

  ‘Yeah.’ She nods. ‘Kirsten left her guitar on the top of that one last year and it ended up on the next island.’ She points.

  I wonder what kind of music the wind made when it flew. Does wind play guitar?

  ‘In winter there’s only three to four hours of sun.’ She wipes the drips off her nose. ‘And the snow is higher than your head.’

  I don’t think I could live like that.

  We hunch up and watch the storm.

  It howls in our faces.

  And flattens our hair.

  Neither of us moves.

  Or says anything.

  And it should feel weird.

  But it doesn’t.

  It feels nice.

  Kind of.

  I take my phone out.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Recording.’ I yell. ‘I like sounds.’

  She nods at the phone. I record:

  stormy thoughtful

  (a massive rip-it-up storm, hiss and crackle).

  ‘I sing,’ she says.

  ‘Cool.’ It takes three stabs to switch my phone off as my fingers are numb. I put it back in my pocket. ‘I make videos.’ I think about the comments string. ‘Well I used to. People are mean.’

  ‘People are always mean.’ She stands up. ‘You should do it anyway.’ The water rolls off her waterproofs. She stretches her arms up and screams. ‘Sometimes it is a good thing to do.’ She grins.

  I look around. There’s no one to see us. There’s no one here for miles. Who’s gonna hear it anyway? So I stand up and scream too. It’s like all the stuff that’s bad comes out from inside for a while. And it feels good.

  I watch my anger rolling round the mountains.

  We scream some more.

  And I realise that I’m smiling. Even though my hands are blue.

  Lene wrings the water out of her hair.

  A woman walks past, bent double and acting like nothing is happening.

  ‘Who’s that?’

  ‘Mrs Halvardson,’ Lene waves.

  ‘Hei hei!’ Mrs Halvardson holds her hood with one hand. ‘Misty needs walking.’ Her dog is jumping about, its tongue lolling. Its eyes big and bright. Misty’s neck and front legs float off his lead.

  ‘We should go in,’ Lene says and starts walking back to the house.

  ‘Will you sneak me upstairs?’

  I don’t wanna see Kirsten right now. It’s so embarrassing. She quit her farm ’cos of me.

  ‘I don’t need to sneak you,’ Lene looks over her shoulder. ‘That’s where you’re staying. I made your beds up this afternoon.’ She keeps walking. ‘Coming or what?’

  A leaf slaps me on the cheek. I pull it off and follow.

  Home

  Inside there’s no sign of Kirsten. Lene leads the way through the house. We drip up one floor with a wooden landing and rooms leading off, and she shows me the bathroom with a hamster in the bath. ‘He’s called Sumo,’ she says. ‘He lives there for freedom, to escape a cage.’ She passes me a dressing gown and waits outside. Sumo scuttles through a toilet tube with a mouth full of sunflower seeds.

  I peel off my clothes which are stuck like Pritt Stick and run my hands under the hot tap till they turn pink.

  I wonder why Kirsten walked out?

  I wonder what she knew about my mother but didn’t say?

  Why?

  I wonder why Floyd and his shadow aren’t here?

  The dressing gown hangs down to my ankles. Lene doesn’t laugh.

  ‘Did anyone strange come to the island last night?’

  ‘Like who?’

  ‘Two men.’

  ‘No.’ Lene takes off her waterproofs and everything is dry underneath. ‘Maybe.’ She dumps her trousers in the sink. ‘If they came on their own boat. I can only see the ferry from here.’

  We walk through the house and up into an attic with windows all down one side. The floor is bright blue with strawberry wa
llpaper and two beds, one down by the windows, one in the corner, with fairy lights and Dad on. When he sees me he smiles.

  ‘You can shut the panel if you want to be alone.’ Lene points at a wooden panel which hinges from the floor. She shows us how it shuts and blocks off the stairs. ‘This is Rufus.’ She hands me a black kitten. ‘This is Garfield.’ She hands Dad a white one and goes off downstairs.

  ‘Bye,’ I yell after her.

  ‘See yer,’ she yells back.

  The kittens wriggle in our hands.

  I sit next to Dad.

  Rufus rolls on his back and bops the air.

