by S. L. Powell
Mum was sitting at the kitchen table with a half-finished cup of tea. She looked up when Gil came in, and Gil wondered if she might have been crying, but she managed to make her voice sound almost normal.
‘That was all a bit unnecessary, wasn’t it? It’s a good job that bowl didn’t smash.’
‘Yeah. Sorry,’ Gil said. He couldn’t think of a way to make his apology any bigger. Mum seemed to have recovered. Maybe she hadn’t screamed quite as badly as he’d imagined. And anyway, it was all Dad’s fault.
‘You’re going to be terribly late, you know,’ she went on.
‘Yeah, I know. Can I have three pounds for lunch?’ Gil held the wallet behind his back.
‘I thought you said you had money? I gave you ten pounds yesterday, didn’t I?’
‘I had to give some of that to Louis,’ said Gil. ‘I owed him. From last week.’
It wasn’t a very convincing bluff, but Mum got up obediently and Gil almost felt guilty. It was getting easier and easier to blag money off Mum. She hardly bothered to put up a fight these days.
‘Actually, make it five,’ he said. ‘I need some for tuck shop too.’
‘Honestly, you cost me a fortune,’ said Mum, but she handed it over anyway.
‘Bye, then,’ Gil said, picking up his bag and slipping the wallet into it.
‘Don’t you need a coat?’
‘No. See you later.’
‘Bye, darling,’ said Mum.
Gil walked away out of the front gate, knowing that Mum would watch him from the half-open door until he was out of sight. He resisted the temptation to turn at the last moment to wave to her. Instead he watched his feet as they walked him along the pavement in the direction of school, the direction they took him every single morning. But today didn’t feel quite like one of his identical days, and Gil wondered why. Then he realised it was because he was really late. He couldn’t remember being this late for school before, and it felt weird. The streets were nearly empty, and when Gil stepped into the playground there was an echo he’d never heard before. The noise of a thousand kids was shut up inside the school walls. He walked towards reception, feeling nervous.
Don’t be stupid, he told himself. And then, with his hand on the door, he thought, Crap. What am I doing here?
Suddenly it was blindingly obvious. He needn’t have come to school at all today. He could have skived off, gone somewhere else, done something exciting and dangerous. That would really have been like sticking two fingers up at Dad. But Gil had never deliberately skipped school before, and the idea hadn’t occurred to him until now, when it was too late and he could see the secretary frowning at him through the glass door. Oh, well, another time, thought Gil, pushing the door open.
‘Name?’ said the secretary.
‘Gilbert Walker. 9Q2.’
‘Why are you late?’
Gil made his face droop sadly. ‘I had a really, really bad row with my dad. Sorry.’
The secretary’s face softened a bit. ‘Oh. OK. You’re not one of our regulars, anyway. Don’t make a habit of it. You should catch the end of registration.’ She pressed a button below the desk and the entrance door buzzed to let him through.
As Gil opened the door of his classroom, the noise burst around him like a small bomb. Mr Montague wasn’t there. At the front was a woman Gil had never seen before, obviously a supply teacher. She was trying to keep order and failing badly. As Gil slipped quietly into the room the whole class turned towards him, pointed and howled with laughter. Gil stopped and stared, more irritated than embarrassed. What the hell was going on?
‘There she is, Miss,’ shouted Ben from a desk at the back of the class. Gil’s lip curled. Ben, the moron who made all the other morons in the year look relatively normal. And Louis was sitting next to him. Fantastic.
The teacher was looking at Gil with a puzzled face.
‘You are . . .’ she said.
‘Gil Walker.’
‘Gil?’
‘Yep, Gil, as in the things fish use to breathe with. It’s short for Gilbert.’
‘Oh dear, I’m terribly sorry. I thought it was Jill. I was expecting a girl.’
The class exploded with laughter again. Gil rolled his eyes and waited for them all to get over it. Even Louis seemed to be in hysterics, although if he was under Ben’s spell that wasn’t surprising.
‘Simmer down, simmer down,’ called the teacher just as the bell rang and everyone stood up and made for the door in a thunderous, giggling mass.
