The Brightlings

1. The irritation game

It is dusk when Lucy Swift's ancient Mini 1000 pulls off the motorway and onto a winding B-road, leaving behind the spray from the HGVs that cut through the water-logged carriageway like speedboats on a river. 

Felix is awkwardly crammed into the front passenger seat, five-feet and nine inches of discomfort. His knees are jammed against the dashboard, and his skinny legs are numb, but at least he is free. 

That said, sometimes freedom comes at a price. Spending five hours in Friday afternoon traffic jams, while trapped underneath a box of canned food and a bay tree in a ceramic pot, is not exactly his idea of fun. The sense of desperation is increasing with every mile, and he longs to be out of the car and on his feet, although they are equally numb. 

As he runs his finger over the tip of his nose, gently prodding the raised bump that recently hosted the official 'Worst-Yellow-Head-Ever', his mind flips two fingers up at the last four months, but also yearns for the home that they are leaving behind. 

The tinny rhythm emanating from the back seat builds to a crescendo and stops. Cookie is fast asleep with headphones on, and his face buried in the well-worn, and frankly disgusting, fur of Colin, his bear-shaped partner-in-crime. The plaster cast on his arm is a reminder that small boys, skateboards, and Airedale terriers should not mix. Felix reaches back and presses the stop button on the battered blue walkman.

His Mum looks tense. Her skinny fingers are milk white as she tightly grips the top of the steering wheel and leans forward in her seat, squinting through the swishing wipers at the glowing break lights of a vehicle up ahead. It has been a tedious journey, and the strain of recent weeks is beginning to show. She looks older than she used to somehow. Maybe a few more lines around her eyes. And she has lost weight.

"What is it?" she asks sharply, suddenly aware that he is looking at the side of her face. "Are you ok?"

"Yes... it's nothing. I'm just thinking, that's all."

"You need to do a lot more of that, Felix. Perhaps then you wouldn't make silly decisions."

"Will you let it go Mum. Not now... please not now."

She glances up at the rear-view mirror, and Felix finds his attention drawn to the unfamiliar countryside outside the vehicle. The ghostly silhouettes of hedgerows and woodland sweep past them as the depressing grey sky fades into black. The road is becoming narrower, and his eyelids are becoming heavier with every beat and squeak of the wipers. It seems like they are a long way from civilisation before he eventually sees a sign for South Norton catch in the headlights.

It's not much further... Just a few more miles...

He was thoroughly embarrassed when she had come to sign him out that morning. The other boys had all laughed and jeered from the training yard as he'd walked, beetroot faced, past the mesh fencing, carrying his belongings in a drawstring bag. He'd fought hard against the urge to lash out, his jaw twitching at every catcall and wolf whistle. She'd placed her arm around his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek, but she hadn't pulled him in quite as tightly as she used to.

Everything is different now.

Brightling is all but a tiny speck on the map, with a church, an empty pub, and a strange little shop combined with a post office that appears to be a social hub for the old people. If you blinked you could easily miss the road that leads into the village, and most people drive past anyway. The nearest supermarket is half an hour away, and the trip to the nearest cinema is at least forty minutes by bus. The more Felix considers his future in this place, the more he wants to make his mum turn around and head back towards London. But that isn't going to happen tonight.