Lucky Break

by Rob Stevens

  I smiled at Arnold and said, ‘I’ll bowl.’

  I reversed about ten paces from the single stump, pretending to polish the ball on my trousers. I started my run-up, accelerating from a trot to canter, did a little skip and bowled the ball overarm. It all felt pretty professional to me but I must have released the ball way too early because it sailed high towards Arnold’s head without bouncing. He ducked out of the way and the ball skipped off the patio and struck the middle of one of the French doors with a sickening thud.

  The reflection of the garden in the glass sort of stretched then pinged back to normal as the window bowed with the impact. The ball bounced back, rolled across the patio and trickled to a stop on the lawn.

  Arnold turned to face me, his eyes wide.

  I was about to give him the ‘I told you this was a bad idea’ speech but then he burst out laughing. Again, this wasn’t your normal teenage snigger but the now-familiar full-on Arnold hysteria. Letting the bat fall, he dropped to his knees and rolled onto the grass doing the asthmatic donkey thing.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ I said. Arnold continued rolling around, tears of joy making his eyes shiny.

  ‘Come on,’ he gasped. ‘How can you say that’s not funny?’

  ‘What if it had smashed?’

  ‘It would never break,’ Arnold said, getting to his feet. ‘The glass is too strong.’

  ‘Oh and you’re some sort of glass expert, are you?’ I sneered, all, you know … sneery.

  ‘My foster dad works in double glazing, so …’ Arnold picked up the ball and tossed it to me, smiling.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, catching the ball.

  ‘The windows are made of toughened safety glass. You could hit them with a sledgehammer and they wouldn’t break.’

  ‘So we couldn’t break them even if we tried?’ I felt suddenly relieved. ‘And you knew that all along?’

  Arnold smiled his big smile. ‘The only windows that aren’t toughened glass are the upstairs ones.’ He turned and pointed to the bedroom windows. ‘And you’d have to be really rubbish to slice the ball that high.’

  I delivered my next ball with less speed and more accuracy than my first. Arnold stroked it away with a straight bat, sending the ball trundling into the flowerbed beyond the summer house. He started his run and I scampered away to field the ball. Four balls later Arnold scooped the ball high in the air for an easy catch.

  ‘OK, seven runs to beat,’ I said as I took the bat from Arnold. I was feeling pretty confident. Seven wasn’t exactly a massive target.

  As Arnold started his run up I beat the tip of my bat on the grass, grinding the handle in my palms. His delivery was slow and looping. I waited for it to bounce. It skipped off the moist grass, coming up towards my waist. I stepped back and swiped my bat in a flat circle. The ball was almost behind me when I made contact. As the bat continued its swing I watched the ball fly off its top edge and spin high into the air and backwards towards the house.

  There was surprisingly little noise as the ball punched through Olivia’s bedroom window. Just a crisp crunching sound that only lasted a split second. It wasn’t even very loud.

  I allowed myself a moment to assess the situation. Whichever way you looked at it there was a definite jagged hole in the glass of Olivia’s bedroom window. Fact.

  The thoughts that went through my head in that moment, in no particular order, were these.

  Mum is going to kill me.

  Dad is going to kill me.

  Olivia … she’s probably going to kill me, too.

  Basically I was dead. So it came as little comfort when I looked round to see Arnold rolling around on the floor again. At last he managed to catch his breath and the asthmatic donkey noise began to bellow from his mouth.

  Brilliant. I was going to be strung up for breaking the rules (and my sister’s bedroom window) and all Arnold could do was laugh. I was feeling angry, and indignant and scared all at the same time. Which made it all the more weird that I started laughing, too.

  I didn’t go as far as rolling around on the floor like Arnold (I wasn’t four years old for heaven’s sake) but I was in total fits for some time. It actually felt pretty good. I hadn’t laughed so hard for ages – not since Lenny was alive.

  Eventually Arnold wiped a hand across his eyes. ‘See. I told you a quick game of cricket would be fun.’

  ‘You were right. I had a smashing time.’

  I smiled but by now Arnold had stopped laughing.

