Some stories are better told backwards.

1

Some things are better told backwards2


12.00pm Saturday night. Right Now.3


I breathe in – the smell of new bed sheets…no, not new…old, but washed differently. I hear a squeak then a grunt as Bean moves above me. 4

We got driven to Mandy’s almost straight away, she lives in the city. She had to shove us in the same room: she’s single and has a small house. One of those red brick houses in a sea of red brick houses that all look the same. With dead straight garden paths and flower beds cut completely perfectly. However in her estate it’s different: in the middle of the red sea you get a whirlpool dragging down all the neatness from its surrounding neighbours - that’s Mandy’s house. It’s got a scruffy front lawn that hasn’t got any straight flower beds – no flower beds at all for that matter It’s got a scruffy lady in it and now it’s got two scruffy boys as well. The neighbours didn’t like that so we had to move back to our house which Aunt Mandy was very moody about.5

“Stupid, this is, stupid…getting pushed out of my own house…”6

I hear a yawn. Bean’s woken up. This time yesterday we were sitting on my bed, with old sheets that smell right, listening to the sound of Mom’s tears…but they cry no more…7

“Mom’s dead.” Bean reminds me.8

“Yeah.” I mutter. Choking back nothing…I should be choking back tears. Where are the tears?9

“She should have eaten the curry.”10

“Yeah.”11

“I like Mandy.”12

“Yeah.” 13

Now it’s my turn.14

“Mom’s dead.” I remind Bean.15

“Yeah.” He mutters.16

“She should have eaten the curry.”17

“Yeah.”18

“I like Mandy.”19

“Yeah.” 20

Mom’s dead.” Bean reminds me.21

“Yeah.” I mutter. 22

“She should have eaten the curry.”23

“Yeah.”24

“I like –“25

“Shut the hell up Bean!”26

Silence.27

“Mom should have eaten the curry, I should have made her.” I whisper28

“It’s not your fault.” He replies.29

I glance through the bed at Bean.30

Mom should have eaten the curry, I should have made her.31

Bean glances through the bed at me.32

Mom should have eaten the curry, I should have made her.33

The television doesn’t flash.34

Mom should have eaten the curry, I should have made her.35

The light bulb doesn’t flicker.36

Mom should have eaten the curry, I should have made her.37

The stars don’t twinkle.38

Mom should have eaten the curry I should have made her.39

We will never get another chance.40

Mom should have eaten the curry, I should have made her.41

Bean slides down from his bed onto mine.42

Mom should have eaten the curry, I should have made her.43

Bean breathes.44

Mom should have eaten the curry, I should have made her.45

I breathe.46

Mom should have eaten the curry, I should have made her.47

Bean whimpers. 48

Mom should have eaten the curry, I should have made her.49

I whimper.50

Mom should have eaten the curry, I should have made her.51

And we hug.52

We hug until we can smell each other’s curry breath permanently.53

“Bean.”54

”I’ve worked out why I’m not popular.”55

“Why?”56

“Cause I’m not myself.”57

Silence.58

“Bean?”59

“Rich.”60

“I love you.”61

There’s a pause.62

“Same.”63

“What you love yourself?” I taunt.64

“Shut up.” He punches me lightly on the nose. Blood dribbles from the already fragile spot. 65

“Rich?” He says. His sea green eyes look deep into my blue, his chiselled face looks strangely handsome in the darkness and I see him try to smile at me.66

“Bean.”67

”Dad’s a dick.” I see the pain in his eyes.68

“I know.”69

Silence. Good silence.70

“Hey, Bean.”71

“Yeah.”72

”Never grow up to be like Dad.” He nods.73

“Never grow up to be like Mom.” I nod.74

I look at him.” Smile.” I say75

He frowns “You know I’m crap at that.”76

“Punch me then.” He chuckles and water streams down his cheeks, his laughter dies into sobs then his sobs turn into a flash of a smile.77

“There you go and that wasn’t even funny.” We stay there huddled up and cry with laughter and, though we won’t admit it, a little bit of pain78


08.00am Saturday Morning. 16 hours ago.79

I rush downstairs on Saturday morning and blink sleep out of my eyes. I hear the blare of Elvis coming from my room – gosh, I must have left my hero on all last night. I groggily make my way towards the kitchen. I breath in the smell of mouldy curry – it clogged up the sink last night and didn’t go down all the way. I close my eyes as I walk. I know the way anyway…I’m just so tired I can’t open my eyes.80

Suddenly I bump into something. My eyes open to find that I must have crashed into Bean’s backside.81

