I felt Flo burrow into my bed for the daily cuddle. She thinks I like it but it’s more that I’m so asleep I can’t make my mouth say the words I need to say to get rid of her. By the time I’m on full power, she’s gone to annoy Amy, my big sister. (Caution: avoid at all costs.)
Mum noticed my mood at breakfast. The worry had grown larger overnight.
‘Is there something up?’
‘No, I’m fine.’ I did a fake smile and she carried on buttering the toast. Fifty’s mum is much harder to convince. Her questions are the sort you can’t answer yes or no to. Questions that start with ‘how’ and have the word ‘feeling’ in the middle.
In English first thing, Bee had another go at Newboy.
‘Please, Miss Walsh. Can you ask him to stop rocking on the back legs of his chair? I keep thinking he’s going to fall.’
Good one, Bee. It’s Miss Walsh’s pet hate. You get a warning the first time. Second time: straight detention. No question. Miss Walsh looked up from her desk. Newboy was sitting perfectly still on all four legs, like he had been all morning.
‘Jonno, chairs are made with four legs for a reason,’ she said, far too nicely. She was still being soft on him.
(Jonno – what sort of name is that? I thought.)
I didn’t dare look at him. I looked at Copper Pie instead. He was leaning back on two legs, almost overbalancing, with a grin so wide it squashed his freckles together. I saw Fifty do a quick thumbs up.
But me, I was getting a bad feeling about it all. I kept my head down until break, trying to finish my story about an incredibly powerful sea creature wrecking all the fishing boats and poisoning the waters with its toxic waste.
We’d agreed to sprint straight outside to our territory as soon as the bell went. I was there second, behind Copper Pie. No one ever gets anywhere before him unless he’s not going that way. He’s the fastest in the school.
Between panting, I tried to abort the mission. ‘How about we let him hang out with us for a bit? He’ll soon see we’re no fun.’
‘Keener!’ Copper Pie gave me the look he’s used many times before. I’m always the one trying to stop the others from doing risky things. Most of the time Fifty feels the same but he relies on me to be the wimp. That’s how it works in groups. You all have a job, like leader, ideas person, dangerman, Mr Responsible (that’s me), funny one . . . Fifty’s job is smooth talker. Bee is boss. Copper Pie is secret weapon.
‘Take your positions,’ Copper Pie shouted. He stood bang in the middle of the way in, with the wire fence of the netball court one side and the trees the other. I went to the right, blocking the gap that side. Fifty and Bee took care of the rest. We fidgeted a bit to get a tight fit and linked arms. Wedged into the space, we waited. I kept swallowing something that wasn’t there.
I glanced behind at the tiny triangle of land with the rotten tree stump that we call our patch. It’s always dark and often damp and even more often smelly. Why did it matter so much? I asked myself.
‘He’s coming,’ said Bee.
‘Time, my noble friends, to defend our homeland from the wretched Gauls,’ said Fifty.
‘Someone will lock you up one day, freak,’ said C.P.
Fifty lives half in the real world and half in some other made-up universe but at least he’d answered my question: it mattered because to us it was a kind of home.
We all grew a bit taller as the enemy drew nearer. I stuck my chest out, but it made the butterflies in my stomach seem worse, so I tucked it in again.
What do you think Newboy did?
Ran at us like a snorting bull? No.
Karate-chopped our arms to break up the line? No.
Walked off? That would have been ideal but . . . No.
He strolled up to us with his hands in his pockets, a half-smile on his face, his glasses slightly too low down his nose so he looked like a professor.
‘Is it the beginning of a dance? he said, making a puzzled crease down the middle of his forehead. ‘Do you join arms and waltz round the playground?’
Nobody tells Copper Pie he’s doing the waltz. Before any of us had a chance to think of a clever reply (not that I can ever think of one until I’m in the bath three days later), Copper Pie’s arm disengaged from Fifty’s, shot out and wrapped itself round Jonno’s neck forcing his head down, ready for —
Sheesh! I had to do something.
