THE SILENT STRIKER

by Pete Kalu

  ‘I wouldn’t jump in that river,’ said Dad. ‘You wouldn’t drown, but you’d end up sailing along on a used tyre, with raw sewage wrapped round your head.’

  Marcus laughed. The first time he’d laughed all day. His dad laughed too. Mum scowled then gave in and laughed with them. They laughed together so much Marcus’s cheek muscles went into spasms. He couldn’t remember the last time all of them had laughed together like this round the kitchen table. Yet there was sadness casting a shadow on his mum’s face that Marcus had never seen before.

  KARMA AND SHOPPING

  VOUCHERS

  Next morning it was Saturday. Marcus came down to find his dad wearing an African style robe. Marcus nodded, not sure what to say. Dad was sat on the sofa together with Mum. Mum looked tired. Dad’s head hung low, as though the two of them had been talking for a long time.

  ‘Marcus, sit down, we want to talk to you,’ said Dad.

  The dreaded talk. Marcus sat.

  ‘You know it’s difficult for us both, chasing around earning money to pay the bills, a new baby to take care of, but, well, I’m trying to imagine what your Granddad would say, the fella up there on the wall. The chief.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I think he’d say, “we’ve got to work together and think about this without emotion and without fear”. We love you, but tears won’t solve your problems. We have to dry our tears and find out how we can help you.’

  ‘Was granddad really a chief, Dad?’

  ‘They gave him the name as an honour. He was not born a chief, he became one.’ Dad turned back to Marcus’s mum. ‘I think the Big Guy on the wall up there wants me to spend more time with his grandson. Quality time.’ He turned to Marcus. ‘What do you say, Marcus?’

  ‘Sure,’ Marcus said. It was true he never really saw his dad, let alone hung out with him.

  ‘Maybe me and Marcus can go shopping together?’ Dad said to Mum.

  Marcus groaned. He hated shopping. How was that quality time? His parents had plotted this.

  ‘Deal!’ said Mum quickly. She rummaged in her handbag. ‘And here’s the vouchers to get discounts off the prices.’

  Marcus groaned again. Vouchers. He’d be a laughing stock if anyone saw him at the checkout, next to his dad fumbling around with shopping coupons.

  ‘Great,’ said Dad. ‘And let’s get some oil for his skin, it looks dry. And some gel for his hair. Add those to the list–’

  ‘Dad! No gel!’ If there had been a big hole in the living room, Marcus would gladly have fallen into it.

  Fifteen minutes later, Marcus was sat next to his dad on the free Saturday bus service from the estate to ASDA. He had his ATC under his foot. He had his hearing aids in because Dad insisted. And he had his upper lip curled high in distaste so everyone could see he hated shopping. Dad was going through Mum’s two-page printed out shopping list like there was some hidden code in it. This was so uncool. Marcus sighed loudly, but Dad didn’t seem to notice.

  Then a miracle happened. When they reached ASDA, Dad went through the supermarket aisles grabbing things quick as a fox. In fifty swipes of the self-serve scanner they were in and out. It took them under twenty minutes. He didn’t even use the coupons.

  ‘How did you know where everything was?’ Marcus asked afterwards, astonished. They were back outside, with four bags of shopping each.

  ‘Shopping is war,’ Dad said. ‘The supermarkets try to keep you in there as long as possible, and my battle plan is to get out as fast as I can. And today, I won!’ Dad laughed.

  They reached the bus stop for the free bus back to the estate. Marcus decked his ATC. His toes tingled. He wanted to practice.

  ‘Go on then, show me what you can do,’ Dad said.

  ‘I’m not in the mood.’

  A green haired goth passed by, pushing a trolley. Dad got to his feet. ‘What do you mean, “not in the mood?” Pass me the ball, I’ll show you some tings!’

  Reluctantly, Marcus rolled the ball to his dad’s feet. He wondered how fast an ambulance could arrive at the supermarket car park if his dad tripped over and broke a leg.

  Dad stabbed at the ball. It rose up at an angle. He chased it and kicked it higher, then juggled it a little bit clumsily up to his right knee twice. Then let it fall to the ground.

  ‘Not bad, Dad, you’re improving,’ Marcus said, generously. He listened to the ball, noticing how the bounce on the tarmac sounded sharper and longer with his hearing aids in. He could also hear his dad’s keys jangling in his pocket when he kicked the ball.