‘That was sick, man,’ said Ben loudly as he and Louis came towards Gil. ‘Hey, Jill! Shake what your mamma gave you, girl!’ He poked Gil savagely as he went past and began to cackle again like a demented chicken. Louis was still laughing, but when he saw Gil’s face he made a brief effort to compose himself.
‘It was funny,’ Louis said, defensively. ‘Really. You should have been here.’ He started to imitate the teacher, putting on a silly high voice that sounded just like her. ‘Jill Walker? Jill Walker? Is she here, children? Has anyone seen Jill this morning? Now, simmer down, simmer down, please! That teacher is so dead if she does registration again this afternoon!’
‘Yeah, right!’ laughed Ben.
Gil felt Louis and Ben both looking at him.
‘Why aren’t you laughing?’ Louis said.
‘Yeah, why aren’t you laughing, Jill?’ said Ben immediately.
‘Because it’s not funny,’ said Gil. He had never felt less like laughing in his life, and he vaguely wondered why. Louis always made him laugh. He was brilliant at imitating people, and the teacher had made a complete idiot of herself, and really Gil should be laughing about it, even though the joke was partly on him. But today, somehow, it wasn’t funny any more.
‘Yes it is,’ said Louis.
‘Yes it is, Jillian,’ echoed Ben, mocking.
‘Oh, sure, it’s hilarious.’
‘What’s your problem?’ Louis’ eyebrows wriggled in surprise. ‘God, you’ve really had a sense of humour failure, haven’t you?’
‘I’m just sick of you laughing at me,’ said Gil. ‘You’re always doing it.’
The second he’d said it Gil knew it wasn’t fair, and Louis’ mouth dropped open in outrage.
‘I am not! I do not! I wasn’t laughing at you!’
‘Ooo-oooh! Are you two gonna have a fight?’ said Ben, his eyes shining.
‘Get lost,’ said Gil coldly.
‘That’s not a nice way to talk to your friends, is it, Jillian?’
‘You,’ said Gil, ‘are not my friend.’
Ben just grinned, wider and wider, until Gil felt he wanted to fill Ben’s mouth with his fist.
‘Louis is my friend,’ Ben said loudly. ‘Aren’t you?’ He grabbed Louis in a friendly head-lock.
‘Sure!’ croaked Louis. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
But Louis was laughing again, as if he really didn’t mind Ben strangling him, and Gil bristled with irritation. He turned and walked away up the corridor. After a minute or so he heard Louis calling him.
‘Gil! Hey! Wait up! Gil!’
Gil didn’t wait. He was halfway up the stairs on the way to maths before Louis caught him up.
‘Why didn’t you wait?’ puffed Louis.
Gil shrugged. ‘Didn’t want to spoil things between you and your new best mate,’ he said.
‘Ben? But he’s a laugh,’ said Louis. ‘He has some really cool ideas.’
‘What, better than me, you mean?’
‘Well . . . um . . . not better, but . . .’
Gil looked sideways at Louis. He looked exasperatingly cheerful, and Gil felt another surge of irritation. Ever since they’d known each other there’d been an unspoken agreement that it was Gil who had the best ideas, and that Louis would always go along with them, and that they would laugh about it together afterwards, even if they got told off. Like that time when he and Louis were being Arctic explorers and they’d climbed into the big chest freezer in Louis’ garage so they could
pretend it was a snow cave with polar bears digging through the roof, and then they’d forgotten to shut the lid of the freezer and all the food got ruined. That was Gil’s idea, and even though Louis’ mum was pretty laid back about most things and the freezer was nearly empty, it got them into terrible trouble. But they’d still laughed about it afterwards and said it was one of the best games ever.
‘Ben’s a loser and a moron,’ said Gil. ‘And a jerk. Oh, and a retard.’
‘What’s the problem with you today?’ said Louis. ‘Why were you so late, anyway?’
Gil was silent. He wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it.
‘OK, don’t tell me, then,’ said Louis, sounding hurt, and Gil began to relent.
‘Oh, I just had another mega-row with my dad. When you’re older you’ll understand . . . blah blah blah . . . You know, all that crap. It’s so boring. He won’t let me have a phone, he won’t let me go into town on my own – it’s really starting to get to me.’
