How dare I start a hurricane!
Mom knocked on the door and asked to come in. She opened it and stood in the doorway. Wills came up behind her and waved to me over her shoulder.
“You all right, bro?” he asked. “Do you want to play Monopoly with me?”
He wasn’t being funny or anything, I knew that. He really thought he could cheer me up. He wanted to cheer me up. He had no idea he was the cause of my misery.
“I said stay downstairs, Wills,” Mom told him. “I want to speak to Chris on my own.”
Wills waggled his fingers at me and galloped off downstairs. Mom came in, shut the door, and sat next to me on the bed.
“You’re right,” she said. “It’s not fair that we rely on you so much. I suppose because you’re never any trouble we tend to forget that you’re just a child and shouldn’t be saddled with adult responsibilities.”
“Sometimes it all gets on top of me,” I sniffed.
“You mean Wills?” she said, stroking my hair and making me feel like I just wanted to curl up in a little ball and go to sleep. I nodded my head and leaned against her.
“Sometimes I feel that I don’t count because Wills takes everyone’s time and energy.”
Mom held me tight. “You do count,” she said, “more than you could ever imagine, but it’s not easy, I know, and I know you get a raw deal a lot of the time.”
“It’s worse since Dad went.”
All I could think about then was that Wills was doing all these things that he shouldn’t be doing. I wanted to tell Mom so that she could work it out with Dad and I could forget all about it.
“Wills doesn’t mean any harm,” said Mom. “He just gets a bit carried away sometimes. He’ll calm down more as he gets older.”
How much older? I wondered. How much calmer? And how much more carried away was he going to get before he was older and calmer?
“You don’t know what it’s like having him as a brother,” I said.
“Is there something you’re not telling me about Wills?” she asked, turning my face toward hers. “He’s not bullying you or anything like that, is he?”
“Not exactly,” I muttered. “Sometimes I don’t like the way he makes fun of me in front of his friends,” I said rather pathetically.
“I’m afraid that’s something that all older brothers and sisters do.” Mom frowned. “It’s just a way of making themselves look smart, and Wills doesn’t have many weapons in his armory. Ignore it, Chris.”
He had a knife, Mom! It’s in the trash can. If only you could see for yourself.
“I’ll go to Dad’s, if you really want me to,” was all I said.
“It’s got to be what you want as well,” said Mom. “I’m not going to force you.”
I didn’t know what I wanted anymore, except to stop the pounding in my head and the churning of my stomach.
“I’ll go,” I said. “I miss my dad.”
Mom hugged me tight and I felt her breathing stutter.
“It’s the mess he can’t stand, isn’t it, Mom? His new place is all neat and tidy when we go there. It’s like it isn’t lived in at all.”
“He finds chaos and untidiness very difficult,” Mom agreed.
“So if we tried to be a bit tidier and if Wills gets calmer—”
I knew even as I said it that it wasn’t going to happen, not just like that, not ever probably.
“I don’t think he can be happy there, Mom,” I changed track.
“He wasn’t happy here, Chris,” sighed Mom.
A loud crash made us jump to our feet. Mom crossed to the door, turned, and said, “We’ll try to protect you from the worst,” before running downstairs.
I followed her down to the kitchen where Wills was standing, eyes glued to the ground. The sugar bowl—or what used to be the sugar bowl—and its contents were sprayed all over the floor.
“I was making us all a nice cup of tea, Mom, and it slipped,” Wills moaned. “I thought you’d like a nice cup of tea.”
“Accidents happen,” said Mom quietly. “It was a kind thought.”
“I’ll fetch the dustpan and brush,” said Wills. He walked straight over the sugar. “It’s all crunchy.” he grinned.
“I’ll do it.” Mom tried to reach the dustpan and brush first, but Wills snatched them from her.
“I spilled it,” he said. “I must clean it up.”
He started to sweep painstakingly carefully, but he couldn’t keep it up. He began brushing the sugar past the pan, then brushing it back the other way and missing again. Sugar flew around the kitchen.
“Leave it,” ordered Mom.
“S’not finished,” said Wills.
“I said leave it!” Mom shouted. “Just leave it and do as you’re told for once.”
Wills dropped the brush and pan. He stood up looking shocked. “Jeez, Mom,” he said, “there’s no need to shout.”
“There is a need. There’s every need!” she shouted again. She was shaking. I’d never seen her so angry. Wills just sort of drifted away into the living room without saying another word. Silenced.
Mom bent down and started brushing furiously.
“Can I do anything, Mom?” I murmured.
She shook her head.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” I said.
“It’s not your fault.” Suddenly she sounded exhausted.
It was the quietest evening on record after that. We ate our dinner without saying very much, except, “Don’t slurp your spaghetti” and “Doh, I always spill tomato sauce on myself,” and “You’re the best cook in the world, Mom.” Mom left me and Wills to wash up the pans, while she went to buy some more milk. I was expecting the usual fight, but Wills just got on with the job. I began to think that Mom should shout at him more often, because it seemed to work, but I didn’t
