Kyte

By Andrew Russell

“Hello, my name is Danny and I don’t eat much.” Well, how would you introduce yourself to someone who didn’t know you were coming to live with them? My name really is Danny and this is my story of how I came to live with Marj with only a map of London Zoo to guide me and a second class train ticket. It’s also the story of how I met Kyte and survived The Battle On The Hill and The Trouble Brothers and the best way to decorate your Christmas tree. Marj thought it should be called Marj The Magnificent but when you read it, you’ll know why it’s called Kyte, even if Marj is magnificent. I hope you like it. I know I do.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew Russell
• Release date: Oct 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311686381

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Marj told me I should write down all the things that happened.

Help you get it straight in that thick head of yours, Danny. She also said that people pay a lot of money to tell their stories to complete strangers, so I would save a bit of money while I was at it. Then, even if it doesn’t do you any good, it won’t have cost you anything or me, more like.

Except paper and pencils. I said.

You’d better make it a short story then. I’m not made of money and you already eat too much. A couple of paragraphs should do it. I’ve got some scrap paper here somewhere and that’ll save even more money.

Well, a couple of paragraphs won’t do it. Too much happened to fit into a couple of paragraphs. First there was my mum, then the train, then Marj, then the letter and that’s all before Kyte, never mind about all the things that happened after Kyte like the seaside and my dad and the Attack and the Battle on The Hill.

How am I going to fit it all in? I asked her. It’ll take forever.

That’s easy, Danny. she said, You write a bit and I’ll read it and be your head-hitter.

Editor, you mean. I said.

No, Danny, she said head-hitter. If you write too much or make it boring, or show me in a bad light, I’ll hit your head till you get it right.

Then she demonstrated her editing skills by hitting me about the head with a cushion till we were nearly crying with laughter and she flopped into a chair and accused me of enjoying it too much.

How can I be a good head-hitter if you go on laughing all the time. You should be afraid of the Head-Hitter in Chief and hate having your head hit otherwise I can’t punish you and make you better. she said and smiled as much to herself as to me.

So we settled on some rules. I’d write a bit when I felt like it. She’d never ask me to do it, like a chore or homework, but she’d read it and correct my spelling (she thought that was important) and give me feedback. I wasn’t sure what feedback was, it sounded like someone being sick, but she said she’d just give me her opinion and make suggestions. I didn’t have to change anything (except spellings), if I didn’t want to.

I don’t want anyone else to read it. Just you and me. I said, so we made that into a rule as well.

She bought a writing pad from the Post Office and five HB pencils in a pack. Chewing material she called them, for when I was stuck or didn’t know what to write.

And I began to write it all down.

Kyte? Marj said, holding the pad and squinting at the first page. Kyte? What about Marj The Wonderful or Marj The Magnificent for a title?

It’s not a spelling. I said and kept my title and drawing of a kite. I made the tail curl round the title and the string angle down to the bottom of the page so you couldn’t see who was holding it.

The hardest part of writing it down was finding the beginning. It could have been the day I met Kyte, or the day I came to Marj’s house, or when I got put on the train, or when I was born even. I don’t remember that, of course but it is the real beginning. But I only have five pencils and one pad so I’ll start at the place where it all went wrong. Well, that would make someone think that it was all right before, but it wasn’t and I know it, but mostly I can’t remember what it was like or put it into words. It was the place where everything suddenly changed and I wasn’t even sure if I was dreaming it or nightmaring it, more like.

Victoria Station, London, England, Great Britain, Europe, Northern Hemisphere, Earth, The Galaxy, The Universe.

A holiday? Where? When? Is it now? Today? I said, sending pieces of fruit scone flying from my mouth in all directions. Brighton? Is it? Is it Brighton, Mum?

Mum carefully looked round the station café, checking the other tables to see if anyone was looking.

No, Danny, not Brighton. She said leaning forward and talking quietly.

By the sea, though, or it wouldn’t be a holiday. I said, spraying another volley of fruit scone across the table.

Imagine going on a holiday and imagine being by the sea. I’d never been out of London, hardly out of Norwood, so saying I was excited hardly describes it. This was better than anything, better than London Zoo perhaps, and that was the best thing ever. I got a souvenir key ring with a picture of a giraffe on it, which I always carried with me along with a map of London Zoo, which a lady gave us at the turnstile on the way in. The map was a bit torn in places along the creases from being folded and unfolded but I always kept it on me.

Contain yourself, Danny. She got closer, her chin nearly touching the table. She scanned the café once more. Don’t get so excited and let me tell you.

By the seaside, isn’t it Mum? My mouth was empty now. When will we get there?

Danny! she hissed. Just let me finish.

She sat up and for the first time that day I knew something was wrong. She was shivering as if it was winter and she didn't have a coat. She rubbed her forehead then tried to smile but it looked like she was gritting her teeth. I knew better than to go on anymore and I would have to listen, or at least pretend to.

But I did listen. It wasn’t too bad at first then it just got worse. She told me we both needed a holiday, a break, a change and a chance to relax for a bit. Auntie Marjorie had a lovely place that was quiet and peaceful, where I could get out of London and breathe clean air, play in fields and have a nice holiday. She told me that Auntie Marjorie would love to have me and had always wanted to have a nephew to spoil and what a time we would have. Kelling was a wonderful place to be a child. She wouldn’t be coming. It was a chance for me to get to know Auntie Marjorie and she’d only get in the way. In fact, I would probably really like it there and not miss her or London, and not want to come back.