‘That’s because you’re an only child,’ said Louis.
‘Is it?’
‘Yeah, you’re the only one. That’s why they’re so protective. If you had brothers and sisters it would probably be a lot easier. I mean, look at me. I can pretty much get away with anything. I watched an 18 last weekend with my big brothers, and mum and dad didn’t say a word. It was cool. Well – a bit scary. But mainly cool.’
‘There’s not much I can do about that, is there? I can’t exactly magic up a few older brothers.’
‘No,’ said Louis. ‘God, I’d hate to be an only child. It’d be like having nowhere to hide.’
‘Yeah,’ Gil said slowly. ‘That’s exactly what it feels like.’
Nowhere to hide. Sometimes Louis said things better than Gil could say them himself.
But by the end of the day Louis had begun to feel like a parrot on his shoulder – prattling away into his ear, laughing his arse off at things that weren’t funny, asking for help every thirty seconds with stuff that was so easy Gil could do it in his sleep – so that Gil was desperate to shake him off. And when the bell went for home time Gil suddenly found himself wondering what he was going to do. Was he really going to go straight home and tidy his room, like a good boy?
‘So, do you want to come over to my house?’ said Louis, following Gil out of the school gates.
For a second Gil was tempted. Louis’ house was warm, noisy, messy, full of people. Gil’s house was cool, quiet, tidy, mostly empty. He liked Louis’ house, even when Louis got on his nerves, and there were no time limits on watching the television or using the computer, as long as Louis’ big brother didn’t come and boot them off. And maybe he could call Mum and say, Look, I know Dad said I had to sort my room out, but I’m only round at Louis’. I’ll be home soon. Maybe Mum would feel sorry for him, and tidy the room herself. It wouldn’t be the first time.
‘Ben’s coming too,’ added Louis eagerly, spoiling everything.
‘Ben,’ said Gil. Ben had called him Jillian roughly thirty times over the course of the day. Gil felt certain that if this continued on Monday he would have to punch Ben somewhere he wouldn’t forget.
‘Yeah! Did I tell you what he did yesterday after school?’
‘No,’ said Gil, in a way that was meant to signal the end of the discussion, but Louis was already laughing.
‘He nicked a PE kit off this geeky little Year Seven and he tried to set fire to it! He carries this cigarette lighter round with him and . . . and . . .’
Louis paused to get his breath back, while Gil stared at him in complete astonishment. What the hell was happening to Louis? Two years ago he’d been the geeky little Year Seven and Gil had spent half his time protecting him from people like Ben.
‘I bet you weren’t even there, were you?’ said Gil.
‘It was so funny,’ giggled Louis, not answering Gil’s question.
‘Fine,’ said Gil with sudden decision. ‘You go off with Ben. I’m going into town.’ This was it, then, he thought in surprise. He’d actually said it out loud.
‘We’ll come with you,’ said Louis immediately.
‘No,’ said Gil. ‘You don’t get it. I’m going on my own.’
‘But I thought you said you weren’t allowed.’ A look of confusion crossed Louis’ face and Gil felt quietly pleased with himself.
‘I’m not. I’m still going, though.’
‘But Gil . . .’
Louis’ expression was so serious that Gil nearly burst with laughter. Louis was so short and skinny, such a kid. But he’d been going into town on his own for ages. And he had a mobile phone, of course. It really didn’t seem fair. And now here he was, looking up at Gil as if Gil was the one who needed protection.
‘What about when your mum and dad find out? Your dad’ll go crazy, won’t he?’
‘I couldn’t care less,’ Gil said. ‘Bring it on.’
‘I really think you should let me come with you,’ said Louis. ‘Then maybe you won’t get into so much trouble.’
‘Get into so much trouble!’ mimicked Gil. ‘Oooh, I’m so scared!’
‘Shut up,’ said Louis. ‘I’m just trying to help.’
‘Yeah, well, don’t. You’re being a pain in the butt.’
‘I am not!’
‘Yes you are.’
‘Fine. Go on your own.’
‘Yeah, I will. Have fun with that retard Ben.’
‘So what am I supposed to say if your mum calls our house to see if you’re there?’
