Bobby grabbed the collection of slim orange- and green-coloured books from his bed, stuffing them into his battered navy-blue satchel. He wanted a new satchel, but Dad always said you did not throw away a perfectly good something just because it was old. The fact Dad had put down his newspaper – the Jamaican Gleaner – in order to tell Bobby meant this was serious advice.

Bobby Gibson, focus!

‘Sorry Mum, what’s next?’ whispered Bobby.

Ruler? Protractor? Remember you have Mrs Felstead today.

His bottom lip drooped at the prospect. It was gonna be double trouble today because he also had Mrs Felstead for Social Studies. He still wasn’t sure what Social Studies actually was and he reckoned Mrs Felstead was in the same boat. Neither one of them would ever admit it though.

Bobby leapt from his double bed, which was always an adventure. Rather than throw out the old mattress, his dad had stuck a new one on top of it. They must have had the highest double bed in London, and it was the most fun to play on as well. He and his brother Errol, who he shared the bed with, would come up here every Saturday after watching the wrestling and have their own match. The large bed served as the ring. Bobby was always Kendo Nagasaki, of course. He didn’t have a mask or anything like the samurai wrestler, but he could imagine wearing one. Bobby could imagine anything; Mum told him it was his superpower. Sometimes Bobby imagined his dad tearing off his shirt like Hulk Hogan and joining them in a massive battle royale, but he never did.

Boy don’t make me ask you again.

Bobby muttered an apology, shoved a hand under the bed and drew out his protractor and ruler. He grinned as he stuffed the items into his satchel. It was the start of a new year, which meant he’d get to see his friends again. That was the only reason he even went to school.

‘Dunno why we have to have all these stupid lessons,’ he said aloud.

Stop talking foolishness boy. You think they are going to let some boy with no O Levels draw comics for Marvel?

Bobby groaned. Mum was right, she was always right

‘Bobby!’ bellowed Auntie Carol from downstairs.

‘Coming Auntie!’ shouted Bobby.

He grabbed his school blazer from the wardrobe, tied it around his waist and ran out of the room.

‘Don’t you run boy!’

Bobby instantly slowed.

‘You best not be jumping down dem stairs either!’

But Bobby was already in the air, his thin arms outstretched. He grabbed the small wooden ledge jutting out across the stairs above him, swung out over the stairs and let go. He landed on his feet, bending his knees in a Spider-Man crouch to absorb the impact. The thick patterned carpet helped to swallow the noise.

Bobby grinned to himself. He turned into the narrow passage leading to the kitchen. Two dark shapes moved on the other side of the kitchen door. Distorted by the wavy pattern of the green Perspex window they looked kind of eerie, like creatures trapped in arctic ice. The glorious smell of bacon lured him inside.

Auntie Carol was stood in front of the cooker as Bobby entered. She was humming the theme to one of the soaps she was obsessed with, accompanied by the sizzling sound of bacon. Bobby tried not to laugh when he noticed Auntie Carol’s curly black wig was crooked. He had first spotted the wig in her room, one evening years ago, perched atop a creepy white polystyrene head. It had freaked him out. He imagined it floating into his bedroom while he slept, whispering in his ear, feeding him nightmares. Bobby thought something so scary would make for a great monster in one of his Dungeons and Dragons campaigns. He’d even created the stats for it.

Without turning from the frying pan, Auntie Carol aimed her wooden spoon at the kitchen table.

Bobby sat down opposite Errol, who was demolishing a massive bowl of Weetabix. Bobby tried not to gag. He did not know how his brother could eat that mush. Errol would no doubt say something about it being good for his running or one of the hundred other sporty things he did better than Bobby. Aside from the deep brown of their skin, the two brothers couldn’t be more different. Errol was tall, broad-chested and athletic, with a jaw that was all right angles. Bobby was shorter and ‘far too mawga’ according to Auntie Carol – something he took every opportunity to rectify.

‘Bacon ready yet Auntie?’ asked Bobby, rubbing his hands.

She always fried her bacon extra crispy. Not like the limp fatty rubbish they did at school.

Auntie Carol stepped up to the table and smacked Bobby hard on the back of the hand with the wooden spoon.

‘Me dun tell you already bout jumping down dem stairs,’ she said, scowling. Bobby rubbed his sore hand, eyes wide with innocence.

‘I didn’t, Auntie!’

The moment he moved his fingers away, Auntie Carol slapped the spoon on him again, in the very same spot.

This time Bobby let out a yelp of pain.

‘And dat fi lying!’ Auntie Carol muttered, giving him a hard look.

‘Shame,’ chuckled Errol.

Auntie Carol spun pointing the spoon at Errol. ‘Anyone chatting to you boy?’

Errol’s chuckle quickly turned into a pretend cough, returning his attention to his Weetabix. Satisfied, Auntie Carol moved back to the frying pan.

‘How does she always know?’ Bobby whispered, rubbing his sore hand.

Errol tapped the side of his head. ‘I’m telling you she must be psychic. Bet she bends spoons too.’

The sound of frying increased as Auntie Carol lifted the red lid to remove the bacon. She shook the basket several times then emptied the crispy bacon onto a plate covered with a piece of kitchen towel. She folded the kitchen towel over the top, patting it with her hand to soak up the oil.

Perfect, thought Bobby.

Auntie Carol came over and slid all of the bacon onto Bobby’s plate.

‘Four pieces!’ chirped Bobby, his eyes wide with disbelief. ‘Thanks Auntie!’

Things were hard for them, even with both Dad and Auntie Carol working. He knew he was lucky to get one piece of bacon, let alone four. Perhaps things were turning around for them. He reached out to grab a slice, but Auntie Carol snatched the plate away.