“You idiot…just standing there in the middle of the kitchen!” 82

I look at Bean, frustrated he’s not even looking at me. 83

“Bean!” Nothing.84

I look where his eyes are pointing and see why he hasn’t moved…85

…I don’t know what to do. I just stand there completely clueless, staring at my Mom who is sprawled across the floor. I feel like when you stand up too quickly and your head goes all dizzy and you can’t move for a couple of moments…86

… For some strange reason my mind comes up with the image of a beached Whale…I suppose it makes sense. I’m a great fat lump, unable to move himself. I’m a beached Whale – the most pathetic thing on Earth. I try to get to the sea; I try to wake up my Mom. Nothing. Yep, a beached Whale….a least it’s not as bad as some of my nick names-87

“We need to phone 911.” I say, interrupting my own day dreams, “Now.” Bean does nothing.88

I phone 911.89

“They’re coming.”90

I fall into another wave of day dreaming and stare at the wall, refusing to look at Mom. Suddenly a blinding light - 91

Elvis, it’s Elvis come back from the dead. His rock star silhouette blocks the white coming through our front door. I smile.92

”Elvis!” I scream. 93

Elvis shoves me out of the way and grabs my Mom. He gets all this equipment out and starts pushing down on my Mom’s chest.1…2…3…4…Her head bobs up and down with the rest of her body, her eyes roll about madly, she looks like she’s having a fit. I hear cracking! 94

“Your going to kill her – her chest will cave in!”95

He turns around. Instead of a rock star hairdo I see a black mop sitting on an ugly man’s head. His thin lips form the words “She’s already dead son.”
S-h-e i-s a-l-r-e-a-d-y d-e-a-d s-o-n. Son - I’m not his son! What does that mean? He must be joking. I kneel next to Elvis and look him in the eye. 96

01.00am Saturday morning. 23 hours ago.97


“Let’s go for a walk.” Is the first thing Bean says when I walk into our room.98

“Ok.” I say,99

We walked up and down the empty road for about half an hour, Bean walking, but not jogging, ahead.100

“Bean, how do you become popular? At school, I mean.”101

“Huh, how should I know?”102

“Because you’re popular.”103

He shrugs modestly. “Be yourself.”104

“I can’t.”105

“Be louder…you’re so quiet you’re almost invisible. You never shout at anyone, even if you’re angry” He looks me straight in the eye. “You should shout once in a while, let people know you’re there” I think about this for a moment.106

.Then Bean mutters something.107

“Huh?” I croak.108

“I said ‘Dad would have loved this.’” Bean repeats.109

I look at him. I X-Ray him. I try to work him out…110

“Yeah…” I reply.111

Silence. We walk on just listening to the hum of grass hoppers - 112

“Bean?”113

“Rich.” Bean replies. His eyes fixed on the grey prison.114

“It’s Dad’s fault though.”115

“Yeah.”116

“Bean?”117

“Rich.” 118

“Look at me.” I touch his face.119

“Don’t get gay on me.” He moves away. I ignore him.120

“Look at me.121

“Look at me.122

“Bean, look at me.” He looks at me.123

“You miss him, don’t you?” He looks at me then looks at the floor.124

“Bean?” My words whisper through the night. “Bean…he was a dick. Look what he’s done to Mom…s-h-he. Well you know what I mean.”125

“No I don’t.”126

”Bean you do.”127

“No I don’t”128

Silence. I feel anger build up inside me. The kettle is boiling.129

“Yes, you do.” I whisper.” Yes, you do…you always do this.” My voice goes louder, the heat’s rising. “You deny every piece of crap he’s put her through. Telling her she needs to loose weight and beating her to death because he was too embarrassed to even walk down the street with her. Yeah, you do Bean.” I mutter when he shakes his head, “Yeah you do…” 130

“And you miss him…” The kettle has boiled. It’s ringing.” YOU MISS HIM! Why? He did nothing for us. He’s doing nothing for us and he never will do anything for us, Bean. He never will. So stop living in your dream world and come back to Earth. Dad is the reason Mom’s doing this – DAD!” Spit sprays in front of me and into the back of Bean’s head.131

“Well done mate.” I look at Bean, exasperated, “Finally, some anger. I can see what you’re really thinking.”132

I stare at Bean. “Do you really miss him?”133

He shrugs. “No.”134

But whenever Bean shrugs I know he’s lying.135

11.00pm Friday night. 25 hours ago.136


“Mom?” I open the door slowly. I see the heap that is Mom on the end of her bed crying into her pillow. Her light is on and she is still wearing Dad’s clothes.137

