Untitled 2

by David Baddiel

  “Yes, Cinderellie!!” he said, with a smile. “You shall go to Rashid’s party!”

  “That was incredible!”

  “Not just incredible. Amazing!”

  “It was the best goal I’ve ever seen outside of the Premier League and the World Cup!”

  “What, the second goal? Or the third?”

  “I thought the fourth was the best!”

  “Yes, the way he caught the ball on the back of his neck, before flicking it up on to his head and knocking it down for a left-foot volley! That was the best one!”

  Fred just smiled, listening to the things the ten other boys in the Bracket Wood First XI were saying as they carried him aloft on their shoulders off the pitch. He could hear the applause and cheering of lots of others, the rest of the school in fact, who were standing on the touchline.

  “I can’t believe we’ve finally beaten Geary Road!”

  “Seven-nil!”

  “They haven’t even beaten us by that much. Ever!”

  “Well, they beat us eight-nil last year …”

  “Not the same.”

  “This means we’re in the final!”

  “Yes! The Bracket Wood and Surrounding Area Inter-school Winter Trophy final!”

  “Yes! All because of Fred!”

  “Oh no,” said Fred, shaking his head in a way that:

  a) wasn’t believable

  and

  b) made the boy underneath him – who was called Prajit, and who despite being the goalie wasn’t actually the biggest player on the team – wobble dangerously for a moment.

  “It’s a team game.”

  “It is a team game,” said Mr Barrington, suddenly appearing – because Fred was on Prajit’s shoulders – at eye level. Up close, his eyes looked enormous through his enormous lenses. It was, Fred thought, like having a staring match with a fish in a tracksuit.

  “But there’s simply no doubt that your individual performance was the best I’ve ever seen. I knew I was right to put you on the team, even for a game as important as this – a semi-final.

  “It’s a flash in the pan, some said after your trial. Others said, I don’t understand it – he’s always been rubbish before, but I said, No! There’s a young footballer with real class, who could make a real difference to our team, and it was because of that I decided that you were—”

  “Mr Barrington?”

  “Yes, Fred?”

  “No, that wasn’t me speaking. It was Prajit.”

  Mr Barrington looked down. “Ah yes, Prajit. What is it?”

  “Sorry to interrupt, but I’m about to fall over.”

  “All right, Prajit. I’ve nearly finished. Surely you can hold on for another two minutes.”

  “Um … OK.”

  Mr Barrington looked back up. “What I really wanted to say, Fred, was that you are, without any doubt, the most improved player I have ever seen. How on earth have you done it?”

  All the faces on the team looked up at Fred. His face, though, wasn’t looking back at them. It was pointing in another direction, towards the crowd where, among all the boys and girls waving Bracket Wood scarves, he could see Ellie. She was doing a thumbs up with her right hand. In her left hand, he could see, she was still holding the Controller. When she saw him looking at her, she raised that up too, so that both her hands were in the air.

  “Well …” said Fred.

  “Speak up,” said Mr Barrington. “I think the whole school should share in this moment. The whole school should know exactly what it was that made you suddenly such a great player. I would like you to speak up and tell us exactly how you did it.”

  So, before we hear Fred’s answer, you need to know that some time has passed. The Whites’ Christmas lights don’t even look out of place any more; Eric has taken the unusual step of putting up some of his own lights outside the Stones’ flat.fn1 Margaret Scratcher has got considerably fluffier as it has got colder. And Fred and Ellie have been making a lot of use of the Controller.

  They’ve used it to do their chores. (You can tidy your room very quickly when two flicks will propel you from the floor to the cupboard and back again. Plus, Ellie found that, if she pressed amber-plus-diamond while Fred was pointing at a pile of clothes, they just folded themselves up automatically.) They’ve used it to make boring car journeys more exciting (and neither Eric nor Janine even noticed that their children were doing somersaults on the roof); they even used it to spice up trick-or-treating at Halloween (it’s amazing how much more frightening – and therefore how many more sweets people will give you – a cheap skeleton costume becomes when it’s leaping up the side of a house).

