Untitled 2

by David Baddiel

  Ellie ran over to Fred, who was quiet. Very quiet.

  “Fred!” she said. “Fred!”

  From behind her, she heard the sound of two combat-booted feet landing gracefully on the ground.

  “OK, Isla,” said Ellie, without looking up.

  “I AM KARABUKI!”

  “Yeah, all right. You’ve won. Just leave us alone now.”

  Karabuki nodded and narrowed her eyes. “Maybe I will.”

  Ellie, ignoring her dramatics, turned with concern to Fred, whose eyes were closed.

  So far, every time Fred had done all the things he was able to do via the power of the Controller, he hadn’t seemed in any danger. Even if he’d jumped down from a roof or a tree, he seemed to be protected from harm by the magic of wearing the bracelet. But now … Ellie wasn’t even sure he was breathing.

  And then Ellie remembered something you could do to check if someone was or wasn’t breathing.

  She picked up the Controller and turned it round. On the other side was the shiny metal plate, still so shiny she could see herself in it, looking not like Cinderellie but just normal Ellie. But she didn’t spend any time thinking about that. Instead, she placed it under Fred’s mouth and nose, so similar to her own, and waited.

  For a second, nothing happened.

  For another second, still nothing happened.

  Ellie felt a terrible fear in the pit of her stomach. She wished she’d never got the Controller – wished she’d never, in fact, played video games. She promised to someone – God, she supposed, although she didn’t really believe in Him – that if only Fred would be fine then she would be happy never to play video games a—

  Luckily, she didn’t have to quite finish making that promise because, before she could say –gain, a tiny spot of condensation appeared on the shiny metal plate. It grew to a circle.

  “Fred!” said Ellie. “Say something. Something to make me know you’re OK!”

  “She’s powering up!” said Fred.

  “What?”

  Fred’s eyes were now completely open. He was completely awake and completely alive. And he was completely terrified.

  “Isla!” he shouted.

  “KARABUKI!”

  “Karabuki! She’s powering up! For an electric strike!”

  Ellie didn’t have to turn round to know instantly what he meant.

  Morris was still stuck in the climbing frame, but his fingers were flying all over the Controller buttons. Karabuki Isla was kneeling on the ground, with both gloved fists pressed against the asphalt (actually right on the red line of the seven-a-side football pitch). A series of fizzing white-blue sparks surrounded those fists. The sparks were getting bigger and bigger, and the noise of them crackling louder and louder, building up into a huge surge of pure power.

  “What are we going to do?!” said Fred.

  “I don’t know!” said Ellie.

  “HHHHHHHAAAAAAAAYYYYYYAAAAAAAAHH HHHH!!” screamed Karabuki Isla, lifting her fists towards both Ellie and Fred.

  As she did so, the sparks came with them, shooting as fast as – well, as fast as what they were – lightning, towards Fred and Ellie.

  When something like that happens – when, that is, a female superbully shoots lightning out of her fists at you – there isn’t much time, to be honest, to think.

  But despite that Ellie did, just before the lightning struck, notice, in the corner of her eye, a distant hand waving. It was the hand of the Mystery Man, up in the computer room, which, just at this moment, seemed a very long way away indeed.

  He may just have been waving to say, as ever, Oy! You still haven’t shut me down! But nonetheless, for Ellie, it called to mind something else. Something the Mystery Man had said when he wanted to sound extra mysterious:

  There are two sides to every story.

  This might have meant nothing – like the other things he’d said: many a mickle makes a muckle and a rolling stone gathers no moss – but for some reason, with the lightning approaching and his hand waving in the corner of her eye, the idea of everything having two sides did mean something to Ellie.

  With her quick fingers, schooled for years on many controllers in the playroom, she flipped the Controller round. Flipped it round so that its shiny metal plate faced the lightning.