“Mom?” She doesn’t hear.138

I sit next to her gently and put my arm round her. She shudders when I touch her.139

“Richard.” She says through floods of tears, yet very seriously. “I think I’m anorexic.” 140

I stare at her in disbelief.141

”Really?” I croak.142

“Yes…I know it’s a shock, I’m sorry.” I stare at Mom.143

“I never noticed…” I say through gritted teeth. “I thought you just had a small appetite…well, obviously not, gosh, I’ve been so stupid.”144

Silence - apart from the ticking of the clock making the awkward situation even more awkward.145

“Come on Richard…there’s no need for that.” Yes, there is need for that. For two years, ever since Dad left, Richard and I have known. Have I really been that invisible? Do I just float around like a ghost? Can you really think I’m that stupid? Well, obviously. I have to look after you Mom. I have to spoon feed you. I have to feel embarrassed every time I eat and you sit there, skin and bones, in the corner. How do you think that feels Mom? How? Crap. That’s how. Completely CRAP! I shouldn’t have to baby you and now you are telling me that you’re anorexic. Is that meant to be a shock? Do you really think I haven’t noticed? Am I really meant to feel sorry for you? I am part of this family you know! I know you told Bean years ago. Yet, I’m the one who looks after you. Without me you’d be dead. At school I get treated like crap. At home I get treated like crap. You’re meant to be looking after me.146

I dramatically slam her door and leave Mom to drown her pillow.147

I snap back to real life when Mom grips my hand and sobs into it. I look at her, anger burning through my eyes. Wishing I was confident.148

10.30pm Friday night. 25 and a half hours ago.149

I can hear crying coming through the wall behind my head. My ears strain through the darkness to hear the smothered words…150

“Steve, cough choke…I-I-I l-ooove. Yooou. Come backkk. I- n-e-e-e-d you. I can’t do this without you…cough…choke.”151

It goes on like that.152

I think I’m going to throw up.153

I get up, deciding to comfort Mom.154

Yeah, I know Dad’s a dick.155

07.15pm Friday evening. 28 and three quarters of an hour ago.156


“Aren’t you going to eat anything Mom?” Bean says shoving his plate of curry under her nose. I don’t know whether he just can’t bare another mouthful or is genuinely worried that she isn’t eating. Not that we aren’t used to it, ever since Dad left…157

Mom shakes her head and stares at the T.V.158

“Go on Mom, you haven’t eaten all day.” I say. For two years, more like.159

”Yeah I have.” She mumbles.160

“What have you eaten then?” Bean probes her, painfully aware of how skinny she is. The silent answer we get is deafening.161

“Please Mom.” I beg. She shakes her head and hugs herself, shivering. “Mom…are you cold? It’s boiling.”162

”No,” she quickly put her arms by her side and carries on staring at the TV.163

Bean and I stare at the plate.164

The curry remains untouched.165

I glance at Bean.166

The curry remains untouched.167

Bean glances at me.168

The curry remains untouched.169

I nibble on my food.170

The curry remains untouched.171

The television flashes.172

The curry remains untouched.173

The light bulb flickers.174

The curry remains untouched.175

The stars twinkle.176

The curry remains untouched.177

The clock ticks.178

The curry remains untouched.179

Bean leaves. 180

The curry remains untouched.181

Mom breathes. 182

The curry remains untouched.183

I breathe. 184

The curry remains untouched.185

Mom whimpers. 186

The curry remains untouched.187

I whimper. 188

The curry remains untouched.189

And we hug.190

But, the curry remains untouched.191

I feel Mom’s frail bones and I whisper in her ear. “Just one mouthful, please, for me, this has been going on for too long.” 192

She pushes me away and storms out the room. 193

The curry remains untouched.194

I tidied up that night.195

I tidy up almost every night.196


06.20pm Friday evening. 29 hours and 40 minutes ago.197

Our house is the loneliest house in Walton. Most of the houses are in a clump a couple of miles away from the school, but, oh no not us. We’ve got a house ten miles away from anywhere and with a grey prison across the road with some grey prison officers patrolling the perimeter while some grey birds swoop down into the surrounding walls - making the prisoners jealous. I guess we’re lucky; we live right opposite our Dad’s house.198

When we finally get to the porch of our house, we do our routine ear to the door just in case Mom’s having a crying fit then, realising it’s safe, we gently push the flimsy handle. The stench of curry hits us as we enter the dingy entrance hall…hall…more of an entrance, er, shack. I shove my bag down onto the cracked tiles and glance at Bean, sharing a moment of rare, united thinking – bugger - curry.199

