The Brightlings

6. Hidden things

It may seem selfish, but sometimes it is best to completely ignore everyone, and dedicate some time to yourself. And having spent the past sixteen weeks cooped up with thirty loud and smelly teenage boys, Felix has recently learned a couple of new tricks to ensure that other people leave him alone.

1. Know what is happening behind you at all times, but keep your back turned.

At the table Cookie is demolishing his breakfast, quite literally. Yolk drips down his chin, as he smashes the feet of a Spiderman action figure against the bald head of an upturned eggshell, while humming the theme from Scooby Doo. His plate and the surrounding chequered cloth resemble a Jackson Pollock painting.

Lucy is completely oblivious to the carnage unfolding in front of her. She is on a lengthy phone call to her elder sister, doing her best to ignore the noise, and she hasn't even acknowledged Felix's presence in the room. Her sister clearly won't let her get a word in edgeways. She has said "yes... mmmmm....yes.... oh, I know.... Oh, bless you..." at least six times in the past two minutes. 

It sounds like Auntie Beth is single again.

He reaches into the cupboard for the half-empty jar of instant coffee and tips it sideways so that he can reach the granules. As he sinks the teaspoon beneath the surface a foreign object clunks against the metal. He holds it up, and peers through the glass at the contents.

What the hell is that doing in there?

After a couple of attempts, he manages to use the spoon to slide the hidden treasure up the side of the jar and out onto the worktop with a clatter. It is a USB drive. 

Felix picks it up, blows the brown coffee dust away, rubs it against his shirt and then slides it into his jeans pocket. He hastily finishes making his drink, and throws in a large glug of milk so that it is cool enough to drink right away, all the while shaking his head at the complex stupidity of small boys.

Oh well, finders keepers!

2: Learn to move in such a way that people do not notice your presence or talk to you.

This is proving to be all too easy this morning. Before he can get lumbered with Cookie-care again, he slides his backpack off the hook in the hall, grabs his trainers and slips quietly out the front door to sit on the step in the early morning sunshine.

The garden is humming and twittering with insect and bird life. Red admiral butterflies mob each other on the purple blooms of a large and unruly buddleja, while masonry bees busily explore holes in the crumbling render by the front door. Sparrows and a robin flit around the leafless lower branches that prop up the overgrown box hedge, and grass hoppers chirrup from within the dense plantation of lawn.

The squeaking of a wheel in need of oil draws his attention to the local vicar, who is pedalling past the garden on a vintage bicycle, with a wicker basket attached to the front. His round face has the shiny complexion of a waxed apple, and he looks overtly smug. A straw hat covers his receding hair, and his white dog collar is tight underneath his neck. He is whistling 'All things bright and beautiful', but he stops to acknowledge Felix as he passes the cottage.

"Another wonderful day, eh?" he calls out in a reedy voice.

"Huh? Errr, yeah..," Felix replies gruffly, quickly looking down at his bare feet and poking his bruised big toe, before clearing his throat. The whistling and squeaking continues along the road until it is no longer audible.

Escaping the cottage is a priority today. He gulps down the last of his wake-up fix, springs to his feet, tentatively toe-shuffles into his trainers, and marches out of the garden without looking back, leaving the gate to slam itself behind him.