Dandelion Clocks (6 page)

I walk into the kitchen and instantly stub my toe on the big cardboard box that is, for no reason whatsoever, sitting in the middle of the floor.

‘Isaac Ellis!' I roar, hopping around the kitchen in agony and clutching my foot.

‘What?' asks Isaac, who is sitting at the table. He takes one earphone out of his ear. Evidently I am not important enough today to have his full attention.

‘Do you think it is remotely possible that you
could
not
constantly leave this stinking pile of old junk in the doorway?'

‘Yes, it is possible that I don't leave it there constantly. Yesterday I left it in the bathroom,' he says, turning away from me. This conversation is boring him.

‘Yes, well, maybe, if I find it in my way again, I'll leave it outside for the bin men,' I spit. I know this is unwise, but I am fed up with the way we all have to tiptoe around Isaac and what he wants. It's so unfair – the minute I leave so much as a shoe on the floor in the hallway I'm told to tidy it up.

‘Olivia,' warns Mum, casting a look at me, but I am too cross to pay attention.

‘I could actually break my neck if I fell over that box of old tat.'

Isaac takes both earphones out now and turns off his iPod, very slowly. He rarely loses his temper, not since Dad taught him how to count to twenty before saying anything if someone is upsetting him. I watch him, seeing him counting in his head, and wonder what he'll do when he gets there.

Isaac's box is very precious to him. The box itself is nothing special but it is full of really important things that Isaac can't do without. He's had it forever
and every now and then he'll add something to it, but he'll never take anything out. I can't see why he wants any of it. It's all old and a bit manky – stuff like a Coke can that Dad gave him when they went to watch football. (The one and only time
that
happened, Isaac totally spun out with all the crowds and they ended up sitting in the car for most of the time. I'd have thought he'd want to forget that event, personally.) There's a bit of clay that's moulded into some weird shape: I don't think even Isaac knows what it is, but apparently it's necessary for his very survival. Then there's stuff like a badge saying
Happy Second Birthday
and a totally disgusting feather that he plucked off a dead bird in the garden. Like I said, none of it makes any sense to anyone other than him. But Mum says that it doesn't hurt anyone and makes him feel secure, so we mustn't make a big deal of it.

Isaac's obviously counted to twenty because he gets up and walks over to me. I hold my breath. Isaac isn't often violent but we've had some fairly big fights in the past. This time, though, he just picks up his box.

‘It's not tat,' he mutters, and goes through to the living room.

I feel awful. I know it's wrong to try to wind
him up, but he does get all the attention round here and sometimes I just can't help it. Mum sighs at me, but gives Isaac a big thumbs-up when he comes back in and sits down at the table.

‘Good choice, Isaac. Well done for ignoring your sister,' she says pointedly.

Yes, all right – I feel bad enough already. It would have been easier if he'd had a meltdown. Now I just feel a bit rubbish.

Dad comes in and the rest of our meal passes as uneventfully as a meal in the Ellis family can do. There is a moment of crisis when Isaac's tomato ketchup oozes perilously close to his peas – he cannot stand bits of his food touching each other and has been known to leave the table in a strop if this happens. However, disaster is averted when I leap to the rescue and spoon up the excess sauce before it reaches the vegetables – and nicely land myself back in the parental good books, so a success all round.

After tea we do our jobs. Isaac checks the chart and happily informs me that it's my turn to dry up. He races through the washing-up with surprising speed – usually he has to make sure that each plate has been scrubbed thirty-five times or something, and then dashes into the living room to put the TV
on. It takes me ages to finish the drying but I don't mind because I'm still feeling pretty guilty about being unkind to Isaac.

I finally finish and walk into the living room where I stop dead in the middle of the floor. I can't believe it! There, on
my
side of the sofa, where I always sit to watch television, is Isaac's box. His grubby, smelly box, that I demanded he move, is sitting in pride of place and resting on my favourite, comfy cushion. And Isaac is sitting upright next to it, watching excitedly for my reaction.

‘What? Not OK! Mum, Dad –
tell him
!' I squeal.

