Little Big Man

by Katy Regan

I knew she was right about ‘retracing your steps’ helping the investigation. Once I lost my Factblaster book, and was really panicking, then I retraced my steps and remembered I’d taken it to the chippy to read while I was waiting. I’d left it there two whole days earlier, but it was still there. People think there are loads of thieves on our estate, but they’re just prejudiced.

  The problem I had with Teagan’s suggestion was that if we started asking Mum too many questions, she’d get suspicious that we were looking for my dad and then she might try and stop us because she wouldn’t understand that it could be brilliant in the end.

  I explained this to Teagan. She looked disappointed. ‘Oh,’ she said. I felt bad that I’d dissed her idea. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. So we can’t really ask her any more questions then?’

  I thought about it for a minute. ‘We can,’ I said. ‘Just nothing too obvious.’ I told her not to worry, as secret investigations are a lot harder than normal, not-secret ones. Then I said we should go over the facts we already had from the Dad Beach Run and our mission so far. I wanted her to finish our meeting feeling excited again. It was the end of March – we only had until my birthday party at the end of May and we hadn’t got the letter to my dad yet.

  I didn’t have the Find Dad mission folder with me, so I got out my spelling book and wrote in the back. We had to be careful because Miss Kendall was on break duty. Her bump is so big now she looks like Mr Greedy.

  Facts we already have about my dad:

  • His middle name is Vaughan.

  • His dad’s name is Vaughan Jones.

  • His dad was a skipper and they lived on the Rollo Estate.

  • My dad had a paper round when he was a teenager.

  • Half his thumb is missing because his own dad shut it in the door when he was drunk.

  • He’s got really dark hair like Teagan.

  • His dream was to be a chef like my uncle Jamie (even though when my mum knew him he was still a fisherman like my grandad used to be, but he might have gone to cheffing school like my uncle Jamie, you never know).

  • He’s got really light blue eyes like mine.

  • The first time he kissed my mum was outside a pub called The Fiddler in Cleethorpes.

  • On their third date, he cooked a ginormous three-course meal including Singapore crab (the best thing my mum’s ever tasted) and my mum ate so much, she had to go for a walk around the block. My dad said that was the moment he fell in love with her.

  ‘Hey, do you remember her face,’ I said to Teagan, when I’d finished writing the list, ‘when she was telling us that story about how he fell in love with her?’

  Teagan did an impression of my mum with her gooey love eyes. It was very funny.

  ‘And when she said about your eyes,’ Teagan said, sitting up. ‘She didn’t just say they were “blue”, she said they were “beautiful light blue eyes like yours” and she was batting her eyelashes. She looked a bit crazy!’

  ‘See,’ I said. ‘So she can’t deny she did love him once, can she? And even though she hates his guts now ’cause he left and never came back, our job is to find out why he did – so she might forgive him and they’ll fall in love again.’

  By the time we had to go back in, after break, Teagan had cheered up.

  Sometimes you can only really understand or realize something when the opposite happens to you. It’s like when I was really hot, running on the beach, and I totally appreciated how nice ice-cold Fanta is. Grandad always says, ‘If you do everything the same, you’ll get the same result.’ I never used to understand him. Me and Nan used to look at each other when he said it, because we didn’t have the foggiest what he was going on about, but since the opposite has happened to me, I realize what he meant. Basically, after I (well, Mum) did one thing differently (go on a date), everything else that followed has been different too – it’s been really good. So I’ve written a new saying: If you change one thing, then everything after it will change too, probably for the best.

  I wrote my theory and how it worked down in the Find Dad mission folder. (Missions are like maths – it’s good to show your working out.)

  • If my mum hadn’t gone on the Date from Hell, she’d never have got drunk and said she loved my dad.

  • So, I’d never have decided to look for him.

  • So, I’d never have agreed to do the Dad Beach Run, because I wouldn’t have needed the facts about my dad (because believe me, that is the only reason I did it).

  • But then, I’d never have tried running and realized that exercise is actually all right – it can even make you feel happy.

  • I’d never then have agreed, with a good attitude (because it doesn’t count if it’s not with a good attitude) to go to the sessions with Jason, and remembered how much I like him.

