Arthur

Photo by Matthew Jungling on Unsplash.

Why did they call him Radar when his name was Arthur? What was wrong with rooting and earwigging? He was told off if he forgot the rules at home, but sometimes the grownups would tell strangers to mind their own he’s only young he doesn’t understand. Dad said it’s natural for kids to be curious. It was a good thing until it was a bad thing, like if he wanted to know what stuff was. What’s in there, Daddy? Stuff. What’s stuff? Never you mind. What he did have to mind was his own beeswax. Arthur had been stung by a bee and didn’t want his own wax, although it would be fun to fly and see inside flowers. He liked buzzing too, but when he buzzed he made a racket and that was bad.

As soon as they said don’t, he wanted to do it, eat it, smell it, touch it. If they put chocolate on a shelf, he was going to try to reach it. There were tools in the shed he shouldn’t touch because they were dangerous. There was nothing to see under the sink, but he had seen things – this must be what stuff was – including bottles which were not for drinking from.

If a drawer, wardrobe, or cabinet was locked, Arthur had to investigate; and the rooms he most wanted to explore were the ones he’d better not be found in. If something wasn’t hidden, Arthur thought, he wouldn’t need to go rooting for it; and anyway, according to Grandma Jennie, it was a fact of life that children rooted. A fact of life was something you could not argue with. Earwigging too, she said. Let them hear what they can’t understand, what harm will it do?

The thing about earwigging was that sometimes you did understand what they were talking about. He didn’t know what a passports was, but he had heard Mum tell Dad she had put the passports in his black suit, which Arthur and Dad had collected from a shop that didn’t sell anything and smelled funny and was too hot. The suit had been easy to find in the wardrobe because it was wrapped in the same plastic. How they hadn’t heard the noise when the hanger had fallen on top of him, Arthur did not understand. The passports was two little books which Arthur now held in his hands. There was a photo of Dad in one and Mum in the other, neither of which looked much like them. Mum’s hair was curly, and Dad had a beard that was longer than Grandad’s, which according to Grandad, who was asleep most of the time and not to be disturbed, was a world record holder. Arthur was flicking through the passports looking for more pictures when he heard Dad’s footsteps on the landing. Everyone else had to pick up their feet, but Dad made more noise than anyone. Arthur had another surprise when Mum’s voice followed Dad’s shoes into the room.

‘When should we tell them?’

‘Not yet. They’ll be unbearable.’

‘I know, but…’

‘As soon as we tell them it will be France this and France that. You know what His Lordship was like the first time we went camping.’

What was France and who was His Lordship? He’d been mentioned before, but he had never been to the house, and they had never bumped into him at the shop or on the way home from Little Acorns. Camping was brilliant though, and maybe France was that place with all the grass and trees where they lived in a tent for a bit. You had to be in the car forever for camping, but it was worth it for sleeping on the bouncy beds and eating outside. Arthur thought the camping place was called the Lakes, but it wouldn’t be the first time he had got something wrong. His Lordship might be there waiting for them. It would be good to meet him and play football, fly the kite, or dig some holes. They could climb trees because there were trees at camping. Mum said he shouldn’t climb trees, but Dad said it was okay, he was doing what boys do. Mum said girls too, but Milly hadn’t climbed a tree yet. She couldn’t get to the top of the slide without help. It took too ages if you were behind her. That’s why Arthur had pushed her away, and it was her fault.

Milly was too young to understand about passports and France, but who else could Arthur tell without letting them know he’d been doing what he shouldn’t? Milly didn’t listen, which was typical, but one day she would learn. That was what Dad said: she would learn in time. Milly liked to say back what you had said to her, sometimes hours and hours after you had said it. She didn’t say passports, but she made up a song about France and that was that.

‘Arthur, have you been earwigging?’

‘No Mummy.’

‘Radar’s back, is he?’

‘Who is Radar, Daddy?’

‘Never you mind who Radar is, answer Mummy’s question.’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Oh he’s good. He must get that from you.’

‘You do remember.’

‘Honest Daddy I don’t.’

‘Mummy’s question was, have you been earwigging? And I have another one: have you been rooting in our room?’