Copper Pie tried to free his other arm – the hand was already shaped into a fist – but I held it firmly, squeezed between my elbow and my body. Getting another kid in a headlock was one thing but a full-blown assault was a whole lot worse. Copper Pie tried to shake me off but I wasn’t going to let go. He’d have to punch me first. (That would NEVER happen. He’s been my protector since nursery when Annabel Ellis used to bite me.) I held on long enough for Fifty and Bee to peel his other arm from around Jonno’s neck and for Bee to whisper the magic word ‘detention’, followed by the other magic word ‘suspension’. Copper Pie doesn’t need any more trouble. He let Newboy go.
You’ve got to respect Jonno: he didn’t hit Copper Pie, he didn’t say something mean, he didn’t cry or even do the wobbly bottom lip. I don’t think he did anyway. I didn’t look too closely – I was too ashamed. But not ashamed enough to actually help. Help came quickly enough from another direction.
‘Are you all right? It’s Jonno, isn’t it?’ Miss Maggs, the playground monitor, was by his side in a flash. Any hopes the attack hadn’t been witnessed vanished. I let Copper Pie have his arm back and watched him head for the back entrance, because we all knew what was coming next.
Miss Maggs shouted after him, ‘Wait outside the Head’s office.’
Bee rolled her eyes. ‘Another fine mess. Copper Pie will end up Prisoner Pie if he carries on like this.’
She’s right. The last thing Copper Pie needs is another roasting from the Head. Why did Newboy have to get in the way?
Copper Pie cops it
The thing about Copper Pie is that he’s the best friend you could ever have in some ways, and a total disaster in others. He’ll always stand up for you, lend you money, borrow money to lend you, eat your unwanted lunch, lie for you and would even lend you his brother, Charlie, to torture – not that anyone wants to. The trouble comes when someone annoys him. He doesn’t seem to understand that other people think differently. No, that’s not it. He doesn’t understand that other people are allowed to think something different. But he is getting better . . . slowly.
The three of us discussed what we thought his punishment would be. He’s had an essay on ‘Using words to resolve issues’ – I did that for him. And loads of lunchtime detentions for: being rough, unsportsmanlike behaviour (he kicked his goalie for letting in a pathetic shot), not sitting still in class (he was jumping on his desk because it wouldn’t shut) and bringing a weapon to school (a catapult isn’t really a weapon, is it? It’s practical exploration of the basic mechanism of the Roman ballista).
COPPER PIE’S FACT FILE
• Bright ginger hair
• Very freckly
• Awful at anything to do with dividing, timesing, spelpng or school
• Good at everything sporty
• Loves football and food
• pkes war and weapons
• Very loyal
FAMILY STUFF
Mum – runs a nursery
Dad – lazy, according to his mum
Brother – Charlie, aged 3, snotty, stinky, sticky, stupid, absolutely not allowed in Copper Pie’s room
Bee said, ‘This time it’ll be exclusion. A Year 6 getting a new kid in a headlock for no reason. Exclusion, for definite.’
‘It was hardly no reason. He accused us of waltzing.’ I sounded ridiculous. Bee started jogging on the spot (none of us know how to waltz) and giggling, and then me and Fifty joined in (the laughing, not the dancing).
I was last in the line-up for lunch, and still chuckling, when Jonno came along with an ice pack pressed against his neck
. I shut up and turned to study the back of Bee’s head, praying he wouldn’t speak to me, or worse, punch me.
He didn’t.
Copper Pie’s punishments were: a talking to from the Head and Miss Walsh, an apology to Jonno, to stay in every lunch break this week and, worst of all, a letter home.
‘It could have been worse,’ said Bee.
‘Could it? Mum’s gonna hit the roof.’ Even Copper Pie’s freckles looked pale. His mum is quite shouty.
‘You could have been suspended.’ Bee shook her head and tutted.
We were eating slowly for a change, so that Copper Pie had less time sitting outside the Head’s office on the naughty chair. I had plain pasta (no sauce), cheese, sweet-corn and a muffin: one of my favourite lunches.
‘At least your mum won’t start wailing, “Where did I go wrong?” like mine does and suggest we schedule in more “quality time”,’ said Fifty.
‘Your mum’s nice – well, apart from all the kissing,’ said Bee. ‘All my mum does is feed me and buy my school shoes. At least your mum’s interested in you.’
