The only person who didn’t want to talk football was Liam. “Do you think they got our message?” he said as soon as he saw us on the playground.
“They must have done. They couldn’t have ignored the call,” Will said.
We’d talked last night about involving Liam and Andy in our plan but had decided that they were best left out of it. Liam had never fully been behind the Underworld idea, being more convinced that aliens had invaded the school, and now his thoughts were pinned entirely on Shaky Jake.
“After school,” Liam said, “we should find an excuse to walk down to the Post Office to see if there’s anything going on at his house. They might be digging up his whole garden.” Liam must have noticed that I wasn’t very enthusiastic about his plan. “What’s wrong with him?” he said to Will.
“Chappie died.”
“Damn. Sorry about that.”
Liam had been with us on some of the best times we’d had with Chappie, just walking through the droves, making our own bow and arrows, and building bases. Chappie was always up for a game of fetch too. He was one of the gang. I felt myself welling up again and had to run off to the toilet.
Tears clouded my eyes. I headed towards the toilets to wipe my face. Laura stood by the entrance. The closer I got to her, the more she smiled. I wasn’t even embarrassed by the tears in my eyes. I could tell her about Chappie. She’d understand; she’d make me feel better.
But as I got closer, I realised that she wasn’t making eye-contact with me; she was looking over my shoulder. She was looking at someone else. Once inside I turned and looked back through the window. She hugged Chris Jackson, and they walked off holding hands. I lost sight of them as my eyes clouded with tears.
“We’ve had a thought,” Mum said when she came to pick us up at the end of the day. “Wouldn’t it be fun for Liam and Andy to stay over tonight so we could all watch the football together?”
Andy practically jumped for joy, and Liam gave him a high-five. I looked at Will and he kind of shrugged. “Yeah, that would be cool.”
“Ace,” I said, with a new version of the plan already working itself out inside my head.
“We’ve got a bit of business to deal with first though,” Mum said, “but if you come over for around six?”
That bit of business was putting Chappie to rest. Thankfully it had stopped raining by the time we got home, but the sky was still dark, and the clouds still looked heavy.
Chappie was clean again, and he had a red handkerchief tied around his neck. He used to like to wear that when he was younger, but in the last few years it had seemed to irritate him. Dad had dug a hole in our garden under one of the bushes where he often liked to lie. It was the right place to put him.
“Am I okay to put him in?” asked Dad. He was looking at Mum.
I nodded, and Mum nodded at Dad, and he carefully moved Chappie from the blanket and into the hole.
“Well?” he said, and my first thought was that I’d done something wrong. “Have you got any last words for him?”
“Bye Chappie.” I said. “You were a good friend.”
A raindrop fell on my face.
“Will?”
“We had fun together,” Will said.
Dad held the shovel out for Will to take. He took a little of the dirt from the top of the pile of tipped it on top of Chappie.
Will then passed the shovel to me. The rain had started to fall a little harder now. One drip landed in the gap between by hair and my collar on the back of my neck and followed the path of my spine all the way down my back. I looked down at Chappie for the last time as I tipped a little of the dirt onto his head.
“Leave it to me now boys. Get inside before you get too wet.”
And as we were leaving, I heard Dad say, “You were a good dog.”
We didn’t mention the plan to Liam and Andy. We figured that we could fill them in after the game. The start was so hectic, that I almost forgot about the plan altogether, with England winning three corners, and coming close to scoring each time. Gazza was playing well too, with the ball held magically to his boot, and he forced the German keeper into a couple of good saves.
England were definitely the better team, but there were no goals in the first half. Somehow Chris Waddle hit the bar from almost halfway, but there were no goals. England were playing better than they had done in the whole tournament. There was still some good in the world, it was obvious. West Germany had a few chances at the end of the half, but nothing to trouble super Shilton.
West Germany took the lead, and in the only way possible, with a deflection. They had a free kick, which was taken short to Brehme. Paul Parker tried to block his shot, which Shilton was already diving to save, but the ball hit Parker and looped up in the air. Shilton was already in mid-air, going the wrong way. There was no way back, and the ball fell into the net. It wasn’t over though. I believed in England, and they didn’t let me down. They made chance after chance, but it looked like they weren’t going to score. I didn’t give up on them. When Waddle was brought down in the box, and the referee waved play on I still had a feeling that we were going to be okay. Paul Parker, no doubt trying to make up for the ball going off him for the German goal ran up the field and smashed in a cross towards Lineker. It bounced off a German player’s leg, then Lineker controlled it with his knee, and knocked it into the only bit of space in the penalty box which was swarming with West German defenders, then he kicked it hard into the opposite corner of the goal, giving their keeper no chance. John Motson, who was commentating for the BBC described him as an ‘Ace marksman’, and he was. We had ten minutes to win it, and then we had some more important business to deal with.
