A Thousand Water Bombs

by T. M. Alexander

  Dad talked to Marco all the way to Woolacombe. We were silent, except for a few whispers. I don’t know how the others felt, but I felt ashamed. And frightened. My dad hardly ever gets angry. And he never shouts even if he is. I’d rather he did. The calm way he deals with things makes it worse. I wanted it to be over and done with. If I’d had the choice I’d have bent over and had twenty strokes of the cane (like Roald Dahl got from the Headmaster) in preference to two hours waiting for a telling off.

  We parked. The sea was looking good. Plenty of nice straight rollers breaking one after the other. Dad got out and we all followed.

  ‘First things first,’ said Dad and headed for the beach café.

  At the food counter Jonno tried to give Dad a note, I think it was a tenner. ‘This is towards the wetsuit and everything.’

  ‘Thank you, Jonno, but you can keep it,’ said Dad. He turned to the rest of us. ‘I’ve said I’ll catch up with all your parents in the week. They were all so keen to get you off their hands they were offering me money left, right and centre.’

  ‘Err . . . thanks,’ said Jonno.

  We had more bacon sarnies (Bee asked if they were organic!) and hot chocolate. Jonno sat next to Marco.

  ‘Can you surf?’

  Marco nodded.

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Nor me,’ said Bee.

  ‘Same,’ said Fifty.

  ‘I can’t swim,’ said Copper Pie.

  Dad nearly choked on his coffee. ‘You must be able to.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I can float.’

  Bee laughed. It was the first normal thing that had happened since we’d picked up Marco.

  ‘So, who’s going to fill me in on the meeting you had yesterday in the Tribehouse? The meeting where you told a pack of lies.’

  Not me. Especially not with Marco listening.

  ‘I will,’ said Jonno. ‘I sort of started it.’

  That’s the amazing thing about Jonno – he’s brave. Not brave like a knight charging at the enemy, but brave at facing up to things.

  ‘Go on,’ said Dad.

  Jonno explained how he was chatting to Marco and accidentally made him think he could be a Triber, but he can’t, because no one can join – that’s the rule.

  ‘So we had to put him off,’ said Jonno. He looked over at Marco. ‘Sorry.’ Marco smiled as though everything was fine. That’s when Jonno ran out of words. So Bee stepped in and finished it off, in a less than honest way.

  ‘We thought it was kinder to let Marco decide not to join Tribe, than for us to say he couldn’t. We thought if Tribe seemed dangerous he wouldn’t want to be part of it.’

  Dad didn’t seem to see it the way we did. ‘So you invented a gang war? And told him he had to lead the Tribe . . . at midnight? Frightening him half to death with talk of weapons.’ Dad looked straight at Copper Pie.

  ‘It might seem mean,’ said Bee, not giving up as usual, ‘but we were worried about what to do, because we’d already upset him over the piri-piri.’

  It must have been because we were so tense, because it wasn’t that funny, but Fifty and Copper Pie started laughing. Dad had no idea why – you could tell from his face.

  ‘What’s piri-piri got to do with anything?’ he said, which started Bee off.

  Marco stood up, clapped his hands together twice and shouted, ‘Now I understand. No fight.’ He said it again. ‘No fight’. And clapped again. ‘Ha!’

  That made us all laugh. Marco had obviously been trying to work out what was going on ever since he stepped in the car, or maybe ever since Dad arrived on his doorstep and dragged him away from his family. I think he’d only just realised that the fight was made-up!

  ‘I’m glad you understand,’ said Dad in a giving-up voice. ‘I’m not sure I do, but what I do understand is that it’s low tide so this is a perfect moment to get in that water, and get barrelling.’

  I wasn’t sure whether Tribe had got away with it, or whether there’d be more chat later, but I was with Dad. The water looked epic.

  strong plunging waves, with shifting beach breaks

  Have I mentioned that my dad’s a pretty organised guy? Well, he is. On the beach there was Steve, awesome surfer, waiting to give the others a lesson on the basics.

  ‘I thought there were too many beginners for me to deal with,’ said Dad. Great! That meant me and Dad —

  ‘Come on, Marco. The wind’s offshore. The waves are pumping,’ said Dad.

  — and Marco, could go and play straight away.