Isaac bursts out laughing and Mum and Dad join in. I stand with my hands on my hips for a few more seconds and then start giggling. I walk over to Isaac and give him a high-five before settling down on the floor, which is where I spend the rest of the evening. Every now and again, one of us will look over at the box and start sniggering again. In the ad break I fetch my camera and take a picture of Dad pointing at the box and laughing. That can be ‘amused'.

It's the best evening we've had in ages and all because of my brother. You see, Isaac doesn't do joking. With Isaac, it either ‘is' or it ‘isn't', and jokes
are based on ‘what-ifs' and ‘maybes'. He was mad at me, but while he counted to twenty he thought of a way to get me back that was
funny
. It might not be the best joke you've ever heard, but in my family it's the most hilarious thing we've ever seen Isaac do.

That makes today a pretty good day. I'm starting to think I might have got it wrong about Mum and Dad too – surely two people who laugh like that together can't have fallen out of love?

I'm in a bad mood. Things are getting really weird around here, and that's saying something for Family Weirdness from Weirdsville. Mum and Dad aren't arguing any more, but Mum is constantly exhausted and Dad looks really stressed out. I came in from school the other day and he was in the hall, talking to someone on the phone. He sounded upset and when he saw me he looked really guilty and said goodbye and hung up quickly. I asked him who he was talking to and he said it was Aunt Leah – so why did he look worried when he saw me? On the upside, there've been loads of chances to take photos of different emotions – I've got ‘tired' and ‘cross' and ‘frustrated', and yesterday I got ‘worried'. Nobody has shown ‘excited', though, so I had to set my camera up with a timer and act that one out myself.

Mum and Dad are out now – I'm not sure where – and Isaac is, as usual, in his room. I am super-bored. There's nothing to do around here and Alice has gone away with her dad for the weekend. Earlier I printed all my photos and pinned them up in a row on the kitchen wall, next to the huge wall planner that shows every detail of our family's life. I made a label for each photo so that Isaac can tell at a glance how we are all feeling. Those drawings that he used to have were rubbish; I'm not surprised that they didn't teach him anything. Mum found them for me when I told her exactly what my idea was, and I know that I have
never
seen anyone with a face like some of those faces. Honestly, the guy who is supposed to look ‘confused' has a mouth that is physically impossible – a mad, wavy line that looks utterly painful.

Now I'm wandering around the garden, wondering whether to tidy it up. Mum is usually out here all the time, but it doesn't look as if she's done much gardening lately. I'm not actually sure what I should do, though, and after a bit I start to feel cold – seriously, it is supposed to be spring but the temperature is arctic today. I head inside and remember the box of diaries that Mum gave
me. Might as well have another look, I think – nothing better to do.

I grab the box out from my wardrobe and plonk myself down on the window sill. The first entry I read is from 1986 so Mum must have been twelve, just a few months older than me.

26 December 1986

Everyone's downstairs and I'm sitting up here on my bed, listening to my new personal stereo. So fab! Didn't think Mum was going to get it for me because she's spent months going on about how listening to music through headphones means you can't be involved in family conversation (she obviously hasn't got a clue and fails to understand that THAT'S THE WHOLE POINT!).

Finally starting to get over Smokey dying. He was the best guinea pig in the whole wide world but I know he's happy in heaven now. I never want another guinea pig though – nobody can replace Smokey in my heart.

Going to watch Ghostbusters in a bit. Ha – Leah isn't allowed to watch it cos Mum says she's too young and it might give her nightmares. Ha ha ha!

Had a brilliant Xmas. Here's my list of what I got:

Father Christmas – cool top, cool tights, Bon Jovi tape, bubble bath, selection box, apple, orange and a new shiny 2p

Mum – personal stereo

Leah – notelets

Uncle Tony – £5 (cool!)

Grandma – torch and this diary

Uncle Andrew – Maltesers, Save the Whale T-shirt

Aunty Helen – Save the Trees poster

Quite a list, hey!

I'm going to write every day about everything that happens to me and share all my secrets with you. What do you think about boyfriends? I don't know. I wish that boys (nice ones) liked me. I think I'd like to have a real boyfriend – not to kiss, just someone who would like me and play Monopoly with me (Mum hates it and Leah moans if she loses).

