Solomon Grimm and the Well of Souls

Chapter 3

The rest of the week came and went. Day after boring day of Year Eleven at Chandler’s Green Secondary School—and no surprise waiting for Solomon when he got home. What had Ros been talking about? The big bucket of chicken they’d had on Thursday? Had that been it? Did Ros really think that a single KFC night would lift Solomon out of the doldrums?

She has something up her sleeve, he thought as he walked up Meadow Way with his guitar on his way to band practice at Lonnie’s place. Ros always has a plan cooking.

She’d surprised Solomon last July—along with her own kids, eleven-year-old Brendan and nine-year-old Megan—with a trip to Chessington World of Adventures theme park. The siblings had been asking her to take them for weeks and weeks, but Ros said she just couldn’t afford it. Secretly, she’d been saving up. Brendan, Megan, and Solomon all had a fantastic day, going on every ride at least three times. It had been one of the few times that Solomon had totally forgotten about all his troubles. Even his diabetes regimen hadn’t spoiled the day.

Two weeks after his thirteenth birthday Solomon was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. It was a shock to Solomon, and only added to his mother’s deep anxieties. His blood did not make enough insulin, which meant that he had to inject himself (in the belly, arggh!) with the hormone several times a day. He also had to test his blood glucose levels before and after every meal—for the rest of his life. Calculating carbs and regular exercise became the norm. Being diabetic, he found, was a complete pain in the ass. It messed up his jamming sessions. It played havoc with his love life. It caused arguments in the house. And it was a huge emotional burden on his mother. Two years on, he was only slightly used to it. He wanted it to end. But there was no cure.

Lonnie Cripps was Solomon’s best friend. He’d met him at school soon after moving to the quiet and reasonably well-heeled suburb of Chandler’s Green in Hertfordshire. Solomon had known just by the look of the guy—ear-muffling black hair and struggling goatee—that he was in a band. It wasn't long before Solomon was playing guitar and singing Lonnie’s lyrics. One day, Solomon was sure, Slagg would be a band to be reckoned with. This year’s goal was to play at The Castle in Finchley—London’s coolest venue for up-and-coming rock groups. His real home was just a few streets away from this hallowed Mecca for teen bands. Solomon had walked past it on the way to his old school and dreamt of hordes of fans queuing around the block waiting to see Solomon Grimm and Slagg.

“All work and no play, Lonnie?” joked Solomon as he arrived at the Cripps’ driveway. There was Lonnie, sleeves rolled up, washing the family car.

“Leave it out,” Lonnie snapped. “My dad’s making me do this because of that lame essay I handed in at school. You know, the one about climate change.”

“Oh, yeah, right,” responded Solomon. “The great four sentence essay. How could I forget?”

“It wasn't that short. It was two paragraphs. Anyway, Mrs. Cooper called my parents and said they were ‘concerned about my concentration in class’. I concentrate all right—on coming up with new lyrics for the band. Now look at me. I feel like a knob. Help me out, will you, mate?”

“What about band practice?”

Dunking the sponge in the bucket of soapy water, Lonnie shook his head. “Sorry, Sol. There won’t be time today. We’re all going over to my aunt’s after I’m done with this.”

Solomon frowned. “So why didn’t you tell me that before?”

“Because I only just found out, all right? I'm itching to play just as much as you are. It will have to be tomorrow. Besides, that fiddle of yours needs some serious tuning.”

Solomon exhaled sharply. His whole evening was now officially shot.

“Right,” he muttered. “See you tomorrow then.” He turned to go.

“You hooking up with Nicola tonight?” Lonnie asked, a glint in his eye.

Glancing back at his friend, Solomon gave the merest of shrugs. “Maybe. She’s all right, you know? But I’m not sure what to make of her yet. We’ve only been going out for three weeks and...”

“And what?”

“I don’t know. Her mind always seems to be somewhere else.”

Lonnie grinned. “Then it’s your job to make sure her mind is only on you. Spruce it up a bit, Sol! She’s the kind of bird who likes a well-coiffed lad.”

“She can take me as she finds me,” Solomon grunted.

Returning home, Solomon resigned himself to a dull evening of homework, snacking, and flipping through old issues of Total Guitar.

“You’re home early,” observed Ros as Solomon came in the front door and passed by the living room. She was busy helping Megan create a scrapbook as Brendan played a very energetic game of Grand Slam Tennis on his Nintendo Wii.

Solomon paused and gave Ros the most fed-up of expressions. “Band practice was cancelled. Lonnie narked off his parents again. Anyway, I’m going to grab something from the fridge and head on up to my room.”

“All right, then. Sorry about band practice.”

With a quickly-made peanut butter sandwich already wedged into his mouth, Solomon headed straight upstairs to his room. He thought it a little bit odd that the door was closed. He was sure he’d left it open. Opening it, he put down his guitar—and got the shock of his life.