The Fib, The Swap, The Trick and Other Stories

by George Layton

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, same as my brother I suppose. I don’t know.’

  Just then, there were two knocks on the door, followed by three more.

  ‘Hey, Barry, that might be Tony.’

  ‘What do you mean, might be Tony? It must be Tony, he’s the only other one who knows the secret knock, isn’t he?’

  ‘Oh, yeh. Ask him the password, go on!’

  ‘I’m going to, don’t you worry. Give the password!’

  I heard Tony’s voice stuttering, trying to think of the password. Oh, ho, he’d forgotten it. He didn’t know it. I was right glad he didn’t know it.

  ‘Do you know it? Do you know it? You can’t come in if you don’t know it, can he, Barry?’

  ‘Hang on, I’m thinking. I’ll get it, don’t tell me. Err . . . I know! “Ouv the report”.’

  ‘No, “Ouvrez la porte”.’

  ‘Well, near enough, wasn’t it, let us in.’

  ‘All right, come on.’ Barry opened the door and let Tony in.

  ‘Now we all know the password, don’t we?’

  I knew Barry would say something.

  ‘You should have known it before. I shouldn’t really have let you in.’

  ‘Well, I nearly knew it, didn’t I, Barry?’

  Tony looked at Barry for some kind of praise. Although Tony and me didn’t really like Barry being the leader of ‘The Silent Three’, we accepted him as such, and also accepted his decisions on certain gang matters. It was Barry, for instance, who had decided on the gang’s policy, which was ‘to rob the rich to help the poor’, because that was what Robin Hood did, although it was Tony who had thought of the name ‘The Silent Three’.

  We had lots of things in the gang hut. There was a window, with a frame which opened and closed on proper hinges. You had to admire Barry because he’d made that and it was very clever. Of course, there was no real glass in it, but there was some sacking which kept nosey parkers out. There was also a picture on one of the stone walls of a lady, dressed in a long white robe, holding a little baby on her knee, and the baby had long curly hair and it didn’t have any clothes on, but you couldn’t tell if it was a boy or a girl. Barry didn’t like it because he thought it looked soppy. Tony said his grandma had given it to him, and that they ought to be glad they had it because he bet there weren’t many gangs that had a picture. I thought it looked nice.

  There was also a table, which had two drawers, one for Barry, and one for me and Tony to share. We kept all sorts of things in it, from a rubber stamp which said ‘Albert Holdsworth (Worsteds) Limited’ to half a potato which, when you dipped it into some paint, and stamped it, said ‘The Silent Three’. We had one chair, and we took it in turns to sit in it, and two orange boxes. Also, there was a small carpet which my mum was going to throw away. She’d said to me, ‘Oh, you don’t want that dirty old thing.’ And I’d said yes, I did, and I’d muttered something about the fight against evil and ‘The Curse of the Silent Three’, but by then my mum wasn’t listening. Anyway, the most important thing was that I’d got the carpet and proudly presented it to Barry and Tony at the next gang meeting, and what had really pleased me was that the other two were impressed as I’d hoped they’d be. Well, that was really all we had in the gang hut. Oh, except two candles which were kept for emergency.

  ‘What shall we do then?’

  Tony looked at Barry for an answer. This was usually the way gang meetings started, and most times the question was directed towards Barry, because his were usually the best ideas, and anyway, we always did what he suggested.

  ‘Well, first I’ve got to give you the secret seal, the curse of “The Silent Three”.’

  I knew this was what Barry would say, and it was just what I didn’t want.

  ‘Oh, not again, Barry. I got into trouble with my mum last time. It took ages to get it off. My mum says I haven’t to let you do it again.’

  This didn’t bother Barry.

  ‘You’ve got to have the secret seal or else you’re not a member of “The Silent Three”. Isn’t that right, Tony?’

  Tony had to agree, although I knew by his face that he wasn’t that keen to have the stamp either.

  ‘Anyway, it won’t go on so strong this time, because I won’t put any more paint on.’

  Barry took out the half potato from his drawer. It had dried blue paint on it from the last time we’d used it, and he spat on it to make it wet.

  ‘Ooh, we’ll all get diseases!’