See you tomorrow!

Rachel

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Oh, my actual goodness! My mum was a bit mental when she was my age. Wanting a boyfriend to play
Monopoly
with? Seriously? What's wrong with wanting to be kissed? Actually, I wonder how old she was when she had her first kiss – must remember to ask her!

Quite funny reading about Aunt Leah, though. She's really funky (sometimes I wish that she was my mum instead – she hasn't got any kids and when we go to stay with her we always do really cool things). Can't imagine her being too little to watch
Ghostbusters
. I must have seen that when I was about eight at Alice's house when we had a sleepover, and her dad forgot we were still awake so we stayed up until 2 a.m. watching old films on TV! Don't think I mentioned it to Mum at the time, though … And Leah would
never
give Mum anything as naff as notelets for a present now – on her last birthday she gave her an amazing sarong that she'd brought back from somewhere exotic and a voucher for a spa day.

Mum's list of Christmas presents is a bit stingy. Last year, I got my new iPod, a make-your-own perfume set, about a million books, a boom box for my iPod, £80, and loads more stuff that I can't
even remember now. Mum seems over the moon with £5 – but I suppose this
is
the person who dreamt of 10p a week pocket money, so £5 must have made her feel like a millionaire.

I turn the page and read the next entry.

4th January 1987

Dear Diary,

It is 1987! Mum woke me up at ten to twelve and we went outside to see the New Year in. This morning she made me go out of the back door and run round the house to the front door with a piece of coal. Not sure what that was all about, to be honest – something to do with me having to be the first person to come into the house in the New Year because I've got the darkest hair in our family. Sounds like a load of old cobblers to me, but it made her happy so I went along with it. Honestly, when I'm a grown-up I am NEVER going to make my kids do stupid things like that!

Last night I cried for Smokey and nobody knew. It was really sad, just lying in the dark and sobbing on my own. If I do ever get a new guinea pig I will call it Blackberry. Or maybe Mungo.

I check the date of the diary again, just to make sure I've got it right. But yes, sadly, my mother really
was
almost the same age as me when she wrote this. In fact, she was actually a little bit older than I am. I get that she was sad about the guinea pig dying, but she certainly seems to be going on about it a bit. She's always saying that kids grow up faster these days. I think that must be true, cos there's no way that I'd write something like this in my diary. If I had one. Which I don't, cos I don't trust Mum not to read it and then go totally ballistic when she reads something she doesn't like. Anyway, who has time to write a diary these days?

Had to wash my hair ready for school tomorrow – yuck! Hate doing it cos Mum INSISTS that I have to rinse it until every bit squeaks and we've always run out of hot water well before that happens. Please let somebody ask me out this year. This year I'm gonna be thirteen! Definitely old enough for a boyfriend, surely?

I'm gonna work really hard this year to make Mum proud of me. I've decided to write some rules for myself – here they are:

1. Be nice and friendly to family, especially Leah.
   
2. Work harder at school, particularly in stupid maths.
   
3. Pass grade 3 on flute.
   
4. Eat more (and not whinge at Mum's cooking, even when it IS gross).
   
5. NOT get spots.
   
6. Have more baths.
   
7. Try to not be sad about Smokey.
   
8. Try to love another guinea pig.
   
9. Get a boyfriend – if I don't get one this year then I never will.
   

Hey, it'll be a miracle if I can do all that in ONE year!

Bye

Rachel

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

OK, this is a bit more interesting! If I ignore the fact that my teenage mother seems to be equally obsessed with guinea pigs as she is with boys, then I suppose some of what she's written makes sense to me. I definitely know how she feels about wanting a boyfriend, that's for sure. Everyone else
in my year at school has had at least one boyfriend – even Alice went out with dopey Pete for about two hours at the school disco. Nothing actually happened and they didn't even really speak to each other, but at least everyone knows that someone fancied her.