  We decided my best defence was to plead ignorance. If I denied all knowledge, then how could anyone prove that I’d smashed the window? However suspicious Mum and Dad might be, there would still be an element of doubt. Maybe a bird had lost its bearings and flown through the window, I would argue. Dazed and confused it might have lain on Olivia’s bed for a while to gather its senses before flying back into the wild through the hole in the glass.

  It could happen.

  That plan was scuppered though when we discovered Olivia’s bedroom door was locked. It would have been tricky to explain the presence of the cricket ball in the bedroom as well as putting the blame on a wayward bird. I rang Olivia’s mobile but there was no answer so I sent her a text. I put, ‘Hi. Please don’t tell M & D about the cricket ball in your bedroom. Say it must have been a bird.’

  I realised after I’d sent it that it probably wouldn’t make much sense to my sister but that didn’t really matter. When she got the message, she’d call to ask what I was talking about and I could explain. Olivia took her phone with her everywhere so I expected her to call pretty soon. In the meantime Arnold and I made some squash and watched TV.

  A report came on about this season’s meeting of the Panthers and the Kestrels. The Panthers were hoping to repeat their resounding victory from last season. It seemed like only yesterday we’d watched the same game last season. They played some highlights from that match and it brought it all back to me. Me and Lenny cheering like crazy. Mum and Dad beaming, almost giddy with happiness. Olivia trying hard all day not to let on she was having the time of her life.

  ‘That’s the match we went to last year,’ I said. ‘Where the picture by my bed was taken.’

  ‘When is this year’s match?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘We should go.’

  ‘Sure,’ I laughed. ‘The match has probably been sold out for weeks.’

  ‘Someone’s bound to be selling tickets.’

  ‘We might be able to pick up a couple I suppose.’

  ‘I meant everyone. Just like last year. Your whole family – except for Lenny.’

  ‘Obviously.’ I thought about Arnold’s suggestion for a moment. ‘I don’t know, Arnold. My family haven’t even sat around a table together since Lenny was killed. I don’t think they’d be too keen to relive the last happy family outing before his accident.’

  ‘Because it wouldn’t be the same without Lenny?’

  ‘Exactly.’ I took a few deep, calming breaths and watched the TV – waiting for Arnold to change the subject.

  ‘Exactly,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ At first I thought he was mimicking me but the innocent expression on his face told me otherwise.

  ‘Nothing is the same without Lenny, right?’ Arnold said. ‘Life has changed for ever for all of you and it’s really sad. But if you never do anything together that you did with Lenny then you’ll never do anything together ever again.’ He let that idea sink in for a moment then continued. ‘Maybe if you all missed him together it wouldn’t be as bad as missing him alone. You might even realise you can still have fun together.’

  I stared at the TV, thinking about Arnold’s idea. The more I thought about it, the more I started to think he might actually have a point. We’d spent almost a year trying not to mention Lenny even though his memory filled our house – our lives. We’d become almost paralysed by the fear of saying his name, as though admitting we missed him would emphasise the size of the hole he left behind. It was like not acknowledg
ing he was dead meant we could pretend he wasn’t. The trouble was that not talking about him made me miss him even more. And the constant pressure to not speak about him meant we’d begun to speak less and less.

  Now we hardly spoke at all.

  Arnold was right. Instead of ignoring Lenny’s absence, maybe it was time to face it head on. Last season’s home match against the Kestrels was the last happy occasion we’d ever shared as a family of five. Maybe this year’s could be our first as a family of four.

  Arnold was typing feverishly on his phone.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Looking for tickets. On eBay.’

  ‘I bet there won’t be any. Or they’ll cost a small fortune.’

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Arnold said at last. ‘They cost a reasonable-sized fortune.’ He turned the screen to show me.

  ‘That’s outrageous. I haven’t got anywhere near that kind of money.’

  I had a twenty in my wallet and about sixty pounds of saved birthday money in my room. Arnold kindly offered fifty pounds and seventeen pence, which was in his bank account. But, after searching loads of other websites, we realised that the price of five tickets was way outside our budget.

  ‘We could busk at the train station for more money,’ Arnold suggested.

