Stacey stood in the kitchen balancing a variety of chores. Whilst the washing machine was on spin cycle, she washed up and cleaned the surfaces of the kitchen. She kept a watchful eye on her son Davie in the room next door, playing Buckaroo and giggling every time the horse eventually shrugged off the plastic items. He’d requested that ‘mummy play’ with him, but she couldn’t handle the game itself. When she tried playing it with him, her chest constricted and she trembled. The first time the horse bucked on the Christmas day, it rattled her so bad, she’d hurried off to the toilet to hide the tears that the panic caused.

Her husband, Steve, was at work. She felt awful that Davie had no-one to play with and once she’d finished cleaning, she would pull out a less stressful game or a book to spend more time with him. As if aware of her thoughts, Davie turned round and smiled at her, which she returned. The sun shone through the small window in the living room of their terraced house. The rays beamed onto Davie’s head, highlighting the tight blonde curls and making them luminescent. He looked like an angel.

‘Heart of Glass’ by Blondie rang out from the record player she loved. Her friends extolled the virtues of the cassette tape, but she’d stuck with her trusty device. She would stack her singles up on the spindle and one would drop as soon as another finished. She didn’t want a tape dictating what music she listened to in what order. Davie shuffled around on his backside in time to the music occasionally turning back towards her for approval. She again smiled back and returned a little mimicked dance of her own as she sped up the house-work to pay him more attention.

As she placed the crockery back into its assigned places, she noticed Davie had stopped dancing and now stood up, looking around the room with awe. She strained her neck to observe what he looked at, wondering if a bird had flown in. She saw nothing, but Davie appeared intent, checking every wall and corner for something she was unable to perceive. Eventually his eyes rested on her. His eyes filled with tears, but he didn’t make a sound. Usually if he was upset, he would bawl unselfconsciously. He seemed embarrassed and turned away wiping his eyes. She approached as she noticed his tiny fists clenching. She reached him and put her arms round him.

- What’s wrong Davie?

She sensed him tense as she wrapped her arms around him and his body racked with silent sobs as she squeezed tighter. She stroked his head, trying to reassure him as he almost fought to get away. After what seemed like minutes, but merely seconds, he wrapped his arms around her as well. He didn’t say a word or make a noise and her t-shirt grew sodden with his tears. Almost crying herself she repeated her question in a softer, calming tone.

- What’s wrong, kidda?

Davie having seemingly regained his composure, wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He flashed a weak smile back.

- Nothing that a cup of tea can’t fix.

Stacey looked shocked. He sounded like his father.

- Davie, you know you can’t have tea or coffee, you’re only four. Would you like a juice?

- Oh yeah. Right. Juice is fine.

Stacey tried to compose herself. He was acting strange. She poured some Robinson’s cordial into his red teddy bear mug and topped it up with water, sealing it in with the lid containing the flat plastic teat that allowed him to drink from it. She boiled the kettle for herself and returned to the living room, watching Davie glancing around the room again, it was almost as if he’d not been here before.

- Here you go. What upset you Davie?

Davie looked almost quizzically at the doubled handled teddy bear mug and grinned a little. He took a sip and placed the mug down on the table as he continued to peruse the room. He’d stopped crying, but looked sad, although he appeared to be trying to hide it, his face betrayed the fact; something was wrong.

- Thanks Mum.

Stacey’s panic rose higher within her. He never called her Mum. Always mummy. Perhaps he’d heard friends at playschool calling their mothers the same thing. Compared to this helpless feeling, Buckaroo was something she perhaps could brave for a chance to find out what was going on.

- Do you want me to play Buckaroo with you now Davie? Come on, sit down.

- I’m all right thanks Mum. We got a pen around?

- A pen?

- Yeah. A pen and a bit of paper.

- You want to do some drawing?

- No. I need to write something down before I forget.

Curiosity was overtaking her concern as Stacey reached into the drawers for a pen and one of her old exercise books. B. A. Robertson’s ‘Bang Bang’ came onto the record player. She turned the volume down a little as she remained focussed on the bizarre actions of her son. He struggled to grip the pen, trying to use it as she would, but realising that he needed to grip it using his entire fist. He then scrawled, in a surprisingly neat way, a series of numbers separated as if a sequence. One looked like a date, but she wasn’t sure.

- What is this Davie? You trying to do sums?

- No. I need you to keep this. For a long time.

- How long?

- Decades.

- What?

Concern gripped her again. She wondered if Davie was one of the idiot savants she’d read about in Reader’s Digest. They were supposed to be gifted with numbers, but basically, mad. Her eyes welled up again as she contemplated how she would go about raising a crazy kid. She grabbed him and hugged him again. She’d no idea what to do.

