Truestory Read online

  ‘Aye, it’s smelling good already,’ said Larry.

  ‘My dad covers roast beef in bright yellow mustard,’ said Sam. He was tracing his finger over the map where the World of the Jungle at the Bottom of the Orchard should have been, over the writing that was faint and squiggly. Sam bent close to the map to squint at it.

  ‘Want this, son?’

  Larry unhooked a gadget from his belt that had a magnifying glass in it.

  Sam peered through the glass and the fancy letters on the map swam and jumped and swirled underneath.

  ‘Can you read it?’ asked Larry.

  ‘Yes,’ said Sam.

  ‘What does it say?’

  ‘It says,’ he hesitated, ‘summer house.’

  We all stared at the World of the Jungle at the Bottom of the Orchard and Larry blew some smoke rings.

  ‘Summer house?’ he said. Then after a pause: ‘I think we should do some exploring. Don’t you, son? See if that summer house is still in there somewhere.’

  Icy fingers grabbed my stomach at the suggestion of Sam venturing anywhere other than immediately around the farmhouse and the 823 steps down the lane to Jeannie’s cottage.

  Sam said nothing; he gathered up his map and disappeared inside.

  I knew I had to explain stuff to Larry.

  Chapter 16

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  I don’t want to be scared. How can I stop?

  Truestory

  Date: 8 June 2014

  Time: 14.00

  There is something I want to do but I’m too scared to do it. What should I do?

  Re: I don’t want to be scared. How can I stop?

  Blood Bro

  Date: 8 June 2014

  Time: 14.06

  I get you. I want a ball python but I’m scared to get one in case it bights me.

  Re: I don’t want to be scared. How can I stop?

  Fizzy Mascara

  Date: 8 June 2014

  Time: 14.12

  You should be more scared of it strangling you. And who the hell wants a pet they’re scared of?

  Re: I don’t want to be scared. How can I stop?

  NoShitSherlock

  Date: 8 June 2014

  Time: 14.16

  Unless you’re planning to poke the crap out of it, it won’t bite and even if it does, it won’t hurt much – tho their teeth are razor sharp and grow backwards.

  Re: I don’t want to be scared. How can I stop?

  Playmeright

  Date: 8 June 2014

  Time: 14.19

  What kind of fucking full blown idiot thinks a ball python can bite you? Snakes are shy – specially ball pythons. They are intelligent too and deserve an intelligent owner. Steer well clear.

  Re: I don’t want to be scared. How can I stop?

  Truestory

  Date: 8 June 2014

  Time: 14.26

  I do not want to buy a ball python. I am not frightened that my pet will bite me. I am frightened of going to the Summer House in the World of the Jungle.

  Re: I don’t want to be scared. How can I stop?

  MrSoft

  Date: 8 June 2014

  Time: 14.37

  That a club?

  Re: I don’t want to be scared. How can I stop?

  Truestory

  Date: 8 June 2014

  Time: 14.44

  No.

  Re: I don’t want to be scared. How can I stop?

  CallmePal

  Date: 8 June 2014

  Time: 14.45

  Well I don’t know what kind of a jungle has a summerhouse but if it’s the jungle I know then you’d better mind against parasites and pathogens in the water – BOIL IT FIRST. Drinking your own urine will only make dehydration worse. Then there are jaguars, spiders, scorpions, stinging ants, crocs, snakes. Preparation and vigilance are the keys to success.

  Re: I don’t want to be scared. How can I stop?

  Fizzy Mascara

  Date: 8 June 2014

  Time: 14.51

  We all fear what we can’t see. Go take a look.

  Re: I don’t want to be scared. How can I stop?

  Truestory

  Date: 8 June 2014

  Time: 14.55

  Thank you for your help.

  Chapter 17

  ‘He’s never been down there.’ I said.

  I nodded towards the World of the Jungle at the Bottom of the Orchard, or as I should call it: the bottom of the orchard. That’s the thing with Sam, you start to see the world through his eyes. You start to use his words, to think with his brain, to hear with his ears, to feel his fears worming away in your own gut. You scan the world for triggers that might cause meltdowns, hiding, harming, and any number of other kinds of chaos.

