We sat there for a very long time. The only sounds were Dawson’s occasional mouse clicks and the distant rumble of Hunt and Destroy from the garden. I think I held my breath the whole time.
Eventually, Dawson shut down the computer and sat back. ‘A risky move.’
‘Ikneweveryone would love it.’
‘Not everyone.’
I’d kept the handful of less than awesome comments to prove authenticity.
‘There isn’t a single piece of art in the world thateveryoneloves. But the fact that some totally objective and unbiased strangers do love it is amazing.’
The hint of a smile twitched at the corner of Dawson’s mouth. ‘Yeah.’
‘So you aren’t mad?’
‘Are you going to let me take over the site? I need to answer the comments. And do a questions page and news updates. And why did you pick that picture for the home page? It’s rubbish. And couldn’t you find a decent scanner? The colours are all wrong.’
‘Are you going to add some information about the author and illustrator?’
Dawson picked at a fingernail. ‘I thought we were trying to get people tolikethe comic, not hate it.’
‘Half of Middlebeck Primary already love it. They aren’t going to change their minds because it’s you. But it might help them get to know you a little better.’
‘Loads of authors use a fake name.’
I considered this. ‘You’re right. It’s up to you. Wearetelling your mum and dad, though.’
The back door flew open and a herd of hollering buffalo streamed past. When the dust settled, I said, ‘And if your brothers find out, it’s going to be almost impossible to keep it secret.’
Dawson frowned.
‘But I won’t tell them if you don’t.’
‘Can I have my computer time now, so I can do some stuff on it before dinner?’ He glanced at me. ‘I mean, what you did was okay, but…’
‘Go for it.’ I wrote down the login and password. ‘If you want help figuring anything out, just ask.’
He skidded off to where the family computer sat in the living room, appearing at the kitchen door again three seconds later. ‘And, yeah. Thanks.’
Dawson vanished before I could get a reply past the lump in my throat.
And I realised then, this whole thing was not about getting people to know and like Dawson. It was about helping Dawson like himself.
* * *
I had spent more than a few anxious evenings counting pennies and finding out what I could about rewiring and damp-proofing, poking about in nooks and crannies and catastrophising about what the council’s report would say. One morning, unable to bear the wait any longer, I called the Environmental Health department and asked for Darren Smith.
‘Darren who?’ the receptionist asked.
After several back and forths and toings and froings, we established that Darren Smith had never worked for the local council, or any neighbouring councils, in any way, shape or form.
‘Sorry, duck. Sounds like someone’s having a joke.’
I wasn’t laughing.
The next morning, I found Jamie back from his latest mission and flipping heart-shaped pancakes in the café.
I explained about the mysterious Darren Smith. Jamie slid one more pancake onto the steaming stack and handed them to Sarah.