  And, of course, they used it at the November school football team trial. A lot of the other boys – and Mr Barrington – looked pained when they saw Fred approaching, all kitted up and smiling. The words “not again” and “how are the shoelaces doing?” and “oh no, he’s brought his nerd sister along …” were muttered.

  However, one bit of keepy-uppy, two back-heels, three drag-and-goes, four zigzags and five goals later, the muttering had stopped. Had turned in fact to cheering, and applause, and a first-name-on-the-sheet place in the school team for the upcoming semi-final versus Geary Road.

  So now let’s return to Fred and what he said to Mr. Barrington when his teacher asked him to speak up and tell everyone exactly how he did it.

  For a moment, Fred thought Mr Barrington must have rumbled him: that he must know that he had, in a way, cheated, because he sounded a bit like teachers did when they were being sarcastic – like Mr Barrington, having heard Fred whispering in class, was mockingly inviting him to come up and tell everyone all about the great things he had to say.

  But then Fred realised, looking at the sports teacher’s friendly if fishy eyes, that Mr Barrington wasn’t being sarcastic; that he genuinely thought that it was amazing how well Fred had played and that he really wanted him to tell the rest of the school how he had done it.

  Fred nodded to himself; he looked to Ellie, who still had her hands up and was also now smiling at him hopefully; and so he took a deep breath and said loudly, making sure everyone could hear him: “I don’t know really, Mr Barrington. I suppose I just have a talent – an amazing talent – that I was born with.”

  A ripple of applause greeted this.

  “Talent, though, needs hard work to make it all it can be.”

  He saw Mr Barrington nod and heard some people in the crowd say, “Yes … very wise.”

  “So maybe up till now,” Fred continued, “if I was really being honest with myself, I’d have to say I haven’t truly been doing the hard work. But now I have – I’ve finally put in the time and the sweat and practised hard. And yes, it’s paid off because …”

  The ripple of applause started building, and building, and building. Fred raised a fist in the air: “… now it’s my time to shine!!”

  The crowd erupted into a massive roar. Mr Barrington was applauding. Fred’s team-mates were applauding. Even the defeated Geary Road team were applauding.

  The only person who wasn’t applauding – who was in fact walking away sadly – was Ellie. Fred watched her go. He wanted to call after her. He wanted to tell her that he had only said that because he didn’t know what else to say. That he’d got carried away with the moment. He wanted to say sorry. But all that was quite hard to do because:

  a) she was already quite far away

  b) the crowd were cheering and chanting, “Fred! Fred! Fred!” so she wouldn’t have heard him above it

  and

  c) just as he opened his mouth to shout after her, Prajit’s legs finally went and Fred toppled headlong into Mr Barrington, knocking him, and his rhino-foot-lens glasses, into the mud.

  Actually, not everybody apart from Ellie was applauding. Two other people weren’t. They were following Ellie as she walked away from the pitch.

  “Stone!” said a voice behind her. She turned round, heavy-hearted.

  “Isla …” she said. “No
t now.”

  “Oh, sorry, Ellie,” said Isla Fawcett.

  “Yes, sorry, Ellie,” said Morris, turning away.

  “Where are you going, Morris?” said Isla.

  “Um … back to the match … You said sorry – so I thought we were leaving her alone …”

  “She was being sarcastic,” said Ellie.

  “Oh. Were you?” said Morris.

  “Yes,” said Isla. She sighed and shook her head. “Anyway, Ellie … that’s odd. That you’re leaving. Didn’t fancy watching your brother’s moment of triumph …?”

  “I’m not interested in answering your stupid questions, Isla,” said Ellie.

  “Another thing that’s interesting is that you’re always holding that Controller these days.”

  Ellie gulped. “Am I?”

  “Yes. I noticed you were holding it – and playing with it – all through the game. And I noticed you were also holding it – and playing with it – all through that … incident in the playground the other week.”

  “Incident? Oh, you mean when my brother completely trounced your brother – and you – in a fight?”