  Then she and Fred closed their eyes and just hoped for the best …

  A number of school kids who were there reported what happened next as a kind of amazing natural phenomenon – like the Northern Lights, or a supernova, or a solar fireball. From a distance – from, say, Mr Fawcett’s study, where in fact he was looking out, somewhat mystified by all the noise – it looked like an incredibly violent electrical storm had suddenly hit a small section of the playground. An electrical storm in which the lightning was heading two ways at once.

  Hmm … he thought. I must speak to Mr Palmer about that. He teaches all the science stuff. And turned away from the window.

  What he missed – perhaps luckily – was the sight of his own daughter, in the form of a female martial arts mercenary, being hit by that lightning as it came back at her, absorbing it for about ten seconds before screaming “OHHHHHHHHH!!!” and being flung backwards across the playground.

  “Karabuki?” said Morris from his position within the climbing frame. He couldn’t, of course, completely turn round, so didn’t see that Karabuki had crashed, back first, into the school gates.

  “Urrgh … I think … I’m Isla again …” he heard her say. And so it was. Luckily – for Isla – Karabuki’s powerful body had taken most of the force of the impact. Unluckily for Isla, that meant that Karabuki had had enough. The video-game martial arts body just melted away, leaving the eleven-year-old girl Isla sprawled on the ground, not badly hurt, but badly shaken.

  Ellie went over to Morris. He was crying.

  “I’m stuck,” he said, in between sobs. “My enormous muscly tattooed body is stuck! Waaaa—”

  “No, you’re not,” she said. “No, it isn’t.”

  She pulled him out of the climbing frame. His avatar too had melted away. Only he hadn’t realised.

  “Oh,” he said.

  Ellie looked at the Controller in his hands. It had lost all its lights and gone black. Not as in black, its normal colour. As in burnt.

  “Maybe you should go and help Isla.”

  “Yes,” said Morris. “Maybe I should.” And he turned to go. Then he looked at Ellie. “Thanks, um, for helping me.”

  “That’s OK,” said Ellie. Morris nodded, slowly, like he had actually understood something, perhaps for the first time. And then went off towards where Isla was lying.

  “Hey!” said a voice by Ellie’s side. She turned. It was Fred.

  “Hey yourself! Are you OK?”

  “Well … I’ve felt better. But I’m sure I can still … play football!”

  Ellie stared at him, trying to make out how true this was. Then she looked at the Controller and at his bracelet. The lights were still pulsing. Just.

  “OK,” she said uncertainly.

  “Fred! Ellie!” shouted Janine Stone, rising from the TV as the credits played over a man counting some money. “Where are they?”

  “I think … Fred said something about a football match today,” said Eric. His voice was muffled and at first Janine couldn’t tell where it was coming from. But then she realised.

  “What are you doing in here, Eric?” she said, opening the door to the playroom.

  “Oh, I don’t know, J. I asked the kids to write a Christmas list, but they’ve not got round to it, so I thought I’d just have a look at the sort of stuff they like …”

  Janine scanned the room.

  “I think it’s fairly obvious what sort of stuff they like.”

  Her eyes, though, suddenly alighted on something that wasn’t a video game. She bent down to pick it up, holding on to Margaret Scratcher as she did so to stop the cat falling off her arm.

  “Goodness,” she said. “What’s this doing in here? I thought i
t’d got thrown in the rubbish years ago.”

  “What is it?” said Eric.

  “A big, flat, cardboard shoe. I bought it for Fred, to help him learn how to tie up his shoelaces …”

  “Oh,” said Eric. “It didn’t really work, did it?”

  Janine shook her head. “No,” she said. “He still has to have someone else do it for him, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes,” said Eric. “Mainly Ellie.”

  Janine nodded.

  Then both of them looked at each other.

  Guiltily.

  “What time does the match start?” said Janine.

  The Bracket Wood and Surrounding Area Inter-school Winter Trophy was an annoying name for a competition that was never won by Bracket Wood.fn1

  If it had been called the Junior School Big Football Championship, or the Primary FA Challenge Trophy, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But the fact that Bracket Wood actually had their name in the competition – because it was the largest school in the area and because it was the only school in the area actually named after the area – made it all the more embarrassing that, as already stated, they had never won it. In fact, before this year, they had never even got into the final.

