“I think he’s waking up.”
“Oh, thank goodness! He’s been out for over four hours!”
A light flashed in front of Ryan’s eyes. He squinted – it hurt. In fact, his whole head hurt.
“Ryan? Ryan? Can you hear me?”
“Yes …” he said, with his eyes still closed.
His voice sounded weird. Deeper than usual. And … just odd, as if he had a strange accent or something. But he assumed that was a result of … whatever had happened. What had happened? Last thing he remembered he’d been in the head teacher’s office. Then he must have blacked out.
“Ryan? Can you hear me?”
“Yes, I said I can!” said Ryan. He opened his eyes. Staring down at him was a doctor. This was apparent from the fact that she was waving a light in front of his eyes.
Then suddenly next to the doctor Ryan could see Mr Barrington looming above him, eyes magnified by his enormous glasses.
“Ah! Thank goodness! We were worried about you for a while there, Headmaster,” said Mr Barrington.
Oh, OK, thought Ryan. It’s a dream. Obviously. It’s a dream in which I’m in hospital and Mr Barrington thinks I’m the head teacher. May as well have some fun with that.
“That’s all right, Mr Bummington,” said Ryan. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Good, good,” said Mr Barrington. There was a pause. He turned back, revealing Miss Gerard next to him.
“Did he call me Mr …?” said Mr Barrington to her quietly.
“Yes. He did,” said Miss Gerard. “Must have been just a slip of the tongue. From the bang on the head.”
“Yes. I suppose so,” said Mr Barrington a bit uncertainly.
“I’m fine, Mr Bum Bum Bummington!” said Ryan. “And don’t worry yourself either, Miss Wee-Wee.”
“Oh!” said Miss Gerard.
“Clearly quite a bad bang, Miss Wee-Wee. I mean Gerard!” said Mr Barrington.
Mrs Wang appeared, hobbling into his frame of vision. “Ah, I see you’re here too, Mrs W—”
“Yes, well, anyway, Headmaster,” said Mr Barrington. “Clearly you’re not quite right, but at least you’ve come round.”
“Yes. Good,” said Ryan.
“Ryan! Can you hear me?”
That made Ryan sit up. It was the third time someone had called his name from somewhere on the other side of the hospital room. But this time he recognised the voice.
It was his mum’s.
He looked over to where it was coming from. Not that surprisingly, he could see his mum sitting beside a bed.
Quite surprisingly, however, the person sleeping in the bed – the person she was speaking to, in fact – was him: Ryan Ward.
“Wow. This is a really weird dream! Mum! Hey, Mum!” shouted Ryan.
“Hmm. He’s calling for his mother,” said Mr Barrington.
“Well, at least he’s not calling her a rude name,” said Miss Gerard.
“No, but his mother isn’t well, I believe. She’s in a home.”
It was at this point that Ryan started to worry. Because he’d never had a dream where Mr Barrington had said anything like that. Normally, when Mr Barrington appeared in one of his dreams, he’d be in a clown costume, or have a face that was mainly monkey, and say things like, “You can have the rest of the day off, Ryan!” or sometimes just blow raspberries while jumping up and down for no reason. This felt far too sensible and informative for a dream.
Which meant … perhaps it wasn’t a dream. And now that he’d woken up properly, he had to say that it didn’t feel at all like a dream. Everything was really clear and bright and sensible. Well, everything except the fact that over there, in another bed, was another version of him.
“Excuse me,” said Ryan. And got up.
“Um, is this all right, Doctor?” said Mrs Wang. “Is he allowed to get up? Also, while I’m here, can you have another look at my leg?”
But the doctor was now at the other bed. The one with Ryan’s double in it.
Ryan walked over there. He became aware, as he did so, of feeling taller than normal. He passed Mr Barrington more or less at eye level. Usually those eyes would be glaring down at him through big thick glasses.
He also noticed – because he was, he now realised, wearing one of those hospital gowns that had slits and openings everywhere – that his arms were looking considerably hairier than before. Perhaps he had become mainly monkey?
