Tumble turn
Part One
Chapter 1. Kick
It all began for Gordon when he squirmed his way between Scott and Scott's latest girlfriend possibility, Kate Nguyen, and mentioned Scott's membership of the Honey Happies fan-club. Or, at least, it all began to come to light and change the Tracy family forever when he did so. Gordon's introduction of the whole Honey Happies thing was deeply dangerous for several reasons; the Honey Happies kids' show was renowned as being the cheesiest thing outside a pizza joint, something no cool person would ever have anything to do with; Gordon knew how much Scott liked Kate and wanted her to like him, and equally, how much he loathed Honey Happies and all who sailed in it; and Gordon had secretly joined Scott up for the Honey Happies fan-club himself, much to Scott's ongoing horror and annoyance. The roar that Scott gave when Gordon played his hand was a deeply impressive one, and Gordon counted it amongst his Top Five of All Time. Score.
Gordon also decided that discretion being the better part of valour, and survival being the better part of traumatic injury, and most importantly, that going while the going was good were all philosophies he could really get behind right about then. He twisted away from the enraged Scott's outstretched hand and dived back into the homely melee that was the annual Coniston county fair. His quick mind showed him three potential escape routes, and he chose the one that led him behind the jellies and relishes stand knowing that Scott always avoided the two garrulous old women who were currently putting out their wares for the afternoon shift.
"Hello, Mrs Abernathy, Mrs Krause." He ducked in behind them, crouching down. "How are you today?"
"Why, Gordon Tracy. Aren't you just growing like a beanstalk?" Mrs Abernathy beamed at him in a motherly way that Gordon and all his brothers had long come to distrust.
"Whatever are you up to?" Jessica Krause said, winking. Gordon gave her a disarming grin.
"I'm hiding from my brother, Scott. He's kinda mad at me."
Both women chuckled indulgently, and both women's eyes sparked with an avid desire to know all the details. Scott was a naturally polite boy, and his dislike of the women was a well-earned one. Gordon was hiding behind the two most shameless gossips in the county.
"Alright now. Suppose you tell us what you've been up to, and we'll see if we can't keep that big brother of yours out of the way?"
Gordon looked at Mrs Abernathy, his eleven year old face instantly assuming an angelic air.
"It really wasn't anything bad. I guess I bugged him too much in front of – " And there, Gordon stopped. His mischief did not extend into the malicious, and he knew that handing these two women information that Scott regarded as private would only end in hurting his brother. Hastily, he amended his original thought into "- in front of his old elementary school teacher."
"Which one, dear?" And Gordon could see the gleeful wheels turning behind Mrs Krause's assumed kindliness. Anything at all was grist to these old curtain-twitchers' mill. So Gordon thought of his least favourite teacher, and grinned.
"Mrs Broughton. She teaches math."
"Oh, yes, Alicia Broughton." Mrs Abernathy leant forward, intrigued. "Now what were she and Scott talking about, Gordon sweetheart?"
"Uh – I think you have customers." Gordon gestured to where several people were milling at the front of the stand, and the two women swung back to their wares, leaving Gordon free to wriggle back through the boxes stacked behind the stand before they could question him any further. He squeezed down under the canvas tent side into the sunshine, beaming. He considered it all a successful, if not quite brilliant, Scott-attack and withdrawal; he had driven Scott apoplectic, escaped retribution (albeit temporarily), had not said anything that would come back on either himself or Scott, and if challenged he could truthfully say he had seen Scott talking to Mrs Broughton that day, so…
Well satisfied, he was about to break cover when he looked up and found that Scott had brought Kate Nguyen around behind the stalls tent and was now standing less than four feet away from where Gordon crouched, momentarily stymied.
There were any number of pranks that Gordon was happy to pull on his brothers, but eavesdropping on their amorous affairs was something he was not willing to do –less from any sense of decorum than from the fact he had eavesdropped on his elder brothers to disastrous effect last year and he had well and truly learned his lesson there. A further tactical withdrawal was immediately required, so Gordon simply hit reverse gear and wriggled back under the canvas and amongst the boxes.
