HOWZAT

“Do you want to make words?” Justin asked, pleased with his own altruism. Poor linguistically challenged little sod. Maybe he could teach him to swear.

His brother busied himself with the alphabet blocks. J, S, T. He fixed Justin with an intent look.

Justin shook his head. “That doesn’t spell anything,” he said, reaching to find a vowel. “Look, C-A-T, cat.”

The child sighed and snatched the blocks back, adding more letters to the ones on the floor.

J, S, T, N, C, A, S. There was a shortage of vowels.

Justin’s attention wandered. He was already bored. The child added an “E” to the end, and clapped his hands. “Look.”

“Yes, fine, OK.” Justin drifted back into humouring mode. “Hooray, well done, excellent. What have you spelled?” He glanced at the letters, looked again, and froze. The blood drained from his face, and he stared at his brother. “Jesus Christ, how on earth did you do that?” The child, busy with his task, didn’t look up.

H, A, T.

Justin stared. “Justin Case hat? What? What are you trying to write?” With a look of infinite patience, Charlie began to adjust the letters. “Look,” he said again, with satisfaction.

Justin looked. The letters had been divided more carefully now, leaving large spaces between words so there could be no doubt as to the meaning.

JST IN CASE WHAT.

He looked at Charlie then down again at the words.

Just in case what? Just in case something irreversible occurs. Just in case he was maimed, injured, died. Just in case something so horrible happened to him, or to someone he knew, that he would never, ever, recover.

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