Caryl Phillips - The Lost Child

“Hey, what’s the matter with your trousers?”

Tommy stops now and turns and looks at Ben’s grinning face.

“Pull ’em up, our kid. Simon Longbottom says you look like a dick.”

“Who’s Simon Longbottom? And what does he know about it?”

“He’s my new best mate.”

Ben pauses and points to a thin pipe cleaner of a boy who lingers by the bus stop as though waiting for Ben to disappear from view. Simon Longbottom’s circular wire-frame glasses are recognizable as health service handouts.

“Him and some of the others have invited me to a boys’ club on Thursday night.”

“To do what?”

“I don’t know, do I? Nesting in the woods. Maybe some footie.”

Ben walks on, and it’s now Tommy’s turn to chase after his brother, who seems to have found a way to make Mrs. Swinson’s baggy clothes fit his gawky body. He’s noticed that whenever Ben walks in a group, even if he’s lagging behind, it always looks as though everybody’s following him.

“You know she’ll not let you go.”

“Well, I won’t know that till I’ve asked, will I?” His brother loosens his school tie as he walks. “Our teacher, Mr. Rothstein, he sometimes calls us by our first names. And you know what else, it turns out that Simon Longbottom’s dad is in the army, and he’s got a skull and crossbones tattooed on his forearm. Apparently he’s based in Germany, and before that he was in Gibraltar.”

“Has he been?”

“Has who been where?”

“Simon Longbottom. To Gibraltar. And Germany.”

“I don’t know. I suppose so.”

They continue to walk, but Tommy feels hopelessly inadequate given the evidence of his brother’s second day at school. He puts his hand in his blazer pocket and gently cups his fist around the watch.

“You’ll never guess what I found at dinnertime.”

“Where did you get that? It’s a beaut.”

“I found it on the floor of the changing rooms. It was lying under a bench, and there was no teacher to ask or anything. It’s one of those that you can wear underwater. Do you like it?”

“What were you doing in the changing rooms?”

“It was just somewhere to go, and the door was open. Do you like it?”

His brother shakes his head.

“You’re mental, you know that, don’t you? You’re not supposed to just go into the changing rooms.”

Ben begins to walk faster, and Tommy scurries after him and catches up with his openly frustrated brother as they turn into Mrs. Swinson’s street.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Look, Tommy all you ever do is think about football.”

“You’re just copying what Mam says.”

“Well, it’s true. And I’ll tell you what, when Simon Longbottom asked me if I had any brothers or sisters, I said no.”

“Why did you say that?”

“Why do you reckon?”

Tommy pushes the watch back into his blazer pocket and tugs at Ben’s arm.

“You’re not going to squeal on me, are you? About the watch.”

“Why should I care? You got yourself into this mess.”

Tommy had hoped that the watch might be something that the two of them could share and take turns wearing, something that might make them forget Mrs. Swinson and her house. As he’d picked it up off the changing room floor, he was thinking only of his brother and trying to imagine the look on Ben’s face when he showed him the watch. His brother has now stopped by Mrs. Swinson’s front gate and is gesturing at him.

“Well, are you coming in, or what?”

Mrs. Swinson opens the door and looks down at them. She has unclipped her bun so that two strands of plaited grey hair now frame either side of her face, making her look like an old lady version of a doll.

“You’re late. I was expecting you both ten minutes ago, so I called the vicar to see what I ought to do.” They remain poised on the doorstep and look up at her. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s be having you into the kitchen so I can take a good look.”

They stand before her as she perches now on a stool by the Aga and pats Simla, the youngest of her three husky dogs. It occurs to both boys that they will most likely be inspected like this at the end of each day. Tommy looks over at the dogs, but he keeps his distance, for he doesn’t much care for Simla and the other two. Mrs. Swinson blinks furiously as she speaks, but not in time to the words so everything appears to be frantic and out of control.

“Well, I explained to the vicar that you weren’t quite ready this week, but he’s looking forward to meeting the pair of you on Sunday. You have been baptized, haven’t you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “I don’t know why I bother.” She points at Ben. “And I don’t want to see you with your tie like that.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Swinson.”

“And look at the state of the both of you. What am I supposed to do with this hair of yours? Can you run a comb through it?” Ben opens his mouth to speak, but she continues. “Well?” She points now at Tommy. “How was your first day at school? And you”—she jabs her finger in Ben’s direction—“how was your second day?”

“It was grand.” Ben immediately senses that he’s said the wrong thing, but it’s too late.

“Grand, was it? Well, be off with you upstairs and get changed; then I’ll see you back down here for your tea, and for heaven’s sake, no noise, for my head’s splitting as it is, and Simla’s feeling a bit under the weather.”

Tommy puts on the clothes that he is used to wearing, and even though he’s now back in short trousers, he feels a little better about everything. Ben has on long trousers as he’s been allowed to stop wearing short ones, but Tommy can see that his brother seems disheartened to be taking off his school uniform. He watches Ben fold everything carefully and then open up the wardrobe and place his neat pile of clothes on the top shelf. The watch is lying on the bed, and Tommy picks it up and begins to strap it to his wrist.

“What are you doing?” Ben makes a grab for the watch. “Take it off, you prat. You don’t want her to catch you with that, do you?”

Mrs. Swinson hasn’t moved from the stool near the Aga, but she is now smoking a cigarette and making a big show of knocking off the ash into a saucer that she cradles in her lap. In the corner, the three dogs are curled up in their respective baskets and appear to be dropping off to sleep, but Tommy is never sure if they’re just pretending.

“Well, the thing is, Ben, we’ll need to know more about who these boys are and what it is they get up to at this club before we can allow you to go off with them just like that.”

They eat their beans on toast and sip at their glasses of fizzy pop, but they keep glancing at Mrs. Swinson so she understands they are paying full attention. Ben has told her about Simon Longbottom, and how he usually comes in the top three in the class, and all about his dad’s being stationed in Germany, and Mrs. Swinson has nodded sagely, interrupting Ben only to remind him that he shouldn’t gobble his food.

Tommy’s baked beans keep falling off the back of his fork, but he knows that this is the proper way to eat them, for their mother has drummed it into their heads that turning the fork the other way and shovelling them up is common. Tommy likes to think that she’s looking at them both all the time, even though he knows that in reality she can’t see them. However, whenever he tries to talk about her with his brother, Ben changes the subject or just gets annoyed and snaps at him, for it’s clear that his brother is angry that their mother has sent them away like this.

Mrs. Swinson stubs out her cigarette and immediately fumbles around in the box and takes out another one. She pokes it in his direction, so there can be no doubt whom she’s talking about.