vomit.
âShame,â says Jed, who is now standing on the platform. âHey, look at me!â
He raises his arms in the air. âItâs too hot in here!â he shrieks in an American accent. âIâm gonna die! I canât stand it any more! Iâve gotta jump!â Then he flings himself headlong off the platform, arms outstretched,wailing as he falls, âIâm the falling man!â He lands with a thud on the floor and bursts out laughing.
Priti glances at me, but I donât say anything.
Then Shakeel comes out so we start making the tree house. But afterwards, I canât get the image out of my head â of my dad crying out like a baby and falling through the sky â just like Jed did.
Shakeel does most of the work on the tree house. Me and Priti and Jed spend the time messing about, climbing up and down the trunk and getting in his way. When he gets fed up with hammering planks and answering questions (about tree houses â me; forced marriages â Jed; and when itâs going to be finished â Priti) Shakeel asks if we want to look at the radio heâs building.
Priti groans and says itâs boring, but we havenât got any better ideas so we all follow him inside. Up in his ultra neat-and-tidy bedroom, Shakeel has all this equipment â circuit boards and wires, cylinders, headphones, knobs, screws and even a soldering iron. He tries to explain to us how it works, but Priti isnâtlistening â sheâs probably heard it all before â and Jed just fiddles with everything. But I like listening to Shakeel talk. I donât really understand it all, but itâs kind of cool hearing about radio waves and frequencies and all that.
âYour dad used to build radios, didnât he?â Jed says, interrupting Shakeel and putting down a fragile-looking bit of equipment with a thud. I realise heâs talking to me.
âDid he?â Shakeel also turns to me. He looks really interested.
Iâd never heard this before, so I just say, âYes.â
âMy dad says Uncle Andrew was always tinkering around with stuff like that,â says Jed. âBit sad, if you ask me. So what are you, like, building exactly?â he asks Shakeel, picking up a circuit board and staring at it, even though Shakeel has spent the last ten minutes telling us exactly that.
Shakeel explains it all over again. âThis is a simple FM receiver, but Iâd like to try my hand at a transmitter.â
âWhat and then do like a pirate radio station or something?â asks Jed.
âThatâs not really my style,â says Shakeel, laughing. âI just like the challenge.â
Jed nods. âYouâre just not really cool enough, are you?â
Priti starts to look offended, but doesnât say anything. She probably realises thereâs no point.
âGuilty as charged!â laughs Shakeel.
When we get home, Gary has sent me a letter. Well, itâs really only a postcard with a picture of a pig wearing sunglasses on it. On the back, in Garyâs writing, it says,
Missing you more than flying pigs, kid!
Then there are three kisses. It doesnât really make any sense, but itâs nice of him to send it anyway and I like the idea that it might have been posted in the box at the end of our road (Gary lives round the corner from us). Jed wants to look at it, but I donât let him. I tuck it into the notepad where I make all my lists, but I canât help feeling sad that even Gary has bothered to write me a card when my mum still hasnât been in touch at all.
There was this one time when I was sitting in thecorner of the village hall, drawing cartoons while Mum was at one of her committee meetings, taking minutes and stuff, and this little kid came up and stared over my shoulder, checking out what I was drawing.
âDraw one of me!â she said. So I drew a cartoon of her as a princess, then as a fairy, then a
âShame,â says Jed, who is now standing on the platform. âHey, look at me!â
He raises his arms in the air. âItâs too hot in here!â he shrieks in an American accent. âIâm gonna die! I canât stand it any more! Iâve gotta jump!â Then he flings himself headlong off the platform, arms outstretched,wailing as he falls, âIâm the falling man!â He lands with a thud on the floor and bursts out laughing.
Priti glances at me, but I donât say anything.
Then Shakeel comes out so we start making the tree house. But afterwards, I canât get the image out of my head â of my dad crying out like a baby and falling through the sky â just like Jed did.
Shakeel does most of the work on the tree house. Me and Priti and Jed spend the time messing about, climbing up and down the trunk and getting in his way. When he gets fed up with hammering planks and answering questions (about tree houses â me; forced marriages â Jed; and when itâs going to be finished â Priti) Shakeel asks if we want to look at the radio heâs building.
Priti groans and says itâs boring, but we havenât got any better ideas so we all follow him inside. Up in his ultra neat-and-tidy bedroom, Shakeel has all this equipment â circuit boards and wires, cylinders, headphones, knobs, screws and even a soldering iron. He tries to explain to us how it works, but Priti isnâtlistening â sheâs probably heard it all before â and Jed just fiddles with everything. But I like listening to Shakeel talk. I donât really understand it all, but itâs kind of cool hearing about radio waves and frequencies and all that.
âYour dad used to build radios, didnât he?â Jed says, interrupting Shakeel and putting down a fragile-looking bit of equipment with a thud. I realise heâs talking to me.
âDid he?â Shakeel also turns to me. He looks really interested.
Iâd never heard this before, so I just say, âYes.â
âMy dad says Uncle Andrew was always tinkering around with stuff like that,â says Jed. âBit sad, if you ask me. So what are you, like, building exactly?â he asks Shakeel, picking up a circuit board and staring at it, even though Shakeel has spent the last ten minutes telling us exactly that.
Shakeel explains it all over again. âThis is a simple FM receiver, but Iâd like to try my hand at a transmitter.â
âWhat and then do like a pirate radio station or something?â asks Jed.
âThatâs not really my style,â says Shakeel, laughing. âI just like the challenge.â
Jed nods. âYouâre just not really cool enough, are you?â
Priti starts to look offended, but doesnât say anything. She probably realises thereâs no point.
âGuilty as charged!â laughs Shakeel.
When we get home, Gary has sent me a letter. Well, itâs really only a postcard with a picture of a pig wearing sunglasses on it. On the back, in Garyâs writing, it says,
Missing you more than flying pigs, kid!
Then there are three kisses. It doesnât really make any sense, but itâs nice of him to send it anyway and I like the idea that it might have been posted in the box at the end of our road (Gary lives round the corner from us). Jed wants to look at it, but I donât let him. I tuck it into the notepad where I make all my lists, but I canât help feeling sad that even Gary has bothered to write me a card when my mum still hasnât been in touch at all.
There was this one time when I was sitting in thecorner of the village hall, drawing cartoons while Mum was at one of her committee meetings, taking minutes and stuff, and this little kid came up and stared over my shoulder, checking out what I was drawing.
âDraw one of me!â she said. So I drew a cartoon of her as a princess, then as a fairy, then a
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