When two adults ask you questions or one adult asks you two questions, it’s best to look at your shoes.

‘Don’t tease him, Daddy. Why don’t we let the cat out of the bag?’

‘Are we getting a cat?’

‘In France, it’s called un shat.’

‘You don’t pronounce the t.’

‘Un sha. No, we’re not getting one, but we are going to France.’

‘Is it camping?’

‘So you have been earwigging?’

France was camping, but also it wasn’t. It was a place, and camping was a thing you did. The Lakes was also a place where you could do camping and walking and cycling. Grownups went to the Lakes for climbing, but when did you ever see one of them in a tree? Arthur learned all of this in the car on the way to France. He repeated what Dad said so that they wouldn’t have to tell him again, but Dad leaned through the gap and put his finger to his lips so that Mum could concentrate on driving. France was so far away that they both did the driving although not at the same time. That would be stupid. The big news, which made France better than the Lakes, was that you had to get on a ship to France. The ship was called The Ferry and it took you across the sea. You could fly to France, but if you wanted to take the car you had to go by The Ferry. Birds and bees could fly to France whenever they wanted, but Arthur didn’t think they would do camping. They could sleep in holes in trees or in flowers and in barns if there were any.

The Ferry was the biggest thing Arthur had ever seen. Its mouth was open to swallow the cars. This was normal and there was no need to be scared. The Ferry moved from side to side and up and down at the same time, but your feet got used to it. There was a ball pool that Milly played in. Arthur liked outside best, watching the sea and feeling the wind. Dad said it was okay to be afraid of falling in because that meant you knew to be careful. The sea smelled heavy. Birds followed The Ferry. There were no whales in this part of the sea. A man was seasick over the side. Dad said it was food for the fish. When Arthur said he would never eat fish and chips again, Dad said it was different fish and anyway let’s see how long you last without chips.

Not very long was the answer. The Ferry had cafés and restaurants, and after walking around for ages they decided on burgers. Arthur shared chips with Milly. He had a pirate burger and she had fishfingers. Dad gave Arthur one of his don’t-you-dare looks, and he said nothing about the man who was seasick over the side. Mum, who had gone pale, didn’t eat anything. She went outside for some fresh air and to phone Grandma Jennie. What Arthur heard next did not count as earwigging because when Mum came back in, she talked to Dad in front of them.

‘Help your sister with her fishfingers.’

‘She’s just playing with them.’

‘See if you can persuade her to eat one.’

‘But I don’t like red sauce.’

‘You don’t have to eat it.’

‘I don’t want to touch it.’

‘It won’t bite, it’s just bloody sauce.’

‘Dad!’

‘Not in front of the kids.’

But Dad was right: red sauce was like blood. Once, when Arthur had bitten his tongue, he had tasted blood and didn’t like it. It was like magnets and batteries which you only licked once because they were yuk. Milly was too little to have tried magnets or batteries. She was lucky because red sauce tasted like red sauce to her and nothing else. Her fishfingers looked like blood fingers. You were allowed to say blood, but not bloody. The trick with Milly was to pretend to eat what was on her plate and then she would want it more than she had ever wanted anything else ever. Arthur stabbed a fishfinger with a fork and pulled it towards his mouth. It was this close to his lips when Milly grabbed it and popped it in hers. Ten points for bravery, Arthur, but they didn’t notice because they were talking.

‘Dad’s not good.’ When Mum said Dad, she meant Grandad.

‘What does your mum say?’ Your Mum was Grandma Jennie.

‘She doesn’t want these two missing out.’ These Two was easy: Arthur and Milly.

‘We’ll carry on then?’

‘It’s only a couple of weeks.’

‘But what if?’ Dad looked at Arthur. Arthur looked at Milly. ‘Her fingers are covered in sauce. Arthur, get a tissue.’

‘Good boy.’ Mum passed him a tissue from her bag. ‘The ticket’s flexible. Or I can fly if need be.’

‘That’d cost a fortune.’

It was bad if something cost a fortune.

‘I don’t care how much it would cost.’

