Dad wasn’t a fan of Penny. He thought she was too overbearing, and I don’t think he liked the fact Mum took her advice so seriously. One winter Mum asked her what type of Christmas tree she should get.
“Stick with a fake one, Sheila. You’ll still be hoovering up needles in August if you get a real one. Harrington’s are doing a lovely synthetic Nordic spruce in the catalog next month. That’ll look picture-perfect in your window.”
That particular year, Dad had wanted a real tree for a change, but Mum would never go against Penny’s advice.
“She’s life-experienced, Brian. That woman knows what she’s talking about.”
“Life-experienced? She’s an interfering old bag, that’s what she is. Always thinking she’s right, never listening to what anyone else says. It’s no wonder she’s driven both of her kids away …”
But Mum didn’t agree, and it was Penny she called in a panic when she had to rush to the hospital to have Callum. She arrived on our doorstep wearing a bright, fluffy, multicolored sweater and jeans, and she was carrying a large bag stuffed with games. I’d never seen her in casual clothes before. Gordon hovered behind her as always, a newspaper tucked under his arm. Over the afternoon and evening she taught me how to play Hangman, Dots and Boxes, and Battleship using just a pencil and paper, and we played some old board games that used to belong to her children, like Chinese Checkers. Gordon sat in Dad’s armchair filling in a crossword puzzle and looked up every now and then when she told him what a good player I was.
“He’s such a quick learner, Gordon! Not like our Jeremy. He could never get the hang of board games, could he, Gordon?”
Gordon just grunted and shook the paper before squinting down at it again.
Every now and then I asked if my new baby brother had arrived yet. I was so excited, and I couldn’t understand why it was taking so long. Penny just answered:
“These things take time, Matthew. These things take time.”
While we played our games I kept picking at a large spot that was just above my right eyebrow, which was annoying Penny.
“Pick, pick, pick, Matthew! Stop it now. If you carry on picking you’ll end up with a scar, you know …”
She made beans on toast for dinner and we sat together at the kitchen table, waiting for news. I’d never seen anyone eat so delicately before. I remember sitting up straighter than I normally would, and I made sure I held my fork the right way.
“Penny? Do you think he’ll have blond hair or brown hair like mine?”
“I don’t know, Matthew. Eat your dinner now.”
Pick, pick, pick.
“He might have no hair at all! Did your babies have hair, Penny? Do you have a boy or a girl?”
Pick, pick, pick.
“I have a son named Jeremy and a daughter named Anna and yes, they both had hair. Stop fiddling with that spot, now. There’s a good boy.”
I ate three more forkfuls of beans and put my cutlery down. Gordon got up and put his plate in the sink and then wandered off to the lounge without a word and I heard the TV turn on.
“Where are your children, Penny? Do they live near here?”
Pick, pick, pick.
“They don’t, no. For some unfathomable reason they both decided to move abroad. Jeremy lives in Brazil and Anna in New Zealand.”
I gawped at her.
“Wow, New Zealand is a million miles away. Do they come back to see you?”
She shook her head.
“Oh. Penny? What does un-un-fatha-umble mean?”
“It means inexplicable or incomprehensible.”
She looked at my blank face.
“It means they both made a silly mistake and should have stayed here. Life would be a lot happier for both of them if they stopped being so stubborn and listened to what I said. Now eat up.”
Her face was red, her lips pressed tightly together. I ate a few more forkfuls in silence, then picked at my spot again.
“Penny? Do Jeremy and Anna not like you very much?”
SLAM. Penny banged her hand down hard on the table.
“Matthew, I said stop picking that bloody spot or everyone will know what you did for the rest of your life!”
My orange juice had splashed over the edge of my cup and onto my dinner. Penny picked up her knife and fork and carried on eating as if nothing had happened.
I blinked back tears and told her that I wasn’t feeling very hungry anymore, and she let me leave the table and go to my room.
It was pitch-black outside when I heard Dad’s car pull up and I crept a little way down the stairs and sat quietly in the darkness. Penny opened the door and waited as Dad lifted two suitcases out of the trunk—an overnight bag for Mum and a hospital bag for the baby, the tiny white clothes inside still unused. Mum headed straight for Penny’s open arms, but just as she stepped into the hallway her legs went out from under her. It was as if she’d fallen into quicksand, and she sank slowly, deep, deep down. Penny knelt on the floor beside her and held her in her arms, stroking her hair and rocking her back and forth as my mum sobbed.
“It’s okay, let it all go … It’s okay … I’m here, Penny’s here …”
I crept upstairs and went into the bathroom, locked the door, and began to wash my hands. I knew I was to blame for this, and I knew that if I washed away all the germs then they couldn’t hurt anyone else. I just needed to keep on top of it from now on, like a big boy, that was all. That’s all I needed to do.
And that’s when it started. Secretly at first; for years I could easily sneak off to the bathroom and wash my hands over and over without anyone noticing. But then Hannah and Mr. Jenkins announced to everyone that they were expecting a baby, and bam. Things got a lot worse.
Fortunately I didn’t think anyone had stopped to look back through time and figure out why I was doing what I was doing, but it was simple really.
I cleaned because Callum died, and Callum died because of me.
“It’ll say it on that thing that scrolls along the bottom, won’t it, Brian? The tickle?”
Dad had taken time-out from decorating to watch the news.
“It’s called a ticker, Sheila. A ticker. Not a tickle.”
Mum had called us both into the living room saying that Penny had texted and there was some kind of update about Teddy on the news. I paced around the carpet trying to relax. My knuckles were cracked and bleeding from my constant washing; the blood had freaked me out, so I cleaned them over and over, but then they just bled even more. Around and around I spun, back on my stupid wheel.
“Stop going back and forth, Matthew. You’re making me dizzy.”
We all stared at the TV. Dad kept tutting, saying would it just hurry up.
“Penny’s always sticking her big nose in where it’s not wanted. Are you sure she’s right?”
Mum fiddled with her phone to try and find the text again.
“Look—it’s on!” I said. Mum dropped the phone and grabbed the remote control, turning the volume up even though it was only being reported on the ticker for now. Dad read the scrolling white words out loud.
“Breaking News. Police investigate a suspected sighting of the missing toddler, Teddy Dawson, boarding a ferry with a man and woman in Harwich yesterday. Police in Holland are working alongside the British forces.”
As the ticker ended, Dad turned back to the conservatory to carry on painting.
“See?” he said. “I told you they’d find him. He’ll be all over the CCTV cameras—he’ll be home before long, I bet.”
Mum turned the TV off and went into the kitchen. I followed, stopping when I reached the tiled floor.
“That would be good, wouldn’t it? Maybe we could have a little party or something? I’ll see what Penny says. She’d love to organize that.”
Mum had just begun to load the dishwasher when the doorbell rang.
“Answer that for me, Matthew?”
I went to the hall and recognized the outline of the figure behind the frosted glass door. She was dressed in black with pink flip-flops. I ignored the second bell and ran upstairs.
“Matthew? Why didn’t you answer it?” shouted Mum as she opened the front door.
I paced around my room, wondering if I should run to the bathroom and lock myself in, when my door was pushed open. I stood by my window with my arms folded.