“Hey!” he said when he reached the other bed. His mum was sitting on a chair, holding the hand of the sleeping boy. The doctor was bending over, flashing a beam of light into the other Ryan’s eyes with her little torch thing. But he wasn’t waking up.
His mother glanced round. Her face looked very worried and tired. And, on seeing Ryan, quite contemptuous.
“Oh,” said Ryan’s mum, “I see you’ve woken up, then.”
“Yes …” said Ryan, very confused. “What’s going on here? Who is this?”
What was going on with his voice? It sounded not only deeper and gruffer, but also more … there was no getting away from this … Scottish.
His mum stood up. “Oh, I can’t believe this. You were shouting at him and telling him off, or worse, I don’t know, and my son comes out of your office having fainted. He’s a sensitive soul!”
“He is?” said Ryan.
“Yes! And even worse, now you can’t even remember who he is!” She pointed to the sleeping figure. “He’s Ryan Ward! Six B!”
This made Ryan feel strange. He had only been trying to work out what was going on, but his mum hadn’t recognised him – shouting that the boy in the bed was him. It made him feel quite unhappy and a little like crying, actually. In fact, he was just about to cry and say, “No! Mum! I’m Ryan!” when Miss Gerard appeared between them.
“I’m sorry, Mrs Ward. Mr Carter is clearly still quite concussed. I’m sure that’s the only reason he doesn’t remember Ryan. Isn’t that right, Headmaster?”
As she spoke, Ryan caught sight of himself in a mirror above the sleeping boy’s bed. He saw that the person Miss Gerard was speaking to and, more to the point, the person standing where he was standing, was looking a bit the worse for wear, but also and more significantly, was definitely looking like Mr Carter, the head teacher of Bracket Wood School.
He opened his mouth to scream. But before any words could come out he heard …
“AAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!”
He looked down from the mirror. The scream had come out of the sleeping boy’s mouth. Because he wasn’t sleeping any more. He had woken up.
“AAAAAARGGGGGGH! That’s ME! What am I doing over there?”
In that moment, Ryan realised what had happened. He didn’t know how or why, but what was clear was … he and his head teacher had swapped bodies. He, Ryan, was in Mr Carter’s body, and Mr Carter was in Ryan’s body. And, frightening and confusing thoughthat was, Ryan also, in that moment, realised something else. He could make this work to his advantage.
Which was why he took a deep breath. And then said to his mum calmly, and now rather relishing the Scottish accent, “Of course, Mrs Ward. I’m so sorry. I have had a nasty bang on the head. But I do obviously recognise Ryan Ward.”
The boy’s mouth remained open and his eyes staring as Ryan-in-Mr-Carter’s-body raised a finger and pointed at him.
“That’s him there. I can see him as clearly as I can see in the mirror –” he reversed his pointing finger to direct it squarely at himself – “ME – Mr Carter, the head teacher of Bracket Wood School.”
There was a short pause. Then the boy said, “AAAAAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGGGHHH! again.
“But I am. You have to listen. Mrs Ward—”
“Don’t call me that again!”
“Well, OK. Tina—”
“Not that either. Mum. That’s who I am. Mum.”
Two days had passed. Both Ryan and Mr Carter, in their respective swapped bodies, had been discharged from hospital. As far as the doctors were concerned, Mr Carter seemed absolu
tely fine. Ryan, they felt, was taking a bit longer. He had continued to scream for some time after he’d woken up, particularly when Mr Carter was in his view.
And then, even after the head teacher had been allowed to go, the boy began to claim that it was, in fact, he who was Mr Carter, that something terrible had happened and that they needed to call a specialist. The doctors had looked at each other. One of them had said to Tina, “Well, I suppose we could contact the duty psychiatrist?” At which point Tina had said, “Don’t be ridiculous! He’ll be fine once things get back to normal!” and had taken him home.
But, unfortunately, he wasn’t fine. He was still saying … Well, I’ll just continue the conversation from earlier.
“Yes, I understand why you think that you’re my mother, Tina, but—”
“Mum. Not Tina.”
