“You’d better put those on,” he said. I bent down and picked them up. They were shoe covers, like the ones you get at swimming pools. They looked a bit like shower caps with stretchy elastic around the edge. I saw that Mason was already wearing a pair over his socks. I stared at them for a bit, not quite sure why I had to wear them but thinking it was probably something to do with not getting fluff on the white carpet. Then I sat on the doormat and began to pull the plastic over my feet.
“They feel strange at first but they’re brilliant for skidding in,” said Mason. “I once managed to get from the study down to the cinema room in one go!”
I fiddled with the shoe covers. The house was so silent. Where was everybody?
“Is the coach back from Thrill Kingdom running late?” I asked. Mason scratched his head.
“Ah, right. Yeah, I was going to tell you… So, Mum and Dad said I could only have one friend over for my birthday and I picked you. It’s just us, I’m afraid.”
“Oh,” I said.
I stood up. The blue plastic covers rustled against the soft, white carpet. This wasn’t like any party that I’d ever been to before. Mason stared down, scuffing his wrapped foot against the floor so that it made a swishing sound.
“Hey, Mason,” I said. “Did you just say you had a … cinema room?” Mason slowly looked up at me and grinned.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll show you around!”
Mason’s house was incredible. Not only did it have a cinema room (with ten reclining chairs) but also a gaming room with loads of computer consoles, a gym (which looked, and smelt, like it had never been used) and a wine cellar (although we weren’t allowed to go down there). When we got to an area he called “the den”, which was like an extra lounge, I got a chance to see the back garden. On the patio was a shiny basketball hoop, and beyond that a lawn that stretched on and on. The grass was as plush as the thick carpet indoors. To one side was a full-sized football goal.
“Wow, your garden is huge!” I said, not even trying to play it cool. “You’ve even got a goal! Can we play?”
“Ah, sorry, we can’t. The lawn’s just been treated,” said Mason. I stared at the lush, green grass. It didn’t look like anyone had ever trodden on it, let alone played football on it.
We went to his room next, which had a king-sized bed, a hammock and his own personal bathroom.
“You are sooo lucky,” I said, thinking of my cold bedroom with the worn-out carpet and the mattress springs that dug into my ribs. I sat down on the hammock and swung back and forth. I would have given anything to live in a house like this. It was the most amazing place I’d ever been.
“Hang on! I haven’t opened your present yet!” said Mason. I was about to tell him to wait until I’d gone home but he had already run off to get it. I cringed. He was surrounded by everything he could possibly want and now he was going to open the only present from his only party guest, and it was a pathetic one. I stayed on the hammock swinging slowly and then jumped as I heard a “WHOOP!” coming from downstairs. A few seconds later Mason appeared around his doorway.
“I’ve always wanted one of these!” he said, his eyes shining brightly. “Shall we try it out on the patio?”
“Um, OK!” I said, relieved that he seemed to like it.
I followed him downstairs and got my scruffy shoes from the tray by the door and, as if his life wasn’t incredible enough, Mason appeared with a pair of bright white trainers.
“Are they XT50s?” I said, my mouth hanging open.
“Yeah, they were my birthday present from Mum and Dad,” he said. “They’re cool, aren’t they?” I nodded as he passed me one to hold. I traced the toe with a finger. They were so bright they almost made my eyes water. XT50s were very, very expensive.
“They’re amazing,” I whispered, passing it back to him.
We headed to a big dining room with a wide glass door that looked out on to the patio and garden. Mason opened the door and we took the blue plastic covers off our feet and changed into our shoes.
Bouncing the ball on the patio was great fun. We were laughing and shouting so much that his mum came out and told us to quieten down. Mason did one really huge bounce and I missed it and it landed in the middle of the immaculate lawn. He quickly ran across to get it, and his dad shouted out of the upstairs window for him to get off the grass.
“We’d better keep the bounces smaller,” he said, going red. “We can keep it under control then.”