  ‘No, you won’t. Hold out your hand.’

  ‘No, I’m not having your spit all over me.’

  ‘C’mon, you’ve got to have it or you’ll be banned from “The Silent Three”. You’ve got to have it, hasn’t he, Tony?’

  Tony nodded in agreement, but he was even more reluctant now than he was earlier on. Barry looked right at me.

  ‘C’mon – are you going to have it or not?’

  I just sat there.

  ‘Well, you should have let us do our own spitting.’

  ‘Well, it’s too late now. Are you going to have it or not?’

  ‘No, I’m not!’

  Barry just lost his temper then and threw the potato on the floor.

  ‘Well, I’m not bothered about the secret seal anyway, or the gang hut for that matter. I was only joining in to please you kids!’

  Tony and me, he meant. I was really shocked, because I mean after all he was the leader of ‘The Silent Three’. I didn’t know what to say. I just sat there.

  Tony picked up the potato, I held my hand out and he stamped it. Then he stamped his own. He tried to stamp Barry’s hand, but Barry wouldn’t let him. ‘The Silent Three’ sat in silence, me and Tony waiting for the secret seal to dry and Barry, well, just not interested.

  When the secret seal had dried, I started to talk to Barry.

  ‘Eh, Barry, you know that kid in your class with that big red patch on his face . . .’

  ‘That’s a birthmark!’

  ‘Yes, that big red birthmark. He was crying his head off in the lavatory this morning.’

  ‘Yeh, I know, his grandad died last night. He went home at dinner time.’

  ‘I remember my grandad. We used to go for walks when I was little. He’s dead now. I don’t remember my grandma though. She died when I was two.’

  ‘What about your other grandad and grandma?’

  I didn’t know what Barry was talking about. I looked at him.

  ‘What other grandad and grandma?’

  ‘Your other grandad and grandma. You know, your other grandad and grandma. You have two grandads and grandmas, you know. Or don’t you even know that?’

  Tony said that he had two as well.

  ‘Yes, I’ve got two grandads and grandmas. I’ve got my grandad and my grandma Atkinson, and my grandad and my grandma Spencer.’

  Barry seemed to be really enjoying this.

  ‘Oh, don’t you know you have two grandads and grandmas?’

  ‘All I know is, I’ve never seen my grandma, because she died when I was two, and my grandad’s dead as well.’

  And as far as I was concerned, that was that, although really it surprised me to hear that Barry and Tony both had two sets of grandads and grandmas. Why hadn’t I? I’d have to ask my mum.

  Tony and Barry started talking about swimming.

  ‘We start swimming lessons next year.’

  Tony meant me and him. You didn’t have swimming lessons until you got into Class Four. Barry had been having lessons for a while. He was quite good.

  ‘I can do two lengths, and half a length on my back.’

  Tony could float a bit.

  ‘I’m right looking forward to having swimming lessons, aren’t you?’

  I wasn’t really looking forward to having swimming lessons. To be quite honest, I was scared stiff.

  ‘Yes, I suppose so. I might be a bit scared though.’

  ‘What for?’ Oh, it was all right for Barry to talk.

  ‘What is there to be scared a
bout? You scared you might drown?’

  Yes, I was.

  ‘Course I’m not.’

  I’d only been to the swimming baths once in my life, and somebody had pushed me in then. It was very scaring. I thought I was going to drown that time. The pool attendant had pulled me out and thumped the lad who’d pushed me in. I’d never been to the baths again since then. Barry was still going on about being scared.

  ‘There’s nowt to be scared of, y’know. It’s dead easy, swimming is. Isn’t it, Tony?’

  ‘Don’t know, I can’t swim. I can float a bit.’

  ‘Ah, floating’s easy, anyone can float.’

  Huh, I couldn’t! I was fed up with this talk about swimming. It reminded me too much of what was to come. So I started to talk about something else.

  ‘Eh, it’ll be bonfire night soon.’

  This got us all quite excited and Barry said we’d have the biggest bonfire in the neighbourhood. Tony said we should start collecting wood because it was the end of August already.

  ‘We’ll have to go down the woods. We could go down on Sunday afternoon.’

