Mike was astounded. Truly. He had never witnessed such a reaction from his son – not even when he’d been a toddler and tantrums were almost expected. He had assumed the kids would be happy to head to his mum’s for her special cake, and indeed Darla was – very much so. Murphy on the other hand. His face fell a mile at the very suggestion. He had bargained to be left at home, and then when that hadn’t worked and Mike had simply said that Gran was expecting them so there was no way out really he had stormed off to his room with a face like thunder. A few minutes later he had appeared at the car looking very sour-faced indeed and had spent the entire afternoon in silence.
Mike was stunned. It was so unlike his son to behave this way; he really couldn’t fathom what the problem was at all. And now they had been home for a while but not a word from him at all. He hadn’t apologised – in fact he hadn’t spoken at all as far as he was aware. Just gone straight back to his portrait sketches at the top of the stairs. He was like a boy possessed. Mike sincerely hoped this wasn’t the start of teenage stroppiness coming early; he definitely wasn’t ready to start dealing with that. He’d thought he had a couple of years left before then. He sighed wearily. Maybe it was just a bad day – maybe the portrait sketches had made Murphy think of his mum, and he’d been upset to be interrupted. Maybe that was it. It would probably all blow over pretty quickly anyway. He certainly hoped so. This was not the Murphy he knew and loved.
He had settled himself immediately again in front of the mirror with his sketch pad the moment they were back in the house and hadn’t said two words to anyone. It was all very strange. Mike had been so surprised by this unexpected twist that he hadn’t even told Murphy off for being rude and stroppy. He really hoped it wasn’t the beginning of the terrible teens as he had feared. He would have to be much tougher on Murphy in the future if it was. He sighed.
“Daddy – what’s wrong?” Darla was sitting happily in his lap playing with her doll “Peaches”. She was pretending to be a mum – and doing a very good job of it in fact. The doll was all swaddled in her blankets on her knee, sleeping very soundly indeed.
“Nothing really darling. Don’t you worry,” Mike stroked her lovely blonde hair affectionately – she looked so much like her mum.
“Are you sad because of Murphy? He was in a funny mood today.” She rocked Peaches back and forth, calming her imaginary snuffles.
“He was, wasn’t he? I don’t know what’s gotten into him. We’ll have to keep and eye on him, you and me. Make sure he’s OK.”
“We will daddy, we will.” Darla snuggled into him and settled herself in for a nice long cuddle/nap. He bent and kissed the top of her head and wrapped her up in his arms contentedly. He had great kids really – he didn’t need to worry too much. He just needed to keep and eye on Murphy – that was all.
*
He couldn’t believe his dad had dragged him off to Gran’s house for half the afternoon. Just when he managed to come up with a plan to resolve his confusion his dad makes him go out instead to eat cake! He was furious! He was certain he would have missed any events in the mirror. They would simply have waited until he was out before showing themselves. It was so frustrating – and now he was sitting in front of the same mirror, no further on than at the beginning of the day just watching his own reflection staring back at him. He sighed. He didn’t feel as though he was getting anywhere with this at all. He also, whenever he let himself think it through, felt just a little bit bonkers for doing all of this in the first place.
Still, it was only his first day at this. He couldn’t rush at it. He had known that this could well take a while to sort out, and sort it out he would. Most definitely. He just had to know what had happened: he had to prove himself sane. Whether that meant him not seeing anything else (therefore proving he hadn’t lost it) that was OK, or whether it meant him seeing something again…. he would deal with that when it became necessary to. He hadn’t really thought what he’d do in that case.
He stared moodily at the mirror trying to will something to happen. Maybe he had to want it for it to work. He concentrated with all of his might. Nothing. Mind you, when he first saw Jake he hadn’t even been thinking about it at all. He’d just been wandering along, minding his own business. Maybe that’s what he’d have to do. Pretend not to be looking after all. He got up slowly and carefully, looking like someone trying to avoid setting off a bomb, and backed away from the mirror on tiptoes. He rounded the corner at the top of the stairs and headed a little way down the landing, settling himself next to the banisters where he still had a good view of the mirror but hopefully couldn’t be seen. Maybe this was the way to get to the truth. He certainly felt much more hopeful about it.
