a week to go
THE BREAKFAST MENU
KEENER: Crispy bacon in two slices of crusty white bread in front of the computer.
AMY: Wholemeal bread, spread with Marmite, dipped in egg and fried. On a tray because teenagers can’t get up!
FLO: Fried egg and potato waffles in front of the telly.
MUM: A pot of tea in bed.
DAD: Fried egg, bacon, beans and toast, reading the paper.
Saturday mornings are good. Dad does the breakfast. It takes ages and we all get different food at different times delivered to different places. We stay in pyjamas until he suddenly realises we’re going to be late and then there’s a mad rush to get ready for swimming (me) and ballet (Flo). Amy and Mum have a lie-in.
On the way to the pool I texted Copper Pie to see if he wanted to meet up later in the park.
The reply said: COME OVERHEER.
I hadn’t been to his for a while. He’d rather come to mine and I’d rather not go to his. His mum shouts at him. And doesn’t talk to me, unless I’m in the way.
Copper Pie was kicking a ball against his garage door. It was so loud I could hear it before I turned into his street. I joined in.
‘I’ve got to look after Charlie. Mum’s going to the supermarket,’ he said. I wouldn’t leave Charlie with him. He’s hardly babysitter material.
‘In here, you two!’ Copper Pie’s mum shouted from the kitchen. We went straight in. Some people have to be obeyed.
‘Charlie’s having his nap. I need you to stay in the house while I do the shopping and when I come back you can have a bag of crisps each. If he wakes up, go and get him and be nice until I get back. If Dad gets back before I do you can go to the park. Understood?’
I nodded.
‘Yes, Mum.’
She was gone. See, she doesn’t bother with ‘Hello, how are you?’ It’s all instructions.
‘Where’s your dad then?’
‘Gone out with Bee’s dad.’
‘So you’ve seen Bee’s dad then?’
‘Nope. I didn’t see any dads last night, or trainers, but this morning Mum said Dad had gone off early to watch a game over in Tyndall with a mate – so it must be Bee’s dad.’ Copper Pie paused and made a moody face. ‘He usually watches me play.’
‘What shall we do?’ I said. We used to say that all the time. No one ever had a good idea. Jonno changed all that. Or maybe Tribe did.
‘We could get the guns out. Aim from my window and —’
‘Yet me out!’ It was Charlie’s voice, coming through the baby monitor. He’s three, not really a baby. He can talk quite well, except he can’t say Ls, Rs or THs. They’re either Ys, Ws or Vs.
‘Yet me out!’
‘We’d better go,’ I said.
‘No way. Leave him.’
‘Yet me out, Mum!’
‘We can’t leave him, he’ll —’
‘He’ll what?’ said Copper Pie.
‘He’ll be upset.’
‘All right, Softy. You can get him if you like.’
‘Mum! Yet me out!’
I didn’t really want to, but I didn’t want C.P.’s mum to come home and find him screaming either.
‘Back in a minute,’ I said. The hall of their house is spotless. No shoes, no brollies, not even anything on the bottom step waiting to be taken upstairs. It’s because they run a nursery and there are rules about being tidy and clean. We’re not allowed in any of the rooms on the ground floor, except the kitchen. Even at the weekend when there aren’t any little kids there, we still can’t go in. Everything, apart from cooking and eating, goes on upstairs in their house. The staircase goes round a corner to get to the first floor and that’s when it all changes. I stepped over dirty washing, two books, the sucky bit from the hoover, a fluffy scarf, a toothbrush, a yoyo, a shin pad and a bowl with the remains of an apple in it (or possibly banana), and that was only what was on the first lot of stairs. The second set was just as bad.
At the top I turned first right into Charlie’s bedroom. He was lying under his duvet cuddling a square of grey blanket. As soon as I stepped on his carpet he put it under his pillow and got up. Charlie never gets out of bed unless someone comes to get him, because his mum says he mustn’t. It’s not normal to be so obedient. He’s the opposite of his brother!
‘Hi Charlie,’ I said.
