by Rob Stevens
‘Maybe,’ I said. But I wasn’t so sure.
I was walking quickly, wondering if I’d done the right thing. Actually I was thinking I’d done completely the wrong thing. Had I really thought I could persuade Mr Cheeseman to change his lifestyle just by telling him how frail he looked? If he hadn’t been able to stop drinking when his family depended on him, he was hardly likely to sober up just because some kid thinks he’s not ageing well. All I’d achieved was reminding him how much he’d lost and insulting him at the same time. Talk about kicking a man when he’s down.
The temperature was dropping fast as the sun dipped in the sky. Arnold had pulled his balaclava down to cover his face.
‘You look ridiculous like that,’ I said.
‘I don’t care what I look like,’ he said proudly. ‘My head is lovely and warm and I think you’re just jealous.’
He had a point – my cheeks were freezing.
‘Why are we hurrying anyway?’ Arnold asked.
I just wanted to put as much distance between us and the mess I’d made of the conversation at the bus depot. ‘I need to get home,’ I said. ‘I want to catch my sister before she sees Mum.’
I’d used seeing Olivia as an excuse for rushing because I didn’t want to talk about Mr Cheeseman any more. But as soon as I mentioned her I started stressing about the broken window.
Arnold took out his mobile. ‘I’m just going to ring the lady in the ticket office – see if there’s any news.’ He stopped walking and dialled.
I felt suddenly nervous about whether there’d be any tickets. I’d put it out of my mind for most of the day but now it was the moment of truth and my heart was racing. I couldn’t bear to listen to Arnold’s conversation in case it was bad news so I walked on about ten yards and stopped. I checked my phone. No message. I tried calling Olivia again but there was no answer, which was weird because she was permanently attached to her mobile. I tried a few more times but my sister didn’t pick up.
Arnold was approaching, off the phone now.
I tried reading his expression to gauge how his phone call had gone but, as usual, it was blank.
‘Well?’ I said, my mouth dry.
‘Fine, thanks,’ he replied.
‘What did she say? The lady in the ticket office.’
‘Oh right.’ Arnold frowned thoughtfully. ‘She said, “Hello, Panthers ticket office. How may I help you?”’
I smiled patiently. ‘OK. I guessed that part. I was more interested in how the conversation ended.’
‘Well, why didn’t you say that?’ Arnold smiled amiably. ‘It ended with her saying, “Goodbye now,” and I said, “Bye bye.”’
‘I’m about this close to strangling you right now,’ I muttered, holding up my thumb and forefinger about a centimetre apart.
Arnold looked perplexed. He said nothing.
With deliberate calmness, I asked, ‘What did she say about the tickets for the match tomorrow?’
‘Oh right. Well, it was quite confusing really. She said something about chickens and something about cards.’
I took a deep breath. ‘Can you remember exactly what she said?’
Arnold thought carefully. ‘She said, “I don’t want to count my chickens, but think I may have come up trumps.” I don’t really know what that means.’
‘You’re a genius,’ I laughed. ‘It means she’s confident she’ll be able to get us some tickets.’
‘Oh, OK. Well she told me to call her at ten-thirty tomorrow morning and she’ll have a final answer.’
‘I don’t know how you do it, Arnold,’ I said as we walked on together. ‘But there’s something about your direct approach that seems to get results.’
I felt elated and nervous at the idea we might actually get tickets for the match. What had seemed like a crazy plan now seemed to be nearly a reality. It looked like I would have to seriously put my mind to a problem I hadn’t, up to this point, imagined facing. How was I going to organise my whole family to be in the same place at the same time?
‘I just need to go in here,’ Arnold said, coming to a standstill.
I stopped walking too and looked up at the building.
‘What do you need to go in the bank for?’ I asked.
‘To get money,’ Arnold replied. ‘Isn’t that what people usually go into banks for? We need it to buy the tickets.’
‘Why don’t you just use the ATM?’
Arnold shook his head. ‘I haven’t got my card on me. I need to speak to someone inside.’