  Conditioning, I suppose they’d call it. I’ve been conditioned to live like Sam – trained like Pavlov with his dogs and his meat and his bells to worry and to react to a million different things because of what they might do to Sam.

  But how could I explain eleven years of that to Larry?

  We were still sitting on the back steps, the two of us. We’d lit up again – he’d rolled me one of my own this time.

  ‘Never in his life has he been down there,’ I said. ‘He’s never managed to get past the last apple tree in the orchard. Not once.’

  Larry thought for a minute.

  ‘What’s he frightened of?’

  I suppose Larry was specifically asking what Sam was frightened of in the World of the Jungle at the Bottom of the Orchard, but the answer to the question suddenly seemed enormous and unanswerable and big enough to smother us. What was Sam frightened of? I didn’t know where to start: the noises, the colours, the smells, the places, the people.

  I took another drag. ‘Sometimes I think he’s frightened of everything. He’s never been happy anywhere but here or Jeannie’s cottage – and even then calling him ‘happy’ might be pushing it. I tried for years to make him normal like other people’s kids. But he isn’t. He’s different and he does things his own way whether the rest of the world likes it or not.’

  I dragged on my fag and didn’t look at Larry because I didn’t want to see judgement in his eyes.

  There was silence.

  ‘So, he’s never been down there?’ Larry nodded towards the bottom of the orchard.

  ‘No. But it’s not through lack of trying.’ I had a strong urge to defend myself. ‘I’ve given him a football to kick towards it – he couldn’t have been less interested. I’ve suggested games of cricket.’ I pointed to the bat where he’d leaned it against the back of the house having held it for two seconds and never touched it again. ‘I’ve set up nature walks and treasure hunts. I’ve tried all kinds of prompts and bribes and I don’t know what else but nothing’s worked. He’ll go round the house, into the workshop, the orchard and 823 steps to Jeannie’s cottage and that is that. That’s the extent of his world. I’ve sort of given up anything else as a bad job. I’ve been left hoping that age and time will eventually sort it out.’

  Larry considered this.

  ‘But you don’t mind if I suggest something?’

  A cold dread gripped my stomach; I felt Sam’s disappointments and failures as strongly as he did, plus it was my job to get him back on an even keel afterwards.

  ‘Well . . .’

  There was a rustle and Sam came back still carrying his map. His hair was all ruffled like he’d been hiding under the quilt with his bobble hat on.

  Larry took the gadget thing off his belt again and held it out to Sam.

  ‘This is not just a magnifying glass,’ he said. Sam looked interested. ‘It’s a compass as well. Here, have a look.’

  Sam took it.

  ‘We can use the compass and your antique map and find places you’ve never been before. The most important thing is to
get your bearings to start with and that means working out where you are right now and where you want to go.’ Larry pointed to the map. ‘So where are we, Sam?’

  Sam blinked at him. ‘We are 431 steps from The Pile of Rubble Covered in Weeds and 822 steps from Jeannie’s cottage and 1 step from the back door.’

  Larry started laughing and then, realising no one else was laughing, he stopped.

  ‘No, I mean on the map. Where are we on the map?’

  Sam pointed to the back of the farmhouse, and Larry said ‘Right then.’

  He gave the compass to Sam who squinted at the quivering needle.

  ‘Let’s go find the summer house,’ said Larry.

  Sam’s face was right up to the compass but he said nothing.

  My stomach clenched.

  ‘Sam might not want . . .’ I said. I stopped myself – I had to see what he’d do.

  Larry showed Sam how to set his course using the compass and the map and I listened to him going on about the compass housing and the red needle and the north/south lines and the Earth’s magnetic North. Sam took it all in.

  ‘So, Sam,’ Larry said, ‘we’ll have the Direction of Travel Arrow pointing west, because the quickest way to the summer house is to head west past the old apple tree, okay?’