He opened his sketchbook to a new page and started trying to sketch the staircase. Something slightly different to help him pass the time and keep him focused. Also, it was good practise for his perspective work his teacher kept nagging him about. It was his most major flaw as an artist – his use of perspective. Or his lack of it! He could never quite get it right in his mind. He had the rules and guidelines set out for him by his teacher on numerous occasions but they never seemed to stick somehow. It was very frustrating and it really limited what he could successfully reproduce.
He started to construct his page, marking out key points of his view so that he proportioned his page correctly. The edge of a stair here, a banister rail there, a picture on the right hand side. He then went into more detail, making sure to include the landing and the mirror in there also. After all, that was the main reason for him being there on the landing doing the sketch in the first place. That mirror. He chanced a glance at it out of the corner of his eye: nothing. He almost daren’t look at it directly really in case he ruined something or stopped something from happening. Quite what might happen he wasn’t all that sure. He still couldn’t quite believe he had been suckered into all of this. Why was he spending his half term keeping tabs on a mirror? It made no sense at all. But he couldn’t stop himself. His curiosity had been awakened and he simply had to know for certain if what he had seen was real. Had he seen Jake looking back at him? His mind was looping round and round in circles around this key point: he had seen Jake. Missing Jake. The boy everyone was searching so desperately for and was so convinced that they would never see again: he had seen him. Maybe that was why he hadn’t just dismissed this whole thing – he wanted to be able to bring good news – to tell everyone that Jake was alive and well, that he had found him.
He continued sketching and eying the mirror out of the corner of his eye for the rest of that day but saw nothing unusual in the mirror – only his own look of frustration. Bedtime came and went and Murphy was eventually sent off to bed by his dad, who clearly thought Murphy had gone quietly bonkers that day, as he was giving him some seriously worried looks.
Nor did Murphy notice anything unusual the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that. Each day he sat at his vigil keeping watch but with no luck whatsoever. Each day he had to be forced by his dad to move from his spot on the landing in order to do anything: eat, sleep – you name it. Each day he was disappointed. As it came up to Sunday evening and school loomed over him once more Murphy was forced to admit defeat. With a heavy heart he turned, sighing, away from the mirror and started to prepare himself for his next challenge: school. He trudged off towards his room disconsolately, taking his sketch pad and pencils with him. He must have imagined it all along. He had proved it to himself now: there was nothing unusual about that mirror. He couldn’t have seen what he’d thought he had seen. It was impossible. He could now forget about it finally and move on.
At least he had tried to prove his vision – he hadn’t just taken the easy option and walked away dismissing it. He had tested his theory and found it to be wrong. It was that simple. He could move on now with no nagging doubts. No niggling thoughts plaguing him about the whole experience. Nothing to worry him at all.
With that thought in mind he headed off to bed – he would need all of the strength he could muster to get himself through tomorrow. Back to school. His shoulders sagged considerably. Another day of pure invisibility. Of lessons where he might as well not be there. Of long breaks and lunchtimes where he had nothing to do and no one to talk to at all. Still, it had to be better than spending his entire time staring at a mirror. He smiled. Silver linings were sometimes hard to find but they were worth it once you actually found them.
*
“Murphy – time to get up!” Dad was shouting from downstairs, “We don’t want to be late!”
“No we certainly don’t,” Murphy muttered to himself, “That would be awful.” School once again. How had his half term gone by so quickly? He heaved himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom, dragging his tired feet along the carpet on the way. Another day of enthralling learning was already winging its way to him – he couldn’t wait.
