'What do you think?'
He looked for half a minute, swung the gate with his foot and for a while there was just the hinge singing over the silence.
'There's too much sky Dad – and it's too much on the ground. Where's my bedroom?'
We walked through the house listening to the sounds it made, we looked through rooms, lifted old newspapers, coughed in the dust – rubbed spaces in the grime on windows, names and faces. There were cupboards to open, doors that led to walls, walls that looked like doors and everywhere the smell of wood rotted to the core. Sea views don't come much cheaper than this. His sound invaded the place, I heard him crashing through corridors as I flicked through months of junk mail, singing, shouting at echoes, loud hellos roared up staircases he hadn't mustered the courage to climb.
I kept one thing, a note left on the back of the front door, printed capitals from Mrs Jones giving me the number of a cleaner and a handyman. Roughly scribbled as afterthought an apology for not being able to find the key that opened the main back bedroom on the second floor.
'Dad, come look.' I pocketed the note and climbed the stairs. He was perched on two packing crates, his forehead resting on the glass of the large bay window at the back of the house, which he wiped as I approached. 'Look – a massive boat. It's hardly moving.' We watched it together in silence clouding the window even more and then I lifted him onto my shoulders.
'Don't climb on packing crates – or any dangerous stuff. You've got to be really careful at the minute before everything is sorted out.'
'Where is it going – is it going to France? Is this my room?'
I pretended to crash into things and for a few seconds he laughed as he always had at the joke, then just as quickly, leaned so that all I could do was put him down. He ran to the window again and carried on watching the container ship hardly moving along the horizon.
'I don't know where it's going Tom'. This room was as good as any and had a connecting door to the one I had thought just as good as any for myself. 'This will be a good room – once we clear the mess and get your toys and things out.' I waited for a sign he'd heard. 'I'm right next door...we can knock like we used to...do you remember that T-'
'When are we getting the dog? You said we were getting a dog Dad. Are we getting it today?'
I made tea – isn't that the thing to do? Went out in the garden where I watched him run, mimic the sounds his toy made – sometimes he'd stop suddenly, look back, ignore my smile, my wave – keep looking for something else and then uncomfortable i'd look around and see the house – the outline angled into the sky – the irregular lines. Always when I looked back again the play had started – muffled whoops, a plane's engine coming crashing down.
The garden didn't stop; a fence had once set the boundary but it was long defeated, rose up stupidly in places for the wind to beat it down. Where garden became salt marsh, had been lost to time. A shed made a marker – he wandered towards it, I watched him clumsily kick the ball we'd just bought – a heavy leather one I knew wouldn't just blow away, but even a five year old can see that things don't mean that much any more, that what you are left with once the paper is torn and discarded is pretty much what was there before – and that simply isn't enough.
He opened the door and without hesitating walked inside. The mist made the view hazy, I could just about see his light blue coat, the cuffs orange and rolled back so his hands could escape. Then he closed the door. Or the wind closed the door.
I waited, probably a minute, tried not to panic – i'd been warned that smothering now could only do more harm than good after everything. So I walked casually, pretended to examine the small rockery, the empty pond. Stopped and fiddled with the washing line – killing me, boring into me that I couldn't see him. Trying to be calm. I called his name – nothing, normal - he never answered first time, called again – practised, steady. Nothing.
Something stopped me shouting but I covered the ground quickly. Through the gap of door I saw his outline, his back to me, drawing something in the grime of the floor, an unbroken monologue just audible above the creak of the shifting walls. I strained to catch the words - failed; whispered his name as though he were a sleepwalker. The monologue continued. I opened the door slightly, scanned the abandoned pots on shelves, the stiff paintbrushes, the jars of stuff left behind because I didn't know what else to do.
'I'm hungry.' He held out the football for me to take which didn't register at first. At his feet whatever pictures had been drawn were long gone – scuffed away. I took his hand, feeling guilty.
'There's some biscuits in the car – then we can sort your room out. Fish and Chips for tea.'
Comments
ashb | March 9, 2011 - 23:37
Like the title Too Much Sky, and it seemed to fit. A lot of questions about these two, so enough to keep the reader going. Something about the setup reminds me of a children's book by David Almond - Skellig?
fatboy74 | March 9, 2011 - 23:46
Hi ashb, thanks for reading, I haven't read the book but sort of know the plot - angel thing living in the garage. This will be a longish short story if I can muster the energy - did not want to give too much away at the start so glad there's enough there to keep going. Cheers. :-)
insertponceyfre... | March 10, 2011 - 08:04
I like the sense of building panic towards the end, and the clues that something bad's happened in the past (to the boy). Please do keep going fatboy!
Silver Spun Sand | March 10, 2011 - 13:07
I agree, fb. 'I like your style', as they say;-) Do keep this one going. You have more than whetted my appetite.
Tina;-)
celticman | March 10, 2011 - 14:11
Too much sky. I really like that. And the plants at the end that something bad has happened are perfect. You need to do another.
fatboy74 | March 10, 2011 - 21:26
Hi Insert, Tina and Celticman, thank you so much for reading and for the encouragement, i'll try and keep going. Cheers :-)
rjnewlyn | March 10, 2011 - 23:03
Yes I think this is very good and definitely worth keeping going with. Like the others, I liked the unsettling thread you kept going, without it becoming too obvious or overbearing. Nicely balanced.