- Davie, I’ll look after you. Whatever it takes, I promise.

Davie looked like tears were about to flood from his own eyes again, but his little face scrunched in concentration and he put his hand on his mother’s arm as if to reassure her. A gesture that seemed strange from a little boy, but effective nonetheless.

- I can’t explain. You need to hang on to those numbers. I can’t say what they are for, but you will figure it out in time. You can tell Dad, but no-one else.

- Why can’t you say what they are?

He paused for a while. He seemed to struggle for an answer.

- The butterfly effects.

- What?

- The explanation is something that will also make sense later. These few minutes can be forgotten in time, saying too much can’t be undone.

- Davie, where did you learn to talk like this?

He shrugged.

- TV? It isn’t important. What is important is those numbers. They will have such a part to play later. Please, don’t forget them. Keep them safe.

- Ok I will.

Stacey had no choice but to agree. Davie smiled a sad smile to her and sat down with his juice. They sat in silence, save for the music still playing on the turntable. He listened calmly. Stacey sat next to him, stroking his curls, lost in thought about what was happening. The record player eventually went through the singles she’d organised and fell silent also.

Davie seemed content until suddenly he looked alarmed and began to sob.

- Not yet. Just a little more time!

- What is it Davie? What’s wrong?

Pain etched on his tiny face he stared back into Stacey’s eyes.

- I love you Mum.

- I love you too Davie!

He wiped his eyes and held her gaze for a few seconds before his face screwed up and his eyes closed tightly and he shivered uncontrollably. She clasped him close, chest heaving with cries of her own. Helplessness overwhelmed her and Stacey’s mind was frantic as she puzzled over what to do. The shivering stopped and through her own gasps of frustrated sobbing, Davie wailed.

- Mummy!

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Davie unscrewed his eyes. Unable to view anything around him other than shadows. His mind was flooding with changes. The salty film covering his eyes not letting up, disorienting him. A cluster headache seemed to explode inside his head, causing him to stagger a little. He gripped the side of his head, the prickly stubble along the sides where he’d shorn most of his hair chafing his hands. His fingers reached the top of his head where a small area of short tight curls remained.

Images of the post diagnosis conversation remained in his mind, but the bitter recriminations of not being able to afford to treatment overseas faded, being replaced by the timely windfall. He remembered the understanding smile of his mother as the results came in, the piece of paper kept for so long crumpled and disposed of without a word. His spirits lifted as he remembered the family taking a journey they’d never taken before. The treatment beginning and the hope replacing the fatalistic waiting he’d grown too familiar with.

The memories soured as it became clear it was all for nothing. The treatment was a failure and the hope he’d built in an instant was cruelly dashed as the family returned home, perhaps less prepared for what came next than they originally were. He’d not only changed nothing, but in a real sense, made it more painful for everyone concerned by instilling that false hope.

The final day he spent with his mother changed. No longer a silence as he watched her fade, unable to say anything, despite wanting to. This time she looked at him, smiling. She held his hand and told him she understood now what had happened. They exchanged mutual words of love as they’d done on that confusing day thirty-five years earlier.

The cluster headache faded and Davie focused on his surroundings. He was still here. His sister grabbed his arm as if to steady him, both wearing sunglasses despite the grey and overcast weather. A sea of black garb. A casket with a wreath saying ‘Mum’. The event he’d desperately tried to change to no avail. He wanted to go back; to figure if there was anything else at all he could do other than what he’d already tried. He would live his entire life again as a child if need be.

Davie screwed his eyes and tried to go back. He screwed them again and again. He would settle for five more minutes. They never came.

At the end of the road called ‘Suggitt’s Lane’ in Cleethorpes, is a large pond. The rumour for many years stated it stood bottomless. Now regardless of which shape you think the earth is, This was quite obviously bollocks. Others speculated that it went incredibly deep still and fed into most major waterways and seas in and around the UK. One person claimed to have seen Nessie in it.

Known as Chapman’s Pond, the rumours continued year after year. Some claimed Grim’s original secret treasure remained hidden in an alcove. Others claim that a drunken bus driver once lost an entire double decker in it, the vehicle form, not the chocolate bar. One local man decided two things a few years ago. The first thing he decided; he was a scientist, despite having no qualifications whatsoever, not even a GSCE pass. The second thing was that he would permanently put an end to the myths for good. So, begins the tale of Tim Bikkelmurr.

Tim did rigorous preparation for almost three days beforehand. By preparation, this meant he rented a wetsuit and spent the rest of the time drinking in the Swashbuckle Tavern telling everyone that caught his eye he was a scientist and going to prove what no-one previously had been able to. As his day arrived, he expected a jubilant throng to witness his discovery, but grew disappointed to see not a soul. He waited a while.