From there, he could look out between the legs of the stand's trestle and watch the people strolling about, unaware of his watching. He could take a large breath, and let the unique scents of the county fair overwhelm him; the smell of popcorn crushed into the summer dust, the oil and grease from the rides, the beckoning of hot dogs and candy floss, and under it all the smell of corn ripening in fields stretching out a hundred miles in each direction.
He could also hear what Mrs Abernathy and Mrs Krause were talking about as they settled back after selling three pots of their jellies.
"Oh, that poor boy. Every time I see him, I think it's such a shame."
"Oh, I know. I know. Well, I always say it's the quiet ones who stand to be watched, and I knew it when I he brought her home. I took one look and thought, mm-mm. You better keep an eye on this one, young man. Too good to be true. And of course, she was."
"Butter wouldn't melt."
"Butter indeed. Three little boys at home, and her – well, I won't speak ill of the dead, but I guess we all know where she went and what she did."
Gordon sat very still. For some reason, his stomach had begun to twist.
"It's in the Bible. Your sins shall find you out, it says, Jessica. The Lord's very clear. Those that sin shall always be found out."
"And to look at him now, well, he's the spitting image of you-know-who. I wonder they don't blush each time those boys come to church."
"No shame."
"No shame." Gordon wasn't sure who was saying what, but he knew that one of them was leaning closer to the other and dropping her voice. His own throat was so tight he couldn't speak even at a whisper.
"And then to have another! Well, all I can say is, she must have kept him on a very tight leash."
"Oh, but didn't you know? He was the one who started stepping out. Some woman in the city."
"I did not know that!" The excitement in the woman's voice was palpable. "So he was no better!"
"If you ask me, he drove her to look outside the home. What's good for the goose..."
"While the cat's away..."
Both women cackled, immensely entertained by their topic of conversation. The laughter died away, and one of them sighed deeply.
The sympathy had obviously swung about.
"Poor little thing. There it is. Three beautiful boys, and that man has to go and find his pleasures with some slut in the city while she's stuck at home."
"And they are nice boys."
Another pause, another subject leap.
"He's so brave. It must be hard, odd man out."
"Cuckoo in the nest."
"Do you think he even knows?"
They paused to reflect on that question, giving it the weight of an amusing little puzzle.
"Well, he must. Oh, I don't know! Ruth Tracy might not have allowed it, you know, and what she says goes in that household."
Gordon gave a shuddering little in-breath, unconsciously digging his fingers deep into the grass. His whole being was focused on the women in front of him and their inexorable, unbearable gossip.
"But my dear, does she even know?"
It was obvious that the notion of knowing something Ruth Tracy didn't was a delicious one.
"The father must know, surely? Or do you think she kept it from him?"
"Do you think she could? Maybe at the start, but he must have seen you-know-who about the place. Anyone with eyes can see it!"
"Well, good for her if she did! Good for her, I say."
"I bet she did. And then they had the other little one. Brought him to heel, no doubt."
"Brought him to heel! Oh yes. Five boys. Brought him to heel alright!" And they both cackled again, the domestic tragedy they were so carelessly unfolding meaning nothing to them but an immensely satisfying stroll into schadenfreude.
"Oh, the brambleberry, Mrs Torrens? Well, certainly. You know, I think it's my best batch ever this year. It's the climate control, so much easier to work with these days."
With the knowledge that the women were distracted, Gordon took the chance to slither in a desperate silence backwards until he came out into the sunlight again. His violent urge to get away from this – this nonsense, this garbage, these lies and slanders and lies and nothing to do with his dad, his dad, not his dad, not – oh god, Mum, not Mum – robbed him of any thought but escape. He paid no attention to anything else, which made his mistake inevitable. His sneaker-clad feet bumped straight into Scott's shins, and his elder brother yelped before looking down and then reaching to grab Gordon's ankle and yank it.