Maybe I'm a late developer and I've inherited it from Mum. She's already confessed that she passed her rubbishness at maths on to me so that'd be about right. Now I'll have to keep on reading her diaries to see how she solved the problem – perhaps she's right and there
are
some good rules in here. Maybe I'll get some top tips for how to let Ben know I'm interested in him.

I am loving her list of rules – she was obviously obsessed with rules even back then! Got to admire her confidence. I too would like not to get spots and to find a boyfriend. Who knew that you just had to make it a life rule! Number 4 is a bit ironic, though. I used to love Granny's cooking – it was definitely an improvement on Mum's, that's for sure. Actually, it feels a bit weird seeing Mum write about Granny. She died when I was nine and it was so sad that I tried for ages not to really think about her – and I suppose I kind of got into the habit of forgetting, so that I didn't feel unhappy.

I'm wondering whether to delve further when I hear the front door slam. A few moments later I hear the sound of Mum coming upstairs. I get ready to brandish the diary at her and make her laugh by reminding her of her long-lost love for Smokey the guinea pig and her obvious reluctance to keep clean (and to accuse her of hypocrisy – she always asks me if I've rinsed my hair until it squeaks and every New Year's Day, even if it's pouring with rain or freezing cold, she makes me do that coal thing and she still doesn't know what it's supposed to mean cos I've asked her). She doesn't come into my room, though, and instead I hear her go into her bedroom and close the door.

Dad calls Isaac and me down not long after and, once I've navigated Isaac's box (keeping my mouth firmly shut this time), we sit down at the table.

‘Where's Mum?' I ask. Dad puts a pan of pasta down and goes back to the stove to dish up the sauce into a separate bowl.

‘She's really tired today, Liv – she's gone to bed,' he says, with his back to me.

‘No!' says Isaac. ‘We all eat as a family – that's the rule!'

‘Not today, mate,' says Dad. ‘Mum needs to rest.'

Isaac slams his fork down on to the table. I cringe, knowing what's coming.

‘You
don't
break a rule!' he shouts at Dad. ‘I'm here, Liv's here, you're here – and Mum should be here. That's what we agreed and that's the rule.'

Dad sighs. ‘I'm sorry, Isaac, but sometimes we can't always keep all the rules. Things change and we have to be flexible.'

I can see, and so can Dad, that Isaac is not listening to him. Some of the rules in our house are there to help Isaac make sense of everything and some are there to help him understand how to behave. The rule about everyone sitting down at the table before we can start eating happened because Isaac used to go into the kitchen any time he felt like it and eat all the food that he could find. Mum and Dad kept going to cook our meals and finding that half the ingredients were missing. For a boy who has such strong opinions on so many things, he's surprisingly not fussy about what he'll eat – I've seen him eating whole blocks of butter or all the cheese in the fridge like I would eat a biscuit or an apple.

So this rule was made, and once Isaac understands a rule there is no changing it unless he can
be persuaded that it has been turned into a new rule. And that doesn't happen overnight.

Dad sits down and passes me the pasta. ‘Here you are, Liv, help yourself,' he says.

I serve myself and then reach over for the sauce. ‘Yummy – thanks, Dad!' I say, hoping that Isaac doesn't make a huge scene.

‘Come on, Isaac, tuck in!' says Dad cheerily, handing Isaac a big plate with pasta on one side and sauce very firmly on the other side, like two armies lining up for battle.

Dad and I eat our meal, but Isaac just sits there, hands on the table and staring at his food. I hear his tummy rumble.

‘It sounds like you're starving – just eat a little bit of it. It's really good,' I say.

‘Can't eat,' he mutters, refusing to look up. ‘Mustn't eat until everyone is sitting at the table.'

I look at Dad in despair.

‘Can't Mum just come and sit with us for a bit?' I ask him. I'm suddenly feeling worried. Mum knows how important the rules are, and if any of us are ever ill we still try really hard to keep everything normal for Isaac. It's not always easy, but it's better than the meltdowns that happen if things are different.

Dad suddenly looks cross – but I don't think he's mad at me.

‘Isaac is just going to have to learn to cope with change,' he says, so quietly I can barely hear him. ‘Just let him be, Liv. He'll eat if he's hungry.'