I visited one of The Writing Web creative writing groups a couple of weeks ago and PickledGherkins challenged us all to create a story outline, which we shared with the rest of the group. I loved my visit and would like to share the first part of my story here, where I set the scene. Things will get dark with Max in part two…
I’d really welcome honest feedback before I edit and complete it.
Thank you.
The Hamper
The hamper was back.
Malachi hadn’t seen the cavernous wicker hamper since last summer. Last summer, when the hamper was permanently parked in the hallway overflowing with blankets and water bottles and bits of park. But this year, every half term had been “a wash out”, as dad used to say. Malachi watched mum carefully place the last of the picnic provisions on top of just about everything else.
“Can I take my football?”
“You’ll have to carry it,” she replied absently, glancing at a text from her friend Paula, “and no bouncing on the road.”
She’d only had to remind him the once before they reached the park. James and Chloe, Paula’s children, bickered all the way about what they’d play on first. Malachi liked their company but they were in the juniors and he suspected they only tolerated him when their mums arranged these get togethers. In fact, they didn’t even seem to notice him bouncing his ball; dreaming of the treehouse.
“Go and play,” said Mum, as Paula dropped her end of the hamper the second she reached the shade of our favourite oak. Mum’s glare was fleeting, as we all heard the plates slide noisily inside.
“And stick together!” Paula shouted after us as Chloe and I trailed after James. He was already half-way along the balance beam when his sister arrived at the bottom of the towering frame. I couldn’t believe how quickly she also shimmied up to meet him. But even as distant dots against the settled sky I could tell they were having yet another of their disagreements. James eventually hurled himself off the beam, landing with a thud, whilst Chloe opted for the fireman’s pole. “Fancy the swings?” asked James.
Chloe interjected, “You know he prefers the treehouse, James. You’re so rough with the swings.”
“You don’t have to go high,” James insisted.
“James…”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said, “we can go on the swings if you want.” Although it was obvious that James was struggling to not gloat about this triumph, Malachi appreciated his efforts. This didn’t mean that he’d allow the older boy to push him. Ever again. So, it was Chloe who gently encouraged him to soar through the air before he passed his swing to her. Malachi found it hard to understand how the siblings swung so fearlessly, so competitively. At times he thought their chains would tangle or that James would really go over the top. He bounced his ball and dreamed of the treehouse.
After an eternity, they were back at his level, dizzy and shiny-eyed. “Do you want to go in treehouse now, Malachi?”
“Mum said we have to be back at half twelve for lunch,” James interjected. They all looked over at the clock on the side of the ice cream hut. It was all a mystery to Malachi. Only Alistair’s table in maths had a clue about anything but the o’clocks. Malachi liked digital clocks. He’d been able to tell the time on mum’s phone for ages. Why couldn’t they all be digital clocks?
“Race you,” challenged James, barely pausing to register their approval before charging towards the meeting point.
***
“You’re early,” exclaimed Paula, as the three sweaty bodies landed in a heap beside the grown-ups. James, then Chloe and Malachi bouncing his ball.
“Give us a hand with the hamper,” said Mum slowly rising from her sunny spot, she hoisted the wicker lid until it rested against the tree trunk. Their mothers lay the blankets, the siblings squabbled over how to arrange the sandwiches and Malachi struggled to open the Tupperware full of crudités. He had no intention of eating any.
They feasted. Malachi lay back, the grass tickling his ears as he felt his belly fizz with ginger beer, crisps, sausage rolls, quiche, carrot cake. He stared at the clouds. Small, still, perfectly-formed clouds that he couldn’t turn into animals, however hard he tried. They were just clouds. He sighed and closed his eyes. When he was in the treehouse Malachi felt as if he could touch the clouds. Racing along the solid aerial footpaths, deep into the belly of the tree. Its ancient cool crevasses hummed with comforting memories and the rich abundance of leaves reeked of life. Looking at the familiar bodies around him now: limbs splayed, faces repose in contentment, Malachi began to grow restless. He rolled his ball under his hand.
***
Long before Malachi reached the treehouse, he knew something was wrong. He stopped bouncing his ball. The whole area was fenced off with metal barriers and Malachi’s eyes took in diggers and more metal and stacks and stacks of new wooden planks. Men in fluorescent jackets sat on a rare patch of grass eating Burger King, boots off, trousers rolled up. They were laughing loudly and one pitched his helmet at his mate. Malachi clutched his ball to his chest.
Another man approached them, he was older and still wore his hat. They didn’t offer him any of their chips. “Gary, when you do think we can start shifting this lot?” he asked the man who had caught the helmet on his chin moments earlier.
“Not till next week now, boss. The rain’s really held things up, sorry.” The man didn’t say anything before walking off but Malachi could tell he was not happy. “He doesn’t get it. Those walkways are a nightmare to get down, especially now the wood’s sodden, continued Gary, wincing for their amusement. “I’m getting splinters through the heavy duty gloves!”
“I hear you,” nodded one of the others enthusiastically. “We’d best get back on it if we’re going to get this new treehouse up for the mayor’s visit. I can’t see Tightwad paying out any overtime.”
New treehouse? The mayor? A celebration? Malachi’s fingers dug into the ball. One by one the men rose. No one seemed to be in too much of a hurry. Gary picked up a ladder that rested against one of the smug new woodpiles and swung it over his shoulder.
***
No one even noticed he’d been away. James was sitting up eating another bag of chicken crisps but he didn’t ask Malachi where he’d been. Malachi ate another sausage roll. He felt sick. It wasn’t food sick. James kicked Chloe and she whinged, which meant their mums told them to go and play. They moved two of the blankets to the sunny spot and Paula took a couple of bottles of cider from the cool, deep hamper. James wasn’t stupid but Malachi could see that he wasn’t that kind, either.
Malachi watched the siblings run towards the treehouse. He panicked. “Can we go back on the balance beam?” he called after them.
“But you hate the balance beam,” panted Chloe, stopping in her tracks.
James jeered, “You didn’t even go on it before…” He stopped, as Chloe shot him with her eyes.
“Can you help me?” I asked, wedging my ball safely under the bin.
“Sure,” said James, perking up and leading him through the bushes to a collection of rungs Malachi had never noticed before. “It’s easier to get up this way,” he continued, scaling the giant mass of wooden batons that climbed ever upwards towards the dreaded balance beam. James made it look so easy; he was having fun. Malachi reached and clawed and scrambled and hoped. He concentrated on Chloe’s feet, just ahead and guiding his path.
To be continued …
