The Fib, The Swap, The Trick and Other Stories

by George Layton

  I picked up a brick, and threatened him with it.

  ‘I’m telling you, Norbert . . .’

  Just then I heard a voice from behind me.

  ‘Hey!’

  It was the Park Ranger.

  ‘You lads, stop acting the goat. You!’

  He meant me.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing with that?’

  ‘Nowt . . .’

  I dropped the brick on the ground.

  ‘ . . . Just playing.’

  ‘That’s how accidents are caused. Now come on, lads, you’ve got your bonfire wood. On your way now.’

  I gave Norbert another look, just to let him know that I’d meant it. He sniffed his hands.

  ‘They don’t smell, anyway.’

  Barry and me got hold of the bottom branches and started dragging the pile, and Barry told Norbert to follow on behind.

  ‘Norbert, you pick up anything that falls off, and chuck it back on. Come on, Tony and Trevor’ll be wondering where we are.’

  Trevor Hutchinson and Tony were back at Belgrave Street guarding the fire. You had to do that to stop other lads from nicking all the wood you’d collected, or from setting fire to it. Not that it mattered, because if they did we’d just nick somebody else’s.

  Mind you, I wouldn’t have been bothered if our fire had gone up in smoke, because it didn’t look like my mum was going to let me go on Monday anyway. And even if she did, she certainly wouldn’t let me have my own fireworks. I’d been on at her all morning about it while she’d been ironing.

  ‘But why, Mum? All the other lads at school are having their own fireworks, all of ’em. Why can’t I?’

  Why was my mum so difficult? Why did she have to be so old fashioned?

  ‘Go on, Mum . . .’

  She just carried on with her ironing.

  ‘It washes well, this shirt.’

  It was that navy blue one my Auntie Doreen had given me for my birthday.

  ‘I’d like to get you another one. I must ask your Auntie Doreen where she bought it.’

  ‘Why can’t I have my own fireworks, Mum? Why?’

  She just wouldn’t listen.

  ‘I’m old enough, aren’t I?’

  ‘Will you remind me there’s a button missing off this shirt?’

  ‘Aren’t I?’

  ‘I don’t know what you do with the buttons off your shirts. You must eat them.’

  She was driving me mad.

  ‘Mum, are you going to let me have my own fireworks this year or not?’

  She slammed the iron down.

  ‘Oh, stop mithering will you? You’re driving me mad.’

  ‘Well are you or aren’t you?’

  She put the shirt on a pile, and pulled a sheet out of the washing basket.

  ‘No! You’ll come with me and your Auntie Doreen to the firework display at the Children’s Hospital like you do every year, and if you don’t stop mithