Inside My Head

by Jim Carrington

  After a few minutes, Bumble comes out of the pavilion holding the ball and dribbles it into the middle of the pitch. Dougie and his team follow him out. They’re all having a moan at him. Dougie and Knaggs look fed up. And Bumble’s just ignoring them. He stands right on the centre spot and blows his whistle.

  ‘Everyone come into the centre circle!’ he shouts.

  So we all walk in.

  ‘OK,’ he says, as the last few people make it into the middle. ‘We’ll swap ends to even it up a little.’

  ‘Ah, sir!’ we all say together.

  ‘No arguments,’ Bumble says. ‘Swap ends and let’s get this game started.’

  ‘But we haven’t got a keeper on our side,’ Dougie says. ‘Look, they’ve got Ed and Callum on their side. Can’t we swap someone for them?’

  Bumble shakes his head. ‘You picked your side, Dougie. Don’t blame me.’

  ‘But no one wants to go in goal, sir,’ Knaggs says. ‘We need a goalie.’

  Bumble shakes his head again.

  ‘But how are we gonna play without a goalie?’

  ‘I don’t know and I don’t care,’ says Bumble. ‘Pretend you’ve got a goalie. Just swap ends and let’s get started now.’

  Alfie leads our team over to the other side of the pitch and we get into position. Knaggs and Dougie and the rest of their team drag themselves out of the centre circle and into their half. They get themselves ready. But they don’t look happy. And no one’s gone in goal. This should be easy.

  Bumble picks the ball up and places it on the centre spot. He puts his foot on the ball, like he’s the captain of England or something. ‘Dougie, your team can kick off,’ he says. And he steps away from the ball.

  Dougie and Mike step forward. I jog on the spot to keep warm.

  Mr Lawson blows the whistle.

  Mike touches the ball to Dougie. He plays it behind him to Knaggs. Knaggs takes the ball and turns, towards his own goal. He starts dribbling with the ball, in and out of his own teammates. Some of them try to tackle him, some of them just look at him and some laugh. And then, with a thundering shot, Knaggs lets the ball fly at his own goal. The net ripples.

  ‘YYYYYYEEEEEESSSSS!’ Knaggs cries. He raises his arms to the sky, like he’s thanking God. He falls to his knees and kisses the ground.

  Both teams start laughing.

  Bumble starts blowing his whistle. He runs down the pitch towards Knaggs. ‘What on earth was that?’ he shouts. He stands above Knaggs, who is still on his knees.

  ‘What?’ says Knaggs.

  ‘What the bloody hell are you playing at, boy?’

  Knaggs stands up. He looks at Bumble like he’s confused, like, ‘What’s all the fuss?’

  ‘Explain yourself!’ Bumble says. He looks angry.

  Knaggs shrugs. ‘You said to pretend we had a keeper, sir,’ Knaggs says, all innocent. ‘So I did. I passed back to the imaginary goalkeeper, sir. But he’s crap and he didn’t save it!’

  We all fall about laughing. I sink to my knees, I’m laughing so much.

  Bumble blows his whistle. ‘Stop laughing this instant!’

  So we do. Sort of. We just snigger instead.

  ‘Right, Mr Knaggs,’ Bumble says. ‘I’m sending you off for that. Go and sit by the side.’

  ‘But, sir,’ Knaggs says, ‘I was only doing what you said!’ He shrugs his shoulders and acts like he can’t understand why he’s been sent off. But he does what he’s told. He walks over to the side of the pitch and sits down. And as soon as Bumble’s back is turned, he sticks his fingers up at him and gets another laugh.

  It’s not much of a game after that. Bumble doesn’t seem interested, doesn’t blow his whistle or anything. And no one on the pitch can take it seriously. And besides, eleven against nine isn’t fair. When Alfie puts our team 3–1 up, Joe walks off the pitch as well, goes and sits with Knaggs. Bumble doesn’t say a word. And after a bit, I do the same.

  ‘That was hilarious,’ I say. ‘Bumble looked mad!’

  Knaggs smiles at me. ‘Rule number one,’ he says. ‘Never mess with the Knaggster!’

  .