  Garfield climbs up Dad’s chest and sniffs his armpit. ‘I’m sorry it didn’t work out how you wanted.’ He sighs. The window bounces open and lets the storm in.

  I think about my parent dreams.

  What did I expect.

  Loving arms and a sweet sad story of how much I was missed and how they’ve spent their whole life searching for me?

  Yes actually.

  A part of my insides squeezes.

  Yeah that is what I wanted.

  I feel really stupid.

  At least now I know the truth.

  Do I?

  I put my hands under the kittens’ fur so the purring goes right through me.

  Dad puts an arm round my shoulder. ‘You OK?’

  ‘No,’ I say and laugh. It’s unexpected. It just bubbles right out of me. ‘Where’s Lloyd?’

  ‘Staying in one of the cabins.’ Dad points out the window.

  ‘Why’d he run out, Dad? What does he know we don’t?’

  ‘You know Lloyd. Everything about him is a mystery.’ Dad stares out at the island. ‘Look at it. It’s the wildest most beautiful place I’ve ever seen in my life,’ he says and we watch the curtains dance. ‘You want to stay for a while?’ He tickles Rufus under the chin. ‘Kirsten wants to show you around.’

  ‘She doesn’t hate me?’

  ‘Why would she hate you?’

  ‘I messed up her life.’

  ‘You didn’t,’ he says and turns my head. ‘It wasn’t anything to do with you. You didn’t do anything wrong. Kirsten said she’s happy you’re back.’

  ‘When was that?’

  ‘When she came back in.’

  ‘What else did she say?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Dad’s voice sounds squeaky.

  ‘Stuff about me?’

  ‘Get in bed before you go blue –’ he looks away – ‘and I’ll put the kettle on.’

  ‘Too late, I already went blue.’ I follow his eyes, but he doesn’t look at me. ‘And why’s Floyd disappeared?’

  ‘Beats me, Sherlock,’ he says. ‘And good riddance.’

  ‘Don’t you care?’

  He clicks the kettle on and rubs his eyes. ‘Go to sleep, Miss Marple,’ he says. ‘Before I have to give you a tranquilliser dart.’

  He mimes giving me one in my arm and we laugh and get into bed and I lie there drinking raspberry tea which I think will taste like Ribena but doesn’t, and eating biscuits which look like digestives but aren’t.

  And I think how it should all feel like I know everything now.

  Like it’s all ended.

  But I don’t.

  Voices

  In the night I wake up.

  The storm’s gone flat. The wind is nowhere.

  Light comes through the window.

  The alarm clock flashes 12.13.

  I twitch the curtain and look at the midnight sun.

  And Lloyd.

  And Kirsten.

  ‘I didn’t know she was here,’ he says.

  ‘Why would I tell you?’ Kirsten has her arms folded. ‘You haven’t told Elvis the truth? If you don’t tell the truth, how can you expect to receive it?’

  ‘You don’t know what he’s like.’ Lloyd paces around. ‘He’s dangerous. I thought he was coming for us. He isn’t. He can’t be.’ He points at the sea. ‘He’s coming for her.’

  ‘You’re his family, Lloyd. You should have told him.’

  Lloyd looks up.

  Right at me.

  I jump and shut the curtain.

  They go quiet.

  Did he see me?

  Does it matter?

  If they’re talking about me I’ve got a right to know it.

  A door creaks and bangs.

  I jump up and run downstairs, through one flight and two.

  You’re his family, Lloyd.

  Like how? Metaphorically like Dad? I guess so.

  He’s coming. Floyd? For her. Who?

  The only her is Lene?

  I run through the lounge and fling open the door.

  But they have disappeared like ghosts.

  You?

  I get back into bed and have the mirror dream again.

  The one from Steinar’s.

  I’m in that room.

  It’s freaky.

  And cold.

  And the window’s open.

  The mirror’s there standing in the middle.

  And this time it isn’t one hand, it’s two coming out. Fast and strong.

  Searching, searching and reaching. I run back.

  My head hits the wall.

  I look in the mirror.

  This time I can see the face.

  But it isn’t my reflection.

  It isn’t me.

  It’s …

  Aghh

  I wake up covered in sweat.

  Lene is standing on the stairs’ hatch staring at me.

  ‘Aghh,’ I yell.