  Barry agreed, but I said I’d have to ask my mum.

  ‘You’re always having to ask her. Can’t you do anything without asking her?’

  ‘Course I can, but she doesn’t like me going down those woods.’

  I had to go then because my mum told me I had to be in by a quarter to six. Tony had to go too, because he was sleeping at our house that weekend, because his mum was going away to stay with his big sister for a few days, who was married and lived in Manchester.

  ‘My mum says by the time she gets back from Manchester, I’ll be an uncle.’

  So the gang meeting ended. Tony and me had to go to town next day with my mum, but we said we’d see Barry at the gang hut at about four o’clock. Barry said all right, and that he was going home to see if he could find any empty bottles to take back to the shop so he’d have some money to buy toffees for the Saturday morning matinee.

  Barry started locking up the hut.

  ‘Eh, are you two going to the pictures tomorrow morning?’

  ‘I don’t know. We might do. See you tomorrow afternoon anyway. Tarah.’

  I asked my mum that night why I didn’t have two grandads and grandmas like Tony and Barry, but she just told me not to ask silly questions and to get on with my supper.

  We didn’t go to the matinee next day because my mum said that we both had to have our hair cut before going into town that afternoon. I tried to get out of it, but I couldn’t, and Tony didn’t help either because he agreed with my mum and said we did really need our hair cut.

  Anyway, that was what happened, and at about quarter to four, we came back from town with lots of shopping. Tony and me changed out of our best clothes. Mine were brand new. I’d only got them just before the Bank Holiday. Then we went straight over to the gang hut. Well, we’d just got over the broken wall into Tony’s back yard, and I knew something was wrong. When I realized what it was I just couldn’t believe it; the whole gang hut was wrecked. Honest, I’ll never forget it. The door was wide open and inside the place was in a real mess. The two orange boxes were broken, the table was knocked over and the picture (of the lady) was lying on the floor. The window frame was pulled away from the hinges.

  It was awful. All I could feel was this great thumping in my head.

  ‘Hey, Tony, I wonder who did it?’

  ‘Barry did. Look!’

  He pointed to the door, and instead of ‘The Silent Three’, it said ‘The Silent Two’.

  ‘Why did he do it?’

  Tony shrugged his shoulders and said he’d probably felt like it.

  Neither of us knew then why Barry had done it, but Tony somehow didn’t seem too bothered either. I suppose he knew that he’d be the leader of the gang now. I just couldn’t understand it at all. Why would Barry wreck the whole gang hut like this? Especially since he had built most of it himself, specially the window frame.

  When Tony left the gang, I became leader, for a while. Tony didn’t do anything like wrecking the hut, nor did I when I left. We just got tired of it and, well, lost interest.

  Some other younger lads used the hut for their meetings after us, but Barry, Tony and me weren’t bothered. We didn’t care who had the gang hut now.

  THE FIB

  Ooh, I wasn’t half snug and warm in bed. I could hear my mum calling me to get up, but it was ever so cold. Every time I breathed, I could see a puff of air. The window was covered with frost. I just couldn’t get myself out of bed.

  ‘Are you up? I’ve called you three times already.’

  ‘Yes, Mum, of course I am.’

  I knew it was a lie, but I just wanted to have a few more minutes in bed. It was so cosy.

  ‘You’d better be, because I’m not telling you again.’

  That was another lie. She was always telling me again.

  ‘Just you be quick, young man, and frame yourself, or you’ll be late for school.’

  Ooh, school! If only I didn’t have to go. Thank goodness we were breaking up soon for Christmas. I don’t mind school, I quite like it sometimes. But today was Monday, and Mondays was football, and I hate blooming football. It wouldn’t be so bad if I had proper kit, but I had to play in these old-fashioned shorts and boots that my mum had got from my Uncle Kevin. They were huge. Miles too big for me. Gordon Barraclough’s mum and dad had bought him a Bobby Charlton strip and Bobby Charlton boots. No wonder he’s a better player than me. My mum said she couldn’t see what was wrong with my kit. She couldn’t understand that I felt silly, and all the other lads laughed at me, even Tony, and he’s my best friend. She just said she wasn’t going to waste good money on new boots and shorts, when I had a perfectly good set already.