He stumbled his way through his morning, not really having time to stop and think. He was dressed, fed and out of the door almost before he knew it, then had to sit through Darla’s favourite songs in the car – all of which sounded identical to him: sugary nonsense with no meaning whatsoever. She loved them anyway, and sang along at the top of her voice (not using the right words of course) but enjoying every second of it. It made his head hurt just to think about it. Then he was out of the car into the wind and making a dash for the school buildings. Only once he was settled into his desk in school did he have the opportunity to think at all. In fact, he had too much opportunity: far too much. It was just him, his thoughts and his work then with no interruptions of any kind for the rest of the day. His invisibility status hadn’t changed at all during the holidays – he was still absent while present as far as his classmates were concerned.
He tried not to let it get him down but it was hard work. He was a naturally sociable person really, although he was a little bit shy with new people. Once he got to know people though he was (he thought anyway) quite good fun and more than capable of having a laugh. But nobody here seemed interested in that at all. He hadn’t been born here, he talked funny and therefore they just weren’t interested in getting to know him. Or so it seemed. It never occurred to him that they might be a bit intimidated by him and actually they would like to get to know him. After all, he had lived in London which must have been fairly exciting. He could have interesting tales to tell – they would be quite interested to know about his life down there. But they couldn’t pluck up the courage to go to him and ask. It was easier just to keep on ignoring him really. Less chance of getting their feelings hurt that way.
But Murphy knew none of this, didn’t pick up on the looks some students gave him as he walked through the corridors of the school like a ghost: blending into the background as much as possible.
It was the end of lunch time and he was sitting quietly by the window with his book open in front of him. He had read the last paragraph at least four times already. There was something about reading in a public place that he found really difficult: he could never quite settle to it somehow. He was too easily distracted by the bustle around him. Even though he knew in this case that nobody was likely to be interrupting him at all, it still disturbed his concentration. He couldn’t focus on the words he was reading, and kept on reading and re-reading them as though he was stuck in a loop. In between these repetitions he kept looking out at the wind and grey skies with a little frown. He’d give anything to see a lovely southern blue sky looking back at him. Feel the hot sun on his face. Anything other than the monotonous cold here. It really got him down sometimes.
The bell was ringing out in the corridor so he knew it was time to get himself along to his last lesson of the day: History. One of his favourites actually. He always enjoyed the lessons and his teacher Mr Devine made them fun, exciting and interesting. He learned so much that it was hard to keep it all in his head really. There was a very real danger that the new lesson would push out the old one entirely! That was part of what he loved about the lessons. They challenged him to learn new things, but also to look at things he already knew from a different angle. You could never possibly say you were finished in one of Mr Devine’s lessons: there was always more work you could do. Murphy loved that. Sometimes, he got the impression that the work Mr Devine put him onto wasn’t something he’d planned but was something he had thought of there and then in response to the questions Murphy raised, or the answers he had given to the tasks he’d completed. He loved those tasks the most. They were always interesting and challenged him in so many ways. And Mr Devine knew how to make things appeal to him personally. He often made the tasks comic strip based, which Murphy loved – coming up with comic book versions of famous historical figures. Obviously done in his own unique style with his brand of shading and colour scheme choices. In fact, a lot of his work was currently displayed on the walls of the classroom all around him, which was something which Murphy was half proud of but also a bit embarrassed about too. He loved that he was doing good work (and he had really enjoyed doing it) but he worried about what his classmates thought of him and his work. In some ways he liked to keep that side of things to himself – to keep them private. They were very personal in lots of ways and he sometimes felt a bit like he was revealing too much about himself by showing his work. He would definitely be devastated if he heard anyone saying anything about his pictures that he didn’t like. He would be really gutted if that happened. But so far, so good. He had heard some people just saying they were good pictures – in fact he’d heard someone ask who had done them. But no one seemed interested enough to say anything to him personally.
Anyway, the fact of the matter was that he loved his history lessons and couldn’t wait to get there to get stuck into some facts. He gathered up his things, stuffing his lunch box into his bag and headed off to Mr Devine’s classroom whistling under his breath. It would at least be a good afternoon and then he’d be off home again. Safe at last!