  The competition, which had been going for ten years, had in fact been won every year by Oakcroft Boys, a much smaller school situated about half a mile away from Bracket Wood. Being much smaller, you might expect it not to be able to field such a good side. However, it was also a private school and, as such, had more money. And having more money meant it had better facilities – better pitches, better kit and, most importantly, better coaches. Their football coach, in fact, had always been Mike McTaggart, who it was rumoured had played for Liverpool reserves at the same time as Alan Hansen had been in the first team.

  Oakcroft Boys – and Mike McTaggart – had, to be honest, become a bit smug about winning the Bracket Wood and Surrounding Area Inter-school Winter Trophy. Last year, they had beaten Geary Road seven-nil and, in Mike’s speech afterwards, while he was holding the cup, although he had said, “Three cheers for the losers!”, a number of people reported that he was laughing as he said it. And not in a good way.

  It was pretty clear, anyway, that Oakcroft were particularly smug about beating Bracket Wood. For a start, they were late arriving: the match was meant to start at three and their team only arrived at 2.45. Fred and Ellie, who were also late – but not because they were smug: in their case it was because they’d been battling bullies transformed into video-game martial arts fighters – arrived at the same time. They had to walk past them all in the car park coming out of their plush-looking purple team bus.

  “Oh, my giddy aunt!” they heard one of the Oakcroft boys say. “Bracket Wood must be pretty desperate!!”

  “Yes,” another one said. “I knew they were rubbish. But I didn’t know they were actually fielding nerds!”

  “Is that girl playing?”

  “Wouldn’t make any difference if she did! They look practically the same!”

  “Ha ha ha!”

  Fred ignored them. Especially the ha ha ha, which just sounded stupid. It wasn’t even proper laughing; it was actually one of them saying ha, ha and then ha. But Ellie looked troubled.

  Fred was just about to ask her what the matter was, or tell her not to worry about what those stupid Oakcroft numpties were saying, when he and Ellie turned into the ground where the match was to be played.

  The final of the Fringe Benefits Bracket Wood and Surrounding Area Inter-school Winter Trophy was not held at the Bracket Wood football pitch. Because, as we know, that was just a bit of trampy old park. Instead, it was held at Broom Hill Playing Fields, which were the best playing fields in the area, and which just happened to be owned by … Oakcroft Boys School. Which made the final:

  a) basically, a home game for Oakcroft

  b) more humiliating for Bracket Wood, having to play the final with their name on it, that they’d never won nor even been in the final of, at their rival’s playing fields

  and

  c) really irritating because the Oakcroft team arrived in a team bus, when they could easily have walked, seeing as the school itself was under half a mile away. Bracket Wood’s team had walked. From Bracket Wood. Which was two miles away. They were supposed to come by school bus, but it was still in the garage. Since 2003.

  In the middle of the playing fields was Oakcroft Boys School No.1 Pitch (they had five altogether). This one was actually surrounded by a stand, like a proper football ground.

  When Fred and Ellie arrived at the ground, the first thing they noticed was not how beautifully manicured the pitch was; nor how white and recently painted the lines were around it; nor even that it had corner flags, fluttering in the four corners like … well, like corner flags, and not like three twigs and an old jumper. It was the fact that the stands were full. There was a crowd.

  Quite a lot of them were Oakcroft boys, of course, and their parents. You could tell this by how purple that end was. As we know, apart from Fred and Ellie,fn2 very few children wore the uniform at Bracket Wood, so their team supporters, collectively, didn’t look very green. By contrast, everyone wore the uniform at Oakcroft – which was a very posh purple (hence the bus – yes, Oakcroft had a matching bus). They also had a school badge – a lion, proudly prancing on top of three swords – which was on the blazer and also on the scarf. Loads of those scarves were presently raised above the heads of the Oakcroft section of the crowd, swinging from side to side, as the holders of the scarves sang their famous school song:

  Oakcroft … Oakcroft …

  We have never lost!

