Being Small by Chaz Brenchley Read Free Book Online

whistles.”
    “We noticed,” my mother said, a little dryly. “Michael, perhaps you’d better hang on to his collar, if he’s liable to go shooting off again.”
    The dog wasn’t going anywhere, he was having far too much fun. He’d squirmed out of my grasp and was playing with the wrapping-paper now, pouncing stiff-legged into the pile of it and grabbing mouthfuls, shaking them and scattering them like rats.
    “Oh, God. Nigel...!” One of the men grabbed him then, while the other snatched at the mangled paper before the wind could take it. I stood up to help, saw that I wasn’t needed and went to talk to the dog again. Even on the lead he was happy, bouncing, jumping up as if all the soul of him were in his teeth and his tongue and that was strong enough to lift him as high as he wanted to go.
    It was the older man who had control of Nigel. The other might be half his age, early twenties, blond and pretty and knowing it, groomed for it. He gathered up armsful of paper and took them back to my mother, saying, “Somebody’s birthday?”
    “The twins,” my mother said, nodding in my direction. “They’re sixteen.”
    “Nice. Set the controls for the heart of the sun. But I’m afraid we’ve pooped your party.” His voice was light and lemony, tart enough to shiver me.
    “Not to worry. We were just having a break to do their presents, but we should get back to work anyway. There’s another vanload to shift yet, and I’d like to be in before dark. Find that key, Michael, and we’ll get on. If you’ve finished winding up the dog.”
    Obviously, I hadn’t. The guy on the other end of the lead twitched an eyebrow at me and said, “Aren’t you missing someone? Twins, she said.”
    “My brother died,” I said quickly, before my mother could, “but he still gets his presents.” Sometimes she could sound quite mad, when she talked about Small. I could say the exact same things and just sound haunted.
    “Ah. I’m sorry. Of course he does, that would be important.”
    His friend was checking over the heap of presents as he spoke, where they were piled just inside the van’s door. “Oh, hey – you play chess?”
    “Sure.” We both do, but I’m better – it was on the tip of my tongue, and for a wonder that’s where it stayed, even while my mother waited to hear it.
    “Fancy a game sometime, just come by the house. Number thirty-nine, up the lane there, and say you’re a chessmaster. You’ll be welcome.”
    “I’m not –”
    But I was overridden by my mother’s saying, “Number thirty-nine? We’re almost neighbours, then. Michael and I are Mrs Alleyn’s new lodgers, along at forty-seven.”
    “That right? Welcome to the neighbourhood. We don’t know the neighbours; we don’t actually live here, see. Just come by to walk the dog and be useful. But definitely, come round and play chess. Any time. Come tonight, and we can introduce you.”
    “Can’t,” I said, not too sorry. I don’t like being rushed. “I’m out with a friend tonight.”
    “Of course you are, you’re sixteen. Crash and burn. Well, come soon, then.”
    “He will,” my mother promised for me, she who loves to rush things. “Who should he ask for?”
    “Doesn’t matter, really. Chess is the password. But – oh. You mean, who are we, that you should trust your boy to us? Sorry. Again. I’m Kit, and that’s Peter,” his more solid friend, dark and quiet, like an anchor. “The dog’s Nigel, but you know that already.”
    My mother introduced herself and me, and said that my brother was called Small; and then of course she said, “And if the dog needs a regular walker, I think Michael would be happy to help.” So swift, so keen she was to give me all away.
    “Oh, cool. A chess-playing dogwalker. Couldn’t be better. Peter, can we adopt him?”
    “Only for the duration. And with his mother’s consent. Michael, never mind Kit; if you want to come by, please do. Not only Nigel will be pleased to see you,