*
He settled himself into his seat – at least not too many of his friends would see him sitting back here. It did mean that he had to sit with his knees virtually around his ears for the entire journey home because it was cramped back here in the little car. But never mind. At least he didn’t have to walk all the way home in the cold and the wind.
“Hi Gran,” Murphy received a grin via the rear view mirror from his Gran, “Thanks for coming to get me.”
“Don’t you worry my dear – it’s a pleasure, it really is. How was school today? Did you manage to catch up with your friends after the holidays?” Gran pulled the car out into the traffic as she spoke and they were on their way home.
“Yes Gran, they’re all fine.” Murphy didn’t want to get into the whole nightmare scenario with everyone at school with his Gran: better she didn’t know about his lack of friends. It was bad enough that his Dad knew about it all and pestered him and worried about it. He couldn’t cope with his Gran starting that too.
“That’s great love. Did they do anything exciting over the holidays?” Gran was weaving through traffic, quietly oblivious of the van driver she had just cut up as she turned into the high street. Murphy caught the driver’s eye through the rear window and shrugged apologetically. His Gran really should be concentrating on her driving, not trying to talk to him. It made him nervous when she drove like this.
“No not really Gran, nothing special really. It was only a week off, so there’s not a lot you can do in that kind of time.” Murphy fished his book out of his bag and buried his head in it pointedly. He would rather not talk to her while his life was at risk in the car. Better to wait until they were at home.
The sound of Gran humming along to the oldies on her car radio meant that she had forgotten about talking and was for the moment at least concentrating on her driving. Murphy sighed in relief and started to read. It was his newest history book he had gotten from the library at lunchtime that day. He was obsessed with the Romans and there society at the moment. They had been studying it for ages in lessons at school and Mr Devine had really brought it to life for him. He thought it was amazing that they had invented so many things back then that we now took for granted in our lives. And with so much less technology to help them make those things. They must have been a nation of geniuses!
This book had plenty of pictures and artefacts reproduced in it for him to really get a feel for the place. Rome seemed a fascinating place to him, and it was definitely somewhere he would like to visit someday.
“Here we are then bookworm! Home sweet home!” Gran was unbuckling her seatbelt and helping Darla out of hers. He hadn’t even noticed that they had arrived at his house he was so absorbed with his reading. Bookworm – that was what his mum used to call him. Because he always had his head buried in some book or other. The thought made him smile.
He unbuckled himself and jumped out of the car, bringing his bag and books with him. He was glad to be home – he was so tired after his first day back at school. It was exhausting really – even though he had spent most of the day sitting behind his desk it still took it out of him. He didn’t honestly know how his teachers did it – standing there in front of their classes all day. Just trying to keep up with his own work was enough – never mind trying to keep and eye on the whole class and making sure they were all working away on the right things. Maybe that was why they were so grumpy a lot of the time....
He went straight up to his room once he got in and dumped his stuff on his bed. He had never been the kind of person who could just leave his things all over the place. He liked to know where he’d put everything and that he hadn’t lost anything. Also, he didn’t trust Darla with his things. She would be likely to be nosying in his bad and drawing all over his things no doubt. She liked to think she was doing a good thing – keeping an eye on his things and drawing him special pictures. Which sounded nice but when she had chosen to do one of her drawings on top of one of his comic book sketches he didn’t find it so amusing. She was a bit of a nuisance really and frequently got on his nerves. But she was his little sister after all: that’s what sister’s are for really.
He headed back down to the kitchen – he was really thirsty and hungry now he was home. He bounded down the stairs past the mirror (he wasn’t acknowledging its existence these days) and made a beeline for the kitchen and some milk and cookies (his Gran was very traditional in her choice of snacks). He could already hear Darla in there tucking in merrily. This would keep him going until his dad got home for dinner (or tea as they call it in Whitleby).
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