  Marco had a nice board. I was quite keen to see how he handled it. I think Dad was too. We didn’t have to wait long. He ran in, paddled out beyond the breakers and wow! It was like seeing him storm past us on his mountain board except this time he was on fibreglass with no wheels. Carving, stepping, cuttys – you name it, he did it. And he knew which wave to pick every time. He was ripping. So solid you’d have thought the board was velcroed on. Having Marco as a friend didn’t seem such a bad idea after I’d seen him stoked. He could do tricks that I’d only ever seen on the big screen.

  Dad and I were doing well too, but compared to Marco we were kooks. In fact, I had some major wipe-outs because I was watching him. I saw Dad bail-out doing the same.

  KEENER’S SURF TALK

  kooks - beginners

  offshore wind - wind blowing off the shore (the best)

  stoked - very happy

  wipe-out - falling off

  bail-out - abandoning the board before you get wiped-out

  barrel/tube - a hollow wave

  soup - the whitewater from a broken wave

  sponger - a soft board for kooks

  pumping - non-stop good waves

  ripping - surfing really well

  carving - turning on a wave

  cutty / cutback - using the rails to turn back towards the whitewater

  rails - side edges of your board

  We had two hours of bliss and then it was time to get the others from the Surf Nursery. Only I called it that – and only I found it funny.

  ‘Are you saying we’re babies?’ said Fifty. He was lying on the beach on his board – it was a tiny yellow sponger. (Keeps kooks from knocking themselves, or other people, unconscious when they mess up.)

  ‘Yep,’ I said.

  ‘Even babies would be better than me.’

  Steve, the instructor, lifted up the end of Fifty’s board and he slid off. ‘That’s because it’s hard to catch a wave if you won’t go in water deeper than your knee.’

  I laughed. Fifty had obviously stayed in the shallows. Drip!

  ‘Remember, Keener, surfing’s the only thing you’re good at,’ said Bee.

  ‘And you’re someone else who could be good,’ said Steve.

  Bee beamed. She loves being good at things.

  ‘Did you stand up?’ I asked.

  ‘Too right,’ she said.

  ‘And then she fell in straight away,’ said Fifty.

  Bee stuck her tongue out.

  ‘What about you, Copper Pie?’ I asked.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Nope what?’

  ‘Didn’t stand up.’

  ‘But he gets the award for the fastest approach to land on his belly,’ said Steve. C.P. had clearly been using his surfboard as a lilo.

  ‘I wasn’t going to risk being chucked off,’ he said.

  I looked around. ‘Where’s Jonno?’

  Steve pointed at someone out at sea. We could see him paddling – one, two, three strokes. He pushed down with both arms at exactly the right moment and the wave carried the board forwards. He put one knee on the deck, slightly lost balance, but only for a sec, and then got a foot planted. The second foot followed and he was up, but he stayed low, crouching over using his arms to steady himself, all the time moving forwards with the wave. At last, he was ready. He stood up, legs working to keep true on the board, and rode all the way in to the shore. We clapped. Jonno (who looked very odd without his glasses) picked up his board, put it
under his arm like a pro, snapped off his leash (the lead you velcro round your ankle so that you and the board stay together), and came to join us.

  ‘Good stuff,’ said Dad.

  I’d never seen Jonno look quite so pleased. Who’d have thought he’d make a surfer?

  ‘Well done, dude. I could see you weren’t going to give in until you’d cracked it.’ Steve shook Jonno’s hand, and then headed off to teach his next group. ‘Bye guys.’

  I was ready for more.

  ‘Who’s coming back in?’

  Copper Pie and Fifty decided to muck about on the sand, building a hole. Kids! But Bee and Jonno were up for it.

  ‘Why don’t you buddy Bee?’ Dad said to me. He meant keep an eye on her. You should always have a partner in the water checking you’re on top, breathing, not underneath, drowning.

  ‘I help Jonno,’ said Marco.

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Dad.

  Marco nodded.

  I don’t know where the time went after that. Bee and I got on our feet together a few times. And I saw Marco and Jonno do the same. Dad stayed out deep. At some point my tummy started to tell me we needed fuel.

  ‘We need lunch.’