  “Hmm. That’s not how I saw it.”

  “It’s how I saw it,” said Morris.

  “Shut up.”

  “I’m surprised you could see anything – let alone what I was doing – when you were being juggled,” said Ellie.

  “Whatever,” said Isla.

  “Yeah, What. Ever,” said Morris, doing a W with his fingers. Well, it actually looked like a shadow-puppet person doing a very bad version of a bird. “Hang on,” he said. “What’s the next letter? After W?”

  “Never mind. Just get it,” said Isla.

  “Get what?” said Ellie. But this question wasn’t answered. Instead, Morris, who although slow-thinking was fast-moving, ran at her and grabbed the Controller.

  “Hey!” she said. “Give that back!”

  Isla smirked and held out her hand. Morris passed the Controller to her.

  “I said give that back!!” shouted Ellie, reaching for it. But Morris stood in her way.

  “Interesting …” said Isla, holding the Controller up and turning it round. “It’s very pretty, isn’t it?”

  “Give it back!”

  Isla smiled and brought the Controller closer to her face. “You’re certainly very bothered about it, aren’t you? Just what is it about this that makes it so special?”

  “Nothing!” shouted Ellie. “Just leave it alone!”

  “Might it be something to do with the control stick …?” said Isla, circling it round. “Or this gold button here …?”

  Just before Isla rotated the control stick and pressed the gold button, 200 metres away, back at the football pitch, Mr Barrington was scrambling around in the mud for his glasses. Fred was saying, “I’m so sorry, Mr Barrington, let me help you!” Everyone else was watching.

  As Isla rotated the control stick and pressed the button, Fred whirled round in a very fast circle, swung back his left foot and then kicked out, in one powerful, graceful movement, sending Mr Barrington’s glasses all the way to the other end of the pitch. Sending them, in fact, soaring into Geary Road’s goal, although this one, to be fair, didn’t count.

  “Stop it! Stop doing that!” shouted Ellie.

  “Why …? What’s going on …?” said Isla, pressing the ruby button over and over again.

  “Fred!!!” shouted Mr Barrington. Although not at him. Instead, he was peering at Prajit, who was just getting up.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr Barrington! I really am!” said Fred.

  “Are you?!” said Mr Barrington, now – following the sound – at least looking towards Fred.

  Unfortunately, Fred was jumping up and down with his hands in the air, seeming not to be sorry, but rather to be celebrating.

  “Yes! I am! I’m really sorry about your glasses!” he said, leaping especially high and punching the air.

  “Well … GO AND GET THEM THEN!!” said Mr Barrington.

  “I will,” said Fred, just as Isla pushed the control stick to the left. Fred rushed off very fast in the opposite direction to where the glasses were. Which was good in one sense, as that was the direction in which Mr Barrington was mistakenly pointing.

  “Hmm …” said Isla. “It’s something to do with you and your twin … and the way he’s suddenly got really good at everything … but I can’t work out what.”

  She looked at Ellie, who shrugged. She looked at Morris, who shrugged. Although he did that when you asked him what type of fruit monkeys ate.

  Isla tossed the Controller on the ground.

  “But I will,” she said, walking away.

  When Isla threw the Controller away, Fred stopped running in the wrong direction for Mr Barrington’s glasses. He shook his head as if to say, “What was that all about!!?” and turned round to go back to the changing room.

  Next to the posts of their goal a grown-up was standing: a man in his mid-thirties, wearing a smart black coat, and with a kindly, curious smile on his face.

  “Hello,” said the man. He had a hint of a foreign accent. “I just watched you play.”

  “Oh,” said Fred.

  “You’re good.”

  “Oh. Thank you.”

  “Maybe very good.”

  Fred nodded and gave a smile that wasn’t really a proper smile, more a kind of looking-down smile – which was what he did when he was a bit embarrassed.

  The man took a card out of his pocket. He handed it to Fred.

  “This is me. I might come back and watch you again in the final. Just to make sure it wasn’t a one-off …” He smiled again and turned away.