He pushed open the bank’s glass door and we went in. Two of the three teller windows were closed. About three metres away from the open window was a queue of about four people waiting patiently, while an elderly lady was counting the money she’d just withdrawn.
Arnold marched straight to the window, sidling round the elderly lady as she turned away from the counter, clipping her purse shut.
‘Er – Arnold?’ I whispered. ‘I think all these people are queuing.’
Arnold turned and looked at the line of people. ‘Sorry,’ he said brightly, ‘we won’t be long.’
A couple tutted and a woman with a pushchair rolled her eyes. But nobody actually complained. Arnold stood in front of the window and leaned towards the bank clerk.
‘Are you all right there?’ the clerk asked in a monotone. She looked about the same age as the girls in year twelve. Her face was caked in orange make-up and false lashes framed her lifeless eyes.
‘I’d like some money,’ Arnold said. The effect of his balaclava was to make his request sound pretty menacing.
‘I see.’ There was faint tremor in the bank clerk’s voice. ‘I need to see your bank card and some identification please.’
Arnold shook his head. ‘I don’t have any ID. I just want some money.’
‘I will need to see some ID, though.’
‘I can tell you all my account numbers, my eight-digit passcode, my mother’s maiden name and the name of my first pet if it helps.’
The clerk’s smile was patronising. ‘I am going to need to see some ID.’
‘I haven’t got any on me.’
‘Please don’t raise your voice at me.’
‘I’m not raising my voice,’ Arnold replied in what was, to be fair, quite a raised voice.
‘Yes you are.’
‘I am now – but I wasn’t until you told me not to.’
At this point I decided to intervene. I leaned towards the teller’s window to ask in a super calm and polite voice if there was any way at all that Arnold could withdraw money without ID – but the teller was gone.
‘Where did she go?’ I asked.
Arnold shrugged. ‘She’s just at the back, talking to that guy.’
I could see the bank clerk talking to an older man in a brown suit. ‘He must be the bank manager,’ I guessed. He looked very serious and they both kept glancing our way. Eventually the man in the brown suit started marching purposefully towards us. I was sure we’d be able to clear up any misunderstanding with the manager.
Arnold turned to the queue behind us and said, ‘I’m very sorry about this. As soon as I’ve got the money I’ll be on my way. There seems to be some sort of hold-up.’
The old man at the front of the queue looked startled. ‘Did you say it’s a hold-up?’
‘Yes,’ Arnold said impatiently. ‘It’s a hold-up.’
Everyone in the queue gasped. The young mum pulled her daughter close to her. One man at the back turned and scurried out the door.
‘Did you say it’s a hold-up?’ asked the bank manager behind us.
Arnold turned and nodded at him. ‘That’s right. I’m holding up the bank so the sooner I get my money the better.’
I noticed the bank manager reach under the counter. I’d seen them do this in films – the plucky employee raising the alarm when they think the robbers aren’t watching. In films the alarm sounds like a school bell and the employee gets shot for his bravery. That’s what happened here too. I mea
n the sound of the alarm, not the manager getting shot.
‘We’ve got to go,’ I said, grabbing Arnold’s arm.
‘They won’t give me my money,’ he said, prodding a finger at the terrified bank manager on the other side of the glass.
‘Never mind. Let’s go.’
‘I just want my money.’
‘Listen,’ I said as calmly as I could. ‘I have a feeling the police are on their way. We need to go.’
‘Why are the police coming?’ Arnold’s eyes gazed innocently through the two round holes in his balaclava.
I nodded at the bank manager. ‘He’s set off the alarm that tells the police someone’s robbing the bank.’
Arnold’s head turned sharply. ‘Who’s robbing the bank?’ he whispered.
I smiled and whispered back, ‘You are. Let’s go.’
Before Arnold could ask any more questions, I yanked him by the arm, dragging him towards the door as fast as I could. Outside on the street I could hear the distant wail of a siren. I knew the sensible thing to do was to wait for the police and explain the misunderstanding to them.
In the split second I took to decide what to do I asked myself one simple question – what would Lenny have done?