He had changed into the rented wetsuit, which fit too snugly in some parts, specifically his under-rated beer belly, and hung too loose in others. To make it airtight, he had taped the wrists and ankles to his flesh. It was April, so still fairly cold; he wasn’t relishing the idea of jumping in just yet. To pass the time, until hopefully it warmed up, he slung debris into the pond–rocks, stones, mud, stray cats etc. Hours passed by and he realised that no one would show up, and it wouldn’t get any hotter, he decided to finally take the plunge.

After visiting the shops and eliciting a few funny looks for being in a wetsuit, he emerged with a bottle of whiskey in hand and took a few healthy belts from it. If the outside of his body was to be cold, he would warm it from within. He strode with determination to the broken piece of fencing that allowed him access to the pond.

Tim placed his snorkel into his mouth, he took a running jump into the pond. “Bastard!” he gasped as his head re-emerged, snorkel wrapped around the back of his head. He had forgotten to put his flippers on. He needed them, he guessed. Tim splashed towards the shore to put them on. Shivering, he also finished the whiskey to brave a second jump into the murky waters.

The second time, his running jump took a turn for the worse as he tripped over the flippers, tumbling in from the side. As he frantically doggy paddled to a shallower portion of the pond, he rearranged his goggles and snorkel, so they provided a use for him. He dove underwater.

Disappointed, he soon reached the bottom of the pond. He tried again and again from different spots, but there was a clear finite space below the pond’s surface. He looked for holes that possibly led to deeper parts. Tim found four shopping trolleys and a television, but no holes. He emerged and swam back to the bank to get out of the water and change. He couldn’t believe no-one had done this before. Tim made the decision to report his findings as soon as possible. Changing back into his clothes quickly, he almost jogged the entire way to the Swashbuckle Tavern.

Gregg, the barman rolled his eyes as Tim burst through the doors yelling, “I’ve done it! Guys! I solved the mystery of Chapman’s Pond!” There sat only three other patrons in the pub, alcoholics all; a common sight most days of the week. They barely registered his presence, as even to committed piss artists as themselves, Tim was a pain in the arse. Usually he spent his days propping up the bar and complaining about bus routes in the area.

Tim continued, oblivious to the lack of interest shown by his only friends. “For years, nobody knew if Chapman’s Pond had a bottom! Today, I can confirm it has! Pint of lager and double whiskey please.” Gregg dutifully poured the drinks and requested payment. Tim’s disappointment that his discovery didn’t warrant even one free drink was clear on his face. Gregg shrugged in response to Tim’s pleading eyes. “I don’t get one on the house for proving the unprovable?”

Under normal circumstances, Gregg would bite his tongue; as annoying as the customers were, they remained customers after all. Most importantly, ones that drank throughout the day, thus warranting the hours Gregg desperately needed to work. Something about Tim always bugged Gregg more than most, perhaps the way he seemed to believe he was ‘above’ everyone else, despite his loser nature. “You know that’s a kid’s story, right?” Tim looked at Gregg with menace as he continued, “I mean, there was a massive flagpole sticking out of it for ages too. Kind of proves that ‘science’ already knew it had a bottom”.

Tim pouted. He felt deflated, but Gregg had not finished, “So you swam to the bottom, did you?” Tim nodded and added, “With a wetsuit and snorkel”. Gregg smirked, “So you must be well enough to look for work again then?” The other patrons laughed at this exchange, to which Tim glowered and turned to take a seat close to the window.

As he gazed across the waters of the Humber, he squinted and saw either Hull or Spurn Point in the distance. “I reckon I could swim that” he thought to himself.

The traffic sped by as he stood on the edge of the road, whoosing and roaring as it did so. He closed his eyes, tears leaking as they squeezed together, disguised by his sunglasses. The cruel, unfeeling world that pushed him towards this point flooded his mind, steeling his resolve to take the next step, one which would place him in the path of the oncoming vehicles. A truck barrelled its way forwards in the distance, he’d found his most likely saviour. One moment of pain to extinguish a lifetime of it. He closed his eyes again. This time, it pushed faces into his minds-eye. His brother, the one who’d looked up to him his entire life. His parents, who’d supported him no matter what. His friends, the shoulders to cry on and the laughs they’d shared. He pictured them mourning, questioning themselves as to why they werent able to help. How could he do this to them? His eyes flicked open, the truck sped by, blissfully unaware of his change of heart. He turned, walking down the pavement, careful to avoid the dog excrement in his path. For now, at least, he wouldn’t hurt the ones he loved.

#mentalhealth #mentalhealthawareness