The Rules

Prequel - The Maverick

‘There he is!’ Cody spotted the tatty cat climbing over the fence in the garden and rushed out to make a fuss of him with his sisters following close behind, slamming the door in their excitement.

 ‘I think it’s really mean of you to name him after some old boxer.’

 ‘Mean? That’s all you know. Joey DeJohn was a legend! Even if he did have a scrunched up face.’

Sandy and Lizzie secretly thought him too sweet to be named after a sportsman and agreed with each other that ‘Marmalade’ suited him better. They didn’t want to complain though, for they knew that if they didn’t go along with Cody’s choice he would be grumpy and impatient with them until they agreed with his choice of name. The girls knew how to keep the peace; they’d watched their mother defer to their father for years now. Each day the children snuck food from their meagre portions to feed to Joey. Cody and his sisters would crowd happily round Joey, marvelling that he managed to purr as he ate. During meals he would allow them to smooth his fur, arching his back against their passing hands. Their back yard was little more than concrete and coarse grass but these discomforts blurred during these stolen moments in time, gifting them with the illusion that their world was a calm and peaceful place. A reality filled with the soothing sensations that were a by-product of stroking a warm, purring, although distinctly smelly, giver of comfort.

While Cody’s mother occasionally encouraged these stolen moments with Joey, the children knew their father most certainly would not. No childhood magic for Edward’s brood thankyouverymuch! He believed that the sooner they faced the harsh realities of life, the better prepared they would be. That very day he caught them enjoying their unacceptable moments of cat magic when he came home early from work. There had been a fire at the factory and it was now closed until the damage could be repaired. The ‘fwhick’ of the gate latch disengaging from the catch penetrated their happy haze too slowly for them to be able to shoo Joey away. They looked at each other in horror knowing that only their father used the back gate. Why had he come home early? They knew that the very act of feeding Joey, when their father wasn’t supposed to be home, would convince him that they were being deliberately deceitful. Guilt blushed across their faces because rule one was: never lie and rule two was: waste not, want not. As one they turned and, too scared to look at his face, they instead watched his boots make contact with the concrete, each loud step bringing him closer to Joey.

Despite their pathetic attempts to shield him, Edward could see the mangy cat licking the pavement. No work equalled no money, and the sight of them feeding a stray incensed him beyond reason. He reached between the girls, easily parting their joined hands. He took a half step then followed through with his other leg. The toe of his boot connected with Joey’s body, transferring enough momentum to send him flying over the fence. The children heard Joey squeal once. Then painfully weighted silence descended on both sides of the fence. As one, they turned toward their father, hollow with the knowledge that they would be next to feel the impact of his wrath.

He glared at them and then words poured from his mouth, riding the crest of his anger. ‘Stealing food and feeding it to a stray? You don’t have a clue do ’ya? Not a clue.’

They flinched, nodded and then hastily shook their heads... confused.

Edward’s face darkened. ‘Food costs money, something which you contribute none of. Rule one and rule two – broken at the same time! I don’t work my ass off so that you can feed perfectly good food to mangy strays and try to lie about it when I catch you!’

Snatching up the remains of the fish, he grabbed Cody’s chin firmly, tilting it up until Cody was forced to look him in the eye. ‘Don’t be a loser all your life!’

Rule three sharpened with his father’s harsh tone sliced though Cody as he watched his dad kick aside a sun-bleached plastic ball and stomped into the house.

Guiltily relieved at their escape, the children tuned out the sound of their father’s voice shouting at their mother and loitered outside whispering Joey’s name, hoping for a meow in response, until their mother called them for supper. Cody and his sisters slunk in.

The children were too scared by what Joey’s continued silence might mean to give much thought to the fact that they remained unpunished. After quickly washing their hands, they sat on the wooden bench between the chilly outside facing wall and table. Their father was po-faced at the head of the table, making eye contact only with the television that sat precariously on a narrow shelf above their mother’s chair. Betty served them their meal, lips pressed into a thin line, her face as pale and bleak as the soup she put before them. Cody and his sisters looked down at their bowls and realised with horror that this was their punishment; the fish scales floated iridescently on top of the thin milky broth. Edward slurped his soup loudly. The rest of the family quietly tried to swallow without the food touching their tongue.

Cody kept his gaze on the table for fear his rage would be visible in his eyes. The view of the scarred and pitted beige surface did little to calm him. He wondered why the heat of his angry stare didn’t burn holes in the table.

Cody flinched when the phone rang in the next room and again when his father heaved himself out of the chair to go answer it. Cody grabbed the tin of sewing machine oil that sat on the window ledge behind him and squirted, then stirred some into his father’s soup bowl. The thin walls were no barrier to the peaks and troughs of the angry sounding mutters that emanated from their father’s side of the phone conversation in the next room. Oddly, the silence that followed the phone making contact with its cradle was no less disturbing than the noise that had preceded it. When their father returned to the table, they were all innocently stirring their soup.

Cody dared not look at his sisters when their father picked up his spoon. He could feel them trembling on either side of him as they fought to suppress the urge to giggle hysterically. The sharp edge of their mother’s palpable fear quickly rendered them poker faced. Their father cast a suspicious glare over them before spooning the remainder of his soup into his mouth with his eyes fixed unwaveringly on the television for the rest of the meal.

~ ~

 The repeated sound of his father’s footfall on the landing between the toilet and bedroom that night gave Cody a funny swoopy feeling in his stomach; the kind he got when he was a little bit scared and a little bit happy. To stop himself from feeling bad for feeling happy with the result of his rebellion against his father’s rules, he pulled his dictionary out from under his blanket. Turning to the correct page in the M section he once again read the reassuring definition for maverick:

 Someone who refuses to play by the rules and exhibits great independence in thought and action

 Cody the Maverick made sure the book couldn't be seen in its hiding place under his bed before he fell asleep.