‘No bacon fi liars!’

She set the plate down in front of Errol, who eyed it as though this was all some elaborate trap.

‘Eat it fore it gets cold Errol,’ urged Auntie Carol. She held Bobby’s shoulders, making sure he watched.

Errol slid a piece into his mouth, apologetically. For the next few minutes Bobby was forced to listen as the best part of his breakfast disappeared down his brother’s throat. For his breakfast, Bobby ended up getting a bowl of thick, tasteless porridge. It was manky. Errol paused to look up at Bobby.

‘Where’s your rich girlfriend, anyway?’ asked Errol. ‘She’s normally here by now, giving me grief.’

‘Ada’s just a mate and she ain’t rich,’ said Bobby.

‘I don’t see us going off to Nigeria for the summer,’ Errol replied.

‘We don’t have family there to stay with do we? Ada does.’

‘Still weird that your best mate is a girl,’ mumbled Errol.

‘Not as weird as you being a school perfect,’ Bobby retorted.

‘She’s here more than I am,’ said Errol, ignoring Bobby’s dig.

‘I ain’t the one asking her to stay for dinner all for the time!’ Bobby flicked an accusing glance at Auntie Carol as she sat down.

‘Hoping dat little girl’s manners rubs off on the two of you,’ said Auntie Carol. ‘She’s better than dat other one. What’s him name? TJ? CJ?…’

‘It’s DJ, Auntie,’ said Bobby, forcing another spoonful of porridge into his mouth.

‘DJ’, repeated Auntie Carol. ‘Nothing but trouble dat boy; me see it inna him eyes.’

That little girl is more trouble than a hundred DJ’s.

Mum was right. If Auntie Carol knew the trouble on the school trip to Norfolk had started with Ada, she would never let her within hundred miles of the house.

Once breakfast was over, Bobby and Errol dumped their plates and bowls into the washing up bowl. Bobby drained the oil from the frying pan into a little cup, as Auntie liked to use it for gravy stock. He dumped the frying pan into the bowl, enjoying the sizzle it made as it slid into the water. The smell of bacon mixed with the lemony washing up liquid was heady.

See what happens when you lie Bobby?

‘Oh, give a rest Mum,’ he muttered.

‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Auntie Carol, about two seconds away from dispensing something painful.

‘Just saying I need a rest Auntie,’ Bobby replied quickly.

More lying Bobby?

‘Boy, stop talking foolishness and come out of me way.’

Auntie bustled between Bobby and his brother to make a start on the washing up. It was the one time of the day they got out of doing chores. School always came first. That had always been Mum’s number one rule, and Auntie Carol was more than happy to enforce it.

Going to be hard enough in this world, without you being stupid too.

Bobby wished she was here, wished she were more than just a voice in his head.

‘Bobby. Get your head out of the clouds!’

Auntie stared at him, her hands gloved in fluffy white soap suds.

‘Ain’t no answers up there, just the ones the Lord gives. You don’t go looking for them.’

Auntie leaned in to do up Bobby’s top button and straighten his tie.

‘And make sure you nuh late home, you hear me?’

‘Yes Auntie,’ said Bobby staking a step back.

Auntie Carol swept him into an enormous hug. Bobby looked back at his brother, pointed to door and mouthed ‘Save yourself’.

Errol grinned his thanks and slung his sports bag over his shoulder before slipping out of the kitchen. There were days when Bobby wondered if Ninjas were secretly training his brother. It would certainly explain how he was in the top teams for Football, Rugby, Cricket and Athletics. And how he so rarely got caught by Auntie or dad.

Auntie Carol jumped at the sound of the front door slamming shut. ‘Me no care if him a school prefect, that boy needs to find him manners.’

She released Bobby at last, who gasped, grateful he could breathe again. She was staring hard at him now, with a fierce love. Tears began rolling down her plump cheeks.

‘Auntie?’

There was no answer, only more tears with the occasional shake of the head. It broke Bobby’s heart to see her upset. He snatched a large roll of kitchen towel from the table, tore off a couple of pieces and waved them in front of Auntie Carol.

Auntie Carol wiped her face, exposing red and puffy eyes.

‘I’m alright Bobby… you just,’ she swallowed a few times before she spoke again. ‘You look like your mum so much… You got dem same eyes, dat same troublesome look.’

Bobby never thought he looked like his mum, unlike Auntie Carol, who was basically a slightly thinner version of mum.

‘Sorry about lying earlier,’ said Bobby as Auntie Carol took a piece of kitchen towel. ‘I did jump down the stairs.’

‘Go on now,’ sniffed Auntie Carol, planting another sloppy kiss on his cheek.

‘And me want none of dat Norfolk business this year, you hear? If me or your father haffi come to dat school again …’

‘None of that trouble, Auntie – got it! Bye!’

Bobby grabbed his satchel and ran for the front door before Auntie’s lecture could hit its stride. He opened the first door then closed it behind him. He was now stood in the cosy little space between the two doors. He loved it. Some days he would spend hours sat on the floor here, reading, where no one would find him. He undid his top button once more and breathed in deeply.

Auntie Carol was nice but she was not Mum. This was when he noticed it most: leaving the house.

Where are you off to Bobby?

‘No,’ he muttered back to the voice in his head. ‘I’m not playing today. You’re not her. You can’t be her.’

Bobby please…just…just tell me. I need to hear you say it.

The voice sounded so much like Mum but she sounded so sad.

‘Okay, ask me again,’ said Bobby.

Where are you off to Bobby?

Bobby bit back his tears.

‘I’m off to save the world, Mum.’

But Bobby couldn’t save anything. His world ended the day Mum died.

* * *