  ‘I’ve learned to use a compass and a map on the internet,’ said Sam. This is not like on the internet.’

  ‘No, this is real life adventure,’ said Larry.

  Sam gripped the compass but was still glued to the step.

  ‘Some explorers get roped up to keep them safe,’ Larry said. ‘It can stop them falling into crevasses and chasms and they can be dragged back up when they’re dangling over precipices.’

  Sam said nothing.

  ‘Lots of good explorers do that,’ Larry repeated. ‘Maybe we should give it a go, son? Keep us safe.’

  Silence.

  ‘Frozen crevasses and yawning chasms?’ said Sam.

  Larry hesitated a minute; ‘Yeah, they’re the ones,’ he said. ‘How about it?’

  ‘And sudden precipices?’ said Sam.

  ‘Aye, sudden ones.’

  Larry glanced at me to see if he was saying the right thing. I jumped up – there was some new washing line in the washroom that might do for roping up explorers. It gave me something to do as much as anything else, stopped me looking at the fear on Sam’s face. I dashed inside and rooted through the junk in the drawers until I came across the washing line and one or two bits of old bailer twine. When I got back Larry was saying: ‘Mallory and Irvine were roped together when they tried to reach the summit of Everest.’

  I jumped in. ‘Maybe we should forget about Mallory and Irvine? What do you think?’

  Larry looked at me for a second and then burst out laughing: ‘Right enough,’ he said.

  ‘Stand up, son,’ said Larry and he put his hand under Sam’s elbow and pulled him up. He wrapped the washing line round Sam’s waist, and through his legs to make a sort of harness. He kept twisting and tying it – Larry was definitely a boy scout when he was a lad. Sam tried to sit down once or twice – he reminded me of a dog not wanting to be groomed – but Larry kept on twisting and tying, twisting and tying and Sam couldn’t do a lot about it. After a minute or two he was wearing a harness over his joggers and he stood there clutching his map with a look on his face of abject terror.

  There was a lump in my throat nearly choking me. I had to keep swallowing and gulping and forcing myself not to step in and put a stop to the whole thing. The phrase: ‘Sam, why not go and draw a map?’ was right on the tip of my tongue. I don’t know how I kept it back.

  ‘Right,’ said Larry. ‘We need to prepare. We’ll need tools when we get there for slashing through the jungle undergrowth and lots of fresh water and other explorer stuff like that.’

  He jogged off to his caravan and came back with two cans of coke and some boiled sweets and his rucksack. Then he went to the garden shed and got some clippers and a saw and he shoved them in the rucksack so the handle was sticking out.

  He said: ‘Right, comrade, how’s you fixed for an adventure?’

  It was too painful and I couldn’t bite it back any longer: ‘It’s okay, Sam’, I blurted out: ‘You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.’

  Sam thought about it for a minute, with all sorts of wild thoughts flashing across his face.

  ‘Fizzy Mascara says: “We all fear what we can’t see. Go take a look.” ’

  ‘Fizzy who?’

  ‘Good idea,’ cut in Larry. Then he tied the pieces of baler twine together and Sam let him tie a length to the front of his harness and the back of Larry’s own belt. He tied another piece to the back of Sam’s harness and gave it me to hold. Larry took a couple of steps towards the World of the Jungle at the Bottom of the Garden and the rope went taut and pulled against the harness which then dug into Sam’s back. Sam swayed but stood still.

  ‘Okay, Pal,’ said Larry. ‘You’ve got the compass. Look in the direction of travel and find a landmark.’

  Sam murmured: ‘Last apple tree.’

  ‘Last apple tree it is. Let’s go and explore. Any problems, tug on the rope.’

  Larry took one or two steps and we set off as ungainly as a car being towed by a learner driver. We inched down the garden with Sam’s hesitant steps keeping the rope between him and Larry taut.

  I grasped the rope tied to the back of his harness and kept pressure on it to let him know I was there if he needed me. When I started to go dizzy, I realised I was holding my breath.

