Untitled 2

by David Baddiel

  “I’d love to!” he said. She handed it to him. He cradled it in his palms, staring at it with awe. “It’s amazing …”

  “Yes, it is. Are you a gamer?”

  “Yes!”

  “What’s your favourite game?”

  “Oh, all the usual ones. But also, there’s a really obscure one I love that my dad bought for me. It’s Japanese: Gravity Rush. You fly about in it and have loads of adventures.”

  Ellie nodded. “Sounds great. Can you hold it up? The Controller …” she said.

  “Hold it up?”

  “Yes. Above your head.”

  “Like this?” he said, doing so.

  “Yes!” Ellie put the bracelet on, and held up her arm, to touch its light to the lights on the Controller. Immediately, the blue lights started pulsing exactly in time with each other.

  “Wow,” said Rashid, looking up. “Does that mean … we’re paired?”

  “Yes,” said Ellie. “Paired.”

  Rashid thought for a moment. “Can I make you do stuff now? Video-game stuff?”

  “Um … yes. I suppose. But normally, I do all the controlling. I haven’t really had a chance to feel what it would be like to … jump up buildings, or be amazing at karate, or anything. Fred got to do all that.”

  “Well, that’s not fair,” said Rashid, placing his palm flat down on all the Controller’s jewelled buttons at once.

  “Woooaahh!” shouted Ellie, as she rose up into the air. “What are you doing?!”

  “Making you fly. Like in Gravity Rush!”

  “How did you know you were meant to think about a particular game when you do it?” She said each word a bit louder than the last as she was floating higher and higher each time she spoke.

  “I guessed!” he shouted up at her.

  “OK!” she shouted back. “But we can’t do this for long! The power’s running out!”

  “Sorry?” he said. “I can’t hear you!”

  “I said the power’s running oowwwwwowwwww—” She never quite got to the T (of ‘out’) because Rashid flipped the control stick around, and she began twirling, looping the loop, above the top of the tree they had just climbed.

  She looped the loop, and then she zigzagged, and then she dived, and then she rose again, and then she swerved to the left, and then to the right, and then back around the tree, and then she just hovered in the air for a while.

  Looking down, she could see, quite a long way away, Rashid smiling.

  He waved at her. And Ellie, who didn’t often do this, let go of all her cares. She stuck her arms out and – as Rashid threw the control stick forward – she flew.

  She flew.

  A bit later, after he’d expertly brought Ellie down to the ground, and they’d begun walking back towards the football pitch, Rashid, who was still holding the Controller, said: “It’s incredible. Does it do anything else?”

  “Um … well,” replied Ellie. “You can also use it to change the way someone looks … make them have different hair and features and stuff. You can make the person wearing the bracelet look …” and here she glanced down at her wrist, remembering that at this moment, she was the person wearing the bracelet “… however you want them to look.”

  Rashid looked at her. Suddenly, he stopped walking, and stared at the device, frowning. Ellie stopped too, and braced herself. She was pretty sure she knew what he was going to do next.

  But he just handed the Controller back to her, and said: “Why would anyone want to do that?”

  And ran off towards the football ground.

  Ellie paused for a second, then looked down at the Controller. She was holding it upside down; on the shiny plate on the back, she could see a reflection of her own face. Her own face, that is, with its glasses and its braces and its pigtails: and a very big smile.

  Then she ran after Rashid.

  Sven Matthias had seen enough. He was a busy man and he didn’t have time to hang around. He was, however, a little confused. He had very good instincts for talent. And he knew those instincts had been set alight by seeing this Bracket Wood boy play in the semi-final.

  So now, standing outside the little ground in the middle of the posh school sports field, he was disappointed – and somewhat bewildered – by how bad the kid seemed to be in this game, the final. Maybe, he thought sadly to himself, this one just can’t do it when it comes to the crunch, in the biggest games. Better to know that now than, say, in ten years’ time at the Champions League Final.

  He took out his phone.