  ‘Can you sing?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Play an instrument?’

  Arnold shook his head again. ‘But I can juggle oranges,’ he said proudly.

  ‘Really? How many?’

  ‘Three. Sometimes. Two easily.’

  ‘Great,’ I said. ‘Let’s get down to the station. I’ll be like the ringmaster. Roll up, roll up. Come and see the Unbelievable Juggling Arnold – he will leave you amazed and astounded as he keeps three, yes three, oranges in the air some of the time. But he can definitely juggle two easily.’

  Arnold was looking at me uncertainly. ‘Sarcasm, right?’ he said.

  ‘No way. People will pay good money to see a kid who may, or may not, be able to juggle three oranges. That’s entertainment gold.’

  Arnold now seemed to have realised that I was indeed being sarcastic. He nodded sadly. ‘I was just trying to help.’

  I felt guilty but I didn’t know what to say so I said nothing.

  ‘It was probably a stupid idea anyway,’ Arnold mumbled. ‘Maybe we should just ring the ticket office at the stadium and ask if there are any tickets left.’

  Now this was definitely a stupid idea. The game had been a sell-out for weeks, which is why the prices for second-hand tickets were so high. But I didn’t want to crush Arnold’s enthusiasm again so I nodded encouragingly.

  He searched the number online and dialled.

  ‘Oh hello, good morning,’ he said at last. ‘Do you have any tickets left for the rugby match tomorrow? – None at all? – Completely sold out?’

  I made a disappointed face.

  Arnold continued, ‘You see my friend was really hoping to watch the match with his family— I know, but watching it on TV isn’t the same— He came to see the Panthers beat the Kestrels last season with his whole family but the next day his twin brother was run over and killed.’

  My mouth fell open and I slapped his arm with the back of my hand. ‘You can’t say that,’ I whispered.

  Arnold mouthed to me, ‘She remembers reading about you in the paper.’

  ‘The thing is,’ he continued, ‘his family hasn’t done anything together since. They haven’t even had a meal together because it would make his brother’s absence too real. Every day that goes by his family is getting more and more distant. His sister is going to university next year and his parents barely communicate with each other as it is. If he doesn’t do something to save them now, his whole family might break up.’

  As I listened to Arnold I felt my chest getting tighter. I’d thought getting everyone to the rugby match would be a good way of showing them that I want us to do stuff together and talk about Lenny. The way Arnold described it, my family was on the verge of breaking up. And he was right. Everything he’d said was true. If I didn’t get them to the match, we might not be a family for much longer.

  Arnold was off the phone. ‘The match is sold out.’

  ‘Yeah – I gathered.’

  ‘But they have a few seats they keep for VIPs – sponsors and that sort of thing. She said she won’t know for sure until later today or even tomorrow morning if they’ve all been taken. Sometimes the sponsors don’t use all their tickets. Normally they would sell any spares on a first come, first served basis but she thought you were such a worthy cause she’d ask her boss if it’s OK to hold them for you. She’s going to ring me back a bit later this afternoon.’

  ‘How much are the tickets?’

  ‘Face value – twenty quid each, I think.’

  ‘That’s amazing, Arnold. I could kiss you. Don’t look so terrified, I’m not actually going to kiss you.’

  We had a good few hours to kill until we heard back from the lady in the ticket office. Arnold suggested playing in the arcade at the seafront so we decided to head down to the pier. The quickest way to the front was to cut across Chambers Park so we turned left out of my house. When we got to the zebra crossing I pressed the button and waited. Arnold glanced both ways and stepped into the road. He was halfway across before he realised I wasn’t next to him. He stopped and turned back.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’

  ‘The green man,’ I said, nodding at the illuminated red figure.

  Arnold looked around. ‘There’s no traffic.’

  ‘I’ll wait, thanks.’

  ‘I think it’s safe to cross.’

  ‘I know. I’d still prefer to wait.’

  Without saying a word Arnold walked back towards me, stepped onto the pavement and stood by my side. The green man lit up almost immediately and we crossed the road in silence.

