Forever After - By David Jester Page 0,73

from us, her house nestled in the middle of our tidy little cul-de-sac. She had a son, Rob, who was a couple of years younger than me. My brother Graham was exactly eighteen months older than me, but we all often played together on the street with the other kids in the area.

‘Graham is coming?’ I wondered. I looked into the adjoining living room, my brother was in there watching television, his face almost pressed up against the screen. ‘Can’t you leave him here?’

He shot me an angry look and stuck two fingers up at me when he thought our mother wasn’t looking.

‘Or on a bus somewhere,’ I mumbled.

‘David! Don’t talk about your brother like that,’ Mum snapped, Graham laughed a silent and mocking laugh. ‘And Graham, don’t stick your fingers up at your little brother.’

A mother was always looking.

Later that night we all sat down to watch television after dinner. Coronation Street, not exactly a favourite of mine but the heavy rain ruled out any chance of playing outside.

With my eyes on the screen and my attention everywhere but, I suddenly felt an odd urge. A strange feeling crept through me and I felt anxious about refusing to meet its demands, like needing to scratch an aggressive itch or blink moisture into dry eyes.

Sniff.

It was a small inhalation of air, it was what my brain was telling me to do yet it wasn’t quite right.

Sniff Sniff.

I did it again, but it still wasn’t enough. Now deepening my interest in this experience and forgetting that I was sandwiched between my parents, I concentrated.

Sniff Sniff-iff Sniff.

The elongation on the second one made me feel better. Maybe that was the way to go.

Sniff-iff-iff.

There was something else.

Sniff Sniff.

This time I exhaled at the end. I was getting closer to what I felt needed to be done.

Sniff-iff-iff-iff.

Louder this time, pushing out so much air that I left myself breathless.

Sniff -- Urghhh.

I sucked the air back in through my nose with force. A grunting noise ratted out from the top of my nose. That felt much better, but I wasn’t quite there yet.

Sniff-Snort-Sniff-Sniff-if-if.

‘What are you doing?’

My dad was looking at me. I had a pleased look on my face, momentarily content that I had achieved something and satisfied some inner part of me.

I looked back, puzzled.

‘It sounds like he’s coming down with a cold,’ Mum said warmly, reaching across to feel my head. ‘He’s only just gotten rid of one as well. I hope you’ll be fine in time for the safari park next week,’ she said, removing her hand.

I settled into the sofa disappointed. I really didn’t want to get a cold and miss going to the safari park, I loved animals and my experience never went beyond seeing them in cages, this place sounded far more exciting.

As the week progressed so did the sniffing, but it never worried me and was always forgotten about. It came and went and I didn’t let my mind dwell on it. On the day of the safari trip I ran downstairs with a spring in my step and vaulted straight to the back door and out into the garden.

It was the biggest garden in the street and I loved it. My dad could be a grumpy and seemingly careless person at times but that was just a facade which hid a really thoughtful and caring father. Years ago, when we moved to Yorkshire, he picked the house because of the garden, so that when me and my brother grew up we would always have a place to play.

A large deck, fitted with paving slabs, adorned the top of the garden and overlooked a huge lawn. To the right of the lawn, and at its bottom, there were patches of mud and ground we rarely touched. Rockeries and fish ponds would cover these areas in later years but the focal point was the lawn.

The top end of the grass had been ripped apart -- the end we used for a goal and a cricket stump -- but the rest was well maintained. In the middle of the garden, off from the centre by a few metres, was a huge stump of a bygone tree. It was my seat when resting and my fort when playing but I could never remember the tree when it was alive.

On the deck were two wooden cages, different styles but both bought at the same time and for the same purpose. On the top of the cages were several folded sheets of tarpaulin