The Goldfish Boy Read online

  On around day ten it is inevitable that the unfortunate person who has chosen to spend the majority of his or her life inside will become so bored that they’ll begin to talk to items around them. This is a normal occurrence and should not cause undue concern.

  In my case it was day eight. I’d stayed home from school again and was having a bad afternoon, and I could feel the Wallpaper Lion’s eyes staring at me from the corner of my room. I knew who it was straight away. I’d been watching him on and off for a while, wanting to say something but not letting myself. I finally got to a bursting point and couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  “I know what you’re thinking! You’re thinking: Aw, poor Matthew, stuck indoors all day, isn’t it tragic? Why doesn’t he go to school? Why doesn’t he go out there and actually do something? Well, it’s NOT going to happen, so DON’T bother worrying about me, okay?”

  Once I’d said what I wanted to say I felt calmer. I felt like I’d won an argument with him. Now he was just something I talked to now and then, like Mum talked to the cat. It was nothing weird. What would have been weird was if he’d answered me. But that had never happened.

  No one knew I talked to him, of course. That was another little secret I had. In fact, the whole cleaning thing was a secret too, until quite recently. My friend Tom was the first one to notice something was up. I’d gone to the bathroom during science class, and when I got back to our desk he was staring at me, his head resting on his fist.

  “Matt, what’s going on?”

  I looked at him.

  “What do you mean?”

  Tom leaned in to whisper.

  “The toilet thing? You’ve been during every lesson today and at break. Are you okay?”

  I’d been washing my hands. That’s what I’d been doing. They were never clean enough, so I had to keep going back to try and get the germs off. I opened my mouth to tell him but I didn’t know how to say it, so I just shrugged and turned back to my work. I pretty much stopped going to school after that.

  Now that I was at home I was much more in control and could clean pretty much whenever I liked. The bathroom caused me the most stress, because every time I went in there it felt infested with germs. A couple of weeks before, I’d gotten really carried away while Mum was at work, and before I knew it the afternoon had passed and Mum was home, standing at the door staring openmouthed as I wiped the insides of the taps with cotton wool buds dipped in bleach.

  “What on earth are you doing, Matthew?”

  She looked around at the sparkling white tiles. You’d have thought I’d been scrawling graffiti everywhere, the face she was pulling.

  “This isn’t right … Stop it now, enough is enough.”

  She took a step forward. I moved away and felt the sink press into my back.

  “Matthew, you need to talk to me about this. What’s wrong? And look at your poor hands …”

  She reached out to me, but I shook my head at her.

  “Stay there, Mum. Don’t come any closer.”

  “But Matty, I just want to have a look at your skin. Is it bleeding? It looks like it’s bleeding …”

  I tucked my hands under my armpits.

  “Are they burnt, Matthew? Have you burnt your hands? You can’t get bleach on your skin, darling.”

  “It’s fine, just leave me alone.”

  I quickly scooted past her and went into my room, kicking the door shut behind me. I lay on my bed, my hands throbbing as I tucked them under my arms. Mum stood outside the door. She knew better than to come in.

  “Darling, is there anything I can do for you? Tell me, please. Please, Matthew? Your Dad and I can’t go on like this. The school rang again today. I can’t keep telling them that … that you’ve got a virus …”

  She made a little choking sound like she’d suddenly forgotten to breathe. I shut my eyes and called one word back at her.

  “Gloves.”

  Silence.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Latex gloves. Disposable ones. That’s all I need, Mum. Okay? Now, can you leave me alone? Please!”

  “Okay. I’ll … I’ll see what I can do …”

  And that was it.

  That was my secret box that I keep under the bed. Not a dusty old box of treasure but a box of one hundred disposable latex gloves, which now held just thirty-two. A secret agreement between me and my mum: She’d supply me with gloves, and I would stop burning my skin with bleach.

  We didn’t need to tell Dad—he wouldn’t understand.

