Theo (34 page)

Gus looks at Theo. You’re a thinker. You’re dad was like you when he was your age. Kept a lot inside, worried a lot.

I need to go back to school. Somewhere else. I want to.

School, eh. Gus, Theo sees, is trying not to make a big deal out of it, he’s playing around with his pipe, looking inside it – an engine flares up from inside the house, someone’s on Colin’s scooter in the ballroom – and he says matter-of-factly, staring and poking into his pipe, good show, then. I’ll talk to your dad and we’ll see about getting that sorted out.

Theo remember Paz lying under the bushes. The other dogs, bigger and different, live. Some people could live in a house like that. Some couldn’t. No more butterflies from Theo’s windows: he wonders if they are all gone.

I feel like I’m in the wrong family.

Gus laughed. I’ve said that for fifty years, but they won’t let me leave.

I mean, other families aren’t like ours.

Oh, you’d be surprised, son. Families are all basically the same family, if you look at ’em long enough. We all do the best we can, and maybe that’s the best we can do. You know, your da and mum are doing the best they can, and they love you. They’re artistic types, and that kind of queers things a little. Like living with royalty, except without the manners. Both about equally twittish.

Theo’s frowning and squinting, at his dad in the center of one circle of people and Roger in the center of another, like two wheels moving something.

Maybe, son, and Gus is reaching a big rough hand out to cup Theo’s head, normal isn’t normal. Just figure out what your limits are. Don’t pay attention to the rest. That’s what I do.

Do you.

Aye. I had to do that a long time ago. It’s worked out okay. I think it will for you too. It’s like staking a claim: here, this, even if it’s just this chair, is mine. Let the world rush past and I’ll just watch and try to keep me arms and legs out of harm’s way.

But why should you have to. It’s like running away. Why should you have to.

Here Gus shrugs – it’s not running away, it’s running toward something, sort of an island, maybe. And you can invite whoever you want onto your island. Might be a tight fit, but it’s yours. Gus grins: It’s your story.

Theo isn’t sure about this, but Gus is looking at him as if he wants Theo to agree, so Theo nods yes. Okay.

Adrian pushes open the red-brown wood gate covered with ivy, which bumps on the red gravel walk, and crunches toward the door with his rolling walk. There’s glass, and a face in it – Roe, Gus’s used-to-be-wife and Adrian’s mother. Theo likes her: she is loud and funny and a lot like his dad and she’s always mad at Adrian. She’s opening the door, and Adrian’s calling out hello missus. She’s walking down the steps and putting her hands on her hips, stopped, frowning – you look like death. I shouldn’t let you in, it’s probably bad luck.

Everybody tells me I’m immortal, Roe. No worries there, darling. I get it from you: Adrian waves his arm around, looking at the house and the garden. Looks more and more like a tour council ad. This blessed plot, this sceptered isle, this England. More waving, then Adrian gives frowning Roe a hug and kisses her cheek and she kisses him, looking put out. Adrian says: here’s our boy.

Roe stares at Theo and her face breaks into a huge smile. Oh aren’t you a beautiful sight. How nice to see you, my love. I hope your father hasn’t done too much damage that can’t be undone.

Hi Roe.

Theo’s grinning, and his cheeks are hot. He’s buzzing, feeling jumpy, happy. The path is lined with yellow flowers. He puts his arms around her as she hugs him and musses his hair and gives him a powdery kiss and rubs his back.

Come on in, love: she’s talking to Theo not Adrian, who’s just standing looking into the house, saying, hello, my darling.

A little girl stands there, her hair is huge and crazy, curly, and it has a band or ribbon in it. She’s wearing a tiny Arsenal football jersey and a pink skirt and she’s barefoot.

Who put those traitorous colors on her.

I’ve become an Arsenal fan, so you’ll have to live with it.

Adrian’s bending and grinning, squatting, and the girl is walking out, not shyly, but slowly, picking her way down steps, old stone, and walking but she doesn’t stop at Adrian: she’s coming right at Theo, looking up, squinting in the sun. Adrian and Roe are both watching.

Theo looks down at her and smiles, holds out the book – I brought you a present. I’ll read it to you if you want. It’s called the Little Cricket.

I can read.

Roe smiles and looks at Theo from behind the girl, smiling and shaking her head ‘no’ so Theo sees.

Okay. You can read it to me then.

Okay.

She flounces into the house between the two adults. Roe’s looking at Theo: we’ve got an appointment at your school in a little while so let’s get you smartened up and have a bite and we’ll be off.

Adrian’s already inside, and Roe’s going up the steps, in her thick shoes. Theo’s following and up the steps when he starts to say something but doesn’t, just turns to run back down the path. Adrian always leaves doors and gates open, and cabinets. Everything, even the bathroom door.

At the fence Theo stops, and swings it shut, the black limo in the lane gleaming between the slats, a dark animal behind bars. She would need looking after. Theo listens for the click, and rattles the latch on the gate – then he pulls, just to be sure the car’s caged and his sister’s safe out here, in the world.