Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About the Author
Copyright
About the Book
In Noah’s memory, Pigface had never been anything other than Pigface.
It was simply the perfect name for him. He was round and plump and pink, with small, red-rimmed eyes behind thick glasses, and a turned-up nose . . .
A gripping and sensitive story about name-calling and bullying at school.
Chapter 1
He had been called Pigface for so long, nobody could remember how or when it began. A couple of the children in Noah’s class claimed to have started it, years ago, but Noah doubted it. In Noah’s memory, Pigface had never been anything other than Pigface.
It was simply the perfect name for him. He was round and plump and pink, with small, red-rimmed eyes behind thick glasses, and a turned-up nose.
But quite apart from the way he looked, the best reason for calling him Pigface – the icing on the cake, as their teacher Mrs Gentleshaw would probably say – was where he lived. Because his father was a farmer, and his home was on a farm; not just any old farm, but a pig farm. So what else could he but Pigface?
Not everyone called him that, of course. His real name was Albert Percival Harrison (Noah had seen it once, on the register) but nobody called him that, either. Noah often thought his own name rather stupid, but if his parents had christened him Albert Percival he reckoned he might have run away from home. The teachers called Pigface “Harry”, as in Harry Harrison, but Noah didn’t know where that came from, either. He certainly couldn’t remember Pigface ever saying “Call me Harry” to anyone – kids or teachers.
Sometimes the teachers told them off, mildly, for calling him Pigface. But most of the time nothing was said. And Pigface himself never complained about his nickname, so they assumed he didn’t mind. What else were they to think, after all?
Noah’s mum, however, thought differently.
“Just who is this Pigface?” she asked one day, after Noah’s friend Jack had been round after school. It was a Tuesday, a PE day, and Noah and Jack had been discussing Pigface’s performance in the gym that afternoon. He had tried without much success to climb a rope, and had got stuck halfway up. He had dangled there helplessly as the rope twirled lazily round, open-mouthed and wheezing slightly with the effort, until Mr Carstairs had been forced to go up the adjacent rope, pluck him off, and descend with him tucked under his arm.
Noah and Jack laughed heartily at the memory until tears of mirth rolled down their faces.
“Is Pigface funny?” Mum asked.
“Funny?” Noah frowned. “Not specially. He’s just Pigface.”
“You and Jack seemed to think he was pretty amusing,” Mum said. “I thought he must be great fun to have you both in such stitches.”
“He does funny things, I suppose,” Noah told her, “but not on purpose.”
“I see. And why do you call him Pigface?” Mum asked.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t remember the reason. It’s just his nickname.”
“I see,” said Mum again. She looked thoughtful. “Do you remember how much you hated being teased when you first started school? You know, when they made fun of your name?”
“That was different. Pigface doesn’t mind,” Noah declared, pretty sure he was right but not really caring one way or the other. “He likes it.”
“As long as you’re sure,” Mum said. “After all, think how you would feel if it was you.”
Of course Noah was sure. Pigface had never said he didn’t like his nickname, and surely he would say so if it upset him, wouldn’t he? But he never did get upset – that was the whole point. Never. Not even that afternoon, after the whole sniggering class had seen him carried down from the rope. He just stood there helplessly on the blue gym mat, blinking slightly behind his specs and looking bemused. Not upset at all.
And as for how Noah would feel if it were him – the very idea was crazy. He and Pigface couldn’t be more different, in every way. Noah was tall and lean, good at games and popular. When the football sides were picked during games lessons Noah was usually one of the captains, and when he wasn’t, he was always the first to be chosen. Unlike Pigface, whom nobody wanted and who was always left over at the end, his fat thighs mottled and wobbling with cold inside his flapping, oversized black shorts.
He was just a joke, a big fat hopeless joke. But Mum had never met him, so how could she possibly understand? Noah decided it would probably be best to keep quiet on the subject of Pigface in future.
Chapter 2
The next day Mr Carstairs stood up in assembly to make an announcement. “This is the Under-Eleven team,” he said in his loud games-teacher voice that carried right to the back of the hall without any effort at all, “chosen to play in the match against Forest Park next Wednesday.”
The small knot of children sitting near Noah stirred a little with excitement and turned to look at him, and Jack dug him in the ribs with his elbow. “You,” he whispered, out of the side of his mouth. “Bet you’ll be in it!”
“William Jenkins . . .” Mr Carstairs read out . . . “Noah Barton.”
Yes! Noah clenched his fist in jubilation. He was so pleased he almost stretched his arm right up to punch the air with triumph, but just stopped himself. It wasn’t really a very sensible thing to do in the middle of assembly.
“You’re in the team,” said Jack afterwards, admiringly. “Cool!”
Noah made an aw-shucks-it-was-nothing kind of face, but he was delighted. He was the youngest by far; everybody else was at least a year older than him.
At lunchtime Danny Gibbs invited Noah for a kick-about in the playground. He was the Under-11s captain, a large, healthy-looking boy with a ruddy complexion and hair the exact colour and texture of straw. Noah was secretly a little afraid of him: he was skilled and fearless on the football field, but off it Noah knew he could be a bully. He’d seen him with younger kids, throwing his weight around, making them get out of his way just because he was bigger than them.
“Want to play with my new Game Boy?” Jack asked Noah after lunch.
Noah shook his head. “Can’t. Gibbsy’s asked me to play football.”
“Do you have to?”
Did he have to! Of course he had to – you didn’t turn the captain down, not when you’d only just made it in to the team! Especially not, Noah reflected, when the captain was Danny Gibbs. “’Course I do. Tell you what, though – you can come and watch, if you like.”
Jack made a face. “Maybe,” he said.
“I’ll come and watch,” said another voice.
Noah and Jack both turned. Pigface stood there behind them in the doorway, his pale-blue eyes faintly watery behind his glasses.
“You?” Noah couldn’t hide the sneer in his voice. “What do you want to watch for? You’re not interested in football!”
Just then Danny Gibbs came roaring past, a ball tucked beneath his arm. “Come on, Barton, or you’ll be late! The others are there already. Cor, what’s that awful smell? Oh, it’s the pig-farm dweller! Out the way, Pigs.”
Pigface obediently let him go by and went to join Jack, who was standing behind the two piles of coats slung on the ground as a makeshift goal.
“I wish I was in the team,” he said, gnawing at a loose piece of skin on his thumb.
Jack gave a scornful snort. “Yeah, right. The day you get on the football team is the day we play the Blind School.”
&nb
sp; Pigface said nothing – he simply carried on nibbling at his thumb. Just at that moment the ball came flying through the air and landed squarely in the centre of his stomach. He made an odd little noise that sounded exactly like “whoompf”, folded over in the middle and slid down on to the ground. It had the most remarkable effect on the football game. Everyone stopped playing and started laughing, clutching each other with glee. Even Jack couldn’t stop himself sniggering. It had looked so funny.
Mr Carstairs, who was on duty, came rushing across the playground as if someone had been murdered. “What’s going on here?” he demanded. “Who kicked that ball?”
“Me, Sir.” Danny Gibbs detached himself from the group and slouched over, still smirking. “It was an accident, Sir.”
“Oh, right.” Mr Carstairs’ tone changed when he discovered the Under-11s captain was responsible. He looked down at Pigface. “Come along then, sunshine – let’s get you to the medical room.” He helped Pigface to his feet and across the playground, laughter from the footballers following them as they went.
“Did you see that!”
“Did you see the way he fell over!”
“Did you see his face!”
But after a while they forgot their amusement and carried on playing.
Noah tackled Will Jenkins successfully and ran off down the playground, the ball at his toes as if glued there. He dodged player after player, making for the coat-heap goal. Jack and the other kids watching cheered him on. “Yeah, Noah! Go for it!”
But as Noah swerved to avoid the very last person blocking his path – Danny Gibbs himself – he seemed to stumble. Perhaps his foot caught on a crumbling bit of tarmac. Maybe he was distracted by the spectators. At any rate, Noah faltered, then he skidded, and finally he made contact with Danny’s outstretched leg and went crashing to the ground.
Jack rushed over to Noah. Danny Gibbs was already there, bending anxiously over him. Kicking the ball into Pigface’s stomach and winding him was one thing, but injuring one of his star players was quite another matter.
“Are you all right?” Jack asked his friend, as the others came charging up the playground, alert to the prospect of drama. “What’s he done, Gibbsy?”
Noah lay sprawled on the floor, his left leg at an odd angle, his face a curious shade of greyish white.
“You OK mate?” Danny asked him, crouching down beside him.
Noah closed his eyes, and shook his head. “No,” he whispered faintly, and licked his lips. “I’m not OK. Get Mr Carstairs. I think I’ve broken my leg.”
Chapter 3
Noah had to stay off school for some time to allow his leg to mend. At first he revelled in the attention that went with being newly invalided. Mum let him lie in heroic style on the sofa, watching daytime TV. She brought him drinks and snacks at regular intervals, along with the strong painkillers the hospital had insisted he take three times a day.
He had visitors, too. Jack came to see him most days. Danny Gibbs came twice. He was pale and worried-looking the first time, but back to his normal swaggering self the second, obviously reassured he hadn’t actually killed Noah.
After Noah had been off school for a week or so, Jack brought round a huge bar of chocolate and a get-well card made and signed by the entire class.
“Hi,” he said. He indicated the chocolate. “This is from Mrs Gentleshaw. Don’t suppose I can have a bit?”
Noah shrugged. “Help yourself.”
Jack broke off a large chunk. “You’re dead lucky, having all this time off school.”
Noah looked down at his leg, the plaster stiff and unyielding, and beginning to fray at the top where he’d been picking at it. He shrugged again. “Yeah. Whatever.”
“The Under-Elevens beat Forest Park.” Jack told Noah, happily munching. “Three-nil.”
“I know. You told me.”
“And there’s another match next week, against St Aidan’s.”
“I know. Gibbs told me.”
“Did he? When?”
“When he came to see me.”
“Gibbs came to see you?” Jack looked impressed. “You never told me.”
“Didn’t I?” Noah sighed, bored with the topic, and closed his eyes.
“I don’t think so. I’d have remembered.” Jack swallowed his chocolate with noisy enjoyment and licked his fingers. “Can I have some more?”
Noah shrugged again, folded his arms and settled back against the cushions.
“What’s wrong?”
Noah opened his eyes. Jack was looking at him with concern. “Nothing,” he said.
“Is your leg hurting?”
“Not specially.”
“Don’t you like me eating your chocolate?”
“I told you to help yourself, didn’t I?”
“Then what’s the matter?”
Noah knew he wasn’t exactly acting as if he was pleased to see Jack. He could hear the sulky, whining tone in his voice, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Just what was the matter? His leg wasn’t hurting much any more, although it itched constantly under the plaster. But it couldn’t be just an itchy leg that was making him feel so bad-tempered. He missed seeing his friends, that was the problem. He missed playing football, and he was sick of hearing about how well the team was doing without him. He was sick of sitting around on the sofa day after day. All in all, he was just utterly and completely fed up, and couldn’t wait for things to get back to normal.
It wasn’t Jack’s fault, though. Noah realized it wasn’t fair to take it out on him. He made himself smile. “Nothing really. I’m just tired. What’s been going on at school, then?”
“Not much. Usual things.” Jack popped another square of chocolate into his mouth. “Oh, I almost forgot. There’s a new boy in our class.”
“Yeah?” Noah brightened slightly. New pupils joining the school part-way through term were unusual, and therefore worthy of interest. “What’s his name?”
“Basil Moroney,” Jack said, through the chocolate.
Noah snorted with amused disbelief. “Basil Moroney? Moroney? What kind of name is that?” he demanded. “I know – we’ll have to call him Moron! Moroney the Moron!”
But Jack frowned. “I don’t know. He’s not like Pigface, you know. He’s well cool.”
“Never said he wasn’t,” Noah muttered, stung.
Jack looked thoughtful. “I don’t think we ought to start calling him stupid names,” he said. “He must feel a bit strange – you know, being new. He’s just moved here from London ’cos of his dad’s job. Something to do with the telly. A director, I think Bas said. Or was it a producer?”
“Wow,” Noah said, unable to prevent the sarcasm in his voice. Bas already, was it? Not just Basil, but Bas. Huh!
“They’ve got a massive house. It’s got seven bedrooms and a swimming pool. And—” Jack lowered his voice, awestruck – “he’s got a brand-new computer: CD re-writer, laser printer, scanner, DVD, web cam – the works.”
“Lucky old Bas.”
“But the funny thing is, he’s not spoilt at all.”
“’Course he’s not,” Noah said, with scorn.
“No, really,” Jack insisted. “He’s not. He doesn’t go round telling everyone about everything he’s got.”
“So how come you know all about it, then? You suddenly psychic, or something?”
Jack didn’t seem to notice Noah was being sarcastic. “It all came out sort of by accident,” he explained. “We were all talking about computers at break. He wasn’t showing off. Everyone really likes him.”
Noah felt a small stab of something unpleasant. It felt like jealousy, but how could it be? He didn’t know this Basil Moroney character, so how could he be jealous of him? He hadn’t even known of his existence until a few moments ago.
“You’ll really like him too. I can’t wait for you to come back to school so you can meet him.”
Well, I don’t especially want to meet him, Noah thought savagely. All of a sudden, the prospe
ct of going back to school didn’t seem quite so bright.
Chapter 4
As soon as Noah returned to school – the moment he walked, or rather hobbled, into the classroom – he knew things were different. Something had changed. Nothing obvious. The classroom looked exactly the same as ever, apart from the displays on the walls. All the tables were in their usual places. The computer was still there on the bench, the reading books on the shelves. Everything in its customary, familiar place.
Noah leant on his crutches and looked around, testing the air like a dog. Just what was it? He felt unsettled, uneasy, and couldn’t put his finger on why.
Just at that moment the bell went, and a small cluster of children entered the room. At their centre was a slim, wiry boy with a clever monkey face. The children closed around him, chattering excitedly, until all Noah could see was the top of his dark shiny head. Just at that moment he turned, as if sensing Noah was watching him, and everyone around him parted and moved aside.
“Hello,” he said, and smiled. “You must be Noah. Welcome back. I’m Basil.”
Basil Moroney. A small charge went through Noah, a tremor of a feeling that was quite unfamiliar, and he shivered. The famous Basil. What right has he got to welcome me back? Like he owns the place – and he’s only been here himself five minutes!
And all of a sudden he understood that a strange force had been at work. Whatever it was had changed the atmosphere in the room – the feeling, the balance of power. It was as if the universe had tilted slightly, and the person responsible was this new boy. This Basil creature.
It seemed that the whole class wanted to be with Basil. As soon as he walked into the room, everyone was clamouring for him to sit beside them.
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