  Ash and Tom were tossing a rugby ball to each other in the middle of Chambers Park so Arnold and I went over to say hello. As we approached I could hear Tom barking instructions.

  ‘More energy, Ash,’ he called. ‘Really fire that ball back to me. Better. Stay on your toes. We can’t be caught flat-footed if we’re going to win the final. Games don’t come any bigger than that, you know.’

  ‘This sounds like a serious coaching session,’ I said when Arnold and I were a few metres from Ash. ‘You won yesterday then?’

  ‘Seventeen–six.’ As Ash replied, he turned and smiled and Tom’s bullet-like pass hit him square on the back of the head.

  ‘Focus, Ash. Focus!’ Tom screamed, his voice reaching a piercing pitch.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m OK,’ Ash called back, rubbing his head. ‘Thanks for your concern though.’

  ‘I’m not sure Tom’s taking this seriously enough,’ I said.

  Ash rolled his eyes. ‘Tell me about it. I thought we were just coming out for a bit of gentle catching practice. Instead I’m being given an intensive training session by Drill Sergeant Hubbard.’

  ‘Isn’t he too young to be in the army?’ Arnold asked.

  ‘Ash just means Tom acts like one most of the time,’ I explained.

  ‘I think you mean all the time,’ Ash added. As he spoke he gave me a quizzical look as if to ask why I was with Arnold. I just smiled. Tom jogged over to join us.

  ‘Hi, Arnold,’ Tom said brightly. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘How is what going?’

  Tom smiled. ‘How’s your day going?’

  ‘Fine thanks. I’m staying with Leon.’

  Ash and Tom both knew my mum’s attitude towards having friends over and looked surprised by Arnold’s announcement. During the awkward silence that followed I tried to think of something interesting about Arnold to help Ash and Tom get to know him.

  ‘Arnold lives with foster carers,’ I said. Immediately I regretted my choice of words. I’d have hated to be labelled like that – ‘This is Leon. His twin brother was killed last year.’

  Tom looked uncomfo
rtable. He cleared his throat and said, ‘I’m sorry. When did your parents pass away?’ He winced at his own bluntness. As if moving onto a brighter note he said, ‘Of course they may still be alive? Maybe they just abandoned you? Or I suppose you might have been taken into care because they weren’t looking after you properly …?’ Tom just about squeezed out the last few words before awkward tension tightened his vocal chords to the point where he could no longer speak.

  Arnold waited a beat then said, ‘My dad died when I was nine. My mum isn’t very well. She gets really depressed. She’s too ill to look after me at the moment so I’m with foster carers until she gets better.’ He nodded at the ball under Tom’s arm. ‘Can we play? How about me and Leon take on you and Ash?’

  Ash and Tom turned to me. Instinctively I scanned the park.

  ‘Your mum’s not here,’ Ash said reassuringly. ‘No contact. You won’t get hurt. I promise.’

  ‘Game on,’ I said.

  ‘Let me warn you, Arnold,’ said Tom with a grin. ‘When it comes to rugby, Ash and I don’t take any prisoners.’

  Arnold screwed his face up. ‘Prisoners?’

  The match was much closer than I expected it to be. It turned out Arnold was pretty good at rugby. He passed the ball accurately and was able to spiral it into my arms from a good twenty yards away. He was quick too, probably even faster than Ash in a straight line. His only downfall – and ultimately the downfall for our team – was his shoes. His old Converse trainers had virtually no grip on the greasy grass. Every time he had to change direction quickly he ended up skidding out of the game or sliding into the splits or just falling flat on his back.

  ‘Why don’t we pause the game for a bit and you can go back to Leon’s and change your shoes?’ Ash suggested on one occasion when Arnold had ended up spreadeagled on the ground.

  ‘No thanks,’ Arnold replied, getting to his feet gingerly.

  ‘It won’t take a few minutes,’ I offered.

  ‘I don’t have any other shoes.’

  We all glanced down at the tattered trainers on Arnold’s feet. The canvas was grubby and frayed. One big toe was peeping out where the toecap had come away from the sole, which flapped noisily when Arnold broke into a sprint.