My Brother's Shadow (8 page)

Then I looked at the boy. He was clapping with the rest, his head cocked to one side. And I knew he'd listened; every time, he'd listened.

I trembled and felt happy and scared and relieved all at once. I'd done it.

Soon, after a few more book reviews, real book reviews this time, it was break. We filed out of the classroom, heading for coats; the spring air still chilled us. Mr. Wills stopped me.

“Really, thank you,” he said. And, “I'd love to see your book, Kaia. It means so much to you.”

I nodded in reply and turned to leave but my teacher wasn't finished.

“And I'm sorry,” Mr. Wills said. “I don't think I've always given you … well … enough time, I suppose.”

I nodded again. I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing.

A crowd gathered round me. Most just said a
word or two.

“That was amazing, Kaia.”

“Sorry.”

“Is the book here?”

Luzie and Angelica, Gemma and Hanaiya, made a wall around me; saved me again.

The boy was inside the wall. The boy was outside the wall. He danced in and out of the gathered faces.
He's lost in a crowd
, I thought.

It lasted a lifetime. It only lasted a minute or two. Eventually everyone found their game to play, friend to chase, ball to kick.

“That was really brave, Kai,” Luzie said.

The other girls nodded.

I nodded.

“Thanks,” I whispered. Something was stuck in my throat, something huge and spiky, a pinecone maybe.

“I need a drink,” I said.

There's a bench by the water fountains. Not one of my favorites; it's always busy at the fountains. The boys use them as a safe house in tag. The girls gather by them to talk about the boys. Poppy must not know this, though.

She was sitting there. Alone. Her eyes were red, as if those cruel eyes had shed a tear.

I didn't make it to the fountains but stopped a few feet away, stuck, staring.

Poppy looked up. In her cool blue eyes I didn't see the usual hatred, the usual anger. For a moment she looked scared. For a moment she looked
lost. She looked unsure of herself for the first time. Then she stood. And as she approached, her face changed, it hardened and Poppy was back.

The pinecone in my throat got bigger and bigger.

“You're still a freak to me,” she spat.

The words hit me. Hard. The words pounded at my heart. But for all their crushing power, they didn't break through. And I knew then that the scars were healing. Damage was being undone. I knew then that I was ready.

In my mind my brother whispered once more.

“Let me go.”

There are three words that ring through my
mind as I set out for school the next morning.

“Let me go.”

“Let me go.”

“Let me go.”

I see Mo in my mind, red and bloody. I see Mr. Wills drying his eyes. I see my class clapping. I see my mum's foul drink circling the drain. I see my friend, his deep gray eyes watching me, searching me, knowing me.

In my pocket, clutched in my sweaty hand, is a small white envelope.

I'm early. I know I'm early. I'm meeting someone.
It's the best time to catch her. She's always at school early.

At the gates I have second thoughts. My hand tightens around the small packet. I don't want to let it go. For so long I've kept it close, kept it all close. I've locked it away, locked myself away.

I press my head against the cool, painted brick that forms the wall around our playground. I close my eyes.

“Let me go,” Mo whispers.

Behind me I hear footsteps, light, cautious, but wild. I open my eyes to the boy. He's early too. And in that moment I love him more than ever. In that moment I need him more than ever.

He looks at me, considering, expectant.

“I'm … I need to …” I start but don't finish.

He cocks his head and smiles. A secret smile.

“Come on,” I say. I can't speak the words, but I can show him, show him what I came to do.

We hold hands as we enter through the black
gates. He doesn't let go and neither do I as we circle the playground, checking amongst the flower beds for a telltale stripy sweater. I think she's not there until …

“Hello,” Jo says.

I drop the boy's hand. I'm surprised, not embarrassed.

“Hello,” I reply.

My friend stares. His seawater eyes absorbing the purple, green and orange of the gardener's knitted jumper.

Jo's carrying a tub, big and green, in both hands.

“It's a bit early to be here, isn't it?” she asks, then heaves the tub towards the nearest bed. Creeping vines stretch up and cover the wooden structure that shields the climbing frame. Jo makes our playground a jungle.

“I wanted … I need …”

The gardener puts down the tub. I see that it
is full of soft brown soil. I can smell its earthiness and I think that is how Jo must smell—earthy and real and deep.

She stares for a moment. “Maybe you could help me, Kaia? You can talk as we work,” she says.

It's a simple job. We're refreshing the soil.

“Over time—and these creepers have been in for a good few years now—plants will take all the goodness out of the soil. You've got to give them fresh, new goodness to feed on. Most plants love a change,” Jo says. “But you've got to do it carefully. Wait till they're ready. Give them time.”

The boy doesn't help. He climbs and hangs and leaps around the frame. I watch him as I pat the warm earth.

“So,” Jo says, the last fork of dirt applied. “How come you're here so early?”

I wipe my grubby hands on my jeans—they weren't that clean anyway. I reach into my pocket and pull out the envelope.

Two pairs of eyes are on me—the boy, perched
high in the vines; Jo, quiet, waiting—while I hold the package tight, almost to my mouth, then slowly, slowly, my arm like a growing branch, my hand unfurling like a spring bud, present it to the gardener.