  ‘We do.’ Bee agreed. We rode in lying on our boards and went to the café, dragging Fifty and Copper Pie away from their fairy castle complete with moat and cannon. I thought the others would come too but Marco, Jonno and Dad stayed in the water. We ordered, said Dad would settle up later, and watched them from the balcony while we ate sausage sarnies (them) and bacon (me). (There is no law against three bacon sarnies in one day.)

  ‘Jonno’s got the bug,’ I said. It’s funny how some people surf for the first time and become madly, crazily, obsessed immediately and others have a good time, but are quite happy to get out.

  We’d had hot chocolate, cookies and Copper Pie had demolished a sausage roll as well by the time they finally got out. I shouted down to them. ‘What kept you?’

  Jonno did a thumbs-up, and then carried on talking to Marco, like they were best friends. It was so weird thinking that he was the nutter who ran us down by the ice cream van. He didn’t seem crazy any more. In fact, he was rapidly becoming a legend. I’d already decided I was going to invite him surfing next time, so he could teach me some of his moves. I felt a little rush of excitement. I could imagine me and Marco, both with our surf hair, mine blond, his black, talking about stuff. I’ve never had a friend who surfed, only Dad.

  The journey home was quiet – all of us cream-crackered. I slept the whole way.

  We dropped Marco off first.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘No fight. I join Tribe. Thank you.’

  I went from dozy to red alert in a nanosecond. He could surf with me anytime, but be a Triber, no. The answer was still NO.

  boring, boring, boring

  I didn’t go to school on Monday because I had a sore throat, again. Mum says if I keep getting them I’ll have to have them removed – my tonsils, that is. I wish she wasn’t my doctor. She treats all ill people as though they’re making it up. I only get to stay home if I can’t swallow – she feeds me lumpy food to check. One day I’ll choke and then she’ll be sorry. Dad worked from home as Mum had a packed surgery followed by a baby clinic.

  I swung in my hammock, read, drank squash through a straw and rearranged my model army, about fifteen times. In between I tried to think of ways to block Marco from joining us.

  Bee rang to see how I was but spent the whole conversation moaning first about her mum, who hasn’t forgiven her dad for making her brothers move out, and then about Doodle.

  ‘Puppy training doesn’t work if your mum carries on doing all the wrong things. If she doesn’t stop cuddling him and letting him sit on the sofa, he’s never going to realise he’s a dog and not a human. It’s like he’s a baby. And if he doesn’t get the hang of the newspaper loo soon, I’m going to go and live with the twins. I haven’t met the actress yet – it’s so cool that they’re living with a star. I bet she’s —’

  I didn’t want to know about the twins’ landlady, I wanted to know what was going on with Marco, but I didn’t get a chance to ask. Bee rang off. (Turns out Doodle was eating her baseball boot.) I got more out of Fifty.

  ‘I’ve had an idea, Keener. We need to try to get Marco to make some other friends. That way he won’t want to be with us.’ Not bad, Fifty.

  But less out of Copper Pie. ‘I haven’t talked to Marco. He can’t join. No one can.’

  I went back to school on Tuesday morning, even though I’d probably have failed the ‘swallow’ test, because I needed to know what was going on.

  ‘Keener, you’re back,’ Jonno said, as me and Fifty walked into our patch, or scrubby bit of dirt, whichever you prefer. Bee and Copper Pie were there too.

  They filled me in on the events of Monday. It was the usual rubbish: Alice had been told to stop putting her hand up all the time, Callum’s idiot friend, Jamie, had been told to put his hand up before he speaks, and Marco’d been told to ask if he didn’t understand something so Miss Walsh could look it up in her English–Portuguese dictionary (but evidently she gave up and used sign language), and the Head had agreed that Amir would take over Earth Day from Bee when we leave Year 6. I wanted to talk about the ‘Marco problem’ but the bell went. And at break, Marco and Ed were hanging around us, so no chance. And at lunch all the Tribers and Marco queued up together.

  ‘Such a great day on Sunday,’ I said when we finally sat down with our jacket potatoes (me and Bee) and sloppy pasta (the rest). Now that we weren’t dressed in our black wetsuits I couldn’t think of much else to say to Marco. And we’d lost interest in getting him to say the Portuguese words for our English ones.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, and carried on eating.