  “Hi, John?” he said. “It’s Sven. I’m leaving. Yes, at half-time. Can you bring the car round to—”

  “Excuse me, Mr Matthias?” said a small voice. He looked down. A young girl with braces and glasses and pigtails stood there, next to an Asian boy of about the same age.

  Sven moved the phone away from his ear.

  “Yes?” he said.

  “Can I just hold you up for a second?” she said.

  The referee blew his whistle to start the second half. Oakcroft’s players passed the ball around between themselves. It looked like they were toying with the game now. As if at any moment they could just take the ball up into Bracket Wood’s half and score.

  Fred watched them from his own half disconsolately. He felt cold and tired. He had given up. Then he heard, distantly: Fred! Fred! Fred!

  It’s someone chanting, like the team did before the game, he thought. Sarcastically now, of course. Probably a joke. But still it continued.

  Fred! Fred! Fred!

  Reluctantly, he looked in the direction of the chant. It was coming from somewhere towards the front of the Bracket Wood supporters’ section.

  What he saw surprised him.

  His mum and his dad were chanting it. And pointing. Rashid was chanting it. And pointing.

  Then Fred realised that they weren’t chanting. They were just trying to attract his attention. He realised this because of who they were pointing at.

  Ellie. Who was also shouting his name. And holding up the Controller.

  “Fred!” she was shouting. “Fred! I found it!” She twisted the control stick and pressed the buttons as she shouted. Rashid and Eric and Janine were all giving a big thumbs up.

  Fred felt the surge of power from the Controller rush through him. He just had time to return the thumbs up before speeding towards the ball.

  The Oakcroft players were still casually knocking it about. One of them saw Fred coming and laughed. Others got ready to deposit him, as usual, in the mud.

  But Fred took the ball away from them effortlessly. He flicked it off the boot of the player in possession and then dodged left, then right, evading every challenge. Then he ran on goal. The enormous keeper came out, smirking. But soon stopped smirking as Fred shot early, chipping the ball over his head – and over his too-late outstretched hands – into the net.

  The Bracket Wood fans, who had gone very quiet – and stayed very quiet for a long time – burst into cheers. Fred hardly heard them because he was doing that thing that footballers sometimes do of picking the ball out of the opposing net and rushing back to the centre circle in order to get on with the game. He scored three more goals, each better than the last. He scored one with his right foot, one with his left, one with his head and one with an incredible overhead kick.

  He did volleys and back-heels and 360-degree turns and drag-backs and step-overs and zigzags and a new move that there wasn’t a name for, but which involved flicking the ball with the back of his heel on to the top of his head, then bouncing it on his head over and over again while running down the wing.

  There was one weird moment when his shoelaces came undone. Fred thought this was strange as his shoelaces hadn’t come undone before when he was being controlled by the Controller. So he ran over to Ellie to tie them up.

  But, as his sister went to bend down, Janine suddenly stood in front of her and said: “Excuse me. I’ve got this.” And tied his laces in a very tight single bow that didn’t come undon
e for the rest of the game, but also wasn’t too bulky. Which allowed Fred to continue with his incredible performance.

  By the end, the Bracket Wood supporters were all chanting, “Fred! Fred! Fred!” completely unsarcastically.

  But even all Fred’s best efforts only meant that the score was four-all. A draw. So the game went to penalties. Which was worrying, as obviously Fred wasn’t the only one who was going to take them.

  But what Fred’s performance had also done was inspire his team-mates. They had watched him raise his game, and they’d raised theirs too, passing and moving and supporting each other, and doing their very best as a team. Fred was the spearhead, but the rest of the team were the spear.

  So, when it came to it, the players – Barry, Lukas, Taj and Jakefn1 – who took the first four penalties put their heads down, hit the ball as hard as they could and scored!

  Unfortunately for them, so did the first four Oakcroft players.

  But the wind had changed in Bracket Wood’s favour. The pressure was all on the Oakcroft player as he came up to take the fifth penalty.

  He was actually the one who had laughed at Fred as he’d come towards them. He was also the one who had said, “Oh, my giddy aunt! Bracket Wood must be pretty desperate!!” But it was he who looked pretty desperate now.

