Rob Ewing - The Last of Us

We wait for him to tell us it’s bad, or sad. But he doesn’t. He’s trying to work his mouth to say something: then instead of that he kicks the metal railings leading up to the door: over and over again.

Then he sits down – but not by bending his knees, more by forgetting how to keep the strength in them.

His dad’s phone has a cracked screen. The wallet has fifteen pounds plus plastic cards in it.

Duncan lays out all the cards on the step. There’s one with his dad’s picture. He and Calum Ian look at it – even though it’s just small, even though the colours in it went to grey.

‘This could be your mum and dad’s fault.’

Calum Ian is saying this – to Elizabeth.

He continues: ‘Dad tried – every night, every day to get through to that hospital. Because Flora was sick. She was the first out of our family to get sick. We didn’t know what to do, she wouldn’t wake up that morning. Not even when we put her in the bath. He tried and tried phoning, but nobody ever answered.’

Elizabeth doesn’t look ready to talk. But she does anyway when she says, ‘I never even saw mine.’

‘Flora couldn’t get help when she needed it. You under stand?’

‘And I never saw my parents. Not for the whole of the last week. I never saw them, except for once, when Dad talked to me from the other side of a door. At least you saw your mum. At least you had your mum.’

It sounds like an argument where both people win – or at least, agree not to lose.

Alex shifts along, bit by bit, until he’s sitting between the MacNeil brothers.

He says, ‘Your dad was a hero. He was going to bring us all medicines.’

He rummages inside his backpack and takes out some lemon biscuits. No one wants any, they’re too soft.

‘Everyone has their weakness,’ Alex says. ‘My weakness is bad men. Zombies. Also, having diabetes. Yours is finding your dad not alive. Only it’s not your fault it came true. It’s not your fault, or anybody else’s.’

‘Get lost, Bonus Features.’ Calum Ian points to the hill, to the sea. ‘Go on, get away from me.’

Alex zips up his bag.

‘It was just a thing I thought could help.’

I get uneasy. I want to help Duncan, and Calum Ian, but all the same I don’t. I want to tell Calum Ian to be kinder to Alex, but it isn’t always easy to make someone be a good listener, especially if they’re sad.

He lies on the paving stone, without using his jacket for softness. To be a help I lie facing him and say: ‘Sorry your dad died.’

Calum Ian blinks as if to mean: Heard you .

‘You know how you said about your dad coming to find you? Just before? Well, when my mum stops hiding, she can come and look after all of us. All right?’

Calum Ian doesn’t blink.

‘She’s got lots of sayings. She’s wise for that kind of thing. Here’s one: “Concentrate and the world is yours.” It works for lots of other choices – like Smile, or Laugh. I forgot to ask her how many. She could help us find the other adults. Or help Alex. The whole lot.’

Calum Ian sits up. Tiny stones from the ground have stuck to his cheek. He brushes them off.

‘ Gloic . Remember, back in the class, when we talked about facts and opinions?’

‘OK.’

‘So your mum isn’t a fact. She’s dead.’

He turns away from me so I can’t read his eyes. I say, ‘She likes it when—’

‘—she likes nothing. She’s fucking dead, all right?’

‘If—’

‘You hear? Can you even listen?’

‘It’s bad you’re sad, but you should never get the right to hurt people’s feelings. By telling tales.’

‘It’s not a fucking tale, it’s true! You want to know how I know that?’

‘ Stop it, stop right now,’ Elizabeth warns him.

‘—I know it because she’s in the gym. Which I had to go into because of fucking you . I saw her.’

‘She—’

‘ Calum— ’

‘Know what? I’m fed up not telling her. She needs to bloody learn the truth. So Gloic : I – saw – your – mum. When I went in the school gym to get the keys. She’s in a bag. To the left side of the room. Dead.’

‘ If— wh— ’

‘Her clothes. She was the postwoman, right? Her jacket, the red and blue one? It’s in an orange bag. I saw it. And her name. On the list of dead. Dead.’

I try to push him away – but he steps back.

‘So she won’t be looking after us. She won’t be looking after anyone. So stop saying she’ll take my dad’s place. Because she won’t!’

My words stop. It takes me ages, ages. Duncan and Alex and Elizabeth are waiting. They look ashamed to see me making such a mess of speaking.

Then I’m back at the gate. I’ve gone right past the jammed-in cars – and not even noticed.

Mairi is beside me; she’s looking at me. I don’t want to be nice to her or talk to her or smile at her.

I pick up Calum Ian’s rucksack.

Then I tip it up, emptying everything from inside onto the dirt.

He starts to come over, so I unroll his knife-wrap, take out the big silver knife – and point it at his neck.

He stops. Duncan comes out from where he was hiding and stands beside his brother.

Calum Ian does the Come on sign with his fingers.

‘Do it.’

‘I bloody fucking will!’

‘Go on, then. Or are you a coward?’

The knife wobbles in my hand. I nearly want to harm him, or harm me, but I can’t.

Instead I go away, keep going, throwing the knife away after I pass the gate, away.

It’s the opposite road of the island, going home. I look back, look back, nobody’s following.

It starts to rain, light then heavy. My feet get wet. All the cuts I have on my knees, my elbows, have started to hurt, because there’s no distraction.

At the end of the village I find a kid’s bike. The pedals don’t move from rust, but the wheels do.

I let the bike take me down to the lowest bit of road, then I leave it.

My jacket gets wet. There are lambs and a ewe on the road. How did the dogs miss them? The lambs jump like they didn’t know they were going to. One of the lambs is black. I remember asking Mum once where the black ones went before they grew into proper sheep. She just laughed, drew a smile across her neck.

I pass the forest of fifteen trees, then the postbox with the spray of black graffiti that Mum used to moan about.

After this, the rain turns to mist. There are some houses getting lost in cloud. My knees get tired, and I remember the snack that Elizabeth gave us for emergencies: custard creams, ginger snaps.

I know where I’m going. But I don’t want to think about where that place is. What that place is.

I stop at someone’s house for water. There’s a white bucket in the garden. The rainwater looks clean, so I drink it, and don’t care if it’s a broken rule.

In the garden, a red plastic ball. It’s gone flat. I imagine that it’s Calum Ian’s face and kick it hard, hard.

‘Don’t be mean,’ says the ball.

I remember years ago I had a thinking book at school. I didn’t know how to draw sad, so I drew a cloud. But the teacher didn’t understand: she thought I was being moany because the weather outside had been sunny for weeks.

I think I see a boat, but it’s only an island.

Someone was building a house. They were living in a caravan beside. There’s a blue ship’s container with a painting on it of flowers, a smiling family.

I open the house door. The windows have labels on them. It looks new, apart from having no carpets: but there’s a bad smell. Which makes sense: if you’d just built your new home you wouldn’t want to leave it.