  Jonno asked him about school in Portugal and told some stories about the schools he’d been to. I didn’t say a word. On the way out to the playground I felt totally miffed. I just wanted to get on with being Tribe. Without Marco.

  ‘Hey, Marco,’ shouted Ed. ‘Over here.’ Off went Marco. At last! We all trooped to the smelly, damp hole we call ours.

  ‘Let’s talk about the problem,’ I said.

  ‘OK,’ said Jonno. ‘What problem?’

  I hesitated. Wasn’t it obvious? ‘Marco wanting to be a Triber, of course.’

  ‘That needs an official meeting,’ said Fifty. He put on a pompous voice. ‘I officially call a Tribe meeting. Fists please.’

  We did the fist of friendship.

  ‘So who thinks what?’ said Bee.

  ‘Nothing’s changed,’ said Fifty. ‘He can’t join.’

  ‘What about you, Copper Pie?’ said Bee.

  ‘What do you think? I nearly lost an ice cream thanks to him, remember.’

  Two votes against. I decided to speak. ‘He’s not one of us. It’s not the same when he’s about. He can’t be a Triber.’

  ‘Over to you then, Jonno.’

  ‘He’s cool. And he’s different. I like him.’ What? ‘But he’s not a Triber.’ Phew!

  ‘OK,’ said Bee, flicking the famous fringe so she could give us the stare. ‘I agree. So how do we get rid of him, nicely, Tribishly.’

  ‘We should tell him the rule that we decided at the beginning: no one can leave and no one can join,’ I said.

  ‘Off you go then, Keener,’ said Jonno.

  Fair point. It was easy to say it behind his back, but not so easy to say to Marco’s face.

  ‘What about your idea, Fifty?

  Fifty looked at me as though he didn’t remember ever having an idea.

  ‘About getting Marco to make other friends.’

  ‘Oh, that,’ said Fifty. ‘I gave up. Couldn’t think of anyone he’d like.’

  ‘How can you be so clever and so stupid at the same time,’ said Bee. ‘We make Marco hook up with Ed. It’s perfect.’

  ‘Why is it?’ said Jonno. I’m glad it wasn’t just me who was confused.

  ‘Because Ed has a mountain b
oard, and so does Marco. Because Ed is always in the park, and so is Marco. Because Ed is so much more like Marco, outdoor-sy and cool, than any of us are.’

  I could see what she meant. It was hard to imagine Marco sitting in the Tribehouse listening to us giggling about the water tray in Reception class when he could be zooming down the hill in the park, almost killing unsuspecting members of the public. It was even harder to picture Marco hanging around under the trees with us, watching all the other kids (like Ed) in the playground playing dodgeball, kneeball, football, or made-up-ball.

  ‘So how do we do it?’ said Fifty.

  There was one of those depressing gaps in the conversation where you hope someone has the answer but no one does.

  ‘It’s risky – but I’ve got a kind of idea. But it’s a bit like the other idea we had that got us in trouble,’ said Jonno.

  It didn’t sound too hopeful. ‘Go on then,’ said Bee.

  Jonno sighed and ran his fingers through his springy hair. ‘We invite him to the meeting tomorrow, not to join, just to see how it goes.’ Where was this going? Sounded dangerous to me. ‘And we invite Ed too.’ Interesting. ‘And we have a boring meeting – really boring.’

  I butted in. ‘And Ed and Marco decide Tribe is about as thrilling as . . . chess club.’ (I quite like chess but it’s not a good thing to admit.)

  ‘Wicked,’ said Fifty.

  ‘Do you think it will work?’ said Bee. She was smiling already. I could see she thought it was a winner.

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Fifty. ‘We didn’t manage to scare him off, so we’ll bore him to death. You can tell him about every goal you’ve ever scored, Copper Pie.’

  TRIBERS’ MOST BORING TOPICS

  COPPER PIE: Football, football, football, football, football, football, football . . .

  KEENER: Reciting the number plates of every car any member of his family or friends has ever owned.

  BEE: Her lecture about all the things people do every day that damage the planet.

  JONNO: Insects, arachnids (spiders to the rest of us), moths, butterflies.

  FIFTY: Probably Rose.