Untitled Adam Baron 2. Adam Baron

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СКАЧАТЬ bugging out when I’m asked how school was today is that there is, as I’m sure you know, one question that is even MORE pointless. And that is: What did you do at school today? What did I do? Not only do I NOT CARE, but HOW WOULD I KNOW? I’m no longer AT SCHOOL! School has vanished into thin air, it does not exist and will not exist until I have to walk through the door next day. The only thing worse than asking us what we did at school is what Mum does: asks me what I did at school that day WHILE I AM WATCHING THE SIMPSONS.

      Sorry, I got a bit cross there and, actually, I shouldn’t have, because when Stephan asked me that day it meant I finally got a chance to talk about Mrs Martin. I told him about the science. I went back and told him about the JE (jelly event). And I told him about my giggle. I ended with the explosion and he was amazed. I hadn’t told him the importance of her bag – her most prized possession – and when I did, his mouth dropped open.

      ‘And it wasn’t you?’

      ‘NO!!!’

      ‘Then who was it?’ he asked, and I sighed. Daisy had asked the same question and it really rang through my head now. I was baffled, though a face did come into my mind that so would have been there before Christmas. It belonged to the kid who used to be the class horror, kicking you from behind on school trips, hiding your pencil case, putting old chewing gum in your coat pocket.

      Billy Lee.

      But Billy and I had become friends before Christmas so it couldn’t be him. Could it? It must have been someone in Year 6. I started to go through the names but Mum said it was suppertime.

      ‘Juniper!’ Auntie Mill called. ‘Can you come and set the table, please!’

      While we waited for Juni to come and help (never going to happen) Mum went into a faff wondering where everyone should sit. Auntie Mill set the table herself, telling us that Clay was going to a friend’s house. She still set six places, however, doing most of them normally, though at the head of the table she stacked up lots of glossy magazines where the plate was supposed to go. Stephan looked at me and I looked at Stephan but neither of us knew why. Then Juni came down, bumping into a chair and then a floor lamp as she walked across the living room.

      ‘Where’s my stinky brother?’ she said, texting.

      ‘Friend’s house.’

      ‘Great.’ TEXT. TEXT. ‘I’ll get his steak, then.’ PING!

      ‘Oh,’ I said, ‘I don’t think there’s going to be—’

      PING! Juni wasn’t listening. ‘Where’s Dad?’ she said, pulling her chair out with one hand. TEXT. TEXT. TEXT. TEXT. PING! TEXT. Stephan and I didn’t know so couldn’t answer, so she shouted, ‘MUM? Where’s DAD?’ TEXT. PING!

      There was quite a lot of crossness in Juni’s voice and I thought I knew why. My Uncle Chris used to work all the time in this big glass building (not a greenhouse, one with computers in). He was never home for anything. He’d promised to change, though, so where was he?

      ‘Well?’ Juni demanded, as Auntie Mill came through. TEXT. TEXT. PING! PING! PING!

      ‘Look, love—’ Auntie Mill winced, and stared at the side of Juni’s bowed head. ‘Daddy had to take a little trip.’

      TEXT. ‘Typical.’ TEXT. PING! ‘And he’s not my “daddy”, he’s my dad.’ TEXT. PING! TEXT. ‘How little?’

      ‘Well …’

      TEXT. ‘I mean, is he getting back soon?’ TEXT. TEXT. TEXT. TEXT. ‘Or not till after supper?’

      ‘Neither. He’s in …’

      ‘His –’ TEXT – ‘office?’

      ‘No. America.’

      ‘What?’ Finally, and with great effort, Juni did rip her eyes from her phone.

      ‘New York, to be absolutely precise.’

      ‘But he doesn’t do that any more!’ PING!

      ‘I know, love. But some investors got in touch. Look, he’s just not here. But it’s only one night.’

      ‘That’s not the point!’ PING! PING! ‘My maths is due tomorrow!’

      ‘I can help you with that.’

      ‘You? I might as well ask the goldfish.’

      ‘I beg your par—’

      ‘Or Cymbeline.’

      ‘Hey!’

      ‘Well, maybe you won’t have to.’ Auntie Mill sighed, turning to the magazines. I noticed then that she had an iPad in her hand, which she put on top of the stack.

      ‘Your dad said he’d be here,’ she muttered. ‘And he’s going to be. Sort of.’

       PING!

      Auntie Mill started fiddling with the iPad. Juni started arguing with her again but then stopped – but not to answer any of the pings. Mum had come in with a tray. On it were three serving bowls, which Juni and I stared at as Mum set them down on the table.

      ‘What,’ Juni said, ‘is that?’

      Now, I don’t often side with Juni, but I have to admit that I too wanted to know the answer to this question. You see, in the bowl that was nearest to me was what I can only describe as shiny brown sludge. The next bowl was pretty similar except that the sludge in that one was yellow. The third bowl also had sludge in, though that was green.

      With bits in.

      ‘Supper,’ Mum said.

      Juni shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It. Is. Not.’

      ‘It is! Dhal! Sort of curry. First time I’ve made it. That’s split pea dhal with ginger, and that’s lentil dhal, and that’s paneer.’

      ‘Pan—?’

      ‘Cheese. Indian cheese.’

      ‘That is not cheese.’

      ‘Then what is it?’ asked Mum.

      ‘That,’ Juni insisted, ‘is vomit.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘From three different people by the looks of it, because vomit from only one person looks the same. Why are you putting vomit on the table, Auntie Janet? And, Mum?!’ She turned to Auntie Mill, who was now waving at the iPad. ‘Why can’t I smell steak cooking?’

       PING!!!

      ‘!!MUM!!’

      The volume of that shout from Juni finally got Auntie Mill’s attention and she turned to her daughter. ‘Steak?’ she said.

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