‘Heyyo Keener.’ It’s hard not to laugh about the ‘l’ thing. (Copper Pie makes him say lollipop - yoyyipop.) I think his nappy was full but I wasn’t going to mention it. He waddled off, through all the debris. I followed him back down the stairs all the way to the kitchen.
‘Heyyo.’
‘Hello Snot,’ said Copper Pie.
Charlie smiled. I don’t think he knows it’s an insult.
‘Can we make a marble wun?’
‘Make it yourself, Snot.’
‘I’ll do it with you,’ I said. We got the box out from the kitchen cupboard. I’m a whizz at marble runs. I heard feet on the stairs and then the noise of the telly coming on in the room above. Copper Pie had deserted me. Charlie chose a clear marble with a green swirl.
‘Weady.’
‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘I haven’t made it yet.’ Charlie watched me construct a few towers and link them together.
The back door banged open and in walked Copper Pie’s dad and another man – a stranger who definitely wasn’t Bee’s dad. I looked at his feet. Big white trainers.
‘There’s my Charlie-boy.’
‘I’m pwaying wiv Keener.’
‘Where’s your big brother?’
‘He’s in the telly room,’ I said.
‘Get down here and turn the googlebox off,’ shouted Copper Pie’s dad. (Everyone shouts in their house.) More feet-on-the-stairs noise.
‘This is my son.’ He pointed to Copper Pie who had appeared in the doorway. ‘And this is my old friend Simon.’ He put his arm round the stranger. I didn’t care who he was. I was more interested in the mystery of where Bee’s dad had been since Wednesday if he hadn’t been at C.P.’s. Maybe he’d fallen over and knocked himself out and was wandering around the streets with no idea what his name was . . . like that piano man. Maybe he’d be in the newspaper, Bee’s dad found with no memory except every Man United football score ever.
THE TRUE STORY OF PIANO MAN BY KEENER
A man was found wandering with no identification on him. He couldn’t speak. He was handed over to the police because no one knew what to do with him. They gave him some paper so he could write his name and address but all he did was draw a picture of a grand piano. They found him one and he sat down and played like a professional.
No one knew where he lived or what had happened to him to make him not be able to speak. All they ever knew was that he was a fantastic pianist.
‘Pleased to meet you. I hear you’re football crazy,’ said the stranger.
Copper Pie grunted. He’s rubbish at talking to adults.
‘Simon and me used to play football together when we were kids. How many windows d’you think we broke?’ said C.P.’s dad.
‘Too many to count,’ said Simon the stranger, and they both laughed. I don’t get that about grown-ups. If Copper Pie broke a window he’d be for it, but they broke loads, and for some reason it’s funny.
Copper Pie’s dad smiled a big smile and said, ‘Simon is a scout. A real scout.’
Big deal! I pictured him dressed in a green scout shirt with a red necker, wearing his huge trainers, and tying silly knots with his fat fingers.
‘Keener! A scout!’
Copper Pie started bouncing, like a puppy. I couldn’t imagine why. Charlie clapped but there was no way he understood either.
‘Great,’ I said. I didn’t want to burst his bubble. Maybe he fancied joining.
‘He’s working for one of the big clubs. He can’t say who.’ Copper Pie’s dad winked at Simon. ‘It’s all hush-hush. They’re interested in a player from round here.’
I’d caught up. W
e were talking football. A football scout, not the sort you find at a jamboree. No wonder Copper Pie was excited.
‘I’m going back up north later on today but I’m coming back to watch a game next Saturday. Your dad says you’re a handy player, and a left-footer, I understand. A good left-footer is gold dust. Might see you in action one day?’
I thought my redheaded friend was going to collapse.
‘Breathe, Copper Pie.’ It was the first time I’d had to tell someone else to breathe. It was always me who forgot to inhale and ended up on the floor.
‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ said Copper Pie’s dad. ‘Get lost, you lot. We’ve got things to talk about.’
‘This could be my big break, Keener,’ whispered Copper Pie, as we walked out. I was pleased for him, of course, but football’s not my thing so I muttered a bit and nodded and eventually we went out the back and catapulted stones at a can on the bird table. Charlie came too. He collected up the stones and brought them back to us.
‘Shall we go to the park then?’ I said. It was boring in the garden.