  As we got near the last apple tree before the World of the Jungle at the Bottom of the Orchard, Sam’s feet stuck on the grass and Larry looked over his shoulder: ‘You all right, son?’

  I was holding my breath again. What would happen? I needed him to know we could stop and go back whenever he wanted. But after standing still for a few seconds Sam gave the tiniest of nods and we set off again, creeping at a snail’s pace. Sam clutched the compass but his eyes were closed, his feet dragged on the grass and he counted to himself as we inched past the last apple tree. His knees were hardly bending but he allowed the rope to draw him onwards.

  Another dozen steps and Larry stopped, the rope slackened and he said: ‘Well here it is, son, the world of the jungle,’ and Sam very slowly opened his eyes just a chink.

  ‘I have taken eighty-four steps in a direction I had never gone before,’ said Sam.

  ‘That’s great,’ I said. The lump in my throat was aching.

  We all stood and stared at the massive tangle of green.

  I don’t believe in having best stuff. Pots are pots, glasses are glasses. But I wanted to make that night’s tea special so I stuck one of the power-cut candles on a saucer and put it in the middle of the table and dug out some old raffia mats and lobbed them round the edge of the table like frisbees.

  The roast smelled delicious and the juices bubbled away in the oven as the potatoes turned gold and the batter for the Yorkshires firmed up and crusted over.

  I kept going to the washroom and – trying not to knock the kitchen roll and the little black cups flying – I leant over to the window and strained to see what was going on at the bottom of the garden.

  I’d left them to it for a bit while I got the tea ready. They were letting rip and making quite an impression on the jungle. There was already a heap of greenery a foot high they’d lopped off. Larry was putting his back into it with the saw while Sam snipped away with the secateurs.

  Every time I watched them I felt a bubbling joy. Sam had lived here all his life and he’d never set foot down there before. He might have only travelled twenty yards today but I felt as though he’d scaled a mountain.

  I’d thought it was out of my power to help him and yet here was Larry – with his maps and his ropes and his compass and his talk of explorers – who, a week after wandering in off the street, had got Sam further down the garden than he’d gone in his entire life.

  I stuck the wine into the freez
er to chill. Duncan and Larry might prefer ale but wine was more of a celebration – and we were celebrating.

  I poked about in the kitchen cupboards – there must be three matching wine glasses about somewhere, or had I taken them all to the charity shop? I wanted to dig the tape deck out and put some music on but, however quiet it was, I knew it’d send Sam scurrying upstairs for his earphones and bobble hat, so I didn’t.

  Seeing the Yorkshires rise and crisp, I went out the back door and jogged down the garden.

  ‘You two coming for your tea?’

  Larry backed out of the foliage and Sam glanced up.

  ‘Your tea’s ready,’ I said.

  ‘We’re fairly doing some exploring,’ said Larry, grinning at me. ‘There’s definitely something in here, but we’ve got a lot of cutting down to do to get at it.’

  Sam was snipping and flinging bits of greenery over his shoulder.

  ‘Come on, son. Grub’s up.’

  Larry held his hand out for the secateurs and passed Sam the end of the rope. Sam handed him the secateurs and grabbed the rope and refastened it to the front of his harness. I grabbed the other rope still dangling from the back of the harness.

  ‘You okay, son?’

  Sam nodded and closed his eyes and all three of us set off on a slow march up the garden.

  When Duncan came in, he stopped at the door and sniffed.

  ‘Beef! Not had that for a while.’

  Larry was carving, laying big juicy slices onto a platter.

  ‘Aye,’ he said, ‘and it’s looking good. Done to a tee.’

  I filled the wine glasses.

  ‘Wine,’ said Duncan, not sounding impressed. ‘We celebrating?’

  ‘We certainly are,’ I said. ‘Sam’s been exploring at the bottom of the orchard.’

  I paused to let that sink in. ‘And we think we’ve found an old summer house – in the Jungle at the Bottom of the Orchard.’ I spoke slowly and deliberately. Did Duncan realise what I’d said? Did he appreciate what a break through this was?