Kit de Waal - My Name Is Leon

“What’s this?” she says. “Can’t sleep?”

Leon nods.

“Five minutes,” she says and pats the space beside her on the bed.

Leon snuggles next to her and asks her for a story.

“I don’t think so,” she says, “no good at stories, me. I don’t see the point of half of them. All wolves and giants and things that don’t exist. Memories are what I like. Things that really happened.”

Leon says nothing and Maureen nudges him.

“Go on then. Tell your Auntie Maureen a story that really happened.”

So Leon tells her the story about when his dad found out about Jake and never came back.

It was nighttime and his dad had put him into bed and tucked him in and just when he was having the best dream he kept hearing “Bitch.”

Leon tried to stay in his dream but the words from downstairs kept getting in the way. He was dreaming about being a soldier. He had two medals for bravery and one for being the best shot. He was strong and tall, taller than his dad, and he was wearing a bandana and army pants with lots of pockets and a double strap of bullets across his chest. He was creeping through the jungle with his men with a rifle and a gun and a secret knife in his sock. If he had to use it, he knew what to do. A twig snapped and they all dropped to the ground. Someone shouted “Bitch” and “Fucking hell” and Leon knew that he wouldn’t be able to move and his men would go on without him. This had happened before when he’d been in a good dream.

The words kept pushing in and Leon kept trying to move ahead and catch up with his men. He was in charge and he had to tell them to avoid the clearing where they could get picked off one by one. He had to tell them to use hand signals and keep quiet but all the time he could hear shouting rushing up from downstairs, sliding under the door and flying around the room like angry bats. “For fuck’s sake, Carol!” That was the sort of thing that could get his troops killed and Leon couldn’t decide whether to wake up or stay with his men. If he stayed with his men he would carry on hearing the words and eventually he would wet the bed. But if he woke up and went to the toilet he would have to hear what his dad was saying and the last time he got caught listening he was slapped on his legs.

Enemy soldiers were hiding in the jungle. It was their jungle, so they knew all the best places, under leaves and between rocks. One rushed out, “Ayyeeeeee!” and threw a grenade. When it landed, all Leon’s men flew up in the air. They were all killed. And Leon was dead as well and he looked down on his khaki green uniform and his sweaty face from the jungle heat and at the trail of sticky blood that ran out of the corner of his mouth and he stepped over himself and got out of bed.

He crept out into the hallway and went to the toilet. He didn’t flush it because then his dad would have heard him. He tiptoed back into his bedroom and half closed the door. Sometimes it used to be Carol doing all the shouting and sometimes it was his dad. Halfway through the argument, his dad started laughing and saying that his mom was a crazy woman. His dad always has to say things ten times like, “Crazy, crazy, crazy, crazy,” and then he starts talking fast West Indian that no one else can understand.

Once when they were at Tina’s house, Leon heard Carol say, “If it wasn’t for Leon I would tell him to fuck off,” and then she started crying. Leon wanted to tell Carol that he’d heard swearing lots of times and she could say “fuck off” if she wanted to.

But in the morning the sun was slicing through the curtains, the radio was on downstairs, and it wasn’t a school day. Everything might be okay.

He got out of bed, opened his door, and listened. He could hear Carol singing, so he went downstairs. He kept listening all the time just in case his dad was in. He looked in the kitchen but there was no one there, so he pushed open the door to the living room.

The swishy blinds were closed and the room was full of smoke. His dad was gone and Carol was standing by the gas fire looking in the mirror, singing with her voice all broken up. Her blond hair was sticking up at the back where she had been lying on it and all her curls were flat. Everything was too loud, the music and her voice and the sharp feeling in the air. Carol’s face was red on one side and her eyes were puffy and half-closed. It was like she’d said many times before: just because she’s singing, it doesn’t mean she’s happy.

She waved her cigarette at him.

“Get some breakfast, Leon, and get dressed. I’m tired.”

Leon can’t remember what happened after that, so he has to stop telling Maureen his story. He’s warm and comfortable on Maureen’s bed and he feels like falling asleep.

“Up you get,” she says and she leads him back to his own room. She strokes his forehead and pulls the blankets up over his ears.

“You’ll have lovely dreams tonight, Leon, love. Sssh, lovely dreams. I promise.”

It’s impossible to choose a favorite dinner at Maureen’s house. Everything has a funny name like Shepherd’s Pie or Toad in the Hole or Spotted Dick and she always has a different sauce with every meal like mint sauce or apple sauce or bread sauce, but Leon doesn’t like bread sauce because it reminds him of when he saw a cat being sick. And then apart from the dinners Maureen likes Leon to eat snacks. So if he’s playing or watching TV she just comes into his room with a plastic plate with a sandwich and two biscuits or a cold sausage cut into pieces and a doughnut. And she always says, “There you go, pigeon. That’ll keep you going.”

But around Christmastime the snacks get out of control and Leon can’t keep up with them. Even before Christmas, Maureen starts making mince pies and fruit cake and Christmas pudding and buys extra food on top of the food they already have, which is spilling out of the cupboards. And there’s tins of biscuits and chocolates everywhere. Maureen doesn’t even notice if there’s one missing. On Christmas Eve, Maureen sits down in the kitchen opposite Leon while he’s eating his dinner. She puts two slices of bread and butter next to him.

“Lancashire Hotpot,” she says. “You’ll need that for the gravy.”

Leon doesn’t say anything because he has his mouth full and Maureen likes him to have manners.

“Now, you know what day it is tomorrow?”

Leon nods.

“And you’ve written to Santa?”

Maureen thinks he is Jake’s age and that he still believes in Santa Claus. Everyone knows that the parents buy the presents. Leon knows that Carol has disappeared because every time the social worker comes he hears her speaking to Maureen in the kitchen. She says things like “Still no word” or “We’ve heard nothing.” And once she said, “Legally, it’s abandonment,” and Leon knows what that means. The social worker never talks about Leon’s dad. She just said, “When they catch up with him he won’t be seeing daylight for a long time. So that’s him out of the picture.” So Leon knows that he won’t be getting anything for Christmas from his parents and tomorrow when he wakes up there will be nothing for him to unwrap. Leon puts his spoon on the table. He wipes his mouth with a paper towel and pushes his plate away.

“Eh? What’s this? Don’t like it?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Since when?”

“I don’t have to eat it.”

“No, you don’t. And you don’t have to be rude neither.”

Leon says nothing. Maureen’s dinner is sitting in his belly like a bag of sand and he’s getting angry with her.

“You won’t want any pudding then?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No thank you.”

“No thank you to trifle?”