It was good that his mother had found a friend; she was certainly happier in herself since Mrs. Cooper had started dropping by on a regular basis. The neighbour usually came to the house three mornings a week: sometimes the two women would just sit and talk, sometimes they would do the housework together; usually once a week they would go out shopping. What was not good, was that occasionally Mrs. Cooper would turn up with Roland. Roland was the vicar’s nephew, who often stayed for long weeks with the vicar whilst his mother and father sorted out their problems. Mrs. Cooper had somehow convinced his mother that Roland was good for the twins to play with, it was so important for children to mix, to improve their social skills. He was good to play with all right but probably not in the way the grown-ups thought. Daniel had taken an instant dislike to the plump boy - mustn’t call him fat dear, it’s not very nice. The vicar’s nephew was a year older than the twins in age but a million years younger than even his brother in mental ability. Roland was OK when it came to crashing cars, his aim was unerringly accurate, but he was prone to bursting into floods of tears at the slightest little upset. The first time Mrs. Cooper brought him to the cottage, Roland spent most of the morning clinging to her leg as if something drastic would happen to him if he were to let go. He seemed to know the older woman very well and placed all his trust in her. Out of curiosity, Daniel felt gently inside Roland’s head - as he now did with everyone he met - trying to understand just how the boy viewed the world. The answer lay there on the surface of his shallow thoughts for anyone to read. The boy was totally unsure of himself, of his surroundings and of what life was all about in general. Everything Roland saw was surrounded by a huge question mark, always accompanied by thoughts of the quickest route back to safety - even Benjamin had more about him than this dolt. No moral fibre - although not exactly sure what the phrase meant, he had picked it up from the radio that his mother often had playing in the kitchen - it seemed to sum up Roland to a T. Just look at him now! Mother and Mrs. Cooper have left the three of them playing together in the garden, whilst they make the beds upstairs and see to Father. He knows, without having to see, that his mother keeps peeking out of the window to check on them, to make sure they are behaving themselves. Benjamin is sitting astride a red metal pedal tractor, which has become his favourite form of locomotion. Roland, obviously having been made aware of Benjamin’s sightless condition, is all but preventing him from progressing the vehicle more than a few paces in any direction in the fear that Benjamin would run into something. Benjamin will not run into anything, he is being watched over. If by any chance it looked as if he were going to suffer a mishap, then all Daniel has to do is to mentally convey this fact to his blind brother. Benjamin has come to rely on this extra information, giving him an apparent confidence to which no sightless child has a right. If his mother or anyone else ever notices this fact, then it does not seem to bother them; to the contrary, they are grateful that Benjamin seems to possess a sixth sense, keeping him from harm. Well most of the time anyway. Waiting until he feels his mother look out of the window, he knows it will be a good couple of minutes before she checks on them again. And a couple of minutes are all he needs. “Climb the tree,” Daniel says, looking at Roland. “Can’t,” Roland retorts, with the answer he has expected. Can’t is a word Roland uses a lot. “Climb the bloody tree!” Roland stands open-mouthed, looking at him uncertainly. Climb. Roland turns to study the tree. See, it’s not so hard. Apprehensively, Roland walks to the foot of the large weeping willow and examines its sloping trunk. Wrapping his arms around the tree’s rough bark, Roland inches his way up to its lowest branch. With both hands clenched tightly together around the trunk, he finally manages to get his leg over the branch and sits nervously astride it. Higher. Roland looks up nervously. Slowly working his hands up the trunk until they grasp the branch above his head, he levers himself up with a painful slowness to stand on the higher branch. Then one higher still. Although he knows his mother is now in the front bedroom, he glances up at the window, to visually confirm this. His concentration leaves Roland for a moment and the boy bursts into tears. When Roland cries, he really cries. The sound would easily be heard by his mother and Mrs. Cooper. Timing is everything. As he expects, the two women appear at the upstairs window within moments of Roland’s initial outburst. He hears them exclaim simultaneously. “Roland!” Mrs. Cooper. “Oh my God!” his mother. The two women watch, helpless spectators, as he provides Roland with the last thought the boy will ever have in his short, pathetic life. Of course you can fly. You’re a bird. Fly, Fly, Fly.

MARCUS LYNDALE