‘No way. I’m staying here. He’s a scout, Keener! He could discover me. Make me the youngest ever player in the Premiership. He could be scouting for Man United! I could end up playing in the black strip for real.’
six days till D-day
Sundays are ‘family day’ in our house. We have Sunday lunch. The kids peel all the vegetables, lay the table and get the drinks to help Mum. Afterwards we’re all meant to do something nice together, like a walk or a bike ride. Sundays are boring. So I asked Fifty to come over and didn’t tell Mum. I knew she wouldn’t tell him to get lost. We’re not like that.
‘Hello there, you’re just in time for lunch. Would you like to stay?’
‘Oh! Yes please,’ said Fifty, acting surprised. ‘Your Sunday lunch is much better than ours.’ Fifty’s mum tries to be a proper mum, but she’s not that good on the cooking front.
‘I’d better give your mum a call.’
‘No need. She already —’ Fifty’s sentence finished in mid-air. Mum waited but nothing happened.
‘Well, we’d better lay another place,’ she said, glancing at the table where . . . Oops! I’d already laid six. That wasn’t bright. She gave me a suspicious look. ‘You must be telepathic. Either that or bad at counting.’
‘Come on.’ We legged it.
I told Fifty about Copper Pie’s almost famous guest. He was gobsmacked.
He told me about Bee’s dad. I was gobsmacked.
‘He came home on Friday night. No one knows where he’d been. I was still at Bee’s. Her mum had made a huge bowl of tuna pasta with beans. It was awesome. I was hurrying to make sure I got seconds when he walked in. She said, “So you’ve come back”.’ Fifty stood with his hands on his hips pretending to be a cross wife. ‘And he said, “It’s my home, isn’t it?” and she said, “Not if you’re not prepared to share it with your kids”.’
‘Did they have a fight?’ My parents don’t row in front of us. They do it when we’re in bed.
‘Almost. She shoved him out of the door and locked it.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I carried on eating.’
‘What about Bee?’
‘She said it served him right for trying to blackmail the family.’
‘Wasn’t she upset?’
‘Not really – she’s on her mum’s side. We finished tea and then she dragged me round the estate collecting for the swap stall.’
‘Did you get much?’
‘Loads. But no remote controls.’
‘What about garden gnomes?’
‘No. But we got some crutches, and a loudspeaker.’
‘Cool,’ I said. ‘And I ordered the water bombs.’
‘How many?’
‘A thousand.’
‘Oh yes! A thousand bombings. The Head’ll never ever let anyone have a water bomb stall ever again. What does she think everyone’s going to do with them? Water the grass?’
Flo arrived at the door of my room.
‘Lunch is ready. Who’s watering the grass?’
‘No one, Flo,’ I said.
‘It’s to do with the fair,’ said Fifty.
‘You’re doing chocolate babies. Keener told me.’
‘Chocolate babies?’ Fifty said, laughing. ‘In your dreams, Flo.’
She ran back downstairs. As we walked into the kitchen I heard, ‘But Keener lied to me, Mummy. He said I could have a free chocolate baby.’
I would have got a telling off except . . . surprise, surprise . . . there was yet another place laid and spotty boyfriend was sitting at it. No way was Mum going to lay into me in front of him. All she said was, ‘It’s not nice to eat babies. Chocolates should really only be chocolate-shape.’
Chocolate doesn’t have a shape but I didn’t bother to point that out.
After lunch Fifty wanted to go and see the others. In theory I have to stay home but we rang Jonno from my mobile and got him to ring back on the house phone and invite me over to help him with signs for the stall. An excellent idea – it was Fifty’s.
‘Just this once then,’ said Mum. ‘Although I was looking forward to a family walk to work off the lunch.’ She patted her tummy.
We rang Bee and Copper Pie on the way. Copper Pie said he was busy! Unheard of. Bee said she’d meet us at Jonno’s.
‘Where are we going then?’ said Jonno. He was standing outside his house.
‘We were coming to yours,’ said Fifty. ‘That’s why we’re here.’ As if to show he really was there he pointed at his shoes. I’ve never really looked at them before. They’re tiny. But I suppose big feet would be odd when he’s so small.