Rob
Overthetop1 | March 11, 2011 - 02:33
It is really atmospheric and you do want to know what happens, and what has happened in the past. Definitely keep going. There is a nice edgy feel to it.
Sooz006 | March 11, 2011 - 10:20
Okay, it's early in the morning and of course we have to take into account my senility. For this reason I read over a third and then had to come back and start all over again. I began on the wrong foot and got the characters mixed up. It read to me as though the child was the narrator. This led to a whole heap of problems. It was wrong that the child was the one to flick through the mail and read the note. Then I figured the child wasn't a child but a big strong man with down's syndrome to be able to fling his dad on his shoulders.Then I decided that maybe the dad was dead and the child was doing some time flit through past and present in the house... then I went back to the beginning and began with the left foot instead of the right one and it all made perfect sense.
Loved every word of this (apart from maybe the bit that confused me as to who is who) Really looking forward to the next part. The tone is perfect and, as said before, enough question that need answers to make me continue reading.
I think you could become by favourite ABC writer.
Faveourite line: There were cupboards to open, doors that led to walls, walls that looked like doors
fatboy74 | March 11, 2011 - 10:27
That's a big surprise thank you very much for the cherries - my first for prose -yeah, I might get addicted now. :-)
Hi Rob, thanks so much and really pleased you liked this. I'm trying to make it the kind of story I like to read so i'm really pleased you think it's working. :-)
Hi Overthetop, thank you for reading and foryour kind comments - i'll put the poems on the backburner for a while and try to finish this in a few parts. :-)
skinner_jennifer | March 11, 2011 - 11:27
Hi Fatboy,
it's so refreshing to read your pieces, this is so
well thought out and I love the way you ended it
on a kind of cliff hanger, leading to something
very mysterious, can't wait to read more.
Thanks for the read.
Jenny.
Highhat | March 11, 2011 - 17:23
excellent indeed Fb. like Jenny says a cliff hanger. I think it may be a bit sad but I think you describe the child's attitude really well and the father as well. Well done all in all....
cheers
;)Pia
geordietaf | March 11, 2011 - 19:21
Yes, definitely a 'next please' moment.
fatboy74 | March 11, 2011 - 21:12
Hi Sooz, thats a very funny comment and a great thing to say - i'll try my best! Thank you very much and big congratulations on the story of the week. :-)
fatboy74 | March 11, 2011 - 21:18
Hi Jenny, Thanks for reading, you know what i'm like about writing stories, i just want to get it finished, it's already bugging me that I don't know what's going to happen next. Your kind words greatly appreciated. :-)
Hi Pia, I'm glad you are enjoying this and you are right, without giving too much away it's not going to be happy one whatever direction it takes. Thanks for reading. :-)
Hi geordietaf - thanks for reading this one. I better get going soon then. :-)
skinner_jennifer | March 12, 2011 - 09:49
Hi fatboy,
you know how I love a mystery, like not knowing
what's around the corner, I love writing them and
reading them, sometimes a thought pops into my
head and I go with the flow, you are such a
professional writer, that I know it will happen for
you eventually. Good luck.
Jenny.
fatboy74 | March 12, 2011 - 22:19
Hi Jenny, I'm a massive fan of ghost stories, in particular M R James, which is a lot about atmosphere and tension. That mystery you describe is what it's all about for me in stories.
Thank you so much for your confidence in me and kind words. I have a pretty good life, two wonderful kids, a fiancee, i live in beautiful countryside and I have a job I don't hate. I love writing and if people enjoy it i'm made up. Of course I would love to be in print, particularly with a collection of poems - but if it doesn't happen ever, then it's not the end of the world. I'm still a relative novice and am learning and want to get better as we all do.
Lovely comments like yours make all this writing worthwhile so thank you.
Take care Jenny and enjoy the rest of the weekend.
:-)
Dynamaso | March 15, 2011 - 04:04
Just read this in one quick swallow and am off to read part 2. So far, I'm captivated by the potential of it all.
fatboy74 | March 16, 2011 - 15:00
Dynamaso you are very kind, I always feel like I pack a lot in a poem and spend about a thousand words saying nothing in a story! Glad you liked this. :-)
whiskey-corsage | August 18, 2011 - 06:26
Yes, yes, yes!
I agree with the others, the title "Too Much Sky" is really suitable. I always find it hard to cook up titles that are gripping and relevant to the story/poem but you've done it elegantly here.
"I strained to catch the words - failed; whispered his name as though he were a sleepwalker." I adore the use of semi-colon and hyphen here. And 'sleepwalker'--wow!
Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. -William Wordsworth
fatboy74 | August 25, 2011 - 11:55
Great name and many thanks for reading and kind words - i'm hoping to get this finished some time but i've been saying that for a while. Apologies for not responding sooner. Atb fatboy. :-)