  Zoë

  Shopping was a complete nightmare. The uniform for Wendham High School sucks badly. They have black blazers with shabby little badges on them, black-and-grey-and-blue-striped ties, black jumpers, black skirts, black tights and flat black shoes. Or at least that’s what it said on the list that Mum had. If I wore that much black at home, she’d have a fit. She’d tell me to brighten myself up. But, anyway, I bet no one in year ten actually dresses like that – teachers never notice if you’ve got heels on your shoes, or if you wear trainers, or your tie’s too short. Back at Morden we had a vote on our uniform. We chose to have sweatshirts and to allow black trainers, as long as they didn’t have a big logo on them. It wasn’t exactly fashionable, but at least it wasn’t as bad as Wendham. And at least we had a say in it.

  After getting the uniform we went to the supermarket. Mum and Dad went in while I sat in the car. They were in there for hours. I listened to my MP3 player and sat there, watching all the Norfolk people walking around. Most of them looked inbred. Rianna was right.

  Mum and Dad eventually came back out with a load of economy stuff.

  Mum said, ‘We’ll just have to put up with it for a while, until we get ourselves sorted.’

  But if she seriously expects me to go to school with a lunch box full of economy bread and economy cereal bars and economy yogurt, she’s wrong. I’ll throw it in a hedge and go to the canteen instead.

  .

  David

  ‘Tea’s ready, Ollie, David,’ Mum shouts up the stairs.

  I switch off my telly, clomp down the stairs and into the kitchen. Lasagne and oven chips. Mum’s speciality! I sit down at the table.

  Dad’s already there, putting some brown sauce on his chips. ‘Have a good day today, Davey?’

  I shrug. ‘All right, I s’pose. Not bad.’ I pick up the tomato sauce and squeeze some on to my plate.

  ‘What did you have today?’ Dad says. ‘Science? Maths? PE? Geography?’

  I’ve just put a chip in my mouth, so I nod my head in the right place instead.

  ‘PE?’ Dad says.

  I nod again as I swallow my chip. ‘Football.’

  Dad smiles at me. ‘Did you win?’

  I nod. I think about the game earlier. I don’t want Dad to know anything about the game other than that we won. He’d go mental if he knew what we’d done.

  Fortunately Ollie comes into the kitchen, so I don’t have to explain today’s PE lesson to Dad. Ollie sits down at the table without looking at anyone, without saying anything. He just does that thing where he lets his fringe cover his face.

  ‘All right, Olls,’ Dad says. ‘How was your day?’

  Ollie picks up his knife and fork. He shrugs. ‘All right.’ He leans his head and lets his hair fall even further across his face.

  Mum brings cups of tea over to the table. She gives one to me and Dad first, then she goes back to the side and gets one for her and Ollie. She sits down and picks up her knife and fork.

  ‘City are at home tomorrow, boys,’ Dad says. ‘Paul at work’s going away for the weekend, so we can borrow his season tickets if you want.’

  I nod my head eagerly. ‘Cool. Leicester, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Dad says. ‘Should be three points, I reckon. Ollie, you fancy coming?’

  Ollie shakes his head and showers us all in dandruff. ‘Working,’ he says. He doesn’t like football anyway. He just likes depressing music and comics.

  ‘Oh, all right. Just me and you then, Davey-boy,’ Dad says. ‘Hey, I reckon we should take our boots – we might even get a game!’

  I sort of laugh, just to be polite. It must be about the thousandth
time I’ve heard Dad make that joke. It wasn’t even funny the first time he said it.

  It’s quiet for a while. Everyone’s munching their food and slurping their tea.

  ‘Oh, David,’ Mum says all of a sudden, like she’s just remembered something important. ‘I was talking to Margaret at work today . . .’

  I stop chewing. I look down at my plate. I can feel my cheeks going red. I feel guilty already. I know what she’s gonna say.

  ‘She got called away from work yesterday, to the school,’ Mum says, all casual. ‘Didn’t see her again till today. She says Gary’s been excluded.’

  Shit! I want the earth to swallow me up. My stomach ties itself in a knot. I have to think of something to say. ‘Yeah’ is all I can come up with.

  ‘She’s very worried about him, David, you know.’

  I cut a bit of lasagne that I know I’m not gonna be able to eat now.