  ‘Bet you can’t do better!’ his dad called out to him.

  Grinning, Marcus went through his full repertoire. He saw his dad’s face go from appreciation to respect, to amazement. A bunch of shoppers stopped to watch him, but it was only his dad that Marcus really noticed.

  ‘Again,’ his dad was saying, ‘higher! Yes! That’s my son! Now give it me!’

  Marcus knocked the ball over to his dad. Dad did a few wonky keepy-uppys that had the crowd picking up their shopping and moving on, then knocked the ball back to Marcus.

  Marcus did his Cryuff Turn, his Marseille Roulette then booted the ball forty metres high. He waited, waited, waited. He heard it whistling through the air as it zeroed down. He took two small steps to his left then killed the ball dead under his left foot. The crowd clapped. Dad patted him on the shoulder. ‘This is my boy,’ he said, ‘I raised him. This is my boy!’

  They got home and unpacked. Nobody else was in. When the stuff was all finally in the cupboards, his dad said: ‘Time for our reward, don’t you think?’ He swung open the fridge door. The reward was a glass of fresh orange each.

  ‘Do you think God is punishing me by making me deaf, Dad?’ Marcus asked once he’d gulped down the orange juice. ‘Have you heard of karma?’

  ‘Steady on, steady on, what are you talking about?’

  ‘“Do good things and good things happen to you. Do bad things and bad things happen to you”. Buddhism. I found it on the Internet. Is that why my ears don’t work, because I’ve done bad things?’

  Dad shook his head. ‘I don’t know about Buddhism, but it’s no one’s fault. Things simply happen. You know the saying, “stuff happens”? That’s how life is. Stuff happens. We learn to deal with it, and that’s what forms our character, makes us stronger. Motorway crashes. Floods. Accidental tape deletes. Nobody deserves these things. They just happen. Somehow we cope.’

  ‘I don’t know if I can cope,’ Marcus said quietly.

  ‘Come here.’ Marcus’s dad wrapped him in his arms. ‘You only need the strength for one day, Marcus, not every day that you can see coming at you. Live in the now. Think of things you can enjoy now and find contentment in those.’

  ‘Is that African philosophy, Dad?’ Marcus said, breaking away from his embrace.

  ‘It’s your granddad’s philosophy. What’s the worst that can happen to you?’

  ‘I could go completely deaf.’

  ‘Okay. What sounds annoy you?’

  Marcus had a think. ‘Whiny motorbikes,’ he said. ‘Being yelled at to wake up and get to school. The debt collector’s knock knock knock knock.’

  ‘All that you’d be free of,’ Dad said.

  ‘Yeah, the bright side. People keep telling me about it.’

  ‘C’mon. From what the doctors say, you are not about to go completely deaf, so put that out of your mind. One day at a time, Marcus,’ Dad said, squeezing his shoulder. ‘Okay?’

  They were sitting on the sofa in the living room now. His dad’s yellowing eyes were steady, kind and a bit mashed up. He was starting to look a bit like Granddad.

  ‘Thanks, Dad. I’m going training now,’ Marcus said.

  ‘Right,’ his Dad said. ‘And remember. All that talent in your toes, it all came from me. You tell everyone, you got it from your dad!’

  Marcus laughed and dashed out of the house to the pitch.

  ALL FOR ONE AND ONE

  FOR ALL

  He w
as not long at the pitch when Horse showed up. Marcus flicked his ATC to him. Horse stabbed it up, headed it twice then rolled it back to him. Marcus trapped the ball, flipped it up, caught it in the crook of his neck, rolled it over the crown of his head and nestled it on his forehead a second. He let it fall slowly forwards, popped it with his right knee then booted it high in the air. The ball soared away on a perfect ninety degree angle, stopped on the third second, zoomed down, and on the sixth second was suddenly right there by them. Marcus effortlessly cushioned it with his left knee and trapped it under his left foot.

  ‘Not bad,’ said Horse, momentarily in awe, then, ‘what a show off you are, Marky!’

  Marcus smiled. It was true.