  ‘But Mum, they all laugh at me, especially Gordon Barraclough.’

  ‘Well, laugh back at them. You’re big enough aren’t you? Don’t be such a jessie.’

  She just couldn’t understand.

  ‘You tell them your Uncle Kevin played in those boots when he was a lad, and he scored thousands of goals.’

  Blimey, that shows you how old my kit is! My Uncle Kevin’s twenty-nine! I snuggled down the bed a bit more, and pulled the pillow under the blankets with me.

  ‘I’m coming upstairs and if I find you not up, there’ll be trouble. I’m not telling you again.’

  Oh heck! I forced myself out of bed on to the freezing lino and got into my underpants. Ooh, they were cold! Blooming daft this. Getting dressed, going to school, and getting undressed again to play rotten football. I looked out of the window and it didn’t half look miserable. I felt miserable. I was miserable. Another ninety minutes standing between the posts, letting in goal after goal, with Gordon Barraclough shouting at me:

  ‘Why didn’t you dive for it, you lazy beggar?’

  Why didn’t he dive for it? Why didn’t he go in goal? Why didn’t he shut his rotten mouth? Oh no, he was always centre forward wasn’t he, because he was Bobby Charlton.

  As I stood looking out of the window, I started wondering how I could get out of going to football . . . I know, I’d tell my mum I wasn’t feeling well. I’d tell her I’d got a cold. No, a sore throat. No, she’d look. Swollen glands. Yes, that’s what I’d tell her, swollen glands. No, she’d feel. What could I say was wrong with me? Earache, yes, earache, and I’d ask her to write me a note. I’d ask her after breakfast. Well, it was only a fib, wasn’t it?

  ‘You’re very quiet. Didn’t you enjoy your breakfast?’

  ‘Err . . . well . . . I don’t feel very well, Mum. I think I’ve got earache.’

  ‘You think you’ve got earache?’

  ‘I mean I have got earache, definitely, in my ear.’

  ‘Which ear?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You going deaf as well? I said, which ear?’

  ‘Err . . . my right ear. Perhaps you’d better write me a note to get me off football . . .’

  ‘No, love, it�
��ll be good for you to go to football, get some fresh air. I’ll write to Mr Melrose and ask him to let you go in goal, so you don’t have to run around too much.’

  She’d write a note to ask if I could go in . . .! Melrose didn’t need a note for me to go in goal. I was always shoved in goal. Me and Norbert Lightowler were always in goal, because we were the worst players.

  Norbert didn’t care. He was never bothered when people shouted at him. He just told them to get lost. He never even changed for football. He just stuffed his trousers into his socks and said it was a tracksuit. He nearly looked as daft as me in my Uncle Kevin’s old kit.

  ‘Mum, don’t bother writing me a note. I’ll be all right.’

  ‘I’m only thinking of you. If you’ve got earache I don’t want you to run around too much. I don’t want you in bed for Christmas.’

  ‘I’ll be OK.’

  Do you know, I don’t think my mum believed I’d got earache. I know I was fibbing, but even if I had got earache, I don’t think she’d have believed me. Mums are like that.

  ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be OK.’

  How could my mum know that when I was in goal I ran around twice as much, anyway? Every time the other team scored, I had to belt halfway across the playing field to fetch the ball back.

  ‘Well, finish your Rice Krispies. Tony’ll be here in a minute.’

  Tony called for me every morning. I was never ready. I was just finishing my toast when I heard my mum let him in. He came through to the kitchen.

  ‘Aw, come on. You’re never ready.’

  ‘I won’t be a minute.’

  ‘We’ll be late, we’ll miss the football bus.’

  We didn’t have any playing fields at our school, so we had a special bus to Bankfield Top, about two miles away.

  ‘If we miss the bus, I’ll do you.’

  ‘We won’t miss the bus. Stop panicking . . .’

  I wouldn’t have minded missing it.

  ‘ . . . anyway we might not have football today. It’s very frosty.’

  ‘Course we will. You aren’t half soft, you.’

  It was all right for Tony, he wasn’t bad at football. Nobody shouted at him.