Stories For A Bad Day

They’d got a fourteen million to one chance of ever getting back again. Ben hated the lottery. They’d been a proper family before they’d started playing that. But it wasn’t the playing that affected his parents, only the losing. It was all smiles up to eight O’clock, but then the misery would come. And the higher the prize the heavier the cloud that hung over the house. And when the rollover was won it was like somebody had died. But of course they had. A little bit more of them past away two times every week. But the Price’s weren’t gamblers. That was the irony. They were only like this now because they’d never taken risks, not properly anyway, not when it mattered. They’d played safe all their lives, got older, got to this and regretted every sullen year. And the more they regretted things, the more dull and unattractive they became, to others, to each other and sadly, mostly to Ben. They watched the news when comedy was on, they ate indoors when the barbies were burning, and they let everyone else ride on the Ferris wheel. They were amateurs, but not amateur photographers, footballers or magicians; nothing exciting like that - just amateur parents. But Ben was seven years old, he was normal and growing, he needed stimulation, fun and adventures, drives, input; attention maybe.

The previous owner of the house had picked up trophies for his garden as easily as some people pick up colds. But not much of his fine kingdom remained. Very little had survived the changes. The neglect, the bodges, the misplaced crazy paving. They’d kept the compost heap though because things could be dumped there. It was as far away from the house as possible which suited Ben perfectly. Distant again, detached; just like the house they yearned for. And on cold days it steamed like a huge pudding and looked like the entrance to a secret place.

He settled into the old plastic seat he’d left there and looked up at the sky. It was late October and a frost hung on everything. The sun tried to shine through, but never really made it. God had covered the world in icing for the next few days. Only the thaw and rain would melt it, or the strong winds lift it and blow it away. Ben took out the photograph carefully from his coat pocket. He’d never really understood this feeling; like he’d got a big hole right in the middle of his tummy. He wondered if everyone had this. He wondered if they’d missed something out when they were making him.    

‘Do you remember how he chased the butterflies?’ a kind voice said, breaking into his daydream. Ben looked up and saw a familiar warming shape silhouetted against the darkening afternoon sky.

‘Uncle Dave!’ he whooped, suddenly coming to life, ‘Uncle Dave!!’

‘I’d heard what happened to him,’ Dave explained as he whisked Ben off the ground and into his arms. ‘Cars. Bahhh! Nasty things,’ he said, hugging him. ‘I thought I’d better come round and cheer you up.’

Ben always noticed how much power his uncle had in his body and how weak his father seemed.

‘What are you doing up here?’ Dave asked, looking around. ‘Where’s your mum and dad?’

‘They’re not back from work yet,’ Ben replied, sounding dull again as he spoke about them. ‘They won’t trust me with a key. They make me go round to the Johnson’s when they’re late, but I don’t want to. They’re always working late nowadays. I don’t know what they’re doing.’

Dave sat down next to him.

‘I still miss him too, you know,’ he said softly. Ben looked pitifully up to the sky again.

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