I Can't See You

Open Day was fast approaching. Maya’s newsletter was finished, and circulated round the class.

  Reece read it. It was not at all what he had expected.

  “You can’t write that!” he protested, horrified.

  “Write what?” asked Maya sleekly.

  “All that about the army! Saying they shouldn’t really be there fighting, and listing all the things they’ve done wrong. All this about war crimes!”

  “Why not? It’s true. It’s only fair to show the other side.”

  “But, but I didn’t know you were going to write that, when I–”

  “When you what?” demanded Maya.

  Reece gaped at her dumbly.

  “And where’s my trophy?” put in Abby. “I can’t find anything about my trophy.”

  “Back page,” said Maya dismissively. “At the bottom.”

  “Plungledogs,” said Abby.

  “But what will Oliver think?” cried Reece. “What will his Dad think, when he reads it? You might as well say his Dad’s a criminal!”

  “I have not said anything like that at all,” replied Maya in a huff, and she snatched the newsletter off him and carried it away.

  When Oliver picked up the newsletter, Reece watched him anxiously.

  But Oliver shrugged and put it down again. He did not seem to care what Maya had written.

  In fact, he didn’t seem to care about the Open Day at all, although everyone else was busy frantically finishing off pieces of work to go on display, and helping Miss Lewis clothe the classroom walls with paintings, pie charts, graphs, and yards of Best Italic Handwriting.

  The Open Day was actually a Friday afternoon. All parents were invited, and grandparents.

  “My grandma can’t come,” said Seth. It seemed to really worry him.

  “You can borrow mine,” said Adam. “She’ll like that.” Reece had begun to notice that Adam looked after Seth. He tried to make Seth happy, even if it meant beeping all through playtime.

  “Are yours coming?” Adam asked Reece.

  “Just my Mum and Dad. My grandparents live too far away.”

  “Do you want to borrow my Nana, too?”

  “No, that’s okay.” Reece wasn’t that excited about seeing his parents at the Open Day. After all, there wasn’t much new to show them.

  They already knew that Reece was clever. They knew what his drawings and his writing looked like; and they knew that although he was good at English, he couldn’t sing, and would be miming through the juniors’ concert.

  On the other hand, Reece was interested in seeing Oliver’s mum and dad. He wondered if his dad would wear his soldier’s uniform and his medals. He had never seen Oliver’s parents before.

  The Open Day arrived. The school doors were thrown open to the eager crowd outside. It was practically a stampede.

  Reece’s Mum and Dad had come early, as Mum would have to leave early too, to go to work.

  “But I can stay right to the end,” said Dad.

  “You don’t have to,” pleaded Reece.

  “No, that’s all right. I brought some doughnuts. Fresh ones!” Dad flourished a crumpled paper bag.

  “What for?”

  “I thought you might like to give them to your friends.”

  Reece hid the doughnuts in his drawer. Then he stood around impatiently as Dad insisted on inspecting every picture, pie chart, graph and yard of Best Italic Handwriting.

  To be fair, it wasn’t just his own dad. The room was crammed with parents all going Oooh! in proud, admiring tones, like a field full of delighted cows.

  Dad pounced on a copy of the newsletter. “Hey, here’s that article you wrote! It looks good, doesn’t it? Front page and everything! I hope your friend was pleased with it.”

  “Sure,” said Reece. “Come over here and see my river diagram.” He hastily pulled Dad away before Oliver came in.

  Which he did, five minutes later, with his parents behind him. Reece studied them intently.

  Although he wasn’t wearing his uniform or his medals, Oliver’s dad looked just as soldierly as in his picture in the paper. He was tall, tough and handsome. Oliver’s mum held one of his hands and little Chloe clasped the other, like a portrait of a perfect happy family. The resemblance between Oliver and his dad was obvious.

  Except for one difference. They were all laughing except for Oliver. Oliver looked as if he had a headache and a toothache and a stomach ache all rolled into one.

  Oliver’s mum read his highwayman story and did the Oohing thing. Meanwhile Oliver’s dad picked up a copy of the newsletter and carefully read the article about himself.

  When he looked up, he was grinning. “Flattering!” he said to Oliver.

  Oliver said nothing. His dad put a hand on his shoulder. “Oli, I’m really touched by that.”

  Oliver still said nothing. After a few seconds he moved away.

  Reece wondered if he’d been right about Oliver’s dad. Could he be crazy? He looked okay. If he had been ill, he was back to normal now. There was certainly nothing about him for Oliver to be ashamed of.

  So why was Oliver being so cold with him? Maybe they’d had an argument. Because something was badly wrong.

  Puzzled, Reece kept glancing over at Oliver, trying to work out what was going on. After weeks of watching Oliver, he’d got attuned to him; he’d learnt to tell what Oliver was thinking. But now he couldn’t.

  Miss Lewis clapped her hands and everyone stopped talking.

  “Please could I ask all parents to make their way to the hall for the junior concert,” she announced.

  The parents were herded out. The children lined up by the door. Reece got in the line just behind Oliver. He didn’t think Oliver even noticed he was there.

  For Oliver seemed to be sleepwalking. He stumbled twice on the way down the corridor. In the hall, he had to be shuffled into position by Miss Lewis. The music started, but he failed to sing.

  Reece was miming for all he was worth, but his mind was on Oliver. He could see from the corner of his eye that Oliver wasn’t miming. He wasn’t even pretending to sing. He just stood there like a statue through all four songs. It must have been quite obvious to the audience.

  At last, to loud applause, the children began to troop out of the hall again. Reece stared at the back of Oliver’s head, trying to read his mind.

  Although they were supposed to march straight back to the classrooms, this proved impossible. They were waylaid by a mass of proud parents who got in the way. Reece could see his own dad, wearing his big, daft smile, trying to push through the crowd towards him. Oliver’s dad pushed through more powerfully, and reached Oliver.

  “Why weren’t you singing?” he asked.

  Oliver said nothing. He didn’t even look at his dad.

  “Why weren’t you singing?” said his dad again.

  Oliver still said nothing. Reece saw his shoulders hunch.

  “I want an answer!” said his dad.

  And then the answer came bursting out of Oliver.

  “Why do you think?” he shouted. “Because you’ve come with her instead of Mum!”

  “Hey,” said his dad. “This doesn’t mean that I don’t love you. We’re still a family.”

  “No, we’re not,” said Oliver. His voice was high and strange.

  “Oli, I know you’re feeling a little strange about it all just now–”

  “Stop telling me what I’m feeling!”

  “Look, I’m still your dad.”

  “Not any more,” cried Oliver. “You don’t exist! I can’t see you! You’re not my dad. You’re nothing. You’re not there!”

  And he pushed wildly through the crowd, ran off down the corridor, and disappeared.

  Chapter Ten