  Oakcroft … Oakcroft …

  To send your child here is quite a cost!

  On the other side of the ground, not marked out by a single colour, and not singing their famous school song – because they didn’t have one – was the Bracket Wood end. Fred and Ellie looked over. In among the crowd, they could make out: Mr Barrington; Mr Fawcett; Scarlet and Stirling; Isla and Morris; and, somewhere near the back row …

  “Is that who I think it is?” said Fred, peering.

  “I’m not sure …” said Ellie, peering too.

  Then, very faintly, from the direction of their joint peering, they heard a man’s voice complaining: “It’s a football match. They should have bacon rolls. Or at least hot dogs! Where are the hot dogs?”

  “Oh, do shut up, Eric. You’re making a fool of yourself.”

  “Mum!” shouted Fred and Ellie together, waving. “Dad!”

  Janine looked over from the stands.

  “Ooh, look, Eric!” she said.

  “Have you seen a pie stall?”

  “No! Look!”

  Eric squinted into the distance. “Oh yes!” And he started waving back.

  “It’s amazing that they came,” said Fred.

  “Yes,” said Ellie. But actually she didn’t seem to be concentrating on what Fred was saying, or on her dad waving, or even on the number of other people her dad was knocking over accidentally as he waved.

  “Oh, look!” Fred said, pointing excitedly.

  “What?” said Ellie.

  “Next to Dad. Just arriving. That’s Sven Matthias!”

  “Who?”

  “The talent scout! From Chelsea! He came!”

  Ellie looked over vaguely. A man in a smart black coat was shielding his head from Eric’s big waving hands.

  “OK,” said Fred, drawing her attention back to him. “That makes it all the more important that we get this right. Where are you going to be controlling me from?”

  “I guess … over there … with the school …” said Ellie.

  “Great!” said Fred. But he could tell something was wrong with her. Maybe she’s just worried, he thought, because the Controller hasn’t got much power left.

  Then he noticed that a table had been set up, behind one of the goals, and in the centre of that table stood the Fringe Benefits Bracket Wood and Surrounding Area Inter-school Winter Trophy. It was on a
small plinth and so shiny you could see the reflection of the net in it. Just seeing it made Fred excited and, somehow, confident.

  “We’re going to win, Ellie,” he said. “The trophy. It’s going to be great!”

  She looked at him. “Then what?”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Then what, Fred? So I control you today, like I controlled you in the last game. And we win because you play brilliantly. Then what? What happens at the next game, when we don’t have a Controller any more?”

  Fred frowned. “There isn’t a next game. This is the last one of the season.”

  “Of course there’s a next game! What, are you never going to play football again after this? What about …” and here she added something to her tone, something very unusual for her: just a hint of spite, “playing for Chelsea?!”

  Fred’s frown deepened. He looked down. It was the first time Ellie had ever said anything that made him feel hurt. “What’s brought this on?” he said.

  His sister turned away. As she did so, though, Fred saw her glance quickly towards the Bracket Wood supporters. He looked over.

  Standing at the front of the crowd was Rashid. He did a thumbs up at Fred. Fred did one back.

  “Is this to do with … Rashid?” said Fred.

  “No!” said Ellie, in a way that obviously actually meant yes, even if you weren’t her twin and knew – or used to know – everything she was thinking.

  “Is it because he’s here and so you want me to use the Controller to change how you look again? Back to Cinderellie?”

  “NO!!!” she said again, in exactly the same way as before (only louder).

  “But if I do that,” said Fred, “it’ll probably use up all the power that’s left!”

  “Yes! That’s why I’m NOT asking you to do it!”

  “And also … that’s why you’re saying that it’s pointless controlling me anyway, because of the next game …?”