Out of Season

It looked like a nice day outside, through my window. Eleven years old and trapped in bed all summer. I’m not well. But I’ll get better. That’s what Mum and Dad keep saying. I can’t see anything through my window but the clouds slowly passing by. They keep on bringing me more books to read. But I’m bored of books. I think they can tell. I used to love books. 

They moved the TV in here for me. But TV is boring too. I never used to think so, when I only had a bit of TV time, but now that I can watch it whenever, it’s different. And I can watch whatever I want, and Mum and Dad will watch it with me. 

Mum always cries at the sad things, but she cries at basically anything we watch now. Dad just holds her hand. It’s cute. But watching a funny show when someone is crying kinda makes you feel bad for laughing, so I’ve been trying not to.

When she brought me my breakfast and my morning pills yesterday she told me that Uncle Rory is going to come and visit. He normally only comes for Christmas, so it’ll be nice to see him. He’s my favourite Uncle. He’s my only Uncle too, so that kinda makes him my least favourite Uncle too, and I like to remind him of that when he’s being mean. Not really mean, just teasing. I asked her if he was going to stay in my room like normally, but she said he’s going to take the couch this time. Which is nice. That’s the only thing about Uncle Rory coming to stay, I don’t like having to give up my room.

I asked her when he was going to arrive, and she said it should be the day after tomorrow. Then the doctor arrived and she had to go and talk to her about something. She didn’t come back in for a while, and it was annoying cos I had loads of questions about why Uncle Rory was coming. He just wanted to come and see me, she said later. It’ll be weird to see him here in summer. Normally when he’s here we do snow angels and snowmen and that kind of thing. I probably couldn’t do that right now anyway, but I bet by Christmas I’ll be able to.

The next day I tried to read the newest book they got me. But it was too hard. Not like the words, but I just couldn’t keep my focus, I was reading the same page over and over and it just wasn’t going in. Maybe the pills have changed. But I don’t think so, they still look the same, there’s just more of them. So I put the TV on, well I asked Mum to put the TV on. She asked what I wanted to watch and I asked what was on. Nothing sounded good so I asked for the film with the dogs, where the nice dog goes to heaven at the end. You probably have heard of it. I just can’t remember the name right now, I could remember it earlier, but I can’t right now.

It seems so cold for how warm it looks outside. It must be colder than it looks, but even mum’s in shorts. I don’t remember much of what happened that day, I must have been really sleepy, mum was weepy again. I heard Dad tell her off. I wonder why. But then the next day came and it looked a bit more cloudy out the window. I could hear more voices downstairs, I couldn’t be bothered to shout down, so I just waited. And waited. And eventually I heard the creaky steps and my door handle began to move. I thought about pretending to be asleep, but I wanted to know who was here. Mum came in and told me that Uncle Rory got here yesterday. I thought he was coming today, I told her so, and she said I was really sleepy yesterday. Uncle Rory came to say hello, but I must not remember. I don’t. She asked if he could come in now, and I said sure. She left the door open on her way back downstairs, and I could hear her tell Uncle Rory to come up.

I heard the creaky step again and my eyes felt heavy. He came in and said hello. I said hello back. He asked how I was feeling, and pulled Mum’s chair up close, Mum hung back by the door and watched. I said I was feeling okay, but I was excited to get better again. Then Mum left. Uncle Rory smiled, and said he was looking forward to that too, and that he thought this year maybe my snowman would be bigger than his. Then he asked me what I’ve been up to. I said I’ve been reading and watching TV. He asked me what I’ve been reading, so I told him, and then I told him how I can’t seem to keep focussed on the words recently. He didn’t say anything back. I asked if he thinks maybe I need glasses. He said he was sure that’s what it was.

I told him it was so strange to see him in summer. He only ever comes in winter, at Christmas, so why had he come now, did this mean that he wouldn’t be coming at Christmas? He just looked at me. Then he said he’ll come back for Christmas too. I made him promise, and he did. I was feeling so tired, but I wanted to ask him, what has he been up to. And I told him to not leave out any details. He lives in Australia, doing something in the outback. He facetimed me once to show me a snake, and he’s sent me pictures of the biggest spiders he’s seen. I didn’t like them. I told him so. He smiled. And he talked about what he’s been up to. He has been travelling to different places, and he told me their names and what he did there. I told him to keep on talking, but I just needed to rest my eyes for a minute.

When I opened them again, he was gone, and it was dark in my room and my curtains were closed. I was feeling a bit better, so I tried to pull back the covers. It was so cold. I put my feet on the floor, and I remember thinking they looked so thin. I can hear voices coming from downstairs, voices that are trying so hard to be quiet but failing, some words carrying all the way upstairs. Not enough to know what they’re talking about. Who.

So I creep, it’s easy, the floorboards hardly creak under my weight. But the door handle squeak, I have to time it with another bit of raised voices. I do. They stop for a second. And I hold my breath. They wait, trying to check if they heard what they think they heard. My heart beats so hard. I think about running back and getting back under the covers, pretending to be asleep. Just when I am certain I should, the voices start up again, and this time I can make them out, what they’re saying and who's saying it.

It’s uncle Rory. I’d forgotten he was here. He sounds mad. I’ve never heard him mad. “How” he says, “How can it be best? Explain it to me? Wouldn’t you want to know?”

“Yes,” Mum, “I would, but how do you even, she’s eleven, Rory, and -”

“It doesn’t matter how old she is Sarah?” 

“Rory” Dad, “We’re doing what we think is best, we know her.”

“I know her!” Uncle Rory, “She’s bright, she’ll understand.”

“Coming here for Christmas doesn’t mean you know her.” Mum.

“Chris” Uncle Rory, “You have to see what I mean? It’s not fair on her”

“None of this is fair Rory.” Dad.

There is a long pause, and none of them say anything, I can’t see them, but I imagine that Rory and Mum are sat at the table, and Dad is leaning up against the fridge like he always does. Just like Christmas. Normally I’d be sat there too, trying too hard to stay awake, listening to them tell stories I’d never normally be allowed to hear. This conversation sounds like another one of those stories, only the way it’s being told is different. No one is laughing. 

I think I’m starting to understand what they’re talking about. Uncle Rory isn’t coming for Christmas this year, and he wants to tell me. But Mum and Dad don’t want him to. They think I’ll be too disappointed. I can handle it. He’ll just have to come in the summer again next year. It’ll probably still feel weird, like he’s not meant to be here at that time of year, but that’s okay, as long as he comes for next Christmas. And next year, my snowman will be bigger.