  Dad rolls and grunts but doesn’t wake up.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she says and rubs her eyes. ‘You were yelling.’

  We stare at each other.

  ‘I need to find Lloyd.’ I get out of bed in the dressing gown. ‘Him and Kirsten were arguing last night.’

  ‘About what?’

  We go through the hatch, down both sets of stairs.

  ‘I dunno. I need to ask him. What cabin’s he in?’

  ‘That one.’ She opens the door and points. ‘I think.’

  We kick our shoes on and go out into the grass. The mountains fold their arms and stare at us. The dew soaks my shoes.

  I open the cabin door.

  Lloyd’s case is there. His apples are there. His books are there.

  But Lloyd isn’t.

  ‘Maybe he just went for a walk.’ Lene shrugs.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Something feels wrong.

  We run back into the house.

  I follow Lene through the beady curtain and into the kitchen. It is very long and thin with shelves full of pots and pans and tins and jars and a window that looks out over the rocks. The view’s like layers, like those sand pots with different colours in stripes. Rock, grass, sky. There are no cupboard doors.

  Kirsten stands looking out the window. The blue gas on the stove bubbles under a kettle.

  ‘Lloyd’s gone!’

  ‘People are free to go as they choose,’ she says.

  The kettle starts to whistle and scream. Kirsten switches it off.

  ‘We need to find him.’ I look at Lene. ‘Maybe Floyd took him. Maybe he’s been kidnapped.’

  ‘He hasn’t.’ Kirsten scoops coffee into a glass pot.

  ‘How do you know?’

  She pours water in. The smell coils round us. ‘I told him to go. Lorenzo took him in his boat.’

  ‘The guy on the motorbike.’ Lene gets a biscuit out of a jar.

  Kirsten nods.

  ‘Why?’

  She looks at Lene. She looks at me. Her eyes go misty. ‘It should never have been left this long,’ she says and goes outside and sits on a bench.

  Lene wipes crumbs on her sleeve. ‘Has he got a phone?’

  ‘Lloyd?’

  ‘Yeah. Find him on that. Use Find a Friend,’ she says. ‘It’s easy.’

  Dad comes down and wipes his eyes. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Lloyd’s missing.’ I poi
nt at the door. ‘Ask Kirsten. She sent him away.’

  The wheel spins round on the phone.

  Connecting

  Connecting

  Connected.

  We see him.

  Nowhere near here.

  The blue flashing dot of Lloyd is way off.

  Way out over the sea on an island.

  ‘He’s on Traena.’ Lene wrinkles her face. ‘There’s a music festival there.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘That’s where my mum is. She goes every year.’

  ‘You don’t go?’

  ‘You don’t know my mum.’ She shoves another biscuit in her mouth. ‘You could ring him,’ she says.

  I click on Lloyd.

  It rings.

  And rings.

  And rings.

  He doesn’t pick up. ‘He won’t answer.’

  ‘He’s got his own life.’ Dad pours out a coffee.

  I pick up a kitten. It purrs in my neck. ‘Can you ring your mum?’ If you ring her, maybe she can find him. Maybe she can check he’s OK?’

  Lene hesitates. She breathes out.

  ‘Elvis.’ Dad looks at me. ‘You don’t have to, Lene. Lloyd’s an adult. He can take care of himself.’

  ‘With Floyd?’ I look at Dad. ‘Lloyd’s never been able to handle Floyd. He’s bullied him his whole life.’

  ‘It’s OK.’ Lene clicks her phone. ‘I’m doing it.’

  It doesn’t say Mum, it says Nina.

  Weird.

  She holds it to her ear.

  BEEEEP

  BEEEEP

  BEEEEP.

  It answers.

  ‘Hey, Mum.’

  ‘Lene?’

  I can hear her voice out the other side of the phone.

  ‘I need you to find someone … He’s a friend. Kind of … It’s a man. Have you seen a man …’

  ‘A man?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘The man?’

  ‘Lloyd?’

  ‘How do you know about Floyd? What do you know?’

  ‘Nothing …’

  ‘I don’t know what to do, Lene. We could use some money couldn’t we?’

  ‘What are you on about?’

  ‘I have to go.’

  The line goes dead.

  BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

  It’s Time

  Lene tries to ring back.

  But can’t.