No goal came in the last ten minutes, so it meant extra time, and a much later night than planned. It was extra time for the third England match in a row. They’d scored in extra time in the last two games, so why should this be any different? When Klinsmann jumped to meet a cross and headed the ball towards the bottom corner of the goal, I didn’t doubt that Shilton would be able to save it, and when the ball dropped to the same player in the box I knew that he was going to miss. But then Gazza went sliding into a tackle and it felt as though something had gone very badly wrong with the word. It seemed to take an age for the referee to pull out the yellow card, but Gazza knew it was coming. You could see it on his face; he was going to miss the World Cup Final.
Until that moment I was so sure that England would do it, but that card caused the doubt to flood over me. I could see the tree out there and knew that it would be laughing at us in here. Its powers were strong if it could influence events in Italy. I wanted the game to be over so that I could go out there and put that damned tree to rest forever. Instead, I had to sit and watch the inevitable.
Waddle hit the post. The ball seemed to swerve off target. There was no way it was going into the net again tonight; I was sure of it. So, when the ball did go into the West German net, I had a sick feeling in my stomach. Maybe there was enough good in the world? David Platt again! But I hadn’t heard the whistle or spotted the referee with his hand up. Offside. Goal disallowed. That wasn’t the end of the action; Shilton made a superb save and Germany hit the post, but there were no more goals. That meant there was going to be a penalty shootout.
The first six penalties were all scored before Stuart Pearce stepped up. I hadn’t been able to watch any of England’s other penalties, and this one was no different. I closed my eyes and put my hand in front of them too for double cover. The blackness in front of me formed into an image of shaking branches and a cruel mouth. Before Dad even cried out, “You bugger,” I knew he’d missed. The Germans scored the next one. They had to miss one, or it was over. I made myself watch Waddle’s penalty, afraid to close my eyes again, and I watched him kick the ball over the bar and into the crowd. England were out, and it was my fault for playing with forces I didn’t understand.
I went straight up the stairs to prepare for the assault. The first part of that plan meant
cleaning my teeth and putting on my pyjamas. Will wasn’t far behind, and Liam and Andy were hurried upstairs by Mum minutes later. We had to go to bed, or at least pretend to. Everything had to seem normal until after Mum and Dad had gone to bed.
We filled Liam and Andy in on the plan. Earlier in the day Will had gone out to the barn and moved a can of petrol to near the back door. I’d taken a box of matches from the kitchen cupboard. All we had to do was go down to the tree, cover it in petrol, and set it alight, closing the door to the Underworld and trapping the evil beings inside
“Will, I was speaking to you the other day about this,” Liam said, awkwardly nodding his head towards me.
“We’re doing this. I don’t believe the Underworld theory, I don’t believe in aliens, but I do believe that when that tree is gone, all of this will settle down.”
“But why?”
Will pulled Liam to him and whispered something in his ear, and then, for the benefit of all of us, “I just want to get my life back. In three weeks’ time, it’s the summer holidays, my last summer holidays before secondary school. We have to end this before then, or how can we possibly enjoy it?”
We waited until we could hear Dad snoring. It didn’t take long on those nights where he’d had a can or two of beer, and he’d certainly had a few while the football was on. Will went first and expertly took the stairs, missing the creakers. I waited in the corridor while Liam and Andy crept down. They weren’t so familiar with the floorboards in the house though, and a creak made the whole house gasp.
“That you, Thomas?” It was Mum’s voice.
“Just getting a drink.”
“Okay, love. Night.”
“Night Mum,” I said, and we all continued on our way.
It had continued to rain while the football was on, and while it had stopped, thick purplish clouds still hung in the sky. It was around eleven o’clock, and I felt as though it should have been darker. I guess it was unusual for us to be up so late. We traipsed around the edge of the field, with the ground very soft under our feet. A couple of times Andy lost his balance. He was much shorter than us, and had trouble picking his feet up high enough to stop them getting stuck.
We stopped in front of the tree. The light of the moon had crept between the clouds and now shone on his twisted face.
“So, it has come to this,” I heard the tree say in my head.
There was a rumble.
“He’s hungry,” Andy said and took a couple of steps back, but then the sky was lit up with a flash of sheet lightning, and he froze.
I realised that he’d brought his nun-chucks with him. He was too young for all of this.
“You don’t have what it takes to stop me,” I heard the tree say.
“Splash it on, Will,” I said.
He moved forward and unscrewed the petrol canister. He moved his nose to the spout and sniffed, and immediately reeled back.
“Death juice!” Liam said, and raised a stick, which I’d not seen him pick up, in the air. I wondered what he intended to do with it.
Will swung the can so a load of petrol gushed out the end and splashed around the base of the tree.
The first spots of rain had started to fall, and another rumble made us jump back.
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” said the tree.
With the flash of lightning, which was no more than two seconds later, the rain gushed down. With the moon lost behind the clouds, darkness had descended upon us.
“Is it done?” I said to Will.
“We’re empty.”
I pulled the matches from my pocket and lit the first one. It fizzled out as soon as it sparked up. I tried another and the same thing happened.