  It’s not even that I forgot, it’s just that I hadn’t seen him to remember.

  I’ve got a confession, you see: before I started going on the exercise sessions three weeks ago now, I’d been avoiding him. I’d been praying on my Factblaster book that I didn’t bump into him ever since seeing him outside the Your Fitness centre the day Miss Kendall told us she was having a baby. It felt awkward, that’s why, and I felt guilty. I felt like I was hiding a secret – the secret that I was looking for my dad – and I was worried that if Jason found out, he’d be sad, if he still loved my mum, and so it was best I didn’t see him in case I blurted it out.

  But then Mum said she’d set up these exercise sessions, and I freaked out, not just because of this, but because I thought it might mean that he and my mum were trying to get back together again and it would ruin my idea to get Mum back with Dad. Once my mum had said she didn’t love my dad anymore, that felt even more risky. (It’s nothing against Jason. It’s just all kids want their parents to be together, it’s a fact.) I just couldn’t resist in the end, though, because deep down I did want to see him.

  Today’s session was football (last week we did table tennis which is much more energetic than it looks) and me and Jason were up at the playing fields behind the railway track like old times. We were about to start playing, but first of all Jason had to guess what I’d put in today’s sandwich. It’s part of the rule of our meetings: he sorts out the exercise bit, but I have to bring him a new sandwich I’ve invented. I make them at Mum’s work. Raymond lets me in early on a Saturday morning sometimes, to practise inventing new sandwiches; I help him unload his van then he lets me loose on the ingredients. I put on the plastic gloves and hat like my mum does and pretend I’m a professional sandwich maker; it’s totally epic. I then go and quickly make my new sandwich on the way to my session with Jason on Mondays. The extra bit that I’ve added to the rules is that Jason has to put on a blindfold while he tastes the sandwich then tells me what he thinks all the ingredients are. After the exercise we get to eat my sandwiches. They always taste extra nice by then because you’re so starving.

  Jason leant against the goalpost and put the blindfold on. (We just use a football sock; it works really well.) Then I gave him my sandwich. I always wrap it up in the brown paper you can only get from Mum’s work so that it looks professional.

  ‘Right, what have you brought me today then?’ said Jason, peeling back the paper and sniffing it. ‘Because whatever it is, it smells blummin’ good.’

  I smiled when he said that. It felt nice.

  He took a bite and chewed really slowly. The way he did it, it was making me laugh. Jason can make you laugh when he’s not even saying anything. Mum says it’s because he’s just got ‘one of those faces’.

  ‘Mmm, there’s definitely chicken. Already better than that nonsense you brought me the first day: seven layers of lettuce and a lousy piece of ham – how’s that supposed to sustain a growing lad?’ And he’s not just kind to you because you’re a kid. It’s like he hasn’t even noticed you are one, but it’s good, I like it.

  He kept chewing. ‘I can detect tomato?’

  ‘Yeah, but what kind?’
>
  ‘Ah, sundried!’ he said after a bit. ‘Very fancy, Zac, very gourmet, I like that.’ (I liked this game.)

  ‘Yeah, but what other vegetables?’

  ‘There are other vegetables?’

  ‘Three different ones.’ I’d listened to what he’d said about how the more colours there are, the better it is for you, and I’d tried out different combinations at Mum’s work to get a really good one.

  ‘OK, kale?’

  ‘What?’ I’d never even heard of it.

  ‘Spinach then?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And red pepper.’

  ‘Actually, it’s yellow,’ I said, glad I’d caught him out. ‘But I’ll let you off, ’cause I’m nice like that.’

  This time it was Jason’s turn to laugh because he knew I was doing an impression of him. ‘Well, Zac, you’ve surpassed yourself,’ he said after he’d eaten half of it. (He liked it so much he wasn’t even saving it all for after.) ‘That, my friend, is the King of Sandwiches’ – which I thought was cool, because I’d made it at Sandwich King.

  Jason put the rest of the sandwich away and asked me what I wanted to do.

