Being Small (4 page)

“Whistle. You can do that, I know. I endured the months you spent learning.”

Well, I’d had to learn. I was a boy, I had a friend,
whistling was a necessary accomplishment. More than that, I’d had a dog, too briefly.

I blew the two-note call I used to use for Max, but barely on a breath.

“Perhaps a little louder?”

I did it again, shrill and hard; in answer, from the undergrowth, came Homer’s trademark “D’oh!”

When I could manage it, when I’d stopped choking on the giggles, I did it again. And then again, and eventually she said, “Actually it’s meant to help you find it when it’s lost, it isn’t a John Cage duet for one voice and a transponder. I’m bored with this. Go fetch.”

I went to find and fetch it, whistling all the way; and more than Homer answered me. There was a sudden rush-and-skitter, all the familiar sounds of an eager and awkward body charging blindly. I had a moment to wonder if I was going to grieve again, cry again, lose my heart and hope again, before a mess of black came hurtling out between the trees and plunged at me, all eyes and fur and tangled limbs and happy mouth and heavy.

Heavy enough that I sat down on the thin grass there and had young dog in my lap and all over me, his paws on my shoulders, his tongue in my mouth. I hugged him, because what else could I do? And told him he was fast, he was forward, we hadn’t been introduced and I never snogged on a first date. My mother’s snort at my back might have meant anything; I didn’t care. By now I was on my back and he was play-growling with his teeth oh so gently around my wrist while his tail thrashed widely, wildly as we wrestled.

Distantly I heard voices with an anxious edge to them, calling a name he paid no attention to. Not a birthday present, then: neither a sneaky one from Mum nor a gift from any passing god, a stray dog needing shelter. Not a gift to keep. Okay, I could live with that, without this. I’d been doing it for months.

“Nigel! Nigel, you futile fucking creature, where the shit have you got to this time...?”

They came out suddenly from the shadows beneath the trees, two men. Nigel and I spared them a glance apiece and then decided to go on romping, while the same voice said, “Oh, whoops. Sorry about the language. And the dog.”

“Ill-trained, the pair of them,” the other man said. “They’re not mine, I’m just walking them for a friend. Shouldn’t have let that one off the lead, really. It’s not that he doesn’t come when he’s called – he just comes when anyone calls, whoever they are. Or whistles.”

“We noticed,” my mother said, a little dryly. “Michael, perhaps you’d better hang on to his collar, if he’s liable to go shooting off again.”

The dog wasn’t going anywhere, he was having far too much fun. He’d squirmed out of my grasp and was playing with the wrapping-paper now, pouncing stiff-legged into the pile of it and grabbing mouthfuls, shaking them and scattering them like rats.

“Oh, God. Nigel...!” One of the men grabbed him then, while the other snatched at the mangled paper before the wind could take it. I stood up to help, saw that I wasn’t needed and went to talk to the dog again. Even on the lead he was happy, bouncing, jumping up as if all the soul of him were in his teeth and his tongue and that was strong enough to lift him as high as he wanted to go.

It was the older man who had control of Nigel. The other might be half his age, early twenties, blond and pretty and knowing it, groomed for it. He gathered up armsful of paper and took them back to my mother, saying, “Somebody’s birthday?”

“The twins,” my mother said, nodding in my direction. “They’re sixteen.”

“Nice. Set the controls for the heart of the sun. But I’m afraid we’ve pooped your party.” His voice was light and lemony, tart enough to shiver me.

“Not to worry. We were just having a break to do their presents, but we should get back to work anyway. There’s another vanload to shift yet, and I’d like to be in before dark. Find that key, Michael, and we’ll get on. If you’ve finished winding up the dog.”

Obviously, I hadn’t. The guy on the other end of the lead twitched an eyebrow at me and said, “Aren’t you missing someone? Twins, she said.”

“My brother died,” I said quickly, before my mother could, “but he still gets his presents.” Sometimes she could sound quite mad, when she talked about Small. I could say the exact same things and just sound haunted.

“Ah. I’m sorry. Of course he does, that would be important.”

His friend was checking over the heap of presents as he spoke, where they were piled just inside the van’s door. “Oh, hey – you play chess?”

“Sure.”
We both do, but I’m better
– it was on the tip of my tongue, and for a wonder that’s where it stayed, even while my mother waited to hear it.

“Fancy a game sometime, just come by the house. Number thirty-nine, up the lane there, and say you’re a chessmaster. You’ll be welcome.”

“I’m not –”

But I was overridden by my mother’s saying, “Number thirty-nine? We’re almost neighbours, then. Michael and I are Mrs Alleyn’s new lodgers, along at forty-seven.”

“That right? Welcome to the neighbourhood. We don’t know the neighbours; we don’t actually live here, see. Just come by to walk the dog and be useful. But definitely, come round and play chess. Any time. Come tonight, and we can introduce you.”

“Can’t,” I said, not too sorry. I don’t like being rushed. “I’m out with a friend tonight.”

“Of course you are, you’re sixteen. Crash and burn. Well, come soon, then.”

“He will,” my mother promised for me, she who loves to rush things. “Who should he ask for?”

“Doesn’t matter, really. Chess is the password. But – oh. You mean, who are we, that you should trust your boy to us? Sorry. Again. I’m Kit, and that’s Peter,” his more solid friend, dark and quiet, like an anchor. “The dog’s Nigel, but you know that already.”

My mother introduced herself and me, and said that my brother was called Small; and then of course she said, “And if the dog needs a regular walker, I think Michael would be happy to help.” So swift, so keen she was to give me all away.

“Oh, cool. A chess-playing dogwalker. Couldn’t be better. Peter, can we adopt him?”

“Only for the duration. And with his mother’s consent. Michael, never mind Kit; if you want to come by, please do. Not only Nigel will be pleased to see you, though I think we can promise that,” as the dog chewed rapturously at my hand again. “Look for the Merc in the drive and you’ll know I’m there, if you’re shy to call on strangers. Kit drives a silver Mini, if you want to avoid him. Come on now, you two. Heel,” and it wasn’t clear if he was talking to Nigel or Kit, but neither one of them paid him any attention as they left. Nigel strained back towards me for a fickle little moment, then leaped ahead, trying to drag Peter after; Kit bestowed a last sunny smile on the pair of us like a blessing, and sauntered off in their wake.

“All right, son?”

“Yes, of course.” I wasn’t so sure about the chess; there was a security in only ever playing Small, and always winning. But the men had piqued more than my curiosity, and Nigel had stolen my heart.

“Good. Extra birthday present, then. Thank your pushy mother who levered you into it, and call by sometime in the week. That kind of invitation has a use-by date. Especially if you want to be official dogwalker, you’ve got to look keen and reliable. Go tomorrow, while we’re unpacking; the break will do you good. So will having more friends than one. You spend too much time with Adam.”

She built too swiftly, and too high. I saw no signs of budding friendship here, small hopes of it. It was the dog I wanted, and I’d play chess as the price, even with grown-ups. I was sixteen; I didn’t make friends with grown-ups. I didn’t make friends with anyone but Adam. But, “I know that, Mum. At least, I know you think that. I’m not stupid.”

She said nothing, she only whistled sharply and unexpectedly, and Homer said “D’oh!” in the long grass.

～

We’d fixed to meet at his house, and when I got there – for which read, when my mother at last let me go – I found Adam enmeshed with his sister and his sister’s friends, a perfumed stew of teenage girls hugging cushions and watching television. Even those who’d never met me knew who I was, and what I was to them, which was a freak. They eyed me askance and pretty much silently, holding back whatever whispers and shrieks my appearance might provoke. The first time I’d been introduced to Charlotte and her cohorts, I’d betrayed myself twice over: first by answering all the questions on
The Weakest Link
, which made me a geek if not a nerd, and then by talking about Small. Adam had patted me on the shoulder like a kindly uncle giving the brash young idiot nephew a hint,
shut up now
, and then he’d taken me away and tried to explain about girls.

The lesson really hadn’t taken, or else my position was irrecoverable. I was the creepy genius kid who didn’t want to win quiz shows, who had a ghostly twin that I still talked to, for God’s sake, as if he was really there, and how weird is that? And I didn’t go to school and I didn’t have any friends except Adam, and he was pretty weird himself by their lights. Like my mother, they thought we spent far too much time together. Every now and then Charlotte tried to save him from himself, which meant from me, but she wasn’t cut out for missionary work; she lacked patience, and in the end she lacked commitment. Only her brother, after all, and boys were strange by nature. There was probably no point trying to meddle.