  Fred looked down at the card. He had to read it three times before he could believe it.

  “I can’t believe you did that! That speech after the game! Taking all the credit!” shouted Ellie.

  “What was I supposed to say? You’re very kind, but it wasn’t me it was my sister magically controlling me with that video-game Controller?” Fred shouted back.

  “No! But you didn’t have to be quite so pleased with yourself!”

  “Well, I can’t believe you did what you did! Making me kick Barrington’s glasses all the way down the pitch! I could’ve got expelled!”

  “What are you talking about?! That was Isla! I didn’t do anything!”

  “Well, I’m not sure I believe you! I think you were trying to teach me a lesson!”

  “Can you two keep it down in there?! I’m trying to watch—”

  Ellie and Fred stopped arguing for a second to say together, loud enough for their mother to hear through the playroom wall: “Cash in the Attic!! Yes, we know!”

  There was a short pause. Then Janine said: “Actually, I’m watching another programme, I’ll have you know.”

  Ellie and Fred looked at each other.

  “Really?” said Ellie.

  “Yes.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “Money in the Loft. It’s a new show. Completely different.”

  Fred and Ellie looked at each other again. Then they burst out laughing.

  “OK, OK,” said Ellie. “Can we stop arguing with each other, please?”

  “Yes. Please!” said Fred. “Look. I’ve been dying to show you something …”

  “What?”

  Fred took the card out from his pocket. He held it in two hands, between his thumbs and forefingers, and thrust it at his sister.

  She squinted at it. “Sven Matthias. Junior Football Scout. Scout?”

  “Not scout as in boy who wears a funny uniform and spends a lot of time in tents studying knots. Scout as in talent scout. It’s someone who works for a football club finding talented young players.”

  “Oh! Wow! Which football club?”

  Fred moved his finger away from the top corner of the card, revealing a blue badge: a lion holding a staff. Ellie’s eyes widened.

  “Chelsea! Chelsea Football Club?!”

  Fred grinned at her, nodding.
>
  “This man wants you to come and try out for Chelsea Football Club?!”

  “Well,” said Fred, putting the card back in his pocket, “no. He’s going to come back and watch me in the final. And then decide.”

  “Wow. That’s amazing.”

  “Yes. So … look, I’m sorry. About what I said after the game. But you will come to the final, won’t you? And … control me? And I promise never to make a speech about how talented I am at football again. Even in a post-match interview on Match of the Day.”

  Ellie thought about this. “Will you change me back to Cinderellie?”

  Fred frowned. Then his face cleared.

  “Oh! I forgot! It’s Rashid’s party later!”

  Ellie nodded shyly.

  “Yes! Of course!” said Fred.

  Ellie smiled and put her hand out. “It’s a deal,” she said.

  The Stones were late setting off for Rashid’s party. There had been a bumper edition of Cash in the Attic on Channel 765 + 1.

  “What channel is this?” Eric had said when the fifth Cash in the Attic in succession had come on.

  “It’s the Cash in the Attic channel,” Janine had replied.

  So, when they were finally on their way, Ellie said: “Dad. Can we go a bit faster, please?”

  “Yes,” said Janine. “Put your foot down, Eric.”

  “Er … my foot is down, Janine. Right down on the accelerator to the floor.”

  Janine looked at her husband’s feet. It was true.

  “Blimey, Eric,” she said. “You really are going to have to lose some weight.”

  Which was why, when the Stones dropped Ellie and Fred outside Rashid’s front door, the party was already in full swing. Fred had just rung the doorbell when they heard, from behind them, a familiar voice.

  “Well, well, well …”

  “Oh no,” said Ellie. She turned round. There were Isla and Morris.

  Isla was in full party gear: a bright red minidress and high heels, and long dangly earrings and full red-matching-her-dress lipstick. Oh, and her hair was at its most shampoo-advert-like, glossy and falling over her face, until she tossed it back to make the “well, well, well” just that bit more dramatic.