‘Look, is it going to do it or not? It’s just, we’ve dug deep for this,’ said the boy’s father.
‘Of course it will,’ said Scanlon in his new, deep voice. ‘Get on with it,’ he murmured to me. ‘You know what to do.’
I didn’t, but something told me we’d gone beyond questions. Improvising, I reached out for Nate and threw him, hard, across the room and into the wall opposite. He landed with a soft ‘oooof’ on the floor, where he lay a moment before stumbling to his feet.
Scanlon opened his mouth, then shut it again.
Nate looked as if he was about to cry.
‘How was that, son?’ asked the man eagerly. ‘Was it what you wanted?’
For a second, the boy’s eyes darted to his mother’s arms, as if he wanted to run into them. But then he smiled listlessly. ‘It was tent,’ he said.
His mother and father’s shoulders relaxed, and they gave him these awful, bright smiles of relief and love.
‘Go on then,’ said the dad proudly to the other boys, who were nervously eyeing the dent on the wall Nate had left. ‘Your turn. You all get a turn, lads. On us.’
I took in the man’s bitten fingernails and the woman’s pallor, saw the threadbare carpet and the crying baby. I realised what booking me had cost this family, and if I saw it, I bet Nate saw it too.
In a voice that spoke of blind and noble sacrifice, the dad said, ‘Have another go, if you like. Would you like that, champ? Would you?’
‘Course he would,’ said the mother lovingly. ‘Look at his little face. He can’t speak, he’s that excited.’
‘Only the best for our lad,’ said the father.
‘He’ll never go without,’ said the mother.
‘Not on our watch,’ said the father. ‘Off you go, son. Enjoy yourself.’
Nate hesitated, nodded with resignation, and limped to the back of the queue.
LATER, ONCE I’D thrown all the boys as hard as I could, dislocated a few shoulders and thrown the cat too for good measure, a meagre sponge cake with nine scrawny candles stabbed into its icing was brought into the lounge.
The boys stared at it with dazed eyes, rubbing their arms, not quite looking at each other.
‘And many happy returns,’ I said cheerfully, heading for the door.
Once outside, Scanlon turned to me. He looked angry. It almost suited him.
‘That was your Package D?’ he snapped. ‘Dislocated shoulders and unconscious family pets? Care to give me a download? Cos that’s not what we discussed this morning.’
I shrugged. I felt lightheaded suddenly, so dizzy I could faint, had a head full of brain snow, and to top it all off that revolting smell of Scanlon’s was back too, that sickly stench of rotting fruit.
‘Did you hear any complaints from that lot? No, me neither. So can we go back now please?’ I said.
‘Not right now,’ snapped Scanlon. ‘We need to sort this out, Frankie. That was an absolute embarrassment back there.’
Never had I felt the chasm between us so strongly. It was as if I’d never met Scanlon before in my life. He loomed over me in a way I couldn’t remember either. Once, we’d been roughly the same height. Now he seemed five inches taller than me.
‘Have you been taking growth hormones or something?’ I mumbled.
‘Frankie.’ Scanlon ran a hand through his short stubble. ‘Look, you’ve been doing this more and more. Saying random things that make no sense. Losing concentration in the middle of a booking and deviating from the agreed terms of destruction. You know that Package D is the cheapest Birthday Party option and doesn’t ever involve throwing young children around or breaking any bones – we haven’t done that for ages, not since that lawsuit—’
I gritted my teeth and waded into battle. ‘Wait. Huh? Slow down. What are you talking about? What even is a lawsuit? We’ve never talked about Package D – I had to literally guess on the spot. It wasn’t fair to land that on me right in the middle of the party and make me look stupid. You’re the one saying random things that make no sense, I think you’ll find, pal.’
I was quite proud of that one. I carried on.
‘Also, next time I’d like a break between bookings, okay? I was whisked straight from that ballroom to here in a matter of minutes, which was a bit too much for me. It compromised the depth of my performance, and … okay, can you stop looking at me like that because it’s creeping me out.’
Scanlon’s stare was very unsettling.
‘Er, what ballroom?’ he said finally.
My laugh sounded high-pitched and strained, but we both ignored it.
‘“What ballroom?” Um, how about the ballroom we were at literally this morning? Like, an hour ago?’
‘Frankie,’ sighed Scanlon, and his voice lost that anger and became very gentle, but also exhausted and flat. It was as if, whatever he was about to tell me, he’d told me many, many times already. ‘That party didn’t happen this morning. It was two years ago.’
‘SURE, SCANLON,’ I said, breaking eye contact and scanning the sky for our lift back.
When is our limousine going to come? I’m tired.
‘Two years ago. Hilarious. You’re killing me. Ha. Ha. Stop it, I’m breaking a rib.’
‘You never believe me, at first,’ he muttered. And then he exhaled deeply, and stared at the ground, leaving me no choice but to glare at him with frustration.
And that was when I realised the alarming truth. He wasn’t joking. How did I know? It was literally written all over his face. More than a morning had gone by since the ballroom. His face was the proof. It was undeniably two years older. That wider jawline, deeper frown lines between his eyebrows, those five extra inches he’d gained in height … for a moment an odd mournful feeling crept over me as I remembered, softly, those stolen afternoons we’d shared in the tree house.
This person in front of me wasn’t