  He ran tentatively towards the ball and kicked. It was on target. It was heading to the top corner. But then Prajit proved that his nickname wasn’t just because he sometimes smelt of fur, cat wee and Whiskas – no! He leapt like a tiger across the face of the goal, stretching out his hand to knock the ball over the bar!

  Which made the penalty shoot-out score so far:

  OAKCROFT 4

  BRACKET WOOD 4

  with one penalty to go.

  The referee put the ball down on the spot and Fred came forward.

  Fred faced the Oakcroft keeper. Who was looking VERY tall. Fred remembered reading that, as a child, Lionel Messi had been given growth-hormone treatment by Barcelona because he was too small and wondered, in this moment, if the Oakcroft keeper should not have been given whatever the reverse treatment was.

  A hush descended on the ground. A shard of light from the late afternoon sun glinted off one of the handles of the Fringe Benefits Bracket Wood and Surrounding Area Inter-school Winter Trophy, still there behind the goal.

  Fred suddenly felt nervous. Knowing the Controller was back in action had really bucked him up at the top of the second half, but now, faced with this monster in goal – and everyone in the school looking at him, relying on him to do well – the butterflies grew in his stomach to the point where it felt like there was a whole hothouse full of them in there.

  His eyes searched the Bracket Wood supporters’ end. Where was she? Had she gone again?

  But no: there she was. Ellie. Holding the Controller above her head, her fingers poised on the control stick and buttons, her eyes burning.

  What are you going to make me do? he mouthed.

  And she mouthed back: The cleverest, trickiest, most awe-inspiring move ever!!!

  Fred smiled; he felt the butterflies in his stomach all flutter down and settle. He turned back to the giant keeper, who had put both his arms out to make himself even bigger, and who appeared now to be … snarling. He was a snarling, arms-out giant. Fred turned round and walked away from the ball.

  Bracket Wood supporters in the crowd – and his team-mates, standing with their arms linked on the centre line – whispered to each other.

  “Oh my God! He’s bottled it!”

  “Please don’t go back to the changing room, Fred!”

  “OH NO!”

  Whereas Oakcroft supporters in the crowd – and their team, also standing on another section of the centre line with their arms linked – said loudly: “Ha ha! He’s bottled it!”

  “He’s walking back to the changing room, the big nerd!”

  “OH YES!!”

  The referee looked a bit confused. He was just about to blow the whistle, awarding the game to Oakcroft,fn1 when Fred stopped walking, bent his legs and … threw his body backwards!

  “BACKFLIP!!!” shouted the Bracket Wood supporters.

  Yes! It was! He backflipped not once, not twice, but three times, throwing the Oakcroft keeper, who had been smirking in derision at Fred’s retreating back, into confusion. He looked away, towards his team-mates, which was a mistake, as that was the point during Fred’s last backflip that he twirled in the air to face forward, brought his right foot back and then swung it hard towards the ball, landing and connecting at the same time.

  “OY!!!”

  “DON’T LOOK AT US, LOOK AT THE BALL!”

  “WATCH OUT!!”

  These were just some of the things shouted at the keeper by the Oakcroft contingent. But, even if he hadn’t been looking the wrong way, the keeper probably wouldn’t have got to the ball in time because the momentum of three backflips coming through Fred’s right foot sent it hard, fast and direct into the back of the net.

  The whole of the Bracket Wood end erupted. Fred could see them jumping up and down like they were all on individual trampolines. It was the last thing he saw for a little while, however, because all his team-mates had rushed over as soon as the ball had gone in and bombed on top of him in a happy pile.

  Fred! Fred! Fred! went the chant.

  Fred! Fred! Fred!

  Once they’d finished piling on top of him, they lifted Fred on to their shoulders and carried him towards the trophy table. The crowd came out of the little stand and formed two walls of people round the path to the table, chanting and clapping as he went past. Then he noticed – it was easier being at shoulder height to see faces – that one of the people clapping and chanting was …

  “Mr Matthias!” he said.