Tina didn’t look at him when she said that. She was feeding carrot-coloured mush to Holly.
“’Ocolate. ’Ocolate.”
“We haven’t got any chocolate. Where are you seeing chocolate?”
Mr Carter screwed up his (now very young) face and took a deep breath.
“The thing is … Mum … I’m not actually your son. I’m not—”
“Yan!” said Holly, pointing at him. “No Yan!” She started to cry.
“Ryan,” Tina said, turning to him, “you’re upsetting Holly!”
“No Yan!”
Mr Carter stared at the baby, who was still pointing at him through her sobs.
“Well, am I upsetting her? Or maybe, in some sort of primal, pre-cognitive way, she knows that I’m telling the truth, and that I am not Ryan, I am—”
“Ryan! I don’t want to hear the words ‘I am Mr Carter’ again. OK? I don’t get this pretending-to-be-the-head-teacher-by-speaking-in-big-words prank, whatever it is. I don’t know what you’re planning. I’m sure it’s very clever and will make everyone at school think you’re really great. But I don’t care. I’ve got a lot to think about, I’m tired and I’m simply not interested.”
“But—”
“No buts, thank you very much!”
Mr Carter opened his mouth. And then, realising that this was something he used to say quite a lot to children, shut it again.
“And eat your vegetables.”
“Pardon?”
Tina pointed to his plate. “Eat your vegetables.”
Mr Carter looked down. “Um, I don’t really like peas.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“But I don’t!”
“’OCOLATE!”
“Peas are the only vegetable you do like. That’s why I make them for you with everything!”
“Have you got any kale, by any chance? I like that, fried with a touch of garlic.”
Tina stared at him. She shook her head, picked up the baby’s plate, took it over to the sink and began scrubbing.
“I think that’s clean now, Mrs—” began Mr Carter. Tina looked up, daggers in her eyes. “Mum.”
She carried on scrubbing. Mr Carter got up from the table and came round to the sink.
“It’s just … I don’t know what to say. I know it seems ridiculous, but I am … My name is Michael John Carter. I am forty-three years old. I have been a teacher since I was twenty-two. I specialise in teaching maths and sciences. My first degree is in physics and I have a supplementary degree in education.”
“Well, well done, Ryan, for checking out Mr Carter’s background on the internet. I’m sure it’s all there.”
“No, I—”
“Obviously, we all know that there isn’t much else to your head teacher than being a head teacher. He does seem very dull and strict.”
“Well …”
“But when you can tell me something about what Mr Carter is really like, as a person – well – then I might begin to listen to whatever it is you’re trying to say.”
Mr Carter opened his mouth to speak. But then he frowned. He wasn’t sure what to say to this. And so, instead, he went back to the table, and began slowly finishing his dinner.
“’Ocolate?” said the baby.
“Ch. Ch. It’s Cho-co-late,” said Mr Carter, in between mouthfuls of peas.
“’Ocolate?” said the baby.
Now, as you know, Ryan and Mr Carter have magically swapped places. They’ve undergone a body swap. So this may become, in the reading, a little confusing. The confusion, I’m hoping, may be sort of fun – I’m going to leave you to work out who’s really speaking and who’s really thinking.
But as a little rule of thumb: from now on, when I write Mr Carter, I mean the person who looks like Mr Carter but is, in fact, Ryan. And when I write Ryan, I mean the person who looks like Ryan but is, in fact, Mr Carter.
I may occasionally remind you who is really who. Otherwise, best of luck.
Fig.1: Knowing who’s who
“Quiet, please!”
It was assembly once again. Once again it was Mr Barrington who was speaking. Once again, Mrs Wang, Miss Gerard and Miss Finch were seated at the rear of the hall. Once again, Mr Carter had his back to the children, who were sitting cross-legged on the floor.
“Good morning, children!” said Mr Barrington.
“Good morning, Mr Barrington!”
Mr Barrington looked towards the other end of the hall. He saw Ryan Ward sitting there. But he did not hear him say “Bummington”. Also, Ryan’s tie seemed to be tied right up to his top shirt button. This made Mr Barrington a little confused, though he was pleased his words in the corridor had made a difference.
