Ever Dundas - Goblin

‘I’m Goblin,’ I said, and held out a dirty hand to the kid next to me.

‘I’m John,’ he said.

We shook hands and followed Tom and Margaret, our pretend parents.

When we got to the pretend house we were marched straight past it. Margaret disappeared inside and came out a moment later, throwing something at us. Tom barked at us to pick it up. We both scrambled for it. It was soap and it slid out of our hands, falling back into the mud. We kicked it along the path, back and forth, until Tom barked at us again. I took a hold of it and Tom shoved us into the river, throwing our bags on the bank.

‘Get clean, get dressed and get back to the house.’

We stripped in the water, scrubbing our clothes with the soap and throwing them onto rocks to dry. It was freezing but we warmed up as we pushed and splashed each other, fighting over the soap. When John almost fell over into the water he panicked and refused to get the soap when we dropped it. I ducked down, sweeping it off the river bed. I saw John’s willy all shrivelled up against the cold, bobbing in the current.

‘I can’t swim,’ he said, when I emerged.

‘I can’t swim either,’ I said, contemplating the water burbling past my belly.

‘I don’t want to drown,’ he said.

‘Do you think we’ll see the sea?’ I said. ‘Do you think we will? My brother was gonna take me to live by the sea and we were gonna fight with pirates and swim with mermaids.’

‘I can’t swim,’ he repeated. ‘Mermaids don’t exist.’

We scrubbed ourselves clean, washing away the journey, washing away London. John got out and got dressed. He waited on the bank, shifting from one foot to another.

‘You coming?’

‘In a minute,’ I said, not wanting him to find out I wasn’t a boy. ‘You go on up.’

He hesitated then turned and walked back up the path. I watched him disappear and pulled myself up onto the bank, shivering. I shook like a dog. Monsta crawled out of my bag as I dried myself.

‘You want a bath too?’

Monsta’s tentacle arm swayed. Kerlumpscratch, kerlumpscratch, down to the water’s edge. Monsta dipped in an arm and retreated instantly. Kerlumpscratch, sway, Monsta came back to me.

‘Ha! Monsta, we’re both shaking like dogs.’

But Monsta had an elegance. The black shrew eyes looked up at me as the water snaked down the worm-arm, disappearing into the grass.

‘Don’t worry, Monsta. Water won’t hurt you. We’ll go to the sea and we’ll learn to swim, eh?’

Monsta shuddered. I laughed and put on my shirt and shorts, propping the gas mask on my head. I dried Monsta off and we walked back up the path.

Luke was what they called me, because they were all religious and didn’t like ‘Goblin’ at all, not one little bit.

‘What’s your name?’ asked Margaret.

‘John,’ John said.

‘Goblin,’ I said.

‘What?’ she said. ‘What was that?’

‘Goblin.’

‘We’ll have no foolishness here,’ she said, all put out. ‘What’s your actual real God-given name?’

‘God didn’t give me a name,’ I said.

‘God gives everyone a name.’

‘I’ve always been Goblin. It’s what they called me from the beginning. Except most of the time it was the long version, Goblin-runt, but my friends just call me Goblin.’

I got a skelp across the head.

‘There’s no swearing in this house,’ she said, and I took a minute to think what she meant and thought maybe she thought ‘runt’ was a swearword, so I thought of putting her right, but thought of Isabella and David and their advice and just stayed quiet.

‘You must have a Christian name.’

I shook my head.

‘Then we’ll give you one. I’m not having any goblins in this house.’

That’s when they called me Luke, like in the Bible, and I just thought fine why not – a pretend name for pretend parents.

‘How old are you, Luke?’ asked Tom.

‘Nine, sir. I’ll be ten in March.’

He nodded.

‘And you?’

‘Ten,’ said John.

‘Ten what?’

John looked confused and said, ‘Years old.’

I nudged him in the ribs and whispered, ‘Sir!’

‘Ten years old, sir!’ he said and Tom nodded.

‘Right. Let’s get you to work.’

Every morning we were up at dawn. Eggs for breakfast then off to milk the cows and feed the pigs and the chickens. I soon learned that John was a real pain – he’d fiddle around, making it look like he was doing things but mostly he’d be letting me do all the work, and when I asked him for help he’d get all haughty and act like he was the one doing the most. He wasn’t worth the bother so I just got on with things and enjoyed being with the animals. I loved watching them. The chickens had shiny feathers and amazing feet. I’d stay with them long after feeding and stare at those feet, the way they curled in on themselves when they lifted them, the way they splayed out, claws scratching at the earth. Tom would yell over at me to stop dreaming and get on over to the pigs and off I’d trot and feed the pigs and muck them out and all morning I’d be sweating it out on the farm watching the animals eat and shit and play.

‘You’re not a bleedin’ dog,’ I’d say, as one of the pigs followed me round like I was the kingqueen goblin of pigland. ‘You’ll be on our plates soon enough,’ I’d say, but along he’d come, snuffling at my legs. I’d go about my work, this pig by my side the whole way until Tom yelled at me and I’d swot at it and I’d get grunts and a nip on the calf. Soon it was all round the town: ‘London rat and his pig pet.’ It came with me to the shops, it followed me to the forest, but got caught in the bracken and made a helluva fuss and I’d have to turn round and go back home again.

‘That pig gets lost, you’re paying for it,’ said Tom.

‘Pigs like the stench of rat,’ said old Wendy and I spat at her and she harrumphed at me, her ugly face all set in an ugly scowl.

‘You’ve got a face just like a chicken arse,’ I said to old Wendy and me and my pig, we went on our way, our arses wiggling, our noses up in the air like we were the rulers of the town.

Then there we were, seeming just like it was back in London, walking right up to that reverend and standing all defiant: ‘Can pigs come to church?’

He looked down at me and he looked down at my pig and he said, ‘I don’t see why not. Pigs are God’s creatures too.’

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open, feeling foolish with nowhere for my stored up swearing to go.

‘Just make sure it doesn’t shit all over the place.’

With that, the preacher turned and off he went.

‘As if you’d shit in a church,’ I said, all indignant. I scuffed at the ground and stared at the pig.

‘Corporal Pig. That’s your name and don’t you forget it.’

Monsta liked Corporal Pig. Monsta rode on CP’s back, worm arms swaying with excitement as CP trotted along.

When we started up at school I didn’t like being cooped up but I behaved and did my work (Miss Hallows praised me for being ‘diligent’ and ‘clever’ and I puffed my chest out all proud at that). Turned out the Snap-dragon was the headmistress, which made a lot of sense. I didn’t like her all that much and I was thankful we didn’t see her all that often. I did like Miss Hallows and I liked when we got to read books, but we never read books as exciting as The War of the Worlds or Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland . The town kids stayed away from the London rats and I was doubly scorned for being diligent and clever. I didn’t need any friends, though. I had CP and Monsta. I sometimes saw that girl who Tom had hit at the station. She was in the class above me and she was so beautiful I could hardly look at her and she didn’t look at me at all.