  “Hello, Fred. Great game. I’m going to be in touch.”

  Fred thought his soul was going to burst with joy. “But … I thought you left at half-time.”

  Sven smiled. “I was going to, but I didn’t. Thank your sister—”

  “Fred!!!” shouted Prajit from underneath him. “Please can I put you down now?!”

  “Oh, sorry, Prajit, yes,” said Fred.

  Prajit bent – well, sort of fell – down, and Fred dropped off his shoulders and carried on towards the trophy table. Standing behind it was Mr Bodzharov.fn1 Of Fringe Benefits.

  “Well done, Fred. That is your name, isn’t it?” said Mr Bodzharov, shaking his hand.

  Fred nodded.

  “I thought so. You played very well. Some of your moves reminded me of the great Hristo Stoichkov. Of course you won’t have heard of him.”

  “Played for Bulgaria between 1986 and 1999.”

  Mr Bodzharov looked amazed.

  “He’s in my FIFA all-time XI,” said Fred.

  Mr Bodzharov smiled, looking very pleased. Then he suddenly produced a microphone and turned to the crowd.

  “Fringe Benefits are very proud to have sponsored the Fringe Benefits Bracket Wood and Surrounding Area Inter-school Winter Trophy. And, just as both teams gave 110 per cent today, we at Fringe Benefits give 20 per cent off all haircuts – not including blow-dry – before 5pm, Monday to Friday. Cash payments only.”

  This was greeted by silence, apart from a couple of people whispering, Does that make sense?

  “Anyway,” he continued, picking up the trophy, “well done, Bracket Wood! This year’s winners of the—”

  “Don’t say Fringe Benefits again!” shouted a distant voice from the crowd.

  “—Fringe Benefits Bracket Wood and Surrounding Area Inter-school Winter Trophy!!”

  Everyone clapped and cheered as Mr Bodzharov held up the trophy. They were expecting him to hand it to Fred, so that he could turn round and hold it up to the crowd, like footballers do when they win big cups. But instead – perhaps wanting to draw out the moment for a bit longer (after all, the sponsorship, it was rumoured, had cost Fringe Benefits nearly £100) – he held the microphone out to Fred and said: “Would you li
ke to say a few words …?”

  Fred was surprised. But then looking round at the crowd – at all the Bracket Wood pupils, and Mr Barrington, and Mr Fawcett, and his mum and dad, and Sven Matthias, and Rashid Khan, Stirling and Scarlet and even Isla and Morris, all clapping and smiling – and at Ellie, in the middle of this crowd, Fred decided he should indeed say a few words.

  “I don’t know if you do this when you win a football trophy,” Fred began. He then stopped for a second, as he’d never heard his voice through a microphone before and it sounded really strange. “Is that what my voice sounds like?”

  Everyone nodded.

  “Weird. Anyway, I’ve seen it done when people win an award – like an Oscar and stuff – and they thank people. Other people, I mean. The people who’ve helped them get where they are. Sometimes they thank God, don’t they? Anyway, I’d like to do that …”

  “Thank God?” said Eric.

  “No.”

  “Thank God,” said Eric. “Thought he’d gone mad.”

  “I’d like to thank … well, you two. To start with. My mum and dad. Eric and Janine Stone …”

  There was a ripple of applause. Eric and Janine beamed.

  “When people get an award, they often thank their mum and dad, don’t they? And they say, ‘for always believing in me – when the rest of the world didn’t’ or something. I don’t really know how much my mum and dad believe in me. I think what my dad believes in, mainly, is bacon sandwiches and what my mum believes in, mainly, is Cash in the Attic …”

  Eric and Janine stopped beaming.

  “… but it doesn’t matter. Because that’s who they are and I love them, and they’ve come here now to support me and that’s great!”

  Everyone clapped. Eric and Janine went back to beaming.

  “I’d also like to thank Mr Barrington.”

  Mr Barrington beamed.

  “Even though he didn’t believe in me much either … He only put me in the team for the first time in the last game. And he nearly took me off at half-time in this one.”