"Oh look, Kate. Look what comes crawling out from under those boxes when you lift them." He pulled hard enough to drag Gordon completely free of the boxes and hold him upside down, arms pin-wheeling helplessly. "Hello, little brother. Helping out the jelly stand, are we?"
"Let me go!" Gordon arched and kicked, but Scott was strong enough and Gordon small enough that his efforts were in vain. From where he was suspended Gordon could see Kate's approving smirk, and beyond them, Virgil and Alan descending upon them, looking equally amused.
"Did you win it in the lucky dip, Scotty?" Virgil tilted his head, frowning slightly. "Are you sure you want to bring it home with you? You know Grandma doesn't approve of filling up the place with junk."
"Hey Gordy!" Alan waved enthusiastically, his own head upside down to meet Gordon's eye. "Whatcha doin'?"
"Yeah, I think you've got a point, Virg." Scott pulled in his stomach and hitched back as Gordon flailed towards his groin, barely missing. "I think I should just dump this in the trash."
"Let – let me go!" Gordon kicked out harder, his back twisting and flexing so wildly that Scott was forced to open his grip and step back, dropping him into the dust where his momentum kept him spinning for a moment or two.
"Whoa." John strolled up, eyebrows raised in mild appreciation of the whirling dervish Gordon had become to escape. "Settle down, Gordon. You'll do yourself an injury."
"He'll do all of us an injury at that rate," Virgil said, grinning. Alan stepped forward to offer a hand, but Gordon batted it away, rolling over onto his hands and knees and coughing at the rising dust he'd disturbed.
"So. Gordon. What was that you were saying about some ridiculous kids' show?" Scott peered down with patently fake concern. "Care to let Kate in on the story about how you stole my v-cert password and ordered that fan-club rubbish illegally?"
Gordon couldn't breathe. It was the dust. The tightness in his chest, the sickness in his stomach, it was the dust. He coughed again, trying to drag in a breath, wiping at his face and suddenly aware that there were tears and snot trailing down towards his open mouth.
"Nothing?" Scott straightened up. "Fair enough. Just thought you were so keen to share with Kate here, I'd give you a chance."
"If he were my little brother…" Kate said.
"You have brothers and sisters?" Virgil, being polite.
"Ugh. One of each."
"Yeah, they can be a handful alright."
"How would you know?" That was John's voice. Gordon tried to draw in air again, and the effort sent his stomach rolling. "You've only got two younger than you. Try three."
"Try four." Scott's voice became brisk. "Okay, folks, time we hit the road. Ah-ah. No whining, Alan. Grandma said home by five. Once Gordon's stopped having kittens or whatever the hell he's doing."
"Gordon?" Virgil's voice came from somewhere closer, and Gordon realised he was bending over to get a better look at him. Instinctively, he ducked his head away, a fourth son's inbuilt horror of showing tears overriding almost everything else. "Hey, Gordo, you okay?"
"Gordon?" That was Alan, and oh god, now it was becoming a freak show. They'd all be over him, and he couldn't bear it. Not now.
"Go away." He pushed out haphazardly, connecting with someone's shoulder but keeping his head down where the tears and snot could drop to the ground, unnoticed. "Just all go away."
"Gordon, hey. Hey, it's okay." Virgil's hand was on his shoulder, and his tone held nothing but concern. "Come on. Let's get you up and home, okay? Been a long day."
But it hadn't been a day. It had been a year, a century, since they'd all piled into the old sedan that morning, looking forward to a day of sun and sweetness and the rush of the rides. All that lay in the long distant past, a memory, an archaeological site of the family that was. Time had rushed through and left Gordon standing on the edge of a gulf, his brothers safe and happy and together on the other side. He hung his head lower, starting a cough that became something else, and before he could say anything he lurched forward, spewing the day's hotdogs and candy floss and sodas in a noisome stream across John's shoes.
"Oh, that is disgusting."