  I put on some gloves (fourteen pairs remaining) and squirted the top of my bookcase using some antibacterial spray I’d stolen from under the sink in the bathroom.

  “Look at the state of Mr. Charles’s yard. I bet he’s really angry,” I said to the Wallpaper Lion as I cleaned.

  It had only taken a day for the little kids to trash it; the once tidy lawn was littered with a freak rainfall of toys. Buckets, spades, an assortment of different-sized balls, plastic cars, three jump ropes, and a blue tartan picnic blanket covered the thick green grass. I picked up my notebook.

  1:15 p.m.—Mr. Charles’s grandson, Teddy, is playing in the backyard. There’s no sign of his sister, Casey.

  Using a stick, Teddy was poking at something in the flower bed. I squinted to try and get a closer look, then flinched when I saw what it was. It was a dead baby bird—the bald kind, with bulging, just-hatched eyes. He picked up a plastic orange spade from the grass and, dropping to his knees, wiggled the spade underneath the bird to scoop it up. I put my cleaning things down to watch.

  It took Teddy a bit of effort to stand without dropping the bird, but he managed and quickly toddled off toward the pond. Stopping a good meter from the edge, he tossed the bird up, and it somersaulted over and over and then splashed, disappearing beneath the surface. There were a couple flashes of orange as Mr. Charles’s fish darted to the bottom. Teddy stood and watched the water for a bit, perhaps to see if the dead chick was going to float to the top, and then he went back to the flower bed and began to dig with the spade. I took out a book and began to wipe it as I kept an eye on the yard.

  Casey appeared carrying a plastic bag and the porcelain doll she’d had with her when she’d arrived. Teddy skipped over to her.

  “Casey! Casey! Bird dead!”

  Acting like he was invisible, she pulled the tartan picnic blanket toward some shade as Teddy danced around her.

  “Bird, Casey! Dead!” He shouted the word as if that would make her understand him. I guessed he regretted throwing it into the pond now; he could have shown her first.

  “Go away,” Casey said, placing the pale-faced doll in the center of the blanket, stretching its legs so that it wouldn’t topple over. She tipped the plastic bag upside down, and an assortment of ribbons, brushes, and hair clips rainbowed onto the blanket.

  “Casey. It dead! It DEAD, Casey!”

  Teddy ran to the pond. He pointed at the water as he jiggled around on the spot. Casey watched him for a moment before sorting through the hair accessories, lining up the various brushes and combs and winding the ribbons into curls. Teddy wandered back and sat next to his sister. He picked up a purple brush and attempted to run it through his blond hair, but he got the angle wrong and it scratched down the front of his face.

  Casey said something to him and snatched the brush away. The little boy got up and went back to the flower bed. He squatted down, peering under the plants, maybe looking for more dead birds to show her. Fanning her pink skirt around her legs, Casey began to talk to the doll as she brushed its hair.

  My heart was pounding. Seeing the dead chick and knowing all the diseases it must have crawling over it had made me feel worse. Even though I was watching from next door, the majority of my brain was overloaded with worry that germs were spreading around my room and sneaking into all the little gaps here and there. One speck of dirt can quickly escalate to a whole infection, nobody realizes that. These things have a domino effect, and if I’m not careful I could b
e cleaning all day. I turned away from the window and concentrated on taking each book off the shelf and wiping the cover and spine.

  I was on my third book when there was a scream from outside. Teddy was flat on his back and Casey was dragging him off the blanket by his ankle. Once he was on the grass, she dropped his foot with a thump and went back to her doll. Teddy lay there for a moment, staring up at the dazzling blue sky before scrambling to his feet and lunging for the porcelain doll. Grabbing a fistful of its hair, he raced toward the pond, pulling it along the ground. Stunned, Casey sat openmouthed. There was a few seconds’ delay as her brain caught up with what was happening, and then she shouted with all her might:

  “GIVE HER BACK TO ME, NOW!”

  The little boy turned, the doll dangling from his fist with its legs jutting out at awkward angles. No one moved.

  “No, Teddy! Mum gave her to me!”