She echoes my speed and takes it slowly. Slowly, slowly.

She opens it. My precious envelope.

“Sunflower seeds.” She states this, then questions. “You want to plant them?”

I nod. And it's out, it's done. My breath, which I did not know I was holding, comes in one long draft. My heart pounds. I wipe a tear from my eye.

“We can do that, Kaia.” Jo is nodding, smiling. “Maybe we could start a gardening club. Might have to talk to your teacher. You could talk to some of your friends. These could be our first project.”

I nod. I smile. Then I grab Jo's big, woolly, stripy jumper and I squeeze her and I still haven't said a word.

“I'll take that as a yes,” she says.

*  *  *

It was a week after the funeral.

I was sitting alone. It felt like I had not been alone for a long time, so many people in and out. But even in the middle of all that I still felt like I was all alone in the world. Moses was gone.

I sat on the floor, in front of my mirror. I was counting the freckles speckled across my nose. They made me think of glitter. Mum did not have freckles. Moses did not have freckles, had not had freckles. It was where I saw a dad I'd never met, right there in my freckles, a dad who lived in some distant land with a family of his own.

Behind me, in the reflection, my bookcase called to me. Freckle counting could only draw me away from the pain for moments. Could I escape into a book?

I stood and flicked through my stories. No cover held me, none of those shiny pink ones that I had loved. Then I saw it, the corner peeking out
from beneath my bed
—Trees of Britain: An Illustrated Guide
.

Kneeling as if in prayer, I laid the book like something sacred on my duvet. I ran my hand across the cover. I ran a finger along the unbroken spine.

As the fresh tears fell I whispered, “Sorry, Mo,” and opened my birthday present. I had thanked him for it on the day and kissed his stubbly cheek but then the bike appeared and my book lay forgotten.

I flicked through the pages, offering a tear to each leaf. I flicked till I found the reason for my brother's question—“Are you enjoying the book?”

There, beneath the illustration of a cherry tree in blossom, was hidden a handwritten note. Beside this, a small white envelope.

Big Love,

Your brother, Mo

My mum got the job. She got the job. And as far
as I can tell, she hasn't touched a bottle since she poured all that horrible drink down our sink.

Actually, she has touched a bottle—we had Chinese food to celebrate Mum's job and it came with a big bottle of Coke. We had chicken in black bean sauce, sweet and sour pork, rice and prawn crackers. I felt a bit strange eating it; Chinese food was always Mo's favorite. I don't think Mum even thought about that, though. She got the job.

This all happened; then cycle training started. It is as brilliant as I hoped. No Mr. Wills, fresh spring air, time with my friend, and maybe, maybe some new friends.

Our instructors are pretty good too.

Ben's in charge and he's got a beard. That makes him sound old. He's not. He's really young. Young compared to all the teachers, anyway. But he's got a beard. Beards are usually reserved for old people; granddads have beards, not young cycling instructors. Anyway, he does have a beard. The boy kept pointing and growling. Don't ask me why. Maybe he'd never seen a beard before.

Mary's young too. She really likes my bike. I told her that my brother painted it for me. She said that I was really lucky to have such a fantastic big brother. I didn't tell her that I don't have a big brother. Luzie touched me on the arm after Mary started talking about something else. And somehow this touch made my heart unclench and my breath come easy.

Yes, I had friends.

We'd done all the basics. They checked that we could, well, cycle in a straight line. Then they taught us how to turn corners safely, where to
position ourselves on the road, what to do at traffic lights and all that stuff.

We cheered each other when we got things right and we laughed at each other when we did something daft. The laughing was almost as good as the cheering. I don't know why.

Ben tried to teach me to look backwards. I couldn't get the hang of it. I looked over my left shoulder, then my right, then my left again. By this point I was going so slowly that the bike just stopped and I tumbled to the ground. Shadid and Deon were even quicker than the boy at coming to help me up.

Once I'd brushed myself down, Luzie called out, “You're such a dappy one, Kaia.”

Angelica did a mime of me looking one way, then the other, then the other, over and over again. We only stopped laughing when Mary started shouting at us to take it seriously.

Most days we've had break and lunchtime with the rest of the school. But today we started going
out on the road. Our cycle went over break time but no one minded, not even Shadid and Deon, who usually spend every break time playing football or pat-ball.

When we stopped for our own break, we rested the bikes against a wall and stood in a circle. Mary handed out little bottles of water from her rucksack and we all chatted. We chatted about TV mostly. I didn't have much to say.

It was wonderful.

On the last day of cycle training, spring was in
full bloom. The daffs were everywhere. Along the road, outside school, pink blossoms coated the cherry trees (
Prunus serrulata
), which when in bloom are the most beautiful trees around.

The cherry is awash with color throughout the year, with coppery brown- to bronze-colored leaves throughout the autumn and even into spring, and vivid purplish-pink double flowers opening from crimson buds
.

I can say, I think with certainty, that it was the happiest I'd been since … well, you know.

I think with certainty—but that means I'm not certain. Let's change that.

I'm fairly sure that it was the happiest I'd been. Now that sounds stupid.

I was happy. Let's leave it at that.

Spring. Friends. Mum. I was happy.