  ‘Dunno. Go to McDonald’s? Just kidding!’ You can kid all the time with Jason and he never thinks you’re naughty, but he doesn’t laugh at all your jokes either, so you know which ones are really funny.

  We did a warm-up – you always have to. Today’s consisted of star jumps (a nine on my one-to-ten scale of all-time worst exercises), a jog around the pitch (only a six, because I’m getting more used to jogging now) then some sit-ups, which are definitely a ten. You have to be serious for days afterwards, because if you laugh, your stomach feels like you’ve been stabbed, but it’s the only way to get a six-pack.

  ‘Right,’ Jason said when we’d finished the warm-up and I was lying on the floor, dying from the sit-ups, ‘shall we play some football then?’ I groaned, but I got up and I walked over to stand in goal. But Jason just stood there, stroking his beard.

  ‘What you doing?’ he said.

  ‘Going in goal.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Because I always go in goal. I always went in goal when I played footie with you, and Mr Grimshaw’ – that’s our PE teacher; Jason knows him – ‘always puts me in goal as well. He says it’s the best place for me.’

  Jason nodded really slowly. He looked sort of mad and sad at the same time. ‘Does he now?’ he said. ‘Well, I’ve got news for you, Mr Hutchinson. Two bits, actually. The first is that I’m sorry if I’ve always put you in goal – that’s crap and unfair of me and makes me a shoddy coach, not to mention a shoddy mate – and the second is that you’re not going in goal anymore.’ He started to walk towards me then, all determined.

  ‘What? Am I not?’ My belly rolled like a wave. The only time I’ve been out of goal in PE (in Year 6, anyway) was once when we had a supply PE teacher who didn’t know I always had to be goalie and everyone said I should get a bra because I had boobs that bounced when I ran.

  ‘No, you’re not,’ said Jason, putting his hand out. ‘Come on, out you come.’ I gave him my hand but I still didn’t move. ‘Come on,’ he said again, pulling me a bit this time. ‘We’re going to get you moving.’

  ‘But I move in goal.’

  ‘I mean, really moving.’

  I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I’ve always wanted to play football and not just be in goal. I’ve always wanted to run around, like everybody else, without worrying I’m getting sweat patches, or looking like I need a bra. I’d love to do all the tricks like ‘around the world’ and ‘rainbow flicks’ and dart in and out of all the players like a gecko. It looks like dancing when you see Jacob Wilmore do it. His feet move so fast, you can’t believe it, and when he scores the goals, because it’s only really him that does, everyone piles on him and loves him like a hero. Now I was being given the chance by Jason to try it all, with nobody else watching, and I didn’t want to. It was stupid.

  Jason let go of my hand. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Dunno. I just want to stay in goal.’

  ‘Right, and what’s going to happen next week?’

  ‘I’ll come out of goal.’

  ‘So what’s the difference between this week and next week?’

  I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. I was just starting to wish I’d not decided to come to these sessions now.

  Nobody said anything for a bit. All you could hear were the trains whooshing by behind us.

  Jason leant on the goalpost and sighed – a really big one, like he was tired all of a sudden. ‘What are you scared of, Zac?’

  ‘Nothing,’ I said, but it was a lie, because suddenly I felt scared of loads of things: looking stupid, going to school, being fat forever; Jason and Mum finding out I was looking for my dad; Mum and Jason getting back together. Most of all, I was worried about being crap at football (the running around kind, not in goal). Of Jason being disappointed in me. I was thinking of what would happen when I met my dad, too. Football is what sons and dads do together – it’s a fact. Not one like in my Factblaster book but it’s still a fact. What if I met him and he wanted to do it, and I was still crap?

  Jason put his hand on my shoulder.

  ‘Is it that you might find it hard, if I make you run around?’

