The Things We Never Said Read Online Free Page B

go to the circus as a birthday treat. ‘Certainly not,’ Gerald had said. ‘Apart from anything else, it is extremely bad manners to ask for a gift.’
    But the day before his birthday, he and Alan had gone up to the heath after school to hang around the trailers in the half-light, hoping for a glimpse of a clown, an acrobat or even Magnificent Marco the Human Cannonball. Rumour had it that Magnificent Marco had been injured so often he had his own bed at the hospital.
    Jonathan was sleeping at Alan’s that night and he couldn’t wait, partly because Mrs Harper said she had a surprise for him, but also because she made dinners he’d never get at home, like fish fingers and chips, followed by butterscotch Instant Whip with a cherry in the middle and what she called ‘chocolate mousedirts’ sprinkled on top. As they crept from trailer to trailer, taking turns to climb on each other’s backs to peek in uncurtained windows, he thought about the cold, silent mealtimes at home, the constant smell of potatoes boiling away on the stove. Couldn’t they have chips just once?
    ‘Oh, buggery!’ Alan said. ‘Mum said five at the latest and it’s ten to now. Better leg it.’ They ran across the grass, past the church and down Lewisham Hill to Alan’s flats, feet pounding the pavement and breath charging white in the chill November air. As they clattered up the pissy-smelling stairs, he wondered what the surprise could be.
    The tickets were on the kitchen table, propped up against the tomato ketchup. Alan’s mum was smiling. Eat up, chop-chop, or we’ll be late and we’ll end up sitting where the elephants do their business . Jonathan was weak with gratitude and so excited he couldn’t swallow. Mr Harper winked and ruffled his hair. Not hungry, Tiger? Oh well. Waste not, want not. And he scoffed the chips three at a time and everybody laughed. Jonathan pictured his father pushing equal amounts of mince, swede and potato onto his fork. Sometimes, he wished Mr Harper was his dad. Mr Harper liked the circus; Gerald said it was ‘a vulgar, gaudy spectacle full of dwarves, misfits and layabouts’, and Alan was a Guttersnipe and Mr Harper was an Oaf and a Wastrel. Jonathan didn’t know what a wastrel was, and he wasn’t going to look it up.
    At the circus, they saw a lady in a ballet dancer’s dress riding a horse standing up, four men walking down a pretend staircase on their hands, and clowns with orange hair and giant bow ties turning somersaults. When some of the clowns asked for a volunteer to hold the hosepipe and help them drench the others, Jonathan stretched his hand right up so they could see him. He could hardly believe it when they picked him.
    Later, after Alan’s mum kissed them goodnight, he went over it in his head. The very best bit, he decided, was after the hosepipe, when the clowns gave him a huge bag of sweets and asked where his mum and dad were and Mr and Mrs Harper shouted ‘over here’ and waved. The clowns carried him back, holding him high up on their shoulders while everybody clapped. When they put him down, everyone was smiling and proud of him. This was the best day of his whole life.
    *
    ‘I was expecting you before now,’ his mother says as she opens the door, the hall clock chiming five behind her. He’d said late afternoon, and is about to point this out when he notices how tired she looks. ‘Sorry,’ he kisses her proffered cheek. ‘Traffic was terrible.’ As always, she’s fully made-up, but today her lipstick and face powder seem uncharacteristically noticeable and clumsily applied.
    ‘Father’s in the sitting room,’ she says. ‘I’ll be in when I’ve made the tea.’
    It’s almost dusk, but Gerald hasn’t switched the lights on. He can see perfectly well in the remaining light, he says, and just because Jonathan deigns to visit them, he sees no reason to be extravagant with electricity. ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ Jonathan snaps, flicking the