  ‘He had a fight, so Margaret said,’ Mum says. She puts her knife and fork down on her plate and looks at me.

  I pretend to be interested in my food, push some chips round my plate. The kitchen is quiet. I feel uncomfortable.

  ‘Did you see what happened?’ Mum goes on.

  I shrug. ‘Yeah. He hit someone after science yesterday.’ I look up at Mum. My heart’s racing.

  Mum picks up her cup of tea and cradles it in her hands. ‘I probably shouldn’t be saying this but the school want him to go and have some counselling,’ she says. She sounds really concerned.

  I nod my head and look at my plate, like this really has nothing to do with me.

  Mum picks up her knife and fork. But she doesn’t eat. She just looks at me. I play with my food again.

  ‘Margaret thinks someone might be bullying Gary,’ Mum says.

  The knot in my stomach tightens. Next to me, Ollie sighs and shakes his head. He bangs his knife and fork around on his plate.

  Mum looks at him for a second, but then she turns back to me. ‘Have you seen anyone bullying Gary?’ she says.

  I shake my head. ‘No,’ I lie.

  Mum puts her knife and fork back down on the table. ‘Well, Margaret’s convinced he’s being bullied. Will you keep an eye out for me, David? He’s back on Monday. She’s ever so worried about him . . .’

  I nod my head and push my plate into the middle of the table.

  .

  Saturday

  Zoë

  Saturday morning. Dad’s taken the removal van back to Joe in London. I wanted to go too, wanted to go and see Jodie and my mates. But hey, guess what? As if any guesswork is needed. They said no. I have to stay here, in the middle of nowhere, where I know no one, where I have nothing to do.

  Mum’s in the lounge watching a cookery programme, making new curtains out of some grim flowery material. I need to get out of this house. So I go downstairs.

  ‘I’m going out, Mum.’

  She looks up from the sewing machine. She looks tired. ‘Oh, OK, dear,’ she says. ‘Have you put your clothes away yet?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I lie.

  ‘And you’ve hung up your uniform?’

  I nod.

  ‘OK, then,’ she says. ‘Where are you off to?’

  ‘Dunno,’ I say. ‘Playing field maybe.’

  ‘That’s a good idea, love,’ she says. ‘You might even meet some kids who go to your new school.’

  ‘Hmm, maybe,’ I mumble. And then I remember Gary and a wicked thought goes through my head. ‘Actually, I’ve already met someone.’

  ‘Have you?’ Mum says. She sounds surprised. ‘When was that?’

  ‘Yesterday,’ I say. ‘And the day before.’

  ‘Oh,’ says Mum. She says it casual. But I can see it on her face – the cogs turning round, the alarm bells starting to ring. ‘Shouldn’t she have been at school?’

  ‘It was a he,’ I say. ‘And he wasn’t at school because he got sent home for hitting someone.’

  I watch the look on Mum’s face. It’s a picture. I can tell she thinks I’m already falling in with the wrong crowd, like the Jodie situation all over again. Only this time it’s worse, cos there’s a boy. She looks horrified.

  ‘Oh,’ she says, trying to stay calm. ‘I’m not sure I like the sound of him. What’s his name?’

  ‘Gary,’ I say. ‘Anyway, Mum, I’m going out. See you later.’

  ‘Make sure you take your phone, Zoë. I had no idea where you were yesterday. You know I worry.’

  ‘I’ve got it,’ I say. And I get out of the front door as quickly as I can, before she changes her mind about letting me out.

  .

  The playing field is nowhere near as empty as it was on Thursday and Friday. There’s a door open at the social club and someone’s setting out tables and chairs inside. On the field, a couple of little kids are playing football. There’s no sign of the yappy dog, though. Or Gary.

  But Gary’s swing has got a boy on it. A different boy. A boy in a cap. He isn’t sitting staring into space. He’s standing up on the swing, swinging it as high and as fast as it’ll go. He’s shouting as well. There’s another boy on the swing next to him, much taller. He’s standing up too. They look like they’re having a race or something. The boy on Gary’s swing jumps off as he swings forward. He lands a few feet in front and tumbles over. And the tall boy on the other swing follows. They stand up and laugh. They look like skaters, from what they’re wearing. Probably about my age, I guess. The one in the cap’s not bad-looking, either. A bit short, but not bad. Maybe there is a good side to Norfolk after all. I walk over to them.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I say.

