But Wills didn’t always come home right after school. He’d set off, on his own, in the opposite direction, and tell me to mind my own business if I asked where he was going. Sometimes he’d come back really late, leaving Mom to worry about his work not being done, his dinner getting cold, where he was, and what he was up to; and me to worry that he was up to no good with his horrible friends, and that sooner or later I’d be dragged into it too. I didn’t tell Mom what I thought. I just tried to tell her that Wills was big enough and ugly enough to look after himself. And he was big enough and ugly enough, but whether he could look after himself was another matter. All I know is that it wasn’t fair on Mom, and it made me angry all over again with Dad.
Mom’s too soft on Wills. When he came in late one day and she had to throw his dinner away, I wanted her to give him such ENORMOUS punishment that he would be shocked into doing what he was told. If she did it just once it might help. But Mom doesn’t have a hard button and her angry button is more marshmallow than rock. Wills only has to give her a big soppy grin, pat her on the head, and tell her she worries too much, then she thinks what he has done isn’t so bad after all. She forgets about all the times the teachers call her about his bad behavior, and about the times she has to apologize for him when we are out, and about the times he makes her cry.
I think she’s tougher on me than on Wills, because she expects me to be good. She tells her friends I’m her little superstar and she doesn’t know what she’d do without me. Sometimes I think it’s not fair. I don’t see why Wills should get away with doing absolutely what he likes, which means that I have to behave or otherwise it would be too much for Mom to cope with. Sometimes I feel like rampaging around the house myself, especially when Wills has been in my room and turned it upside down. Sometimes I feel like shouting rude words and doing rude gestures and not caring what anyone thinks of me. Sometimes I want to yell at the top of my voice: “I’M HERE TOO AND I’VE GOT FEELINGS, BIG FEELINGS, AND I’M FED UP WITH YOU RUINING MY LIFE.” But I don’t. I carry on being Mom’s little superstar because she doesn’t know what she’d do without me, especially now that Dad’s gone as well.
Then one day I looked into a store and there was Wills. I was thinking about knocking on the window to make him jump, when I saw him grab a handful of chocolate bars and stuff them in his coat pocket. He saw me see him. For a moment he just stood and stared at me. And I just stared at him. Then he charged out of the store, followed by his ginger and dark-haired friends, who had been hidden by the shelves, and ran off down the road.
The store owner came to the door. “Did you get a good look at them?” he demanded. He didn’t wait for an answer, thank goodness. “Stupid kids,” he spat. “I’ll get them next time. Just keep out of my store, do you hear me?” and he went back inside.
I ran away from there as fast as I could and didn’t stop until I’d gone around a corner. I fell against a wall, struggling for breath. My stomach had gone all nervy like it did when I had to take a test at school, and like it did when I went on a scary ride, except that I didn’t mind the scary ride sort of nervy. The sort of nervy I had now didn’t turn into rollercoaster screams of excitement. This sort of nervy turned into feeling sick and wanting the ground to swallow me up in one big, enormous gulp.
My brother was a thief.
Even as I thought it and tried to tell myself that taking chocolate bars wasn’t that big a deal, I remembered the ammonite. He’d stolen that too, I was sure of it. My brother was a thief! What was I supposed to do now that I knew that? What would you do if you knew your brother was a thief? A hand grabbed my shoulder. I swung around into the leering face of Wills’s ginger-haired friend.
“Hello, little boy,” he said. “Something wrong, huh?”
I shook my head.
“Are you sure?” said the boy. “You look as if you’ve seen something you shouldn’t have seen. You didn’t see anything, did you?”
I heard a snigger from behind me and looked around to see Wills and his other friend poking their heads out from a doorway.
I shook my head. “No, I haven’t seen anything, now leave me alone, will you?”
I tried to pull away, but the boy’s grip was too strong.
“As long as you’re sure,” he said. “I wouldn’t want you to suffer.”
“I’m sure. Just let me go,” I growled.
He let go, jostled me on the head like I was his best friend, and told me to take good care of myself. The sniggers from the doorway followed me as I ran away.
I kept
