23
My father walked into the reception, holding his hand out to Mrs Peters. She shook it, and looked at me, spitefully as if to say, ‘Ha ha, you’re about to be in trouble’. I merely raised my eyebrows at her, as if to reply, ‘Don’t be so sure’.
“Sorry I’m late,” said my Dad, “I was on the phone with my wife, trying to convince her that our attic needs to be professionally cleansed of monsters.”
Despite my anger, I smiled and my Dad winked at me, knowing how entertaining I found it when he said such things to my teachers. Mrs Peters looked as if she couldn’t decide whether he was serious or not, and I took great pleasure in seeing it. But she then shook her head, dismissing it.
“Well, the reason I called, Mr Danes, is that I feel your daughter needs to be taught a few things about manners,” said Mrs Peters.
“Oh really?” he said, frowning.
“Yes. We were just chatting in my office, and she decided to throw a rather hysteric tantrum.”
“That doesn’t sound like Lisa.”
“Well that is what happened, Mr Danes. I think you should take Lisa home now.”
“Oh… OK, but I don’t really see how that’s a punishment,” he said, innocently. My father was the master of that innocent child-like look.
I put a hand over my mouth, to cover my smile. Mrs Peters glared at my father, and he raised his eyebrows.
“But, yes, of course,” he said, hurriedly. “I will take her home immediately.”
He took my shoulders and shepherded me towards the doors. I glanced round at Mrs Peters and smiled, smugly. She scowled, in return. Well, it was her own fault – if she wanted to get me in trouble, she should have told one of the other teachers, not my parents (especially not my Dad). Once we were in the car, he turned to me.
“Is that true?” he asked.
I shrugged.
“May I ask why you were having a ‘hysteric tantrum’?” he said, using air quotes.
“Because I was already annoyed, and then she just… ”
“And why were you annoyed?”
I looked at my feet.
“Was it perhaps because of this thing that I wouldn’t understand?” he tried.
I nodded, and he sighed. “Well then, I say that Mrs Peters has no one but herself to blame for your ‘hysteric tantrum’. I mean, you don’t poke an already grumpy bear with a stick and expect them to not react.”
I frowned. “Did you just compare me to a grumpy bear?”
He hesitated. “No, of course not.”
I eyed him, suspiciously.
“Well, we better get you home, so you can ‘work on your manners’. Whereas I must get back to work.”
Left in the house, all by myself I couldn’t think of what to do. It wasn’t like I had anyone to talk to, now. I stood in the middle of the living room, swinging my arms awkwardly – what on earth could I do? What had I done with my spare time, before Henry? Then again, before Henry appeared I was only five, so my activities then probably wouldn’t appeal to me now.
“Henry?” I said, inaudibly.
Of course I received no reply. I hadn’t expected to, either. He was gone. He was gone, and there was nothing I could do about that. I lowered myself onto the sofa, and pulled my bag onto my lap – maybe I could read. However, as I rummaged around, I came across the drawing I’d done. I smoothed the bent paper and stared at it. I remember when I drew it, and thought that it looked quite good, but now I realised that it was actually terrible! It didn’t even begin to capture Henry’s appearance – not his soft skin, not his long legs, not his wide smile, not his amazing smooth hands, with his long thin fingers. None of it! My eyes narrowed and I furiously tore the drawing up again and again, hot tears running down my cheeks, until the shreds of paper were no longer big enough to rip up. I stood up, annoyed that I had nothing else to take this out on. I looked round for something, anything to break – there was the TV, the fireplace, all of the ornaments, the books – but nothing seemed good enough. I could taste my salty tears, but didn’t wipe them away. I stormed into the kitchen, hoping I would have more luck in there. I flung the cupboards open, and my eyes suddenly landed on the biscuit packet.
I’m gonna miss you, when you grow up
You won’t need me anymore
Really? When you’re thirty-six or whatever, you’re going to need me?
With a rattling sob, I snatched the packet from the cupboard and threw them across the room, at the wall. I stamped my foot down on top of them, just to make sure they all broke. And then continued to stomp on, even when they had all definitely been reduced to a packet of crumbs, I kept going. When I no longer got any angry pleasure from standing on them, I threw the packet in the bin. I felt my nose running, and cried even harder. Now what? I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear, thinking. I could hear myself making small hiccupping sounds, and was grateful that I was alone.