‘Run!’ I yelled.
We sprinted down the high street and cut across the common and through the estate and over Chambers Park with Arnold’s loose sole clapping us all the way. I heard another siren, closer than the first and imagined a police car closing in on us. (Looking back, it was more likely to have been responding to a domestic incident on the Blackwater estate or a snarl-up on the ring road. But I assumed it was chasing us so I put a burst of speed on.) I edged ahead of Arnold, laughing crazily.
As we approached the zebra crossing adjacent to Chambers Park I could see a bus approaching. I reached the kerb, stopped suddenly and pressed the button on the crossing.
But Arnold kept going.
Straight into the road.
‘STOP!’ I yelled.
A horn blared.
Arnold looked up, startled – and froze.
The bus was only doing about thirty but it was way too close to stop.
Horn blasting, the bus bore down on Arnold, about to swallow him up. Without thinking I ran into the road – in front of the bus – and threw myself at Arnold. Connecting with my shoulder I wrapped my arms round his waist, knocking him sideways. Together we hit the floor and sprawled across the road. The bus flashed past, inches from my face. Just a blur of colours and the smell of diesel. I felt its wake – hot air slapped my face and inflated my hood.
We clambered to our feet and stumbled to the opposite pavement then looked at each other, not speaking. My heart was racing. I watched the bus drive away. Somehow we had avoided disaster. For a few moments life had teetered on the brink of an abyss. But unlike a year ago it had not toppled tragically. Instead everything would carry on as normal.
‘You OK?’ I said.
Arnold nodded. ‘Nice tackle.’
‘That was close.’
‘Yup.’ He smiled. ‘Thanks.’
We walked on together saying nothing.
After a while I said, ‘I think you can take that off now.’ I nodded at his head.
He grabbed the top of his balaclava and pulled it off. His face underneath was pink and shiny and his hair was a matted mess.
‘I think we may have got away with it,’ I said.
He nodded, smiling.
‘In hindsight,’ I said, ‘it probably wasn’t the smartest move to walk into a bank wearing a balaclava.’
‘My head was cold,’ Arnold protested. ‘Is that why everyone thought I was trying to rob the place?’
‘Partly,’ I said. ‘I think telling everyone it was a hold-up probably clinched it though.’
‘But they were taking ages – oh wait …’ Arnold stopped and rolled his eyes skyward for a moment. ‘I didn’t mean that kind of hold-up!’
‘I can’t believe you accidentally held up a bank,’ I laughed. ‘We’d better get you inside before you accidentally steal a car or something.’
‘I’m too young to drive,’ Arnold mumbled.
It felt good to have escaped from the police. It wasn’t as if we’d committed a crime anyway – if we had, I think I’d have felt far too guilty to run. It just seemed like the simplest solution to the misunderstanding. We’d avoided having to give a long explanation about the coincidental circumstances that made everyone think Arnold was trying to rob the bank. By doing so we’d saved the police a lot of wasted time questioning us so it felt like a success all round. Even though we hadn’t really done anything wrong, getting away with it made me feel sort of … invincible.
Mum’s car was in the drive so Arnold and I sneaked round to the side door. He waited outside while I went in to check if the coast was clear. Mum was in the living room and Olivia was in her room so I quickly ushered Arnold up the stairs.
‘Can’t I meet your mum now?’ he asked.
I thought about this for about a nanosecond. I decided it would be better to assess the matter of the broken window before owning up to having a strange boy in the house. ‘Maybe a bit later …’ I replied, pushing him towards my bedroom. When Arnold was safely hidden away in my room I tiptoed up the landing and knocked on Olivia’s bedroom door.
My sister was wearing a chunky cardigan, a scarf and a woolly hat. Sitting cross-legged on her bed she was sketching a dress design on a huge pad. She gave me a sympathetic smile as I entered and I knew immediately I was in trouble.
‘Had an exciting day?’ she asked.
For a moment I thought she was referring to the arcade and the bank job but when she held up my cricket ball I understood.
‘Oh. Right. That. Does Mum know?’