‘Sorry, of course.’

Mum must have been feeling better because even though she was still pale, she picked at Dad’s chips. Dad does not let anyone pick from his plate, but he had said something wrong so he kept his mouth shut. They looked out of different windows until a voice told everyone to be ready to dock. Mum held Arthur’s hand too tight as they followed a crowd down the stairs to the car.

To begin with, France was queues and police with guns saying things that Arthur did not understand except passports. He was to keep quiet while Dad got used to driving on the wrong side of the road. If everyone was on the wrong side of the road, why didn’t they change to the right one? Mum said to close his eyes and try to sleep. Arthur heard a few things. You can’t close your ears, no matter what the grownups say.

He had been awake for three goes at I Spy when they arrived at the campsite, which was called Un Camping and had four stars on the sign.

‘There’s a picture of a swimming pool.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Did we bring my trunks?’

‘Yes, and your armbands.’

‘I hate them.’

‘You’re not going in without them.’

‘Can we go in now?’

‘You have to help me put the tent up first and then we’ll unpack.’

‘Aw.’

‘Your Mum’s tired. We’ll go in the morning after breakfast.’

‘Will we eat outside?’

‘Al fresco from now on, son. The Great Outdoors.’

France was a place and was camping and The Great Outdoors. The Lakes was also The Great Outdoors, but a different one on the other side of the sea. It was silly to ask if the sea was The Great Outdoors because the sea was the sea and that was that. Grownups were happy to answer some questions, but it was hard to know which ones would make them pull a face and look at the clouds. Arthur dared not ask if the sky was The Great Outdoors, but it felt like it was when they were sitting in the dark way after bedtime, looking at the stars and drinking wine and juice. Mum put her phone down and said the stars were something else without explaining what she meant. She stayed outside when it was time to get on the bouncy bed next to Milly, who was too little to stay up. Mum and Dad were sleeping on a different bouncy bed in another part of the tent. There were zips instead of doors and Arthur had plenty of warning to pretend to be asleep when Mum leaned in to kiss him goodnight. She and Dad were whispering for ages after that, but Arthur couldn’t make out any of the words. He heard some other voices outside the tent, but not close and they were talking like the policemen with guns.

In the morning Milly woke everyone in The Great Outdoors. Arthur didn’t mind her crying because Mum said she was confused. Mum knelt on the bouncy bed, and Arthur giggled when he rolled towards the middle. Milly played with Heffie the elephant, to stop crying. Mum gave Arthur his trunks and told him to put them on. This did not mean they were going swimming straight away, but he might as well put them on now as dirty something else. Arthur heard birds and coughing, and someone whistled outside the tent. It was Dad’s happy tune and no surprise when his face appeared at the top of the zip.

‘Breakfast time.’

‘What’ll we have?’

‘Let’s see what they have in the shop.’

‘There’s a shop?’

‘They have everything here son. We could live here.’

But wasn’t that what they were doing?

Dad and Arthur followed a road past more tents and caravans, some of which had engines and were called Motor Homes. These had all Mod Cons, including a toilet and shower. Tents did not have toilets or showers, but there were buildings for these that anyone could use if they had a token from the shop. They bought a baguette which was also called a pan and croissants which were the same as at home. Dad did a lot of pointing and sort of spoke like the policemen. The boy at the till smiled. The sweets and chocolate were different.

Dad, who was excited because they were fresh out of the oven, let Arthur carry the croissants back to the tent. Milly was playing with Heffie on a blanket while Mum was talking into her phone. Dad gave her a look and she lifted her eyebrows and shook her head. She said something else into the phone and put it on the grass.

‘What’s the latest?’

‘No change.’

‘That’s good.’

‘Is it?’

‘Isn’t it?’

‘They don’t know.’

People in France spoke different to people at home. The way they talked was called French. If Mum and Dad talked French, it wouldn’t matter if Arthur was earwigging because he didn’t know French. He could tell by the way grownups spoke, even in their code, when he was in trouble, or something was up, but he might not notice in French. Mum asked Dad if he could manage the pool by himself, and Arthur knew, as did Dad, that it wasn’t really a question. Dad blew up the armbands and ordered Arthur to put them on. Milly had armbands and a ring. A big boy with long hair pointed at Arthur on the way to the pool, but Dad said to ignore him there’s nothing wrong with being ready to jump in as soon as you get there.