  They switched to tackling each other. Horse was the better tackler. Marcus marvelled at the swish, click and crunch sounds Horse’s feet made as he scrabbled on the tarmac. By the fifth winning tackle, Horse’s pride was redeemed. They stopped and sat on the low wall bordering the pitch for no reason other than the sun was in their faces and it felt good. He heard cars zoom by behind him. He’d never heard them rattle like they were today. It was because of the pot holes, he decided.

  ‘We’ve missed you,’ Horse said.

  Marcus shrugged. ‘Water under the bridge.’

  ‘The school’s stupid. They’re punishing the whole team. It’s unfair. And what for? Deciding you’ve taken enough stick from Miss Podborsky? I’d have done the same. Stuff her! Stuff the school! Stuff everything!’ Horse jumped off the wall in his excitement.

  Marcus couldn’t have put it better himself.

  ‘We need you back in the team.’

  ‘You could still win the final,’ Marcus said.

  Horse scowled. ‘It’s all down to the players, right? I’m not dissing Leonard, but he’s not you. Whatever the coach says, he’s the chorus line, not the ballerina.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ said Marcus dreamily. The sun was on his face and he closed his eyes. His mind drifted to the hearing test in the gloomy grey booth, and he shivered, remembering it.

  Horse poked him on his shoulder. Marcus opened his eyes again.

  ‘You saw it in training. When we need the bullets, when we need the fat lady to come on and sing, close the ballet down, that’s you, not Leonard. You can’t have three takes to do something in a real match. It’s got to be – bang – first time.’

  ‘I’m the fat lady?’

  ‘Yeh.’

  ‘The ballerina?’

  ‘Yeh.’

  ‘The fat ballerina?’

  They laughed.

  ‘You know what I mean. What I’m saying is —’

  ‘I get you,’ said Marcus. ‘But Leonard’s okay. He does a job.’

  ‘Yeh, well “okay” won’t be good enough.’

  Marcus went back to practising left-right switches. Horse was suddenly busy on his phone.

  Marcus tried flip-turn-pass, first left foot, then right. He noticed when he did the move on the tarmac, it made an exact pattern of sounds. He was about to move on to drag-backs when he spotted Jamil walking up, swinging his kit bag. Then Ira arrived, together with Leonard, both also in their football kit. The three of them ran over to him, Ira and Jamil grinning ear to ear.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Marcus called out to Horse. It had to be Horse.

  Horse fessed up. ‘I rang them. Team meeting!’

  Everyone sat on the wall. Horse stood directly in front of Marcus and explained it all. ‘You’ve got to come back to school, Marcus, we need you. Training is rubbish without you.’

  ‘And there’s no way we’re ever going to win that final without your skills,’ chipped in Ira.

  ‘You add something,’ said Leonard, ‘it’s true.’

  ‘I don’t want to go back,’ said Marcus, though the flip of heart he just felt told him otherwise. He’d missed his friends more than anything.

  ‘It’s that stuff about your ears, right?’ said Horse.

  Marcus nodded.

  ‘But that’s sorted now, ain’t it?’ said Ira. ‘So come back!’ Ira shook his waxy black, shoulder length hair in emphasis. He was a general on the field, like Horse, though Ira was in charge of the defence.

  ‘I don’t want to go to school wearing these hearing aids,’ Marcus said. He felt stupid even as he said it. But it was what he felt.

  ‘You mean you’re wearing them now?’ asked Horse.

  Marcus nodded again.

  ‘Anybody notice that?’ Horse asked.

  Everybody shook their heads.

  Horse leaned over and looked closely at Marcus. ‘Okay, now I can just about see them. Just. So what’s the big deal? C’mon, Marcus. We need you on the team if we’re gonna win this Cup. That means you’ve got to go to school. That’s the start, you know how it works. If you got to wear those to school, then fine. Tell you what, we’ll all wear them. Where did you get them? We’ll all wear them, right?’

  Everyone nodded again. Even Leonard.

  Marcus laughed. ‘It’s not that simple. You can’t just get them like that. You’ve got to be a bit deaf.’

  ‘We can fake it,’ said Jamil. ‘What? What? What? I beg pardon?’ he said, swivelling his head. Everyone laughed. They were laughing with Marcus, not at him this time. He laughed along.

  ‘Look Marky,’ said Horse, ‘we’ll stand with you, man. We need you. C’mon.’

  They were all around him now, tugging at him, pleading.

