Not As We Know It (9 page)

Mum's always been a worrier. Dad says we shouldn't give her more reason to worry. I try to follow this instruction. Ned does not.

As I sat listening for my brother's return, I realized I took after Mum in the worry department. I should have gone with him. He should not have been out in the cold, in the dark with Leonard—Leonard, that strange creature who could do, would do, might do strange things.

But Ned returned. Leonard was safe and sound in his tub.

“We've got to let him go,” I said again.

I got the same reply. “Soon.”

The next day, Mum's worry was at new heights. She took Ned's temperature every few hours and his percussion was extra vigorous. She spent a whole episode of
Star Trek
on the phone to the doctors.

Ned had put on “Arena,” the first episode that sees Kirk in a fist fight on a strange planet. We both agreed, as the captain fought the Gorn, that the alien looked a little like Leonard. The big eyes. The fins across his head. The sharp-toothed mouth. One big difference—the Gorn was made of rubber.

“The doctor says you must stay wrapped up warm,” Mum said after she'd put down the phone and Kirk had spared the alien's life.

“It took an hour for the doctor to say that,” Ned said.

“Please, Ned.” There were tears in Mum's voice.

Ned stayed warm. I went out to feed Leonard. I stared at him. He was still a stranger to me. He stared right back.

“You've got to go,” I said to him as I threw a fillet of plaice into the tub. “Go and leave my brother alone. He's not got enough time, not for you
and
me. Go!”

The day crept by. Mum's worry washed in and out. Dad returned home to find her in tears. He called Granddad and took Mum out for dinner in Weymouth. She left strict instructions: “They are not to leave this house.” We sat with Granddad in the kitchen.

“Do you remember the Southern Fish?” he asked me.

“Piscis Austrinus,”
Ned said.

“What is this?” Granddad laughed. “I must really have you with these mermaid stories if you're telling them to each other now.”

Ned nodded. “You do, Granddad.”

“OK. Do you remember which star of
Piscis Austrinus
you can see?”

Ned didn't remember; maybe I hadn't told him that part. I did.

“Fomalhaut.”

“Ah ha,” Granddad said. “Fomalhaut.
Fum al-hut.
The fish's mouth. It's arrived.”

“What?”

Ned's question brought on a mini-lesson on how the Earth moves round the sun. Through the summer, we're on one side of our own star. We see all the stars that stare back at our sun from that side. By the winter, we're on the other side of the sun. Our night sky has completely changed to show a new set of stars, shining down.

“Fomalhaut appears, low in the sky, in the autumn. It's arrived.”

I thought about that
soon.
I wondered what Ned was waiting for, what Leonard was waiting for. Could this be it?

Ned leaped up from the table. “Let's go and see.”

“No, no. We are not leaving the house,” Granddad said. “Breaking your mother's command would be more than my life is worth. Let's see, though. Erm…” Granddad started looking around, pointing. “Where are we?” he muttered. Then he got up. “Right, living room window.”

We crowded by the small window.

“Get the light, Jamie,” Granddad said, pulling the window open. The sound of the sea flooded in. The curtains flapped. “This is south,” he said as I turned the lights off. “Look there.” He pointed to a big blank space, black and black and black.

And there it was. The only star in all that black.

“They call it the loneliest star,” Granddad said.

“Good name,” Ned said.

I nodded and stared and thought about Ned and Leonard's lonely song. I thought about
going alone.
I thought about saying goodbye before we were ready. I thought about loneliness. It stretched out before me.

Ned's got a ton of clothes that don't fit him. Grandma insists on sending clothes every birthday and every Christmas. No matter how often Mum tells her our sizes, she buys them to fit our age. Mine are a little too small, and Ned's are a mile too big.

Before she let us out, Mum stuffed Ned in an assortment of jumpers. She started with ones that fitted him right up to my biggest one.

“Is four jumpers a bit much, Mum?” Ned said.

“Two of them are very thin. The doctor said to keep warm.”

Ned threw me a look that said Mum had lost the plot. His eyes were wide, the bottom of his mouth slanted to one side.

I grinned but held on to my laugh. I was beginning to think that Mum's worries were not as mad as Ned made out. I was beginning to feel time shrink.

“Don't let him take them off, Jamie,” Mum said. “I'm just going to the shops. I'll be half an hour tops. Do not leave the garden.”

“Right,
let's get the hell out of here,
” Ned said.

Mum sighed.

In the garage, Ned quickly pulled off two jumpers.

Leonard stared. Leonard wore no clothes.

“You must have a mum, Len,” Ned said, dumping the clothes by the door. “Are all mums mad?”

“She's just trying to look after you, Ned.” I handed him the bag of frozen sprats.

“Do you honestly think that two jumpers will make a difference? That any of it will help?” he whispered.

I had nothing to say to this. As my brother turned to the merman, a tear swam in my eye.

Leonard crunched through the raw fish.

No one spoke. Ned coughed a little. Leonard shook his head and put a hand to my brother's chest.

I wiped at my eyes. Leonard had promised so much with a touch and a look. I'd thought he knew. I'd thought he brought hope.

“Nothing will help,” my brother whispered, quieter still.

Phrases ran through my mind: “It will all be OK” and “Keep your chin up.” They ran through my mind and out the other side.

Nothing will help,
I said to myself.

Silence again for long minutes until a ring and a knock. Someone was at the front door.

“Anyone home?” called a deep voice.

“Mr. Taylor?” my brother said.

“Officer Taylor,” I said.