"Yeah, thanks Kate, I got that." John, from right above him and yet somehow far away. "Al, get me some water, would you?"
"Gordy?"
"Yeah, he'll be okay, Allie. Just get me the water, okay? Need to clean this off, and I think Gordon would like to rinse out his mouth, right?"
"Just all – all go away!"
"No can do, Gordo." Scott stepped up. "Come on, buddy, let's get you home. Hey." He squatted down, and Gordon shrank from him, hiding his face in his shoulder, heedless of the mess on it, wanting only to be unseen as his heart thumped a tattoo of misery and his head tried to find a path through the new world he had been thrust into. He didn't want anyone to notice, to make connections, to suddenly realise.
He wasn't a Tracy any more.
He wasn't a Tracy any more, and surely that would be written on his face. Surely, someone was going to say it, was going to sit back with a "You know, Gordon, I never saw it before but you sure do look a lot like – "
"Here." Scott was holding him, tipping a bottle of water towards his mouth. "Take a sip, kiddo, spit it out." It was the strong, protective Scott at his side now, and Gordon felt fresh sobs coming. He shook his head, and someone else put a hand on the back of his neck, gently. Probably Virgil. Virgil was always the most dependable of his brothers, the one he could always rely on when he was in real trouble.
But this was a trouble Gordon could never put into words.
Someone handed him a handkerchief, and he grabbed it gratefully, covering his face before wiping at it roughly as If to wipe away his traitorous features. The hand on his neck squeezed, comforting him, and Scott clapped his shoulder.
"There you go. That's better."
"Oh, my god," Kate said. "Stop babying him."
"Don't you have to go now?" Alan, scrappy as ever.
"Can't you see he's just stuffed himself all day and now he's in trouble he's making a fuss?"
"Interesting take on an upset kid throwing up," John said drily.
"Upset? Wow. You just don't even see how much you're being played right now, do you?"
"Guess not. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go wash off this pretend vomit."
Gordon breathed through the sodden handkerchief, eyes closed, wishing he was a thousand miles away, wishing he was anyone, anywhere else.
"Well, I'm not here for babysitting. Scott, are you going to take me home?"
Scott left Gordon's side, standing upright. His voice was cold.
"Sorry, Kate. I have to get my brothers home. I'm sure your folks are still waiting for you."
"Fine. I'll be going then. Oh, and Scott, forget about that thing we talked about before. Not in a million years."
Scott nodded. "Good to know. See you around, Kate." He didn't sound put out by the declaration. Gordon saw Kate's feet spin around and take her away from them, spitting up whorls of dust as they did so.
Hands came under his arms and lifted him slowly to his feet. He kept the handkerchief at his face, compulsively scrubbing.
"Come on, Gordo. Let's go home." Virgil wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Did I tell you I won third prize for my watermelon? 'Strue. Got the ribbon to prove it. And Grandma got first for her fruitcake."
"Yeah, except they thought it was a rock sculpture paperweight." John chuckled, coming alongside. "She won in the home handicrafts section. Judges said they never saw such a clever and realistic rendition of a fruitcake in a medium other than foodstuffs."
"You won't tell her, will you, Johnny?"
"Nah, Alan. She's got a blue ribbon, that's all she needs to know."
Somehow, they got to the car. Gordon sat silently in the back, staring out at the landscape that could have been his father's moon for all he recognised it. His brothers left him alone with the honest understanding of boys who managed to push each other too far on a regular basis and knew how to implement damage control when they did.
He stepped into the house that now seemed to echo with all the secrets it had seen, and still kept. His grandmother's smile was a lie, his brothers' boisterous play a mockery. He put himself to bed without eating any supper, half listening as Scott explained about the fair, and brotherly shenanigans, and how he'd be fine in the morning.
He lay wide-eyed in the dark until long after everyone had gone to bed and to sleep, and not long after he finally succumbed, he startled awake to a new and unpleasant sensation in the bed.
That was the first of a long series of nights that Gordon Tracy woke to find he'd wet the bed.