  ‘What do you say?’ said Horse. ‘Do it for us.’ Horse started messing with his hair. It always got to him, that, it was like being tickled, and Horse knew it.

  ‘Alright, alright,’ Marcus said, fending Horse off his hair and finally relenting.

  ‘Yes!’ whooped Jamil. He did his crazy jig across the pitch. Everyone else broke out into high-fives and hugs.

  Nobody seemed to care that although he was agreeing to go back to school, he was still banned from the team. But what did he know? Marcus thought. Maybe they were right. Maybe there was a way back into the team.

  ‘Let’s train then,’ said Marcus. ‘We’re gonna have to be sharp to win!’

  They practiced tackling. Leonard and Marcus played on the same side and won all three rounds. They high-fived at the end of it, the first time the two of them had ever done that. Marcus liked the crisp, deep, smack sound their high-five made, when their hands closed together perfectly. It was a weird feeling for Marcus, working with Leonard, but good. They did heading exercises and some other stuff, all organised by Leonard. They only stopped when the light faded so badly they were running into one another. Dragging his tired legs home, Marcus thought, sometimes, try as hard as you did, you couldn’t escape your friends. And even though you didn’t know it at the time, sometimes you needed them.

  THE SEAS PART

  Next morning, Marcus told his mum he was prepared to go back to school. His mum blushed with excitement and cooked him rice pudding even though he never ate rice pudding for breakfast and didn’t want it.

  ‘There is more good news,’ his dad said, slurping coffee. ‘We wrote to the history teacher, whatsherface about the football. I told her I’m not letting her stop my hugely talented, amazingly gifted son lose his biggest chance in life over some snot-nosed teacher’s idea of please and thank you’s.’

  ‘Geography teacher,’ Marcus corrected him.

  ‘Same difference,’ said Dad.

  For once Marcus was impressed. His dad never wrote down anything but lyrics. ‘You wrote the school an email? I’m surprised you didn’t sing it down the phone, Dad.’

  ‘Something like that,’ said Dad.

  ‘Nothing like that,’ said Mum. ‘I wrote the email. And I phoned her too.’

  ‘But we talked about it together,’ said Dad. ‘I advised. And the school will un-ban you from the football team or my name’s not Johnny Kudos,’ Dad declared. ‘All you’ve got to do is turn up.’

  ‘Your name isn’t Johnny Kudos. Your real name’s not Johnny Kudos,’ Mum said.

&nbs
p; Marcus could see they were about to get into it again. ‘I thought this was about me?’ he said.

  ‘It is about you, son. Your mother got distracted.’

  ‘I spoke to the Head, and she’s personally guaranteed that if you go back, they will un-ban you,’ Mum said, ‘And I’ll go into school with you if you want, and sort this troublesome geography teacher out.’

  ‘No, Mum, please don’t.’ A clash between Miss Podborsky and his mum would be a supernova event, creating a million light years of embarrassment for him.

  ‘Just say the word,’ his mum said, fired up still.

  That night, Marcus was scared, but happy. He texted Adele.

  The seas part – am bk to skul – skul agreed.

  Amazeballs. Hows yr ears

  Still on side ov head.

  Seriously … (Gud u can joke abt it now)

  Fine. Get hedaches sumtimes – 2 much noise

  Me 2. Mainly ma n da arguing

  Snap

  Lols

  Xx

  Xxxxx

  Marcus didn’t know how to reply to Adele’s last text. It was a kiss race. He sent her a pic of a dog with hearts spinning around it instead.

  BACK TO SCHOOL, BACK

  TO REALITY

  In form class, Marcus sat with Jamil in his old seat at the back of the class. Everyone was chatting away. Marcus loved the noisy depth of conversations he now heard, from all round the room, but he found it confusing sometimes, sorting out from which direction voices were coming. Nobody yet seemed to have noticed his hearing aids. He messed with his phone, going through messages and trying at the same time to get used to how loudly the chairs scraped the floor in the classroom. Then his form teacher was suddenly on his shoulder. He was reading a text Adele had sent him the morning after he had run off from her place. The teacher saw it and before he could hide the phone, read it out loud enough for Jamil to hear.

  ‘“U r my morning sunshine. Thanks 4 last nites kiss.” Very sweet. I wish someone was my morning sunshine!’

  Marcus blushed. Jamil guffawed and poked Marcus in the ribs with his pen.