  Casey’s voice shook as she pleaded with him.

  Maybe Teddy wanted revenge for not being included in her game, or maybe he was just a kid who wanted to see if the doll sank as quickly as the dead chick; either way the temptation was too much. With a large swing of his short, chubby arm the toddler threw the doll into the air, where it hung for a moment before plummeting into the dark, green water.

  Splash!

  Casey froze as the doll lay on the surface like a doomed heroine. Its cream dress ballooned and for a moment it looked as if it was going to float, but then the fabric deflated and it slowly disappeared beneath the surface.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” I said to the Wallpaper Lion.

  Casey’s body went rigid, her hands splayed at her side. If I’d been watching a cartoon, white steam would have erupted from her ears. Teddy was facing the pond, hypnotized by the water, maybe wondering if the doll had landed on top of the dead bird. Stretching her arms out as if she were about to do a conjuring trick, the little girl ran at her brother. Her hands hit him with such force his little head jolted back, and then he toppled forward, straight into the pond.

  It didn’t seem real at first. It was as if my window were a TV screen and any minute now the commercials would kick in. Casey stood and watched as her brother splashed desperately in the deep pond.

  “Where’s Mr. Charles? Why isn’t he coming?” I said to the Wallpaper Lion. I thumped my gloved hand against the window.

  “Help him!”

  Casey jumped and her head slowly turned as she tried to work out where the sound was coming from.

  THUMP, THUMP, THUMP!

  “Get your granddad! Go and get your granddad! Now!”

  THUMP, THUMP, THUMP!

  My hand slapped hard on the glass, but Casey just glared up at me, her arms hanging by her sides as her brother’s splashes rained around her. I ran out of my room and nearly tripped over Nigel, who was stretched across the landing in a square of sunlight. Standing at the top of the stairs, I fixed my eyes on the front door. I could just run down, pull on my trainers, sprint over, and pull Teddy out of the pond. But I couldn’t move. The thought of going outside, let alone putting my hands in that dirty pond water, made me feel sick. Instead I ran into the office, the elephant mobile spinning around as I brushed past.

  A hose snaked along the pathway of number eleven, but Mr. Charles wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

  “Where’s he gone? Where is he?!”

  I looked around the close, and then I saw him, chatting with Penny and Gordon at number one. The three of them were laughing about something, and Mr. Charles was red in the face. I banged loudly on the glass.

  “Mr. Charles! It’s Teddy! Quick!”

  He stopped laughing and looked around at the other houses, trying to work out where the noise was coming from. Then Penny spotted me and pointed.

  “MR. CHARLES!! QUICK! HE’S FALLEN IN THE POND!”

  THUMP, THUMP, THUMP.

  For a moment Mr. Charles looked dazed, as if he couldn’t make sense of what I was saying, but then he seemed to come to his senses and ran toward his house. His spindly arms and legs looked like they were traveling in slow motion. I ran back to my bedroom window. Teddy was still splashing as Casey watched. The old man appeared and Casey grabbed her brother by the arm, yanking him half out of the pond.

  “What’s happening? Teddy!”

  “He fell in, Granddad! I couldn’t reach him! I called for you but you didn’t come!”

  She began to sob as her brother coughed and spluttered on the grass. Mr. Charles rubbed his back.

  Penny appeared with Gordon right behind her.

  “Oh my goodness,” Penny said. “What’s happened?”

  Mr. Charles jabbed his finger at Casey. “Can’t I leave you for a second? What were you doing playing near the pond? I’ve got fish in there!”

  Her crying became louder, but he ignored her and scooped the boy up under his arm.

  “Have you got any blankets?” said Penny, waving her arms about. “We’ll need to keep him warm. He’s probably in shock! Gordon, go back home and get some blankets. Grab at least three!”

  Gordon sloped off around the corner without a word.

  Mr. Charles looked up at me as he walked toward the house. I was expecting a grateful nod, but his face was blank. Teddy stretched his hands in front of him like Superman.