We both sidle into the kitchen and see a tornado of sweat; spices and deep blue eyes rush past and I swear I hear a faint “hi”. 200

“Hi Mom.” We mutter in unison still watching her scurry round the Kitchen in Dad’s old clothes. 201

Drips or perspiration are running down her forehead as she shoves open various drawers and sprinkles various spices into the froth that is Mom’s infamous dish. Smoke is rising from what seems like the ground. Smoke – rising from the ground? 202

“Mom, could I open the window?” No answer. I go to open the window and slowly the smoke disappears.203

We now have a clearer a view of our mother fretting as she looks for the right vegetable. She looks out of place in her old fashioned kitchen. A kitchen where expensive instruments hang on hooks from wooden beams and where the tiles of the floor shine so brightly it’s like they’re emitting their own fabulous glow. A kitchen where there are Oak worktops that are expertly smoothed and polished so the grain looks almost artificial, a kitchen where the ceiling has a window on it where you can look through and see stars shining down onto us and unfortunately a kitchen that is ruined by the panting mess that is Mom in clothes 10 sizes too big for her with ketchup stains all over them. She has an old weary face which always looks like it’s about to burst into tears. Dad always used to tell her that she was to the Kitchen what a stain is to the Oak worktop.204

Yeah, Dad’s a dick.205

We look meaningfully at each other and sneak into the living room.206

Bean ignores me in the living room, maybe he’s annoyed from earlier, but we still share some silent ranting.207

3.40pm Friday Afternoon. 31 hours and 20 minutes ago.208

Bean was half an hour late in the end and since we’re not getting driven home today we’ll probably be home around…sunset. Sunset, I’m too lazy to be home by sunset.209

So right now, Bean and I are walking along the endless road back home. Well, I’m walking. Bean is running. Yep, I know – weird right? But Bean just loves running, he runs everywhere. 210

“Bean!” I shout I am miles behind him now. He doesn’t hear. His figure just jogs towards the setting sun. There is no point hassling Bean now. He’ll just get angry.211

I take advantage of the calmness; after all it’s a gorgeous sunset and I seem to be the only 14 year old boy in Walton that appreciates sunsets. Well, the only 14 year old boy in Walton who appreciates anything beautiful. Well, the only male in Walton who appreciates anything at all. Am I gay, do you think?212

I look around, a never-ending stretch of rock and sand that unfolds before me. I say unfolds…and it probably doesn’t sound right, to you, but to anyone who lives in Walton it would sound just perfect. The ground is so flat here that you can never quite see the horizon. If I stare at my shoes and raise my head, I just see more and more and more red sand roll into my vision. Then my eyes reach the blinding sun and the silhouette of Bean comes into view. 213

“Bean!” I bellow. I may as well; I am bored.214

“Bean!”215

A mass of dark shaggy hair spins round as quickly as a Lion that has heard it’s pray. I can just make out some sea green eyes beneath the blanket of matted curls.216

“Yeah!” A strong voice replies.217

“Come ‘ere!” 218

“Why?”219

“Just come.” I screech.
The big figure blunders towards me and as it gets closer it blocks out more and more of the shining sun. 220

“Ha!” I say as Bean’s face finally appears in front of mine, panting doggedly, “I didn’t really need ya!”221

Behind the dark mop I see a frown emerge. 222

“You’re such a twat you know Rich!”223

“Not as much as you!” I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe my hidden boyish side has come over me. For I know what is going to happen next:224

First Bean forms a strained expression on his face. He is fighting an inside battle – can he hit his younger brother? Yep, of course he can. 225

With a sharp intake of breath Bean swings his fist round and smashes it into my nose. Blood spurts, blinding my vision.226

Yeah, Bean is mad. Completely crazy, but I’m his brother, I’m his best friend. He’d never do to me what he does to some poor sods.227

I don’t know why I did it. Bean didn’t do anything to me. But that’s what Bean and I do. I annoy him, we fight (well, he fights, I cower), he wins and I get a swollen something or rather.228

Bean ignores me most of the way home. He just scuffs his shoes along the pavement muttering angrily and occasionally flicking his hair out of his face. He doesn’t even try to jog – he must be really pissed off. I smile at him and I see a flash of hatred glare back at me. I know what he’s thinking.229

The way you curl your lips,
Upwards in one movement,
Forming a frown…
But the wrong way round,230

The way you flash your teeth,
Like it’s a naked part of your body,
That flash of white -
You’re always doing it,231

The way you hold back tears,
And pull your mouth taut…
In that thing called a
S-m-i- l-e-e…
Smilee!232