Who’s Auntie Marjorie? I asked.

Don’t be silly, Danny. You know who she is. You’ve heard me talk about her.

Never heard of her.

Yes you have, Danny. She’s my sister. She’s really nice and you’ll get on like a house on fire. I wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

Why can’t you come? I asked, beginning to panic.

You won’t want me there. There’ll be too much to do. She squeezed my hand and I began to feel sick.

How long? I squeaked.

We’ll see, Danny. Finish your scone. I paid for that.

When I remember Victoria Station, I get to that bit and stop for a while. What would have happened if I’d begged and pleaded to stay, promised to be a good boy for now on. I could get cake. I would be as quiet as a mouse when Mike was round, get breakfast every morning, be seen and not heard. I could stop growing and not need any new clothes and get cake. I wouldn’t wet the bed anymore. I could always get cake. It was easy, check the aisles, right and left, quickly up my jumper and out the shop without stopping. Run like hell if anyone’s sees. I wouldn’t ask to go to London Zoo again, I could clean up occasionally and stop treating the place like a hotel. I could get cake, lots of it, everyday. Cake always worked, but there wasn’t a cake big enough for this. I imagined myself running up the stairs to the flat, a six-tier wedding cake stuffed up my jumper and presenting it to her.

But I didn’t say anything. I froze. The noises all around stopped, the chattering customers, the clanking of teacups, the station announcements all stopped. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t speak anymore.

Marj said there was nothing I could have done, that children blame themselves for the parents they’re given and all the mistakes they make. She says children think they’re responsible for things that happen and things that don’t. She told me to wait till I was older, then I could blame myself for things properly and really feel guilty. Then she’ll blame me for her burning the toast, or the sun not shining or the postman not coming. I get the point really, but I can’t help wondering if it would have made any difference.

Numb and dumb, I found myself on the platform, as she gave me instructions. What they were, I don’t know. Did she say she loved me? Did she tell me why? If she did, I didn’t hear, but I don’t think she did. I climbed the step up to the carriage door and nearly toppled over trying to turn around and face her. She pushed a bag onto the carriage floor that I’d never noticed her carrying, and letter into my pocket. But she didn’t look at me.

Is it anywhere near Brighton? I asked looking down on the top of her head where her blonde hair met the black parting.

I can’t do it, Danny. I can’t do it anymore! She moved her hand to her mouth and seemed to take a bite. It’s for the best.

Without looking up, she turned away and walked down the platform. I watched her disappear, hoping she’d turn round and come running up the platform and say it was all a mistake and what was she thinking of and we’d go to London Zoo for a treat. But my mum disappeared in the crowd and became Sally Anne Barlow instead, who she was before I was born.

CHAPTER 2

Chapter 2? Already? mocked Marj, looking over my shoulder. Well, it wasn’t Chapter 2, just the title. Then she called me William for while till I gave in and asked her who William was.

William Shakespeare, silly. The Bard of England.

That didn’t explain it either, but she said I could change the title to Much Ado About Nothing, except Mr Shakespeare beat me to the title.

The hardest thing to do was find a seat on the train. It wasn’t like there weren’t any seats; it’s just that I couldn’t bring myself to sit anywhere. If I sat down then someone would notice I was on my own, I’d notice I was on my own, so I kept moving. I walked straight through the first carriage without looking for a seat, or looking at anyone. I moved through the second carriage again without looking for a seat or looking at anyone. I thought if this was a really long train I could keep walking through the carriages till it stopped at Kelling, then I could get off without anybody noticing me. Then I realised that I didn’t know where Kelling was, how long it would take to get there, or how I would know when it got there.

I didn’t want to think about that so I kept moving. I lost count of the carriages I walked through, but as soon as I entered one, I’d look straight ahead at the door at the other end and keep moving till I reached it, slide the door open and start all over again. I opened one door and suddenly found I was in a different kind of carriage. There was a corridor along the side and compartments with First written across each door. I walked along the corridor and noticed most of the compartments were empty. I wondered what was wrong with them. If they where First, why hadn’t the passengers filled them up first? Or perhaps they were for the first stop and people sat in the right carriage for their stop. I should be in the carriage for Kelling, which might be the first stop, or the last for all I knew. Maybe it was the first carriage after the engine, in which case I’d reached the end of the train already and I wouldn’t be walking to Kelling. I couldn’t budge the door at the end of the carriage so I knew I had reached front of the train.

I thought about turning round and walking back through the train, but I would be noticed then and I didn’t like the idea of being noticed or asked any questions so I slipped into the first empty compartment and sat down, throwing my bag onto the floor. I’d been alone before, many times, but I’d never been as alone as this before. Waiting at the school gates, hoping Mum wouldn’t be late, watching everyone else leave, seeing them all stare at me, looking down the road, waiting to hear the clip-clop of her high heels and always alone. Then listening to tales of forgetting the time, having to work and extra shift in the Dog and Gun, missing the bus and getting run over by another one. When it got cold, I’d wait in the phone box by the school gate to stop the wind from blowing through me. Sometimes I’d make imaginary phone calls or just pick the phone and pretend to make a phone call if anyone passed the phone box.

Hello! This is Danny Barlow. I’ve been kidnapped by a gang of desperados from Deptford. James Bond is the only one who can save me now. Send him with some Turkish Delight, I’m starving.

"Hello, Bob The Football Scout here. I’ve just seen