Arthur had jumped off the side once, into Dad’s arms, but Dad had moved away, and Arthur had gone under. He hadn’t spoken to Dad until the car on the way home. Even if that hadn’t happened, he wouldn’t have jumped into the France pool because it was outside, and he’d never seen that before. He’d been to a beach where the sea ended, but that was for paddling not swimming. He wanted to go into this new pool, but the people in there were rubbing their arms because it was cold, and Arthur did not like cold for swimming. In the end he climbed down the steps with Dad waiting in the water. Dad was hopping up and down with Milly in his arms. Dad moved backwards and told Arthur to float towards him. If he moved his arms and legs, he would be swimming. After a while Dad borrowed a big ball to play catch. The ball was blow up like the armbands and light as a feather. The wind caught it, and it flew out of the pool onto the grass. A lady threw it back and spoke French. Dad said something back in French which meant thank you. There was a lot of smiling at camping and in The Great Outdoors.

Mum shouted that she was inside when they got back to the tent. Her voice sounded like when she is tired. Dad told Arthur to sit on the blanket and watch Milly. He was talking in his serious voice which meant you had to do what he said and no asking questions. The blanket was too far away for earwigging, and looking after Milly was a Very Important Job. Milly was talking and singing like she does and pulling Arthur’s arm to look at something invisible on the blanket. She was making pretend tea in a pretend pot. She poured him a drink which he didn’t want because the sun was boiling hot, and he had forgotten it wasn’t real. Milly screamed and wouldn’t stop until he drank some tea and said thank you very much for such a refreshing beverage, like Grandma Jennie at one of Milly’s tea parties. It was strange that Mum or Dad hadn’t come out to check what all the noise was about, and Arthur wondered if they had fallen asleep.

‘Mummy.’

‘Not now, Arthur.’ Dad was shouting, but he didn’t sound angry.

‘It’s hot.’

Mum appeared with caps and sunblock. She rubbed cream on all of Milly’s skin that wasn’t covered by clothes and turned to Arthur. Her cheeks and neck were red, and her eyes looked like she’d got cream in them by mistake. This had happened to Arthur before, and he closed his while she made sure there wasn’t a part of his skin that didn’t feel hot and greasy. She pulled the caps on their heads and went into the tent without saying a word. She came back with the bag of croissants and dropped them on the blanket.

‘Eat. And let your sister have one.’

‘Aren’t you having one?’

‘I’m not hungry.’

‘What about Daddy?’

‘He’ll be fine.’

‘We don’t have plates.’

‘You don’t need them. You’re outside.’

‘Can I let the crumbs go on the ground?’

‘You can let the crumbs go on the ground.’

‘Can I have some juice?’

Dad brought juice in cartons and Arthur put a straw in for Milly. He enjoyed eating without the grownups, but it was strange to be left alone for so long and not knowing what they were up to. He remembered something Dad once said about now you know how we feel, but Arthur wasn’t ready to be a grownup. They were tired a lot, and angry and sad; and he wouldn’t want to be like Grandad, who didn’t do anything apart from sleep.

After half a croissant, Milly fell asleep. Arthur moved her cap to hide her face from the sun. People walked past and waved or said French. A dog came up to sniff the blanket. It ran off when there was a whistle. Milly began to snore her little snores and her legs twitched a bit. Arthur wondered if his sister dreamed like he did, and why watching her sleep made him feel so sleepy.

He was on the bouncy bed when he woke up. The zip was at the top and he could see all the way to outside where Milly and Dad were on the blanket. It was cosy in the tent, but Arthur had had enough of being left alone. He crawled off the bouncy bed and made his way to the blanket in seven steps. Next time he would try to do it in six.

‘Are you hungry?’

‘Where’s Mummy?’

‘She’s gone for a walk.’

‘Where to?’

‘Nowhere in particular.’

