“Ah, but you were never tall, dark, and handsome like me in the first place,” continued Wills.
We walked up the short path, which was graveled on either side, and Dad typed in a number on a security box by the front door. At the sound of a buzzer we pushed our way into a dark hall-way and Dad turned to the left.
“Here we are, number two,” he said, turning a key in the lock of a plain white door with an eyehole at head height.
“That’s what I want to do, number two,” said Wills.
“Thanks for sharing that with us,” I muttered.
“First on the right,” said Dad as we went in. “And don’t forget to flush it.”
Wills disappeared through the door, slamming it behind him, while Dad led me along the hallway, past two more doors, into a tiny kitchen. He stood there awkwardly while I looked around. It was so clean and tidy, not like our clutter-infested kitchen at home.
“Drink or anything?” Dad asked.
“I’m all right, Dad.”
“It’s a bit small,” he said. “Only two bedrooms. I’m afraid you’ll have to share with Wills.”
“But—”
“I’m sorry, Chris. I couldn’t afford anything with three bedrooms.”
Great. Just great. Share a room with Wills for two nights? I would rather sleep under a railway bridge than in the same room as Wills. Wills doesn’t sleep. Wills rumbles and snorts and scuffles and fidgets, and when he’s not doing that he’s bashing around his room looking for something to do. It’s bad enough sleeping in the room opposite him, let alone in the same room. As if to underline the fact, the bathroom door slammed, and Wills reappeared, still zipping up his fly.
“That’s better,” he said. “There’s nothing like a good dump.”
“You’ve been told not to use that expression,” Dad said, “and you haven’t flushed it.”
“What, the dump?”
“The toilet,” Dad snapped.
“Sorry, Dad.” Wills looked anything but, and made no move to go back. “Bit small this place, isn’t it? Which room’s mine?”
“I’ll show you around when you’ve flushed the toilet,” Dad shouted.
“All right, keep your hair on.” Wills sniggered, and loped off up the hall.
“He’s upset with you for going, Dad,” I said quietly.
“I know he’s upset. I’m upset. We’re all upset.”
Then you shouldn’t have gone, I wanted to say, but I didn’t. We would just have to put up with Wills at his worst until he calmed down a bit, if he ever did. Two doors slammed and Wills reappeared.
“Where’s the other bedroom?” he asked.
“We’re sharing,” I said, “and don’t make a fuss because Dad can’t afford three bedrooms.”
“I don’t want to sleep with you, your feet smell.”
“Not as much as yours.”
“And you snore.”
“Not as much as you.”
“Dad will have to sleep with you and I’ll sleep in the other bedroom,” said Wills.
“You’ll sleep where you’re told. Now, what do you want to do today?” Dad was exasperated and we’d been with him for less than half an hour.
“I want to eat,” said Wills. “Where’s the grub, Dad?” He opened the fridge. “What are we supposed to eat? There’s nothing in here.”
“You’ve just had breakfast, and I was planning to shop when I knew what you wanted to eat tonight.”
“Pizza,” said Wills, “since I missed out the last two times.”
“That wasn’t Dad’s fault,” I couldn’t help saying.
“It’s all Dad’s fault,” said Wills. “And now we’ve got to stay in this dump with nothing to eat and nowhere to sleep.”
“Shut up, Wills, shut up, will you?” I wanted to hit him so hard just to stop him from making things worse all the time.
“Look, you two, let’s try and make the most of things, shall we? It’s no good going at each other. I wouldn’t have left your mother if I hadn’t felt it would be best for all of us.”
Poor Dad, trying to bring the volcano and the hurricane under control. “Come on, we’ll go and buy some food, then I’ll take you bowling.”
“Bowling, yeah, let’s go bowling. And pizzas tonight, eh, Dad?” Wills patted Dad on the back as if they were the best of friends.
“Provided that’s all right with Chris,” Dad replied, looking at me questioningly.
I really didn’t care, as long as it meant that Wills was happy, at least for the time being anyway.
We trooped back out to the car—Wills stealing the front seat again—and drove down to the local supermarket. Wills piled the cart high with chips and cookies and ice cream and chocolate bars and soda—all the things Mom didn’t like him to have because she thought it made his Acts Dumb and Dumber worse—while Dad sneaked some of them back on to the shelves when he wasn’t looking.
“You’re only here for two days,” he said.
“I might stay longer,” Wills threatened. I watched Dad’s face drop.
We took the food back to Dad’s then headed for the bowling alley. We’d been several times before, and Wills was much better than Dad or me. My hands were too small for the adult balls, so I had to use the children’s ones, which Wills always teased me about, and I didn’t have the strength to give it much speed. More often than not, my ball didn’t reach the pins at all before it disappeared down one of the side gutters. Dad wasn’t much better. His own bowling-pin shape stopped him from bending down very far, and he too was more successful at finding the gutters, even though he hurled the ball with all his might, often looking as though he would wind up going with it.
Wills, with his long thin legs, looked like a wobbly giraffe, but with his big hands he could pick up the heaviest balls and most of the time he managed to hit the pins.
“Dibs I set it up,” he said, as we reached our lane. He sat down at the computer and began to feed in our names, but within seconds he was up choosing his ball and nagging