We got to twenty-eight little bounces back and forth before his mum called us in for tea. We kicked our shoes off, put the plastic covers back over our socks and went inside.
Tea was pizza. We usually had frozen pizzas at home that had hardly any toppings on, but these ones had been delivered by a restaurant. On the boxes it read: From Our Own Wood-Fired Pizza Oven. I took three slices of one covered in pepperoni, some green-leafy stuff and red chillies. Tamara told me to help myself to a big wooden bowl full of salad but I just stuck with the pizza. I managed to eat two pieces before my mouth went on fire and I quickly gulped down some of my blackcurrant juice. I’d never eaten chillies that hot before.
After dinner Tamara went into another room and brought out a cake in the shape of a tropical island. We all sang “happy birthday” and Mason blew out the twelve candles dotted amongst the palm trees.
“That is the best cake I have ever seen!” I squealed, turning pink when everyone looked at me.
“I had it made to remind you of our holiday in Antigua,” said Tamara, kissing Mason on the top of his head.
Mason smiled. “Thanks, Mum,” he said. He didn’t look particularly impressed to me. He was probably used to getting birthday cakes like that, but I thought it was incredible.
After a slice of cake (which was the most delicious thing I’d ever eaten) we went back to the cinema room. We sat in the middle of the front row on seats that were covered in soft, red velvet. I sank into mine and rested my head on the back. I turned to Mason.
“You are so lucky, you know,” I said. “My house is the pits.”
Mason frowned. He’d been to mine loads of times.
“No it’s not,” he said. “It’s … friendly.”
I didn’t think there was anything friendly about a cold, worn-out house with thin carpets and peeling wallpaper, but I didn’t say anything.
We watched some cartoons, which were really good, even though they were old. My favourite was about this wolf thing called Wile E. Coyote who lived in a desert and kept trying to catch a tall, blue bird called Road Runner. At the start you think the bird is quite stupid as it just goes around pecking at grains on the floor, but it’s actually really clever and outsmarts him every time. It also says “beep, beep” before shooting off in a haze of dust, which was brilliant. Mason said that these old cartoons were his dad’s favourites and they used to watch them together all the time before he got so busy with work.
After the last cartoon Mason checked his watch.
“We’ve got fifteen minutes until you get picked up,” said Mason. “Bouncy ball?”
“Bouncy ball,” I agreed. As we came out of the cinema room I skidded towards the kitchen where we’d eaten the pizza. My mouth was still burning from the hot chillies.
“I’m just going to get my drink,” I yelled, as Mason headed through the dining room to open the sliding doors.
My glass of blackcurrant juice was still sitting on a place mat and I picked it up and took a big gulp. The cool liquid felt good. I took the glass with me into the dining room and put it carefully on a round table next to a vase of flowers. Mason was already outside, bouncing the ball up and down.
“I think if it’s warmed up a bit, it goes even higher,” he said, as I came out on to the patio. He threw the ball to me and I bounced it back.
“One!” he shouted when he caught it.
He bounced it back to me.
“Two!” I said.
We got up to twenty-two and I started giggling as I fumbled and near
ly dropped it.
“Twenty-three!” said Mason, catching the ball with one hand. He circled his arm and propelled the ball towards me, but instead of it bouncing on the patio first, it hurtled straight at me. I put my hand up to shield my face and the ball careered off my arm and indoors, heading for my glass of blackcurrant juice.
“Nooooooooooo!” cried Mason. We both dived up the step but it was too late. The ball hit the glass and it toppled over and rolled to the edge of the table. The purple juice poured down on to the deep, white carpet. We stared at the stain. Mason’s face went pale, and then he turned to me.
“What did you leave your drink there for? You’re not allowed to have drinks in here!” he shouted.
“What? But it’s a dining room! How can you not have drinks in a dining room?” I said. The blackcurrant stain seemed to be growing bigger, creeping through the plush, pristine white floor.
