Up by Claire Davis & Al Stewart

Author:Claire Davis & Al Stewart [Davis, Claire & Stewart, Al]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781786453020
Published: 2018-12-17T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

“Where is he?” I demand. “Where is Formaldehyde Bob?”

The woman who is always rude chews gum and looks away. “Dunno. He’s having another wobbly.” She points towards a closed door next to the gift shop toilets. “Sent all the workers home and says he’s packing it in. He does it every few days. They wait ’til he comes back out, and we all pretend nothing happened.”

“Luke.” Dad pulls at my arm. “Maybe we better go? It’s not our business. We hardly know him.”

“It is our business!” I say. I shout. “Maybe he’s sliding down the sand mountain? Did you think about that? Maybe he’s alone in there.” When did humans get so fucked up that someone in pain is nobody’s business? “Maybe he needs proof that anyone cares.”

“OK,” Dad says after a few seconds, where I know he thinks about all the people at college who considered me not their business. “You’re right.”

“You’re not allowed in there,” the woman says.

“We’re allowed to knock on the door.” Dad raps sharply on the closed door. He turns to me and whispers, “Call through to Bob. Ask him if he needs any help.”

I mean to say those very words. I do. They get mixed up with memories of when I was alone at college, alone with the blank. “Formaldehyde Bob,” I say. I shout. “Are you hurting yourself?” I bang on the door until the rude lady tuts. “Get out here now if you ever want to snog me!”

“Nothing like being diplomatic,” Dad mutters, laughing into his hand.

A bark of laughter erupts from the rude lady.

The door opens. Formaldehyde Bob creeps out. He crosses his arms and hunches forward. “What?” he asks quietly. “Luke!”

“Formaldehyde Bob, you have work to do! Put on your coat and get a shift on. Darkness and light won’t create their own sculpture, you know.” It’s a gamble, giving him orders. It always works for me when I’m in a mess.

Heat from the building and worry run down my back, and now I am pissed off at him for not being ready and for not trusting me. I understand it takes time, and he can’t possibly know I’m a genuine person. I wish I could fast forward us in time to when he knows this, as well as he knows about numbers and formulas. I’m also worried that he will now realise I understand about hiding and pushing people away, that I too have had bad experiences.

It’s possible that he has indigestion, or was doing something legitimate like working on maths problems.

Maybe he was writing me a poem?

I ziz all that and my anxiety about the lady and if Formaldehyde Bob will ask me not to come anymore.

By now, I’m a volcano.

“You can keep calling me Formaldehyde Bob if you want. I wish you’d call me Rob.” He opens his hands on my zizzing arms and leaves them there. “It’s up to you.”

I probably go as red as a letterbox, the type of red that goes all the way through.

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