We knew Anthony Taylor well. He lived on our road. He was Lucy and Peewee's dad.

But there were two Anthony Taylors.

Mr. Taylor
went to the pub with Dad. Dad called him Tony. He loved his car and spent Sunday mornings washing it. He won the parents' race at last year's sports day.

Officer Taylor
was a serious man. He frowned from under his policeman's hat. He'd brought Ned home twice, when he'd disappeared on one of those days he'd wanted to escape.

It was Officer Taylor we saw standing at our front door, when we appeared from round the side of the garage.

“Hello, lads,” he said.

“Hello, Mr. Taylor,” I said.

“All right, Tony,” Ned said.

“Is your mum home?”

I shook my head.

“She's abandoned us, Officer.” Ned grinned.

“Not to worry. You can probably help. It's not something we'd usually follow up, but given as she's a…neighbor…Mrs. Clarke reported a strange sighting in your garage or in your garden.”

My mouth opened.

Ned nodded.

“I told her I'd check it out. And you know”—he dropped to a whisper and glanced at the house next door—“she's always watching.” Back to his normal voice. “So I'm just stopping by. Can I have a quick glance around your garage?”

“Erm,” I said.

“It was a cat,” Ned said.

“Just a quick look, boys.”

“Well,” Ned said. “Maybe we should wait till my mum gets home.”

“Come on, I'll just be a minute.”

The door squeaked open. The light was off. The bulb was still broken. There was a small splash and a
pat-pat
sound.

I saw him move. I was sure Ned saw him too. I didn't know what the policeman saw as he peered into the gloom.

“What was that?” he said.

I shook my head.

“There's been this cat,” Ned said. “Keeps sleeping in our garage.”

I turned my shake to a nod.

Officer Taylor pulled the door open a little more and stepped into the garage. He flicked on the light switch and looked up at the broken bulb when nothing happened.

“You're not messing around here, are you, lads?” he said.

“What?” my brother replied.

“You know it's an offense to disturb most wildlife, don't you?” Mr. Taylor stepped into the garage. He pulled a torch from his belt and shone it towards the tub. The surface rippled. Leonard was gone. The policeman shone his torch under the bath and round at the shelves. The light stopped on a box high on a shelf. A cow's skull lay beside it, not on top. The policeman walked towards it.

“Oop! There it goes,” Ned said, spinning on the spot.

“What?” The torch was on us.

“The cat,” Ned said, “just ran out.”

Mr. Taylor looked at me.

“It was quick,” I said.

Outside, in the light again, the policeman wrote a few words in his notebook. “Thanks, lads,” he said. “Hopefully that keeps our neighbor happy.”

We nodded and waved goodbye.

I sighed when Mr. Taylor had disappeared down the road. “It's time,” I said. “We've got to let him go. We can't carry on like this.”

Ned looked at his feet. “I thought I'd know when it was time. I thought I'd be ready.”

“What?”

My brother shook his head and coughed. He looked up at me and nodded. “You're right. It's time.”

We'd agreed it was time, so we made plans. We'd take Leonard back to the sea and we'd do it at night. It had to be at night. We had Ned's E.T. box on the front of his bike to put him in. There was the spot, halfway down to the beach, where the path split, and at the end of the left branch the rocks made stepping stones out to a platform that stuck into the sea, like a tongue tasting the salty waves. That was where we'd send him home.

But still we waited. Ned could not just let him go. Maybe he was still waiting to be ready. That first night, after the policeman had come knocking, my brother asked for a little more time.

The next day was spent with Granddad, looking at maps and playing Risk. Granddad won. Ned sat glumly while Granddad's red troops decimated his yellow ones. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't remember the first three presidents of the United States—
George Washington, John Adams, Thomas Jefferson.
I couldn't tell Granddad which river passed through Istanbul—
the Bosphorus.
The names of the twins who are said to have founded Rome were lost to me—
Romulus and Remus.

“What's wrong with you boys today?” Granddad asked.

We both shrugged.

“Well, my mermaid stories are all run out. So I can't help there. Hmm. Shall we get chips for lunch?”

“All right,” Ned said. Chips are always a winner.

I was ready to do it that night. I'd fed Leonard and told him that it was time to go home. I'd found our warmest clothes and pushed them under the bed, ready. But Ned's cough was worse than ever. He lay on the sofa, choking.

Water streamed from his eyes as Mum rubbed his chest. Dad looked angry as he watched. I sat by the living room window and stared out at Fomalhaut, the lonely star.

Later, as Mum fixed Ned a drink—Dad had fallen asleep—I said I'd do it, I'd take him.

Ned sat up and spluttered through his cough. “You can't, Jamie. He can't go without me. Surely you understand that.”

I frowned at my brother.

He shook his head, coughed and lay back down.

Ned was still coughing downstairs when I was sent to bed.

He slept long into the next morning. I woke before him.

Mum made me write about the fox book. The boy, Billy, had to let the fox cub go. It was sad. But you could see that life would still work. I thought I should tell Ned about it; we didn't need Leonard. Life worked without him.

Mum sat beside me and sighed. Her eyes were red.

When Ned woke, he was still exhausted. He brought his duvet downstairs and watched
Star Trek.

Mum brought us macaroni and cheese with frankfurters in it.

“My favorite,” Ned said.

As “The City on the Edge of Forever” ended and Kirk said his parting line, Ned turned to me. “Tonight,” he said. He'd only managed a few mouthfuls of his pasta.

“You sure?”

My brother glared at me. His eyes were dark. “Tonight,” he said. “I'm ready. It's time.”