“Shouldn’t we get something to soak it up?” I asked, feeling a bit sick. Mason ran to the kitchen and came back with a yellow tea towel. He got down on his knees and began to press it on to the juice. Before long the tea towel turned purple, but the stain didn’t look any better.
“Don’t you think you should tell your mum?” I said. I didn’t want him to, but I thought she might know the best thing to do. Mason ignored me, pressing rhythmically on the tea towel like he was trying to revive the carpet from a cardiac arrest.
The doorbell chimed. Dad was here. We looked at each other for a moment; Mason’s expression was dead serious.
“Don’t say a word, OK?” he muttered through gritted teeth. I nodded. That was fine with me. He straightened my glass, closed the French doors and put the bouncy ball in his pocket. We quickly changed out of our shoes and put the blue covers on. I saw a streak of purple juice on one of Mason’s new trainers. He wiped it with his hand and I breathed a sigh of relief when it disappeared. We got to the front door just as his mum was opening it.
“Hi, Dad!” I said, as soon as I saw his face. I quickly took the covers off my socks and stuffed my feet into my shoes. I wanted to get out of there as fast as possible. Dad smiled, looking a bit puzzled that I seemed to be the only guest at this party and that I had plastic bags over my feet. I raised my eyebrows at him and I think he understood not to say anything.
“Have you both had a good time?” Dad asked. Mason and I nodded but neither of us spoke.
Mason’s dad appeared with a massive slice of cake wrapped in a napkin.
“There you go, Cole,” he said. “You can share that with your little sister.”
“Thank you, Mr Ferguson,” I said, keeping my head down.
“They’ve been so good. We haven’t really heard a peep out of them, have we, Hugh?” said Mason’s mum, clearly forgetting how she’d told us to be quiet earlier. She made it sound like we were five years old, not twelve.
“It’s been a pleasure to have him here,” said Mason’s dad. “Come back any time, won’t you, Cole?”
I thought about the blackcurrant stain on their precious white carpet and swallowed.
“Thank you for having me,” I said. I grunted a “bye” at Mason and then followed Dad down the driveway. He was chatty all the way home, wanting to know what we’d been up to. I told him how much Mason liked the bouncy ball and he patted me on the back.
“See, Cole? Sometimes it’s the simple presents that mean the most, you know?”
I also told him about the cinema room and the cartoon with the coyote and the big bird. He laughed and said that he was so pleased that I’d had such a good time. I decided right there and then that I wouldn’t mention the blackcurrant juice.
Mabel was always spilling stuff and making a mess at home, but my parents didn’t mind. I had a feeling Mason’s would be much more bothered. I hoped he wouldn’t be getting in loads of trouble.
When Dad Came to School
The first thing I thought about when I woke up the next day was the stain on the white carpet in Mason’s house. My parents wouldn’t be able to pay for the damage if they were asked to and I had no pocket money or savings to help.
I got out of bed and shivered. It felt like the heating wasn’t working again. The air in my room was crisp and cold like it is outside. I quickly pulled on a pair of socks and shoved my arms into my dressing gown. It was too small for me and the sleeves only reached just past my elbows.
When I got downstairs Mum was still home. Usually she’d be at work by now.
“Morning, darling. I’m going in a bit later today,” she said. “There’s cereal for breakfast. Don’t take too much.”
I took a bowl out of the cupboard and shook some of the brown flakes into it. Too many fell out so I spooned a few back into the bag.
Mum was watching me, wringing her hands together. My heart sank. Mason’s mum and dad must have called and told her about the ruined carpet.
“Has something happened?” I said, trying to act innocent. She took a deep breath.
“It’s not good news I’m afraid, Cole,” she replied. “The museum is closing down. I’m going to lose my job.”
“What?!” I said. “Why?” Mum’s eyes were filled with tears. My brain was quickly buzzing with a million worries. If Mum didn’t have a job then how would we get any money? How would we pay bills and buy food? We didn’t have enough as it was!
“Our visitor numbers are too low,” said Mum. “Dr Sabine and I knew it was going to happen one day, but we hoped we could keep going for a bit longer.”
