Turner. Jonathan De Montfort

had recently become much more interesting, although sometimes I worried about the master. Other than that, the previous few weeks had been fairly smooth, except of course for the change in Hero’s behaviour. It was hard to put my finger on exactly what was different. He seemed withdrawn now even by his usual reserved standards.

      And then of course there was Vicki.

      The lights in the house were still off as I arrived, making the house more imposing than usual. Hero should have been home by now, and I had the sense that something was wrong. Was it the smell in the air? The way the shadows formed around the porch windows? I really couldn’t tell, but having no choice, I pushed my key into the lock.

      The house was cold—strange, since I could hear the fizzing and pinging of the central heating. My heart was beating faster, and my lungs were snatching at the air like an overweight hamster running in its wheel. I quietly closed the door behind me, but I could see nothing, so I fumbled towards the light switch on my right.

      The hall was empty. There was somebody there, though, in the darkness. I couldn’t see them, but they were there. They were in the kitchen. I could feel it.

      I padded over to the kitchen but dared not enter. The air was thick. Was it tension? Or could I somehow smell the breath of the intruder? I snaked my hand inside the door, feeling for the light switch. Preparing to duck quickly, I switched it on.

      The light hit like a slap to the face.

      ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I shouted.

      Hero was sitting by himself at the table, the dinner he’d presumably prepared left untouched. After Mum left, all of the clothing-related duties fell to me and all of the cooking to him. It suited him, really; he loved food, always had. He’d always been a little chubby, but in a cute way.

      I barged forward. ‘What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark on your own? You scared me half to death. I nearly ran in here and slapped you.’

      I drew up short before I could smack him upside the head. Maybe he was missing Mum. I think it affected him more than it did me. I missed her too, but I had to remain strong for him. And Dad.

      They say your heart sinks when you’re sad, but I didn’t think that was true. When Dad told us those fateful words that Mum was gone, I don’t think either of us realised that we were never going to see her again. We’d expected her to walk back through the door at any moment. We probably still did. But back then, it’d felt as if the world were closing in and I couldn’t breathe, as if someone had locked me in a wooden box and buried me alive, and I kept punching and punching, trying to get out, but no matter what I did, it didn’t work.

      Sometimes I caught myself referring to Mum in the past tense, and it scared me. Maybe we had a link, a biological connection that a son naturally has with his mother, and I knew she was never coming back—and it wasn’t because she didn’t want to. But I realised that was a stupid idea. Why would Dad lie to us?

      I kept telling Hero that it wasn’t his fault, but I could see every day in his eyes that he believed Mum had left because of him. That hurt more than anything; I hated to see him in pain. I wished I could just reach into his cells and suck out the distress like a Hoover.

      I lay a hand on his shoulder. ‘Come on, bruv, I understand. I miss Mum too.’

      He glanced up from his meal and then back, staring at the arrangement of broccoli and carrots on his plate, and shook his head slowly.

      So it wasn’t about Mum. ‘Is this about Felicity?’

      He looked up and pursed his lips.

      ‘Already? Man, girls are harsh.’

      ‘She’s fine,’ he mumbled. ‘It’s just not gonna work out, that’s all.’

      I slid my arm the rest of the way around his shoulder and gave him an affectionate hug. ‘Now, more importantly—where’s my dinner?’

      He turned to face me, horrified at my inhumanity, but as soon as he realised I was joking, he started to grin.

      ‘See? That’s all I was looking for, that smile of yours. But seriously, mate, where’s my dinner?’

      He started to giggle. They say that it warms your heart when you make another human being laugh. I admit, it made me feel good.

      ‘It’s in the oven,’ he said when he stopped chortling. ‘I guess I’d better do my homework.’

      ‘Okay, thanks.’ I plucked the dish out of the oven using a towel. ‘Bruv, it’ll be okay. These things always work out in the end.’

      He nodded and smiled forlornly before going upstairs. I didn’t see him again that night. I guess he wanted to get his homework done and think things out for himself.

      Whatever those things were.

      The next morning at breakfast, Hero was equally sombre. He couldn’t have slept much, because he was already in the kitchen when I arrived.

      ‘Morning, James,’ Dad said with his usual exuberance. ‘Hero’s really getting into this cooking malarkey. He even cooked bacon and eggs again this morning and made my coffee. I could definitely get used to this.’

      Hero gave him an empty smile. I noticed that he wasn’t eating himself, nor was there any sign that he had.

      ‘Not hungry?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Are you okay, bruv? You normally eat like a horse.’

      ‘Just not feeling great.’

      ‘Shall we go?’ I started towards the door.

      He hung back. ‘I’m feeling really rough. Maybe I’m not well enough to go to school today.’

      ‘Hmm. Well, let’s head out, see how you go. If you still feel bad, you can always come back, right?’

      ‘Okay.’

      We walked to school in silence. Hero seemed intent on studying the pavement. As we arrived at the school gates, I said, ‘Okay, bruv. See you later.’

      ‘Can we have lunch together today?’

      ‘What?’ He’d never wanted to have lunch with me before.

      ‘Just be good to spend time with you.’

      Liar.

      ‘Maybe you are ill?’ I reached for his forehead as if to check for a fever.

      ‘It’s okay,’ he mumbled, pulling away.

      Damn it all. Something was definitely wrong. I knew I should work out a way to have lunch with him, if only to find out what was going on—but I couldn’t. I was meeting with Vicki. Shit.

      ‘Bruv, I can’t today, I’ve got stuff on. Anyway, you’ve got your friends to have lunch with, right?’

      ‘I guess.’

      Hmm. ‘Well, have a good day. I’ll see you at home later, okay?’

      ‘Sure.’

      The day was the usual mishmash of classes and gym. Oh, and Vicki.

      Yes indeed, Vicki. God, she wore a short skirt. Was that even legal? Fair enough, though—she had great legs. She deserved to show them off.

      When I first met her, she’d been standing at the school gates and chatting with one of her friends, who promptly disappeared as I approached. She must’ve been waiting for me but was trying to be subtle about it. About as subtle as a brick through a window.

      ‘Hey, James,’ she purred.

      ‘Hey, how you doin’?’ That Joey from Friends thing really shouldn’t work, but it did. Girls were so shallow; it was almost too easy sometimes.

      She giggled in that way only teenage girls can, the way that made you feel happy yet on edge. You were never sure if they