‘Too interested,’ said Fifty. ‘Kids aren’t meant to be interesting to their mothers. Kids like junk food and danger, that’s it. Like C.P. here.’
For the first time since ‘the incident’ Copper Pie smiled. ‘Don’t forget telly and football.’
Fifty smacked him on the shoulder, which meant something like, ‘You’re our mate no matter what.’
Eventually we had to go out. Copper Pie went to meditate outside the Head’s office and the three of us headed for the tree. I had a quick peek to make sure HE wasn’t there. No. No sign of him. I didn’t want to see Newboy for a while. I was worried he might have fingerprints on his neck.
Tuesday afternoons are my favourite. I got top marks in the science test so Miss Walsh put my name on the board in the tick column, making me officially a keener. Copper Pie was already up there with the crosses! And I worked hard at my model in D.T. – it’s a Spitfire, made from two boxes and the cardboard tube from the kitchen roll all covered in brown paper with wooden sticks attaching the wheels, clear plastic for the windscreen and a working propeller with a battery under the wing. I can’t wait to paint it. I’ve got a picture to copy so it’ll be an exact replica. Fifty’s making a fire engine. It’s rubbish. He says he’s going to burn it in the metal bin in his room.
The bell went and I still wasn’t packed up so everyone skedaddled without me. When I came out, the playground was nearly empty. Fifty was waiting with my mum, my sister Flo, and (what was HE doing there?) Jonno. Peculiar. Unbelievably, after all that had happened, he was still bothering us. And where was his mum? She was obviously super-late.
As I walked towards them, Fifty stepped towards me doing a mini version of the cut-throat sign. He looked worried. Perhaps his mum was in with the Head who was advising her that her son should stop mixing with a certain ginger-haired ruffian. Perhaps my mum would be called in next?
‘Disaster,’ Fifty said in my ear. There was no time to ask what he meant because Mum was right behind him.
‘There you are. Honestly, anyone would think you didn’t want to come home.’
I smiled, keeping my eyes focused on Mum and not on Fifty who was making an I’m-being-strangled face behind her.
‘It looks as though we’ve got a houseful for tea today. Come on, you lot.’
I started to walk beside Fifty – he was obviously coming for tea. He comes most weeks so it wasn’t really a reason to make I’m-about-to-die faces, but he does like acting.
Mum and Flo followed . . . and so did Jonno.
He was probably hoping to be invited too, I thought. No chance!
I was about to ask Fifty what he thought Jonno the shadow was doing when Mum bent her head forward and whispered, ‘It seemed kind to offer to have him round for tea. You don’t mind, do you?’
What did she mean? Why did we need to be kind to Fifty? Why would I mind my friend coming over?
Uh-oh . . . A nasty thought found its way to the front of the queue.
Surely she couldn’t mean Jonno?
No. Of course she couldn’t. It wasn’t possible that Jonno could be coming for tea because I hadn’t mentioned a new boy to Mum. Maybe Fifty’s mum was ill . . . or worse, in hospital. Yes, that would be it. Be kind to Fifty while we break the news. The fact that we were all walking together was a coincidence, that’s all. Or maybe Jonno was still hoping to worm his way in with us, even though we’d shown him we weren’t interested.
I couldn’t wait to talk to Fifty about how completely crazy Newboy was.
Mum leaned forward again. ‘Only I met Jonno’s mum this morning at the surgery. It’s so hard being the new boy in a class.’
tea with the enemy
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. There was a tight feeling as though someone had bandaged up my lungs a bit too tight with parcel tape.
Loads of questions were flying around my head, out of my ears, back in through my nose, buzzing in front of my eyes.
Will Jonno rat on us?
If he does, what will Mum say?
If he doesn’t, will we all pretend to get on like proper mates?
Will Jonno go along with it?
Will I be able to swallow my tea with Jonno staring at me?
Does Jonno have any telltale signs of being throttled?
The words started to reorganise themselves into nonsense:
I like to swallow throttled rat.
Mum drew level and gave me a worried look. ‘I know you don’t like things that aren’t planned, but Jonno’s mum was so pleased that I asked, and when she suggested today . . .’
