One Ordinary Day at a Time by Sarah J. Harris

Author:Sarah J. Harris [Harris, Sarah J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2021-05-10T12:00:00+00:00

29

JODIE

‘WE’RE BACK!’ ZAK RACES through the door into our bedsit, followed by Simon.

A neighbour has buzzed them in through the main door, which is a pain. I was going to come down as I hadn’t wanted Simon to see how we live; I’ve managed to avoid letting him come up here until now. I’m not sure I can face him spouting off twenty facts about mould.

‘How was your day?’ I say.

‘Awesome!’

‘What about you, Simon? Did you survive?’

His forehead is furrowed, his cheeks pale. He’s probably knackered after spending the day with this ball of energy.

‘Today was … memorable.’ He stares at Zak, opening his mouth to speak. He shuts it again.

‘Oh God. What happened?’

Simon looks around, taking in the double bed that also acts as our sofa, the microwave, a portable hob for saucepans and our unwelcome mouldy guest – Hairy Mo, minus his balloons, which I’ve managed to rub off with washing-up liquid. Luckily, it’s not a total tip. Once the rough draft of my essay was out of the way, I’d fixed the dripping showerhead in the communal bathroom down the corridor, folded up the washing and tidied our room. I’ve managed to crack open the window to air the place and lit joss sticks, but the smell of damp remains.

‘Simon?’

He’s staring at my bird tattoo.

‘Should I be worried? Did Zak break something valuable? Have you both been banned from ever going back to the museum? Tell me!’

He breathes out, looking up.

‘No, nothing like that, but the funny thing is we didn’t go to the museum in the end. We stopped off at a playground and lost track of the time. I’m sorry about that, but it was still an educational experience for Zak. We learnt about gravitational force and pendulums.’

Zak translates for him. ‘We went on the swings for ages and swapped stories about being little kids and had ice lollies.’

‘We?’

I find it hard to imagine Simon in a playground, let alone sitting on a swing and eating a lolly.

‘Yes, Simon joined in,’ Zak says, ‘even though he didn’t want to at first. He said no one eats lollies in winter. After that, he got an insect in his eye and it made him cry.’

‘I don’t remember that,’ Simon says.

‘You blubbed. A lot. Other kids were staring and pointing. It was embarrassing.’

The frown lifts from his forehead as he laughs. ‘That’s not quite what happened!’

I ruffle Zak’s hair, which resembles a bird’s nest. ‘Stop tormenting him. It’s not nice, especially when he’s given you a lovely day out. I hope you remembered to say, “thank you”.’

‘Thank you for not taking me to the museum,’ he says impishly. ‘I much preferred the playground.’

‘We can go another time, if your mother allows it,’ Simon replies. ‘I honestly think it’s worth a visit. You’ll learn a great deal about life in Victorian England. There are hands-on elements, such as smell jars and soundscapes.’

‘I’d prefer to learn about that thing you say is stuck on the slide.’

‘You mean friction? Well, it isn’t exactly stuck.

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