‘You said we could make signs,’ I said.
‘That’s what you told me to say. You can’t make signs at my house. That would mean paint and mess – things Mum and Dad hate.’
I was disappointed. Jonno’s house is the best.
‘Let’s go to the Tribehouse then,’ said Fifty.
We went through the cat flap. I was last and by the time I got into the garden the Tribers had frozen, like musical statues when the music has stopped. Bee pressed her finger against her lips. ‘Shhhushhh . . .’
‘We’ve heard feet,’ whispered Fifty. ‘Moving about.’
I had lots of questions. Soft feet like rabbits’ paws? Clackety feet like horseshoes? Clogs? Scratchy feet with claws? But all I said was, ‘Where?’
‘Shhhushhh . . .’
‘There’s someone in there,’ mouthed Fifty.
I reckoned they were playing a trick on me. I took a step towards the shed but Jonno shook his head. I took a step back. Fifty signalled for us to follow him up to the house. I was getting the idea there really might be a person – a dangerous person.
‘Who is it?’ I said.
‘Shhhushhh . . .’ said Fifty. ‘We don’t know, do we? But he might be dangerous.’
An escaped prisoner loose in the Tribehouse. He could be armed. I ran up the garden to the back door, leaving the others behind. Look out for yourself, I say. Not very Tribish, but being a hero’s not my thing.
Fifty’s mum was in the kitchen, singing ‘Dancing Queen’ really loudly. We all spoke at once. She didn’t hear a word we said. Fifty pressed ‘Off ’ on the remote control. We all spoke at once again.
‘Calm down, Tribers. One at a time,’ she said.
So Bee did the talking – how unusual!
‘There’s someone in the Tribehouse. Someone who shouldn’t be there. He sounds . . . big. Maybe dangerous even.’
‘Probably dangerous,’ said Fifty.
I nodded.
‘What a lot of fuss you’re making about probably nothing. It’s most likely a homeless person. You stay here and I’ll go and see. He won’t want a whole Tribe staring at him.’ That was so typical of Fifty’s mum. My mum would have called the police, or my dad at least, but Fifty’s mum is the sort who’ll invite anyone in. She disappeared down the garden.
> We waited. We waited for really quite a long time. I was starting to worry about her. Maybe . . .
‘Maybe he’s a murderer. Mum wouldn’t stand a chance,’ said Fifty. He looked like he might cry.
One of us should do something, I thought. Then I changed my thought to: One of the others should do something. I looked at Jonno – surely he would announce a plan to storm the Tribehouse and rescue Fifty’s mum. Shame Copper Pie wasn’t with us – we could have sent him.
At last, voices! They were coming up the path to the house. The tramp had obviously been invited in, as predicted.
‘Dad! What are you doing here?’ shouted Bee.
Curiouser and curiouser. The tramp was Bee’s dad. I don’t know who was most embarrassed – Bee, who was hiding behind her long black fringe, or her dad, who was stuck to the doormat looking like he might reverse straight back out.
‘Why don’t you go back to the Tribehouse while we have a chat?’ said Fifty’s mum.
Fine by us. Me, Fifty and Jonno made it out but . . .
‘Not you, Bee. I think your dad has something he’d like to say to you.’
Back in the Tribehouse, Fifty sat on the safe – his favourite spot.
‘Where do you think he’s been since Wednesday?’ said Jonno.
‘Maybe he’s been here all the time?’ said Fifty.
‘It’ll all be fine now anyway,’ I said.
They both made a how-do-you-know? face.
‘Fifty, your mum earns a living sorting people out, doesn’t she?
He nodded.
‘So, she’ll sort out Bee’s family. That’s what she does.’
And of course she did. When we went back up to the house, Bee had gone home with her dad. I was glad the drama was over because it was only six days till the fair and there was work to do. To organise a successful swap stall and fill and sell one thousand water bombs was going to take all five of us.
five days to prepare the arsenal
My lips were bleeding. So were Fifty’s. They looked dark red, like we’d been kissing vampires – Callum’s description.
A Thousand Water Bombs Page 3