  I shrugged. ‘Yeah, a bit. I mean, I can run; I did the run on the beach and it was all right’ – even though I had the facts to keep me going – ‘but it’s the football I’m worried about. Like, I love football and know loads about it but … I can’t do it, I can’t do the skills and stuff. I can’t even do a header. I’m too slow and get all out of breath really quick and—’

  ‘Woah, woah! Steady on, Hutchinson.’ Jason pushed me away as he said it and put his hands on his head, all dramatic. But he was only joking; he did it to make me laugh and relax me. It kind of worked. ‘This isn’t trials for Grimsby Town Youth Academy, you know. We’re not trying to get into the SAS.’ A smile crept up – I couldn’t help it. ‘We’re meant to be having a laugh. Football, exercise, it’s meant to be fun. That look on your face, you look like I just asked you to streak across Blundell Park.’

  ‘What’s streak?’

  ‘Running starkers, Zac; yer crown jewels flopping about in broad daylight, looking like chicken giblets, across a stadium full of people and, yes, you should be laughing because that’s how funny your terrified face is.’

  ‘So you’re not going to make it too hard then?’

  ‘No! For one, your mum would kill me.’

  ‘And you won’t be disappointed in me if I’m rubbish?’

  ‘No. But I will be if you don’t even have a go. Come on, you wally. Come and help me get these cones out.’

  I wasn’t very good, but it was only my first go and I wasn’t really bad either. The bonus was that it was loads more fun than I thought it was going to be. We practised dribbling the ball between the cones (a lot harder than it looks! You have to hold your muscles really tight). I even headed the ball a couple of times! Jason said I was bound to be good at that, because my head was big, due to my mega brains, and anyway, he wanted to make my head even bigger. He said by the time he finished with me, I wouldn’t be able to fit my head through the school classroom. I’d be a good goalie but a decent striker too. I’d be ‘indispensable’. (‘Indispensable’ means so good or important that you cannot manage without it – I looked it up in the dictionary.) All the time we were playing, Jason didn’t tell me once to sit down like Mr Grimshaw my PE teacher does, we just played and I forgot about all my worries, but my mind was working stuff out too. Exercise is good for that. For example, I worked out why I thought Jason would be sad if he found out I was looking for my dad. When he was with my mum, I really wanted them to get married so he could be my stepdad, and now, since starting the Find Dad mission, I’d begun to wonder if Jason had felt that too, and wanted that too. But then mum had dumped him and if I found my dad, I wouldn’t be able to hang out with him, so it wou
ld be like I was dumping him too. It would feel horrible, like when your best friend chooses another best friend.

  I try not to think about the day he and Mum broke up that much because it felt dead sad. One minute they were together – we were even supposed to be going on my first ever holiday in Jason’s mum’s caravan in Skegness. The next, Mum said we probably wouldn’t be seeing Jason because they weren’t girlfriend and boyfriend anymore. When I went to bed that night, I cried for ages. I was sad that we wouldn’t be seeing Jason much now, but most of all I was sad that Mum wouldn’t have anyone being nice to her (I’m her son so it’s not the same). Jason used to tell her she was pretty all the time. She always told him to get lost, but she liked it, you could tell.

  After we’d finished the football, we sat down to eat our sandwiches. They tasted like God had sent them down on a rope from heaven, we were so hungry, and the sun was hot on our backs which felt lovely, but then Jason started asking me questions.

  JASON: ‘So what are you up to over Easter weekend, Zac?’

  ME: ‘Nothing.’ (Actually thinking, looking for my dad!!!)

  JASON: ‘What, absolutely nothing? That’s a poor show.’

  ME: (Silence.)

  JASON: ‘Why’ve you gone all quiet? That’s not like you.’

  ME: ‘What? I’ve not gone quiet.’

  Big silence.

  JASON: ‘Well, maybe we could do a few extra of these sessions? Maybe your mum could come too …?’

  ME (my sandwich sticking in my throat so I couldn’t even speak for ages): ‘No. No, we can’t unfortunately. We’re actually really busy this Easter.’

  JASON (laughing): ‘I thought you just said you weren’t doing anything.’

  ME: ‘I forgot.’

  Nobody said anything for ages. We were just there, leaning against the goalposts, eating our sarnies.

  Then Jason said, ‘All right, Hutchinson, spill the beans. Is your mum getting married or something? Because it’s really fine, you know.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Ah, well, it must be a secret mission you’re on then; a special project. Don’t worry, I get it.’