  ‘Well, hello,’ says the boy in the cap. The boys look at each other and laugh. The boy in the cap winces and touches the side of his face. He has a bruise around his cheekbone.

  ‘This is gonna sound really random,’ I say. ‘But do you know someone called Gary?’

  They look at each other. ‘Depends. Gary who?’ says the one with the cap.

  ‘I can’t remember his last name,’ I say. ‘He’s quite tall, fuzzy hair. I think he said he goes to Wendham High School. Year ten?’

  The boys look at each other. They laugh. I’m not sure if they’re laughing at me or not, but I don’t like it.

  ‘Does he have ginger hair and a head like a giant cheesy Wotsit? Talks like a farmer?’ says the boy in the cap.

  The tall boy bursts out laughing, almost spits all over the place.

  I laugh as well. I guess he does look like a cheesy Wotsit. But I feel guilty for thinking it. ‘I guess so. A little bit, yeah.’

  They laugh. The boy in the cap winces again. ‘You mean Gary Wood,’ he says. ‘The cheese-puff boy.’

  ‘Yeah, I think so.’

  ‘What do you wanna know about him for?’

  I shrug my shoulders. ‘I’m looking for him, that’s all.’

  The boys laugh again. I don’t like the way they keep laughing at me. I know boys like this, back in London. Constantly taking the piss. And I’ve never liked them. Can’t trust them. ‘Look, do you know where he is or not?’

  ‘Dead, I hope. Lying in a ditch,’ says the cap boy.

  I sigh, give them a dirty look and turn away. I head across the field, towards the path into the woods.

  And then a voice calls from behind me, ‘Hey, I wouldn’t say no if you came looking for me!’

  They both laugh again. So immature.

  I turn and give them the middle finger.

  .

  He’s there. At the farm. In the barn. Sitting in the tractor. Staring into space. The barn’s even more of a mess than yesterday. It stinks like a toilet and there are fag butts and cider bottles lying around. I look at the bottles and then at Gary. They can’t be his, surely. He’s not old enough to get served. He doesn’t look
old enough. He’s got bum fluff on his top lip. Unless maybe he robbed them from his house or something. I know plenty of kids that do . . .

  ‘All right, Gary,’ I say.

  He nods his head. ‘All right,’ he says, without looking round.

  I pick up the cider bottles and put them neatly at the side of the barn. I don’t know why – just feels like the right thing to do. I sit down on an old box. ‘I can’t believe you’re out again today,’ I say.

  Gary shrugs.

  ‘I thought you’d be in a load of trouble. I would, if it was me. I’d be grounded.’

  He looks at me and nods his head. He looks away again.

  ‘Do your mum and dad work on Saturdays, then?’ I ask.

  Gary kind of snorts, like he’s laughing. ‘Something like that,’ he says.

  I smile at him. I think about what the boys in the playing field were saying about him just now. I want to ask him about them, about him. But I can’t. Somehow, I get the feeling he wouldn’t want to talk about it.

  So I get up instead and I walk over to the entrance to the barn. I look at the farmhouse. I really want to go in there. I don’t know why. I bet it’s spooky. But I want to do it. Maybe I should come when Gary’s not here, go in on my own.

  Behind me I hear a thud and then footsteps. Gary appears at my shoulder. He looks at the house as well.

  ‘Aren’t you tempted to take a look?’ I say.

  Gary looks at the house for a second and then nods his head. ‘A bit,’ he says.

  ‘Then why don’t we?’ I say. ‘It won’t hurt anyone.’

  Gary shakes his head. ‘No.’

  ‘Well then, I’m gonna look in the window at least,’ I say.

  And I walk over to the house. Gary walks along behind me. I peer in through the dirty window. It’s dark inside. Difficult to see much. But I can make out a really old-fashioned sink. There’s an old electric cooker as well. Just beneath the window there’s a table. It’s got a filthy tablecloth on it. And there’s a dirty glass and a knife and fork on it, like someone set the table and then never came back. And there’s loads of dust everywhere. It looks a bit like the pictures they show on telly when they go to villages in Eastern Europe or somewhere.