Okay, I shouldn’t have shouted. But why can’t she understand?

I tried again.

“I can’t see his colour, Mum, I told you. It keeps changing, and that’s not good. People’s colours shouldn’t change. There’s something wrong with him.”

She was so cross with me. “But you said he was green. You tell me Laura’s green, and you love her, don’t you? What’s the difference?”

Laura is mum’s best friend. I do like her. She never puts on a silly voice when she talks to me, just uses the same voice that she uses when she talks to mum.

I’m trying not to lose it. “That’s a different green. Laura’s green is clear and fresh like grass. Dave’s is muddy and brown. It’s horrible. And anyway, he’s not always green. Sometimes he’s brown, sometimes I can’t see a colour at all. That’s never happened before. I don’t know what it means, but it can’t be good.”

Mum pressed her lips together. She wasn’t buying it; she didn’t want to know.

“Don’t you think it’s time you grew out of all this hokum?” she scolded. She was chopping onions, so she didn’t look at me.

“It’s NOT hokum. It’s an actual thing. They call it called synaesthesia.” I was losing control of my voice. I took a deep breath. Best not get into it again.

“You and your big words!” She was hiding her smile in the onions.

“I’m going to my room. Can Cecy come over for tea?” Cecy is my best friend in all the world. We’ve lived next door to each other forever. Her proper name is Cecilia, but neither of us could say that when we were little, so it became Cecy, and has been ever since.

“It’s raining,” Mum said. As if THAT’S got anything to do with it.

“So? We’ll hang out in my room.”

She screwed up her mouth in that ‘I’m not sure that’s a good idea’ expression she gets nowadays.

“You’re getting a bit old to hang out in your bedroom with girls, Jake,” she said.

“Mum, I’m not even going to big school till September.” (Don’t you just hate the way grown-ups call secondary school ‘big school?’ And now I’m doing it.) “And anyway, Cecy fancies Tom, not me.”

“She shouldn’t be fancying anyone,” Mum muttered. But she didn’t say no, so I sent Cecy a text.

Cecy’s ace. She’s purple – a rich sort of purple, like the wrapper on a chocolate bar. Only significant people are purple. She wasn’t sure she liked it when I told her the first time.

“But how can I be purple?” she’d complained. “I’ve got red hair. It would look gross.”

You have to explain some things to people.

“It’s not something you wear like a dress or a hoody,” I’d sighed. “It’s you. The colour you are. Your aura, if you like, but I so hate that word.”

She’d got used to it and likes it now. Even more when I told her it was one of the best colours.

Ten minutes after she got my text, she walked into my room.

“What’s occurin’ bro’,” she said, high fiving me. We’ve been watching re-runs of Gavin and Stacey. We love it. Do they say that in Wales, I wonder?

“Dave!” I grumbled, pushing away my maths homework. Cecy would help me later. She’s brilliant at maths and sciences, I’m good at English and languages. We help each other. We don’t do each other’s homework, but she explains the maths to me, I explain the long words to her. She’ll be an engineer, for sure. Mum says I won’t get to be anything if I don’t stop dreaming.

“What’s he done now?” Cecy said, collapsing onto the beanbag. “Didn’t you say you hadn’t seen him all week?”

“We haven’t. That’s the problem. Mum keeps banging on about the fact that he hasn’t phoned her and it’s not like him to disappear without a word. So, I said, it’s just like someone who swings from muddy green to murky brown or sometimes even nothing. And good riddance.”

“That was a good idea,” said Cecy. It was clear she meant the opposite.

“Well! I hate the way he tries to pal up with me, talking to me like I’m a kitten or something. And when I complain about it, Mum says he’s trying to be nice.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“People shouldn’t have to try to be nice, Cecy,” I said. I was getting hot and cross again. “They should be nice. Or not, as in his case.”

“So, you had another go at convincing her,” she stated. Cecy’s always practical. She never tells me I’m being stupid. Well, that’s not true. She does if I am, but she knows my gift is real.

I snorted. “She won’t listen. She’s crazy about him and she thinks I’m behaving ‘like this’ because I’m jealous and angry and don’t want a new dad.”

“And do you? I mean, if you liked his colour, would you?” she asked.

“Yeah, I guess so. Why not? It’d be awesome to have someone to discuss books with and go to exhibitions.”

Cecy rolled back on the bean bag and laughed so hard she had to grab her sides. “Only you, Jake, only you,” she spluttered. “Most boys would want a dad to play football with or even online games. Not talk about books and museums.” She collapsed into giggles again.

I put on my pious face. I like books. I love words and how they work. Reading is a million times better than kicking a ball around. Cecy can laugh at me though, I don’t mind that.

Mum shouted from the bottom of the stairs. “Kids! Come and have some tea.”

I pulled a face and whispered. “She doesn’t think we should hang out in here together. She thinks we might snog or something.”

Cecy mimed vomiting, and then we were both rolling about laughing. That caused Mum to investigate. She flung the door open. Cecy grinned at her from the beanbag. I righted my desk chair before she could tell me off for swinging on it and stood up.

“C’mon, Cecy,” I said. “I think it’s spag bol for tea.”

We raced each other down the stairs, and Mum followed without a word. The TV was on. It was the local news, the one that comes after the main news. Bor-ing! I looked for the remote to change the channel.

Only I stopped dead because for once the local news wasn’t boring. In the top right-hand corner of the screen was a photo of Dave. At first, I thought I was seeing things. Mum came through the door just as the commentator said:

“Local businessman David Saunders resisted arrest today, punching one police officer and pushing a WPC to the ground, when they tried to detain him at his home. He is charged with ten counts of fraud, bigamy, embezzlement, GBH and resisting arrest. He will be remanded in custody until his case is heard in the Magistrates Court on Friday.”

“What’s bigamy?” Cecy whispered in my ear. I shook my head, warning her to be quiet. Mum’s face was like a stone. They ran a clip of Dave being taken into custody. I grabbed the remote and turned the TV off, but not before I noticed that Dave’s colour had stabilised.

It was deep black.

Mum hadn’t moved. She kept staring at the blank screen.

I took her hand. Cecy nudged me and mouthed that she’d better go, then she tiptoed out. The sound of the back door closing snapped Mum out of her trance.

She looked straight at me. “If you say, I told you so,” she started, her voice choking.

I shook my head hard. “I would never,” I protested. “But I can’t help being glad.”

Perhaps that wasn’t the right thing to say either, I don’t know. I know I hate it when she cries. I’m hopeless at those times.

She sank onto the sofa and held her arms out to me. I went in for a cuddle – it would have been mean to pull my usual face and turn away. I let her cry. That’s what she used to do for me, though it’s ages since I cried. At least, ages since I cried with Mum. I keep things to myself these days.

After five hours (OK, I suppose it was two minutes) I squirmed, and she sighed and let me go.

“From now on,” she sniffled, “I will consult my personal oracle before so much as going for a drink with someone.” She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and pushed her hair out of her face.

“So, what colour are we looking for?” she rallied. “Obviously not brown or green.”

I was cautious about answering. “Brown and green are fine,” I said. “Just not muddy brown or murky green.”

“What about red or yellow? What about pink and blue?” she was launching into the rainbow song and getting somewhat hysterical.

At that minute, the phone rang, and I ran to answer it.

“It’s Nana,” I said with relief, handing her the receiver.

Thank you, universe, I murmured to myself. Nana would have seen the news and could take over from now. She’d know what to do to cheer Mum up. There couldn’t be a better nana in the world. I love her to the moon and back.

And she’s a beautiful, clear, emerald green.

THE END

© Burrow Publishing 2020