Then all of a sudden, an idea struck me. I strode through the living room, and outside. After unlocking the garage and flinging the door up, I marched in looking for the huge, industrial bag of random spare wood that my father insisted would come in handy one day. And it appeared that today was that day. I scanned the garage searching for the bag, which turned out to be quite difficult when I had tears blurring my vision. Eventually I found it near the back, and grabbed the handle at the side before dragging it out onto the driveway. After grabbing my Dad’s tool box (which had never been used) I locked the garage again, and then the front door. The wood was heavy, so I had to grit my teeth and put all my strength into pulling the bag behind me. I struggled down the street, leaving my house behind. I had to stop every five minutes to catch my breath, but I still kept going. I could feel people’s eyes on me, as I hauled the huge bag of wood after me – people even parted their blinds and curtains to watch me from their living rooms. The sun was beating down and I ripped off my blazer, feeling a momentary flush of anger towards the idiot who decided our uniforms should be black. I tossed it into the bag with all the wood, not caring that the next time I put it on, I would probably be stabbed by a million splinters. I felt a lot better now that I was in just my shirt and tie.
Finally, I arrived at my location. I breathed a sigh of relief and doubled over, resting my hands on my knees. Once my head cleared, I looked up at the tree before me. The tree that Henry had declared would be the site for his treehouse. He’d wanted a treehouse, and a treehouse he would get. And it was just outside the cemetery – how fitting. I took a deep breath, and began unpacking the wood and the tool box.
“What the hell are you doing?”
I straightened up, and saw Toby standing under the shade of the tree with me. It must have been not long past home time.
“What does it look like I’m doing?” I snapped, going back to my work.
“It looks like you’re standing under a tree with a bag of wood. The question is, why?”
“I’m building a treehouse,” I replied, not looking up. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“You’re building a treehouse?” he asked, ignoring my comment.
“That’s what I just said, so yes.”
“OK, I don’t mean to poke a hole in this plan of yours, but you can’t just build a treehouse in a random tree.”
“I don’t care.”
“You don’t care? You don’t care that you’ll possibly get in trouble with the police?”
“Oh yeah, I’d love to see them try sending me to prison for building a treehouse!”
There was a small smile on his lips. “Yes, I admit treehouse building isn’t a crime, but I was thinking more of vandalism, or at least something along those lines.”
I didn’t answer.
“May I ask why you’re building a treehouse?” he asked.
“I’m building it for Henry,” I said, grabbing a hammer out of the tool box. Couldn’t he just leave me alone?
“You mean the Henry that I, presumably, ‘destroyed’?”
I glared at him.
“Look, Lisa, if you’re going to be angry at me, and accuse me –”
“Because it was you!”
“ – of ‘destroying Henry’ as you put it, could you at least tell me who Henry is?”
I puffed out an angry sigh. “Henry was my friend. My best friend!”
He seemed relieved by this, for some reason. “Oh, so he wasn’t your… boyfriend?”
I frowned. “What? No! Why would you think that?”
“Well, I don’t know,” he said, spreading his hands wide, “last night I kissed you, and then today you came in yelling about some guy called Henry, who’d been… ‘destroyed’! I just assumed –”
“Well you shouldn’t have! You know what people say when you assume things!”
He frowned. “No. What do they say?”
“That you… ” I hesitated, “… shouldn’t assume.”
“Oh, well in that case… ” he replied, dryly.
I glowered, and returned to my work. I looked up at the tree, trying to recall Henry’s words when he’d described how everything was going to look. I needed this to be perfect. I could still feel Toby’s presence behind me, and I turned to him.
“What?” I snapped. “What do you want, Toby!?”
“What did I do, Lisa?” he shrugged. “I’ve never even met Henry, so what could I have possibly done that could have hurt him?”
I brought my gaze to the ground when I felt the tears running down my cheeks, and shook my head. But it did nothing to stop my sobbing. My face crumpled, and I just exploded and I couldn’t stop! I suddenly realised that Toby had moved a lot closer to me. He attempted to put his arms around me, but I pushed him away.
“No! Don’t touch me!” I sobbed.
“Why don’t you let me help you?” he asked.
“Because I need Henry! I need Henry, and he isn’t here!”
“Which is exactly my point,” he said, gently.
I looked up at him, and he raised his eyebrows. I felt my legs go weak, and I leaned my forehead against his chest. He put his arms around me, and kissed the top of my head