They way you smilee…
Yeah, I like the way you smilee
I guess you’re a smileely person.
That’s not right, is it?233

But I love the way you’re eyes smilee as well,
They stretch wide and open,
Like they’re smileeing too,
Opening up,234

That’s why I don’t smilee,
Because smileeing stretches you wide…
It exposes you…that flash of white teeth,
Is like a spot light on you.235

Why can’t I smilee?
It’s not fair,
You call yourself a brother?
Teach me the one thing you can do well.236

Yeah, when Bean was younger he used to call a smile a smilee. Pronounced smiley, spelt smilee. His biggest struggle in life is smiles. He just can’t do it. Ok, that sounds stupid – of course he can smile. But only when he’s happy and rarely even then, it’s like he’s scared of what people will say if he’s enjoying life.237

I see a little lump of grey in the horizon…a couple of miles yet. The blistering heat is really getting to me now. Sweat is soaking through my shirt. I tug it off and tie it round my waist.238

I smell heat. 239

I taste heat. 240

I touch heat. 241

I see heat. 242

I hear heat.243

I am heat.244

I shoot another glance at Bean, testing whether he’s ready, I know my brother too well. He doesn’t open his curtain of hair to shout abuse at me. He’s calm enough to talk. 245

“Bean,” I rush up to him, panting heat out of my body.246

“Stump.” He mutters in reply, letting me know he’s still pissed off but acknowledges that I’ve suffered my fair share.247

“Good day?” I ask, hoping to get into a conversation that’s steered away from insulting me.248

“Average, Stump.” he mutters, “that Mr.Phillip’s a dick.” I smile: Bean thinks every teacher’s a dick.249

“He’s not. Just you don’t listen to him.”250

“Yeah, cause he doesn’t listen to me.” He gives me warning stab from his sword like eyes. Then smiles. He smiles – wow. Maybe it’s just the brightening stars behind him but I swear I see a twinkle of mischief, maybe even joy in his eyes. 251

“I like Walton.” He announces.252

“Mmm...” I agree.
.
I gaze up at the darkening sky and then watch Bean’s figure. I know he’s thinking the same thing as me – this is bliss.253


03.30pm Friday Afternoon. 31 hours and 30 minutes ago.254


I swallow, the spit sticks in my throat – well, I call it spit it’s more a mix of vomit and flem, charming - I swallow harder, trying to drag down the foul lump now lodged in my airway. I must look like a right idiot. It doesn’t work. I turn to the next option: choking it up. I channel all my energy to throwing the lump out my throat…There, done.255

I look at the mud floor and see a green lump. I quickly look away and try to stamp on it with my boot. I glance at the ground; just a small wet patch is left. Well, that’s my entertainment over.256

It’s been a tough day, I literally had to drag myself to Bean’s school and now he’s out late. 257

I look up at the school kids that are dispersing from the slab of grey which is where they’re meant to learn. Some kids eye me wearily as the walk past, sending secret signals Get away, Stump. You don’t belong here. Four Eyes, Midget, Gay Boy…258

Walton High School is a building which is completely on its own. It sits on the side of a long grey, tarmac road which is Walton. Yep, the road is Walton and anything on that road is Walton, therefore we live in Walton. The road snakes its way through the red desert landscape and passes various houses (one of them being ours) then finally gets to the beach. No-one has followed it far enough the other way to know where it ends.259

Mom was meant to pick us up today but she hasn’t. We’ve got to walk. I glance at my watch, Bean’s twenty minutes late.260

Yeah, you are probably wondering where all my nicknames come from. Well, you see: a fuzz ball of sick coloured hair sits on my head and short, stick thin limbs protrude from my stump of a torso…and glasses. Oh, and I think I’m gay.261

I glance at my watch again. Twenty-one minutes late.262

Even my Auntie makes fun of me. Aunt Mandy…she’s lovely really, but she likes a lad with some height.263

“I like a lad with some height,” she always claims, leaning close to me. Her beady eyes then narrow: “You’re not a proper man if you ‘ave no height.”
Yes, so there you go: I’m not a proper man. Thanks, Auntie.264

I look up through the dancing shadows and into the sun. I know I shouldn’t do that: it makes you blind. Well, it’s worth it. The sun’s winking at me. Just at me, no-one else. Do you know how I know that? ‘Cause no-one can wink at more than one person at once. It’s impossible. 265

I jump as I hear my Heartbreak Hotel (I must be gay) ring tone sing. I pick up my phone. 266

“Hello,” a deep, familiar voice rings in my ear.267

“Hi, Bean.”