I could feel my legs start to tingle. Luckily Mum knows the signs.
‘Take a breath NOW,’ she ordered.
I did.
‘That’s right. And another.’
HOW I BECAME A BREATH-HOLDER
When I was a tiny baby and couldn’t walk or talk or get food in my mouth without smearing it over my face first, my mum had a bright idea: I think I’ll take this little baby (who can’t even sit up) for a swim. So she took me and my sister Amy (who was five) to the pool and (because she’d been told that babies can swim underwater) she let go of me. I floated below the water for a bit while she chatted to Amy and then (when she remembered I was there) she pulled me out of the water.
At that point, I was meant to take a big breath but no one had taught me that, so I didn’t. That was the first time I went blue.
Amy says that after that I did it every time I didn’t get my own way. But that’s a lie.
Everything started to come back into focus. I’ve been a breath-holder since before I could talk, although it doesn’t happen very often now. I don’t mean to do it. It just happens. I forget to breathe, go bluish and then faint. Luckily as soon as I begin to faint my body takes over and I start breathing again. Fifty’s mum says it’s attention-seeking behaviour. My mum says it’s a quiet version of a tantrum and tells everyone to ignore me. That’s what it’s like having a mum-doctor! Even if I’m really ill, all I get given is a spoon of pink medicine and a vest.
The breathing helped. I needed to stay calm.
‘The car’s just along here. Jonno, would you like to sit in the front with me so we can get to know each other?’
‘Thank you,’ said Jonno. I hadn’t noticed his voice before. It was proper, like on the radio.
Flo scrambled on to her seat and I got in the middle, followed by Fifty. Using faces and signs, we panicked silently. Mum did the talking. ‘Your mum’s description was spot on, Jonno. I had no trouble finding you.’ She paused. ‘So how are you settling in?’
‘OK so far,’ he said. Phew!
‘Snack?’ Mum asked as we walked into the house.
‘Yes, please,’ said Fifty and Jonno at the same time.
‘Yes, please, Mummy,’ said Flo. She’s a creep.
The four of us sat at the kitchen table eating cheese biscuits and drinking blackcurrant. Luckily
Flo chats to anyone so she made all the noise. I was completely mute. What could I say to a boy we’d deliberately told on for things he hadn’t done, been rude to and practically beaten up?
‘What are you going to do before tea?’ Mum said.
Fifty could see I still wasn’t functioning so he stepped in. ‘I think we’ll go outside and . . . find something to do there.’
‘Good. What about you, Flo?’
‘Can I do Play-Doh?’
‘Of course,’ Mum said. She cleared away the plates and sent us out.
So we stood on the grass.
My gaze was fixed on the wavy blades, the bright shiny green and the duller greyish green of the underside. I could easily have stopped breathing again. It would have been better than the embarrassment of not knowing what to say. And the worry that we’d still be standing in a silent circle when Mum called us for tea. And if she never called us for tea because a big wave swept her away, then we’d grow old and grey and die there. In between my desperate thoughts, a label kept gliding into view, like a subtitle on a film. It said, SORRY.
‘Sorry,’ said Fifty.
My head snapped up. ‘Yes. Sorry.’
‘Accepted,’ said Jonno. ‘I’ve had worse welcomes.’
Although we’d only said eight words between us, everything changed. Not speaking was so uncomfortable. Speaking was like finally having a pee when you’ve been holding on and holding on. Jonno grinned so I grinned back.
‘Have you been to lots of schools?’ asked Fifty.
‘Enough. This is the fourth school in seven years.’
‘Did you get expelled?’ Fifty said.
‘No, but I wouldn’t have minded if I had. I’ve been to schools where the classroom is scarier than being in a cage with . . .’ He paused.
‘A panther?’ I suggested.
‘I was actually deciding between the devil and the tooth fairy, but a panther would do. Did you know there’s no such species?’
‘There is. It’s black and it’s a cat,’ said Fifty.
‘It’s black and it’s a cat, but it’s actually a leopard or a jaguar with black skin. Opposite of an albino.’
The Day the Ear Fell Off Page 2