‘You can tell her what you like. I don’t care.’
‘OK.’ Louis shrugged. ‘But when it all goes wrong, remember I told you it was a bad idea.’
‘Stop telling me what to do,’ Gil said. ‘You’re as bad as my parents.’
He walked away to the bus stop, and Louis didn’t follow.
When Gil got round to counting the money in his wallet he was disappointed to find there was hardly anything in it. He’d already managed to spend most of the five pounds that Mum had given him, and once he’d paid the bus fare and put aside enough to get home later he had less than ten pounds left. And without money, town wasn’t nearly as much fun as he’d expected.
He wandered past the shops, feeling the blast of warm air and music that poured out of each doorway. He browsed computer games for a while, but there wasn’t enough cash to buy even the second-hand ones. His plans for buying a secret mobile phone evaporated. He had money for a McDonald’s – Dad really disapproved of McDonald’s – but after standing outside for ten minutes trying to decide what to have he realised he just didn’t fancy a burger or fries or even a McFlurry.
Suddenly, when he could do anything he wanted, there wasn’t anything he really wanted to do. It was all a bit of a let-down. Now it looked as if he would get into big trouble for something that didn’t even feel like a proper rebellion.
Well before it began to get dark, Gil found himself back at the bus stop. It stood near a small scrubby park with two fairly big trees, some patchy grass and a bench or two. It was a place where alcoholics and drug addicts crept into corners in the hope the police wouldn’t spot them.
This was as exciting as it was going to get, Gil thought, looking around him. He was on his own, standing next to a park occupied by drinkers and druggies. Dad would go mad if he knew. There were even a couple of policemen hovering in a side street.
It was then that Gil spotted a man in one of the two big trees.
Gil stared up at him. The man didn’t seem to be climbing the tree, or lopping off branches with a chainsaw, or anything sensible like that. He just looked as if he was relaxing. Lounging, even. He was lying on a big sloping branch about three metres above the ground, with a hand tucked under his head, gazing up at the sky.
What on earth was he doing?
There was a hammock slung above his head, and Gil could see other objects hanging from the bare branches – a saucepan, a bucket, a rucksack, clothes that swung in the breeze as if they were hung out to dry. He wandere
d closer to get a better look. There were some placards propped up at the base of the tree. Trees are the lungs of the world, said one. Save our green spaces, said another. Free the trees. Gil lifted a leg to step over the low wall that surrounded the park.
‘You can’t go in there,’ said a voice suddenly. One of the policemen had crept up on him.
‘Why not?’
The policeman jabbed a finger towards the tree. ‘Illegal protest,’ he said. ‘These trees have got to come down sooner or later. We’ve got instructions to stop anyone else trying to join him up there. So don’t even think about it.’
‘For God’s sake,’ said a voice directly above Gil, ‘he’s just a kid. Leave him alone.’
The man in the tree had rolled over so that now he was draped along the branch like a lazy leopard. He didn’t look all that old, thought Gil, maybe only twenty or so, and although it was March his face was still really tanned, as if he spent most of his time outdoors. His fair hair fell over his face as he grinned down at Gil, one arm dangling casually just out of reach of the policeman.
‘He can talk to me, can’t he?’ the man went on. ‘Or are you trying to ban that too?’
The policeman growled and muttered. ‘Stay this side of the wall,’ he said to Gil eventually, and retreated a few metres.
Gil watched a bus pull up at his bus stop, and decided he could afford to miss it.
‘So . . . uh . . . what are you doing up there?’ he said.
‘Well, they can’t cut the tree down if I’m living in it, can they?’ said the man.
‘You’re living up there?’
‘Yup. Been here four days now.’
‘Why do they want to cut the trees down?’
‘Usual stuff,’ said the man. ‘More shops. Greed. Money. Capitalism. All that.’
Gil considered the possibility of living in a tree. He imagined the phone call he’d make – if he had a phone, of course. Oh, hi, Dad. No, I’m not coming home for dinner. I’m staying in a tree. I’m going to be here for a while, actually. You see, I’m a green activist now, trying to make up for the total mess you’ve made of the world. He thought about how furious Dad would be and it gave him a shiver of enjoyment.