“I’m sure, school, you’d want to join me in welcoming back our head teacher after his short illness,” he continued.
All the children went quiet at this point. None of them looked like they really did want to welcome him back.
“I said, I’m sure you want to welcome back our head teacher!”
“Welcome back, Mr Carter!” said the children in a not-very-together or enthusiastic way.
At this point, Mr Carter finally turned round. But it was a different turn from the one he’d made in the first assembly of the term, which had been slow and threatening and dramatic.
This turn was quick.
Mr Carter spun on his heel with both arms stuck out and a big grin on his face. It was a bit … showbiz. It was as if he was turning to camera in the opening moments of Mr Carter’s Crazy Night Out! on UKGold. He was wearing the same black suit as ever, although, strangely, the tie was not done up to the top button as per usual, but hanging down loosely, not even properly tied.
“Hey, Bracket Wood!” said Mr Carter. “How you doing?”
Silence. Confusion. Quite a lot of frowning. From both kids and teachers.
“I said …” said Mr Carter, “Hey, Bracket Wood! How you doing?”
Still silence, apart from one voice at the back, round about where Ryan was sitting. That voice didn’t actually say any words, but it did let out quite a loud groan.
Then the rest of the children said, uncertainly, “How you doing … Mr Carter?”
“I’m good! And thank you, by the way, very much indeed, for opening the show here today, Mr Bummington.”
All the children laughed. Mr Barrington looked up, very confused.
“Let’s hear it, in fact, for Mr Bummington!” continued Mr Carter, applauding loudly. The children laughed, and joined in the applause.
“I’m sorry, Mr Carter,” said Mr Barrington, approaching him, speaking softly. “I notice you made this mistake in hospital too – it’s Barrington. My name. BARRINGton.”
“Bummington Barrington?”
“No. Not Bummington Barrington. My first name is Otto.”
“I see.” Mr Carter paused and looked at Mr Barrington with what seemed to be new eyes. “Really? Otto?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your middle name?”
“Ernest.”
“Right. Got it.” He looked back at the audience of children. “Let’s hear it for Otto Ernest Barrington!”
Th
e children all carried on laughing.
“Why are they laughing now?” said Mr Barrington to Mrs Wang.
“So!” said Mr Carter. “After my first assembly a whole set of new rules and regulations was outlined. I have a few amendments to make. Miss Finch?”
“Yes?” said Miss Finch, looking terrified – a bit like the Gruffalo, but terrified.
“Don’t worry, Miss Finch,” said Mr Carter, handing her a sheet of paper. It was the sheet of paper that Mr Barrington had pinned to the notice board in the corridor. “There’s no mouse in this forest.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. Would you mind reading out the new rules, please? One by one?”
Miss Finch looked down. She coughed. Then she began.
“Dress. All children will wear school uniform in neat and respectable condition. Ties must be properly tied.”
“OK. As I say, small amendment,” said Mr Carter. “All children will wear … whatever they like! In fact, children who wear the funniest outfits will get the largest amount of praise points! Particular kudos will be given to any child who comes to school wearing a funny hat!”
The staff members sitting behind Mr Carter frowned. But the children, who were warming to this new version of their head teacher, laughed, and some clapped. Meanwhile, Mr Carter ran offstage, which led to even more frowning from the teachers. Then he came back and said, “Perhaps one like this!”
Mr Carter was wearing a top hat. It was one that had been used in the school Christmas play last year to portray the character of Scrooge. And also about four other Victorian characters. Anyway. On the front of the hat was stuck a big photograph of Benny and Bjornita – the tortoises – being held up by the two Reception children, and wearing underwear.
This got a very big laugh from the children. As the laughter was dying down, Mr Carter did an elaborate old-fashioned bow, taking the hat off and waving it across his body.
Then he stood up and said, “Carry on, Miss Finch! Next rule!”
From the back of the hall where Ryan was sitting came another groan.
Miss Finch looked at Mr Carter open-mouthed. Then she looked back at her piece of paper with the rules on it.
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