“You are doomed to failure, boy,” said the tree.
“Liam, Andy, Will, come here.”
They stumbled over to me. By the time the next flash of lightning came we were gathered together.
“Shield me from the rain,” I said.
Huddled together, we were able to get a match lit. I threw it towards the tree, but a gust of wind blew it back at us, dead.
The tree laughed.
“We’ll have to get closer.” I had to almost shout, as the wind was now howling.
We moved together, but I felt our group get smaller.
“Who’s not with us?” I said.
“It’s Andy,” Liam said.
“Andy, come on!” cried Will. “Join us!”
“No. It’ll get me.”
A flash of lightning illuminated Andy’s terrified face.
“You stay there, then Andy. We’ll be back with you in a second,” I said.
We started to edge towards the tree.
“Come on… come closer.”
Liam suddenly fell away from us.
“Liam!” I called.
“I tripped,” he said. “I’m going back to Andy, he’s too scared.”
He was scared. We all were. I don’t blame him for giving up on us.
We were close to the tree now. Almost within arms’ reach.
“Okay, do it,” Will said.
On the third attempt I got a match lit, and I tossed it at the tree. It fizzed for a second, and then went out.
“It’s too wet,” Will said. “It’s not going to work.”
He stepped back, and as he pulled my hand, I fell.
“I will consume you!” cried the tree.
Lightning flashed and I saw that its mouth was starting to open. Inside I could see a glimpse of the Underworld. A tree-lined pathway. Chasms of fire. Creatures shuffling towards me.
I tried to move, but my foot was stuck. It wasn’t like when my shoe was stuck in the mud, this was a different kind of grip, more powerful. I tried to yank my foot away but felt something pulling the other way, grazing against my ankle. A root was wrapped around my leg. It was pulling me in. The hordes of evil creatures were waiting to feast on my soul.
I opened the soggy matchbox and pulled out a match. It didn’t feel solid enough to light a match with, but when I brushed it against the side it sparked up. I put the match inside the box with the others, causing them all to light at once and tossed the box onto the base of the tree. A wall of fire flared up briefly, its heat washing over my body.
I wasn’t sure if it was the fire roaring or the tree, crying out in pain. Will had hold of one arm, and Liam grabbed another. Together they pulled. Something was sticking into the side of my foot and I felt it tear at the flesh as they tugged me free.
“Run,” shouted Liam, and he took off for the bank behind the tree. Andy quickly followed, and Will helped me along. It took me back to the time Will and I had fled from the wasps that lived inside the tree and we’d got up onto the drove and fell flat on our backs. That was before they started the construction work. There was no drove now; the bypass had taken its place. I hobbled up the side of the bank and Will laid me down about halfway up, a couple of metres from the road.
“Get off the road!” I heard Will shout. I looked round to see the lights. Will moved quickly, and all I heard was a screech, a thud, and a scream.
“What are you doing out here on the road?” the driver said. He was an oldish man, older than Dad, but not nearly as old as Granddad. He’d gotten out of his car and he was staring at Liam who nearby, for the first time in his life, looking completely white. “What did I hit? Oh God, what did I hit?”
Andy was lying in the road. Liam dashed over to him, and I managed to get to my feet. Liam knelt by Andy.
“Is he okay?” said the man, he started towards Andy then stopped when he saw headlights coming the other way, and something else in the road.
Andy sat up. “Will pushed me,” he said. He rubbed his head. “Why’d he do that?”
The man was walking down the road. “Oh God,” I could hear him mutter again and again. There was another flash of lightning and on the object in the road I could just make out the colour of Will’s red pyjamas.
“No!” I said and started to follow the man. E
very time I put my foot down pain shot through my body.
“What were you doing in the road!” cried the man. I waited for an answer from Will, for some kind of noise, but there was nothing to be heard over the lashing rain and the approaching car, which stopped just short of Will’s body, where the man was standing, waving his arms.
“Go get help,” said the man. “For God’s sake, there’s a boy on the road. I hit him.”
The car sped off, and as it approached me, I could see a trainer a few feet from me. I hobbled over and picked it up. It was warm and wet, sticky with blood and mud, and it reeked of petrol.
I turned and looked down towards the farmhouse, and between me and home, the tree. The fire had put itself out, and I swear to God that evil bastard tree laughed.
PART THREE
Thursday 5th July 1990
So many questions. ‘How’ and ‘why’ over and again. I couldn’t answer them. It all seemed too stupid. I’d played the whole thing over in my head on the way to the hospital. People were dashing around, and at first, they seemed to ignore me. A nurse eventually led me into a room, where my foot was cleaned up and stitches were put in it. I didn’t know where the rest of my family were until Uncle Alan popped his head around the curtain, where I was waiting with a nurse.
“Are you this boy’s father?” she asked.
“His Uncle.”
“Okay. He’s free to go. Standard pain medication will be okay. Keep the wound clean.”
Dead Branches Page 25