So she cut our hair for us whenever we’d let her, but mostly we were left alone, in a very literal sense. Which was of course what we wanted, if no one else did. Small didn’t like it at all. He could be mean that way, possessive. I understood him perfectly. I had the best of both worlds and he had the other thing; I was all the world he had and he wanted to keep it to himself. Of course he did, how not? If I’m no angel, he’s no saint.

And this was our birthday, and I was surprised, almost shocked when he let me go. It had been harder to get away from our mother, with her ready excuses: so many boxes to shift and empty, new quarters to settle into, no night this for gadding about with my mate when I could do that any time and she needed my strong arms and my long reach. I suggested fetching Adam over, for extra arms and extra reach, but she didn’t buy it. Double trouble, she said, which was fair enough. He’d helped us move once before, and it had taken all day. Twice the boys meant half the work, she said, and I couldn’t argue. That had been half the plan. So I worked twice as hard instead, and wouldn’t stay for supper; and Adam’s family of course had eaten before I got there, so he and I were entirely out of kilter with each other.

“Cheese sandwich?” he suggested, in that particular tone of voice that’s only waiting to be refused.

“Kebab,” I said positively. “And chips.”

“Oh. Only, I thought we’d stay in...”

“You thought wrong. Me too, though, if that’s any consolation: I was reckoning to stay in. I just have to eat, is all. Come on, let’s go frighten the natives.”

Two boys don’t make a gang but we did our best sometimes, catching a mood between us and responding to it, lifting each other by the bootlaces, greater far than the sum of our parts.

We swaggered and whooped, we made ourselves large and loud and got in people’s way, we stopped the traffic and left a chorus of blaring horns in our wake. Adam bought a quarter-bottle of vodka from a friendly corner-shop, I bought a pint of milk; I drank half the milk with my kebab and then we mixed the vodka in and shared it, sip and sip. It’s a boy thing.

Then we did the Thursday late-night window-shopping thing, the local version of the
passeggiare
, strutting our best stuff under the eyes of half the city’s teens. Spending money wasn’t quite the point, the chain-stores generally closed at eight and we just carried on. The food-courts stayed open, though, and so did some of the boutiques that clustered round them. So it was that we could suddenly snatch a whim out of nowhere and indulge it, diving into a cheap little jeweller all tanked up as we were and requesting, demanding this week’s special offer.

“Oh, do me a favour, lads! I’m closing in five minutes.”

“It’s in your window. Two for the price of one, it says. Him and me.”

“I know what it says in the window, and I can count, but—”

“It’s false advertising if you don’t do it. We’ll complain. Highest authorities in the land.”

“You terrify me. But there’s only me in the shop, and I can’t leave the till, so—”

“So we’ll wait. You lock up, and do us after.”

“Can’t you just come back tomorrow? The offer’s good till Saturday.”

“It won’t be his birthday tomorrow, will it?”

“Oh, for God’s sake. All right. Show us your money then choose what you want, that case there, while I cash up. Don’t touch anything else, I’ve got CCTV.”

“Oh, hey, we’re not thieves!”

That from Adam, who was wearing the self-same chain that I was and had paid for neither one of them, who could be as light-fingered as he could be heavy-handed when he chose. But we were being good tonight, we were being grand, it was my birthday and there’s actually more fun in spending money than there is in getting away with not. Besides which, he was paying, and who knew where the cash had come from...?

We stooped over the display case, heads together, each of us shy to choose and waiting for the other; and when he did, of course we had to argue, jeer and elbow and start again. By the time the guy was ready for us, though, so were we ready for him.

“We’ll have a pair of those, please, and a pair of those.”

“Fair enough. Who gets which?”

“One of each,” I said, “for each of us.” Wasn’t it obvious? “The ring in the left ear, the stud in the right.”

“No,” Adam said, “the other way round.”

I glared at him, drew breath to fight – then lost it, giggled, said, “Well, they’re your ears. But that’s how I want mine. Either way, your mother’s going to slay you.”

“Is not. It’ll be you that she slays. You’re a bad influence, you.”

Which was more or less what my own mother felt about him, except that she wouldn’t care about piercings. She was probably surprised I’d waited this long, probably a little disappointed; by now she likely thought I should be hiding tattoos. Alas for her peace of mind, all my secrets were much more easily disguised.