Grownups were funny like that. They wanted to know what you were doing and where you were going, but they were allowed to go nowhere in particular, especially if they needed peace.

‘Does she want a moment’s peace?’

Dad put his arm around Arthur and pulled him in for a hug. Milly clung to Dad on the other side. ‘She’s feeling sad.’

‘Are you sad, Daddy?’

‘I am, but I’m also happy. Who wouldn’t be happy with their two beautiful babies in The Great Outdoors?’

‘I’m not a baby.’

‘Don’t be in a rush to grow up.’

‘I’m always in a rush, aren’t I?’

‘You do rush about. We never know where you are.’

‘Not rooting or earwigging.’

‘Of course. You wouldn’t do that. You’re a good boy.’

And sometimes you couldn’t tell if they were being serious or not. Dad might as well have been talking French. Arthur tried to be a good boy, but he knew that Dad knew that sometimes he couldn’t help being curious.

‘Can we climb a tree?’

‘How about the playground?’

‘Can I go first up the slide?’

‘If there is one.’

Dad had to put the blanket away and change their clothes and shoes and socks before they went to the playground. He put the baguette in the backpack with a big bag of crisps and some grapes. They didn’t leave a note for Mum, but she found them anyway when Arthur was on the zipwire, and Dad was pushing Milly on the swings. Mum sat on a bench and spoke into her phone. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and caught Arthur at the end of the zipwire. She hugged him hard in front of the other children, including the big boy with the long hair.

‘Mum, let me go.’

‘Never. Never.’

She kissed the top his head and then his cheeks. They felt warm, and Arthur knew he had gone red. Didn’t grownups know anything? Hadn’t they been children? He wriggled free and ran to the wooden steps where he waited to climb up for the wire. He let go before he got to the end where Mum was waiting, landing on the bark and running straight back to the queue. Mum went back to the bench and watched him until Dad put Milly in a sand pit and went to sit with her. They hugged and talked with serious faces. They held hands and said hello to a lady who sat on the end of the bench with a little black dog on her lap. Dad, who was not a fan of dogs, stroked the dog’s chin until it jumped off the lady’s lap and tried to eat the end of the baguette which was sticking out of the top of the backpack. The lady took the dog away and when she had gone Dad put the baguette into a bin. He called Arthur over to the bench.

‘Dad, the dog ate the bread.’

‘It wasn’t the dog’s fault. It’s what they do.’

‘Like little ones.’

‘Yes, like little ones.’

‘Should we go and get a sandwich? And ice cream?’

‘A sandwich, yes.’

‘When it’s sunny we have ice cream.’

‘Not always, but okay, yes, today. Shall we see if Mummy wants one?’

‘Then can I go back on the zipwire?’

 *

Last week Mum spoke about a holiday in France when Arthur and I were small. She meant the one when Arthur broke his arm on the same day that her father died. I don’t remember the holiday or Grandad, but it’s been spoken about over the years and there are photos. Arthur had a chicken pox scar below his wrist which was under the cast and where, according to family legend, he scratched until it bled. Mum doesn’t talk much about Arthur. Or Dad.

We had no reason to doubt her when she used to say she didn’t regret going home for Grandad’s funeral, but now I’m not so sure. She gets agitated, she shouts, and she has been known to hit out at whoever is nearest. I think the memory is troubling her, but all we can do is listen and ask questions to keep her stimulated. I’d like to bring Jamie and Mya to see their grandma, but what if this is the memory that stays with them? Before the diagnosis, she sometimes called them Arthur and Milly, but we thought it was forgetfulness.

The kids need it, but I daren’t take them away. It’s only me and Mum now, but also, I have a feeling the family is cursed when it comes to holidays. The last time I was on a plane was coming home from identifying my brother. I had no choice but to leave them with Mum. She said there were no dramas, and I believed her. Mum had been worrying about Arthur’s trips for years. She blamed herself for the way he could never settle, but I prefer to think of him as a free spirit. I don’t know what drove him to climb higher and higher peaks, but you’ve got to admire anyone who is driven, even when it’s the death of them. I could do with some of that now.