Author: Linday

The End of the Road
Illustrated by Elaine Romano
Written by Fiona Linday

1

The End of the Road
“Come out now, Lizzy, it’s teatime.” I could hear Mum plead through the shed keyhole. Tempting, but the yummy smell of chips had already given that one away. Craftily wafting in on a heat haze, trying to coax me out. How could she even think I could eat, though? If only…” I started. “What happens if it’s all my fault?” I balled.
“Don’t be a silly sausage. No one’s to blame, accidents just happen!” Mum tried her best to bring me round.
It had been a gorgeous summer’s day leading up to the terrible upset. It all started well, we were in the garden aggravating tadpoles.
My big sis and me. We’d dragged them out of the pond using a stick and plopped them all wobbly, on the lawn. The jelly was cold and squiggly when you poked it. But then Jess went off on one of her high and mighty, hand on hip thingy-me-bobs, totally blaming me.
This was cos Mum had started on her warpath, “What an earth do you two think you’re doing? These are living creatures and deserve our respect!” I hadn’t really thought about it, like that. I was having fun forgetting they were alive.
Still, I was so shocked when Jess said, “ She started it.” I mean. As if I would!
“ Now, quickly put them back into the pond before they die! I’m surprised at both of you.” Mum’s voice grew quieter, clearly looking disappointed. We did as she asked. Mumbling to one another. I felt my cheeks sting with the glow.
Jess squawked, “I tried to tell her, Mum, you know how silly
she is sometimes!”
Ner-ner, na ner-ner, went through my head but I kept quiet. Mum was not at all interested in our excuses and continued pegging out the washing, keeping an eye on the clean up.
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I should have left it but silly me, I went on, “Charming, my idea was it? You were doing it as much as me,” just loud enough for Jess to hear.
“Just get on with it or we’ll be in trouble and it’ll all be down to you!” Jess got me. I hate it when she makes out she knows everything, like she’s the boss and she’s only two years older. I tried to ignore her and wanted to call for my friend Maria, from just up the road but she’d gone out. Worst luck, I had to put up with my sis until we’d made a den under an old blue holey blanket thrown over the lilac tree branch. Luckily, it became so scorching that Mum let us have the paddling pool out. And we got changed into our swimmers, watching the bubbles blowing right across to next doors garden. That was down to the washing up liquid I’d sneaked in the warm water when I was filling it up with the bowl. We were having a laugh when the Mr. Whippy van jingle sent us searching for pocket money. It was our end of the road that gave us the time to wrap up in a towel, slip into our flip-flops and run to the van. There we grabbed a 99 with red sauce , before the music started up again.
On the drive lay our black Sukie, stretched full out in the sun. Sukie-Ackie was her proper name. I sang a short chorus of, “I am Siamese if you ple-ease,” whilst offering her a little of my ice cream off my finger end. She lapped it up with a long rattling purr, blinking as if to say, thanks.
Sukie was checking out for Horace, her kitten, coming to push his big nose in. As usual. But not today. He was the only one left of five and so cute, now about a year old.
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Sukie relaxed cos Horace was nowhere to be seen. I bet he was hunting in the back field. A right scraggy stripy moggy, we weren’t even sure who his dad was. But that didn’t matter.
When I looked up from licking the drips melting down my cone, Sukie had pushed off to find a bit of shade to go wash her whiskers. So I kept on going through the side gate to our back garden and the cool paddling pool. Before long, Mum joined us coming out from the back door. I noticed a frown on Mum’s shadowy face cos her mascara had run. My clever sister instinctively picked up on her red eyes and ran up watching her cradle a newspaper package. Then they were cuddling, those two. I didn’t know why. Somehow they fitted. It didn’t bother me cos I was more of a daddies girl, anyway.
Earlier, we’d been fighting off a swarm of ants with boiling water and brushing them away. So I wasn’t phased out by the bundle now drooped over the compost heap. I was more interested in watching the last few sergeant ants lamely wriggle. Curiosity got the better of me though, when my sister caught the sad face.
“What’s the matter? You two look as though you’ve lost ten pounds or something!” I tried to get a giggle.
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Mum was scooting round the subject saying, “You’ll need to get washed up before tea, your Dad’s home early today. Do you want to eat outside?” She made out like she was okay busy rushing into the kitchen. I let out a sigh. Why do I never get what’s happening?
Me being Lizzy, I couldn’t leave it there. I pestered Jess, “How come you’re allowed to know what’s wrapped in the newspaper and I’m not? I’m sick of this, I’ll just find out when you’re not looking, that’s all!” I jeered.
My sister blew-up like a toad, twice her size and blocking my path. “LIZZY ALICE JONES don’t you even think about it! We don’t need any more bad luck!”
But I was too quick, wrong-footing her using my basketball attack skills. One nudge of the paper with my bare foot revealed Horace’s grey, slinky tail sticking out. I gulped, scared. “ What’s happened?”
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“Now you see what you’ve done! Dad’s supposed to tell you later. You’re too young to understand about learner drivers and three point turns. He’s good at these kinds of explaining things. The man didn’t mean to squash our Horace when he clipped the curb. He said ‘Sorry’ to Mum, only it was his foot slipped when he was practising!” She gabbled. This was too much. Brushing past her, I bolted for the shed. To escape from her rattling on and all the horrid confusion. Where the air was stale but at least I could think. Parked on Dad’s sit-on lawn mower, huge tears rolled down my face making my costume soggy, again.
‘Sobbing with snot,’ is how my lovely sister described me to Mum. She was right. Mum tried her hardest to comfort me about losing our little kitten cat.
She explained how none of us know how long we’re going to live. “The Lord gives and the Lord takes away,” I could tell she’d joined me, crying. “We don’t understand either, do we, Graham?” I latched onto the last part, hearing Dad’s work boots crunching on the loose bits of the patio.
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Sulkily I repeated, “It’s all my fault. I should’ve given him some of my ice cream, too. If only I’d called him he wouldn’t have been lying about in the road and…it’s not fair! I hate living at the end of the road!” My nana called it a dead end and she was about right. I stopped myself sobbing by taking in a huge breath. Then I leant my chin in my cupped hands and slowly let it out. Think nice thoughts, makes your tears go away. I’d give it a try.
Usually, our road was alright. Like, the time when the Rotary Club came down, with Santa on the back of a van. That was at Christmas a few years ago. Then, I got an Action Man whilst they turned the float round. My big sister, Jess, got a bead pack. She didn’t like her pressie as much as me. “What a rip-off!” Jess moaned, dragging her heals back to the front door. Usually brilliant things happened down our end of the road. Not sad things. And it worked. I had stopped crying thinking about all the good things.
About the fields on the other side of the fence that stopped the cars going past and about how lucky we were. Quite lucky, really. Mum got that I was a bit happier with me being quiet, “Let’s get the blanket down and your Dad and I’ll give you two the bumps,” she reeled me in. What was she up to? I had to see.
“Even I know the bumps are for birthdays,” I blurted whilst ever so gingerly pushing open the shed door. I fell out and buried my face deep into my Dad’s six-pack. I needed that hug. There, my tears were completely wiped away. Luckily, he didn’t mind the mess I left, like a snail going across his T shirt. We talked about making a cross for Horace’s grave, later. Safe now, Dad walked me back inside the kitchen and it wasn’t long before tea.
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