‘Of course she knows. She heard me scream when I came in and discovered the mess.’
‘Oh, Livs,’ I whined.
‘What? I was shocked. I thought someone had broken in until I found the ball.’
‘I left you a message on your phone,’ I said. ‘A couple of messages in fact. Didn’t you get them?’
‘Would that be on this phone?’
Olivia held up her mobile – a brand new satin silver iPhone. A brand new satin silver iPhone with a shattered screen.
‘What happened to it?’ I asked, but I already sort of knew I was responsible.
‘I forgot to charge it last night,’ Olivia explained. ‘So I left it plugged in on my desk. Safe and sound – or so I thought.’
‘Do you think the cricket ball smashed it?’
‘Possibly,’ Olivia made a confused face. ‘Either that or my phone was so sad about the broken window that it threw itself off the desk.’
I smiled guiltily. ‘I’m really sorry, Livs.’
‘Do you know how much these cost?’
‘I’ll pay you back.’
My sister’s expression softened. ‘Listen, don’t sweat it.’ Her smile was kind. ‘I have to say, when I saw what you’d done I was about ready to pull out your fingernails one by one and soak your bleeding hands in hydrochloric acid.’
‘Weirdly elaborate,’ I mumbled.
‘But I calmed down after a bit. Turns out I can claim on insurance so …’
‘I’m off the hook?’ I said with a hopeful smile.
‘I wouldn’t say off exactly. You still have Mum to contend with.’
‘Oh shhhh … erbert. She’s going to freak out, isn’t she?’
‘You bet I will.’ It was Mum – standing so close behind me her voice buzzed in my ear.
I spun round. Smiled. Lenny used to be able to get away with murder with his smile. Judging by the expression on Mum’s face, my winning smile needed work. But then I wasn’t as practised as he had been. I hadn’t used it to get out of trouble as much as Lenny.
‘I’m sorry, Mum. It was an accident.’
‘Cricket in the garden, Leon? What were you thinking?’
I shrugged and mumbled a ‘Dunno’.
‘Who w
ere you playing with?’
‘No one,’ I said. ‘It was only me. On my own. I was just knocking the ball up all alone and by myself.’
Mum nodded suspiciously. ‘That ball could easily have ricocheted off a wall or the summer house and hit you on the head – you could have been killed.’
This scenario seemed unlikely but I knew better than to argue.
‘No pocket money until you’ve paid for the broken window.’
I nodded solemnly.
‘And the excess on your sister’s insurance.’
More nodding.
‘I’m really disappointed in you, Leon. With all that’s happened to this family I could really do with you being more … responsible.’
‘I said I’m sorry.’
‘When Dad gets home I’ll talk to him about a suitable punishment. For now I think it’s best you go to your room. And you can stay there until I say otherwise.’
Mum turned and went downstairs.
‘What does she mean more responsible?’ I muttered.
‘She doesn’t mean anything,’ Olivia replied. ‘She just means she trusts you to behave.’
I shook my head. ‘She means I should have learned my lesson after the damage I’ve already done to this family.’
‘She doesn’t mean that,’ Olivia said.
‘You don’t see the way she looks at me.’
‘You’re imagining it.’
Before I could protest, Mum called Olivia downstairs to get her dinner. Mum would probably eat hers at her desk, Olivia on her lap in front of the TV. As my sister passed me in the doorway she ruffled my hair and whispered, ‘Don’t be so hard on yourself.’
I followed Olivia along the landing and watched her go downstairs. It was all right for her. She hadn’t been at fault when Lenny was killed. I knew she missed Lenny as much as I did but she didn’t have to live with the guilt or the blame. Soon she would finish college and she’d be out in the big wide world designing clothes and going to fashionable parties. I’d be stuck at home avoiding Mum because she blamed me for everything. Mum and Dad would continue to avoid each other, presumably because that was easier than facing the fact that the whole family was falling apart around them. Before long they’d split up and I’d see Dad every other weekend for some awkward activity where we both tried not to refer to Lenny in any way.