  “Bird, Granddad! Dead bird!”

  Considering he’d nearly drowned, he didn’t look too bad at all.

  After they’d gone inside, Casey instantly stopped crying and grabbed the stick from the garden that Teddy had used to poke the bird. She stuck it into the pond and fished around for a bit until something bobbed to the surface. Kneeling, she pulled the object out and clutched it to her chest. Water poured out of the doll. Its golden hair was now dirty brown and it was missing a shoe. Kissing its face, she tried to smooth its dress and hair and make it look neat again. She took a couple of steps toward the house, then suddenly looked straight up at me. My heart thumped. Not wanting to duck away and make myself look stupid, I held her gaze. Her mouth circled into an O shape and she slowly smacked her lips together three times. Just like a fish. I shivered, then turned away and carried on cleaning.

  That night I lay awake in the silence.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Somebody was tapping on my bedroom wall from next door.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  I guessed it was Casey trying to torment me. I didn’t move, listening to the silence.

  It started again, harder this time.

  Tap, tap, tap!

  I rolled over and turned my back to the wall.

  Things had certainly changed since they’d arrived, and I wasn’t sure I liked it.

  Every day Mum delivered my meals to my room on a tray. Lunchtime’s selection consisted of one prewrapped ham-and-cheese sandwich, one sealed carton of orange juice, one banana, and three unopened bottles of water to drink throughout the day. Very safe. Very sterile.

  Food was always accompanied by Mum trying to have a chat from the doorway. I tried not to say much and to avoid her eyes if I could.

  “Mr. Charles’s grandchildren look sweet, don’t they? It’ll be nice having some kids next door for the summer, won’t it, Matthew?”

  “Yep, I guess so.”

  I had decided not to say anything about the pond episode or the tapping on my wall.

  “His daughter is in New York for a month. She’s some hotshot banker, apparently. It’s odd. I’ve never known her to visit him, have you?”

  I shook my head. Mum knew how much I watched the neighbors and that if anyone had seen Mr. Charles’s daughter visit before it would have been me.

  “Isn’t that funny? Those kids have probably never even met him. Maybe her usual childcare let her down or something.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  I kept my eyes on my lunch. I didn’t like to be too talkative in case she launched into her favorite subject: “What Do We Do About Matthew?”

  “I’m at the salon for a few hours this afternoon. Is that okay, Matthew? Wi
ll you be all right on your own?”

  Mum had opened the Head to Toe beauty salon five years before. Her original plan had been to let the new manager run the place while she popped in to do the odd treatment and keep up with the gossip. Lately it appeared she had to be there every day, but I knew it was just so she could escape the problem indoors: me. She held the tray out, and I took the items off one at a time using my fingertips and placed them on my bedside table.

  “Matthew? Is that all right?”

  “Sure.” I looked up at her and accidentally met her eyes and then bam—she was off …

  “Good. Oh and I’ve made an appointment for us to see the doctor in the morning. See if we can get you sorted out. Okay?”

  She tucked the tray under her arm like a handbag.

  “What?”

  “The school keeps calling and now the council is writing letters. We’ve got to sort you out before September or me and your dad will be in big trouble. You do realize that they lock parents up nowadays if their kids don’t go to school, don’t you?”

  Mum and Dad had been lying to the school; they said I had mono. Of all the illnesses they could have picked, they chose the “kissing disease”—when I had no intention of ever kissing anyone! They must have thought it was a good choice because you can be off school for weeks with that. I think Mum even managed to convince herself that I actually had it, as in the first few days I was off she kept asking me how my throat was feeling and offering me painkillers. Desperation—that’s what it was: willing me to have something treatable, something with an end in sight.

  “I’m not going.”

  “Don’t be silly, of course you are. It’s only Dr. Kerr. You’ve been seeing him since you were a baby.”

  As she spoke she tried to look over my shoulder. I pulled the door closed a little bit.

  “Why don’t you open a window in there? Let some of that stuffy air out?”