Dr Sabine was Mum’s one and only work colleague. She wasn’t the kind of doctor you’d go to see if you had a sore throat or a broken leg – she was a doctor of history.
“But what about all the events you organized?” I said. “The Meet an Egyptian Mummy day and How to be a Geologist?”
These were special days they arranged for kids during the summer holidays. Mum sighed.
“Hardly anyone turned up, Cole. It’s not surprising, we had no money to advertise. How will anyone know how special the museum is if we don’t have any funds to tell people about it?”
And to make it even more upsetting, Mum absolutely loved working there. She’d planned to go to university to study history, but I came along when she was just eighteen and after that she was too busy. When I was a baby she started volunteering at the local museum and she did so well that the council gave her a part-time job. Not long after Mabel was born they offered her a full-time job, and that’s when Dad started staying home to look after us.
“What will we do, Mum?” I said. “What will we do if you don’t have a job?”
“Don’t worry,” she said, trying to smile. “I’ll find something else. And your dad is still looking for work to fit in the evenings.” She gave my arm a squeeze, but I could tell she was trying not to cry.
Mabel appeared in a pair of mismatched pyjamas. She must have sensed that something was going on and she gave Mum’s legs a hug.
“I just wish we could have got more people to come and visit us. It’s such a shame. We’ve got all those treasures on display and no one is interested.”
Dad came in and switched the kettle on.
“Morning, Cole,” he said. “Has Mum told you the news?”
I nodded and pushed the cereal around my bowl. I wasn’t hungry now.
“Don’t worry,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. “We’ll work something out.”
I watched as he gave the boiler a thump.
“There’s no hot water again, Jenny,” he said to Mum. “Honestly, this boiler will be the death of me.” The square metal box that hung on the wall beside our back door gave a shudder, as if it was tempted to actually do something, and then it gasped and went silent. It was always breaking down.
I watched as Dad banged it again. He was wearing jeans and one of his old rock-band T-shirts. For a second, I wanted to scream at him:
“Why can’t you just make this all better, Dad? Why can’t you just get a job like all the other dads?”
I thought of
meeting Mason’s dad last night, with his smart shirt and wide, bright smile. He would have plenty of money to pay for someone to fix the boiler. He had a proper job. Just like everyone else’s fathers. What made it worse was that all my friends knew that my dad did nothing…
When Mabel was just a few months old, our teacher in primary school sent letters home asking for parents to come in for a World of Work session. Before I was born, Dad used to work as a roadie with a rock band. He got to travel all over Europe, helping to carry the band’s instruments and equipment in and out of the venues and set it all up. It sounded like an amazing job and I was so pleased when Dad said he’d come and join in the session.
When we got to school my teacher, Mrs Williams, was at the door, welcoming everyone.
“Parents, thank you so much for coming! If you can make your way to the hall, I’ll bring the children in after registration.”
Dad gave me a pat on my head and followed the other adults. There were five of them: three dads and two mums. The other two dads were wearing suits and one of the women was wearing a green uniform. I thought she might have been a paramedic.
After we had all said, “Good morning, Mrs Williams,” we headed to the hall. My dad was sitting at the front with the other adults and Leyton’s dad was setting up a PowerPoint presentation next to a big projector. Dad didn’t have a presentation, he was just going to talk, but his job was going to be far more interesting than the others.
“Dad! DAD!” called Leyton, waving madly even though he’d only seen him ten minutes ago. I sat in the second row and beamed at my dad, who gave me a wink.
“Right, everybody, this is exciting, isn’t it?” said Mrs Williams, standing at the front. “Today we have some very special guests who are kindly going to tell us a little bit about their jobs. Now, I want you to listen carefully to what the grown-up is saying, and then we can take a few questions. Shall we start with you, Mr Morgan?”
Leyton’s dad clicked the laptop and grinned at us. On the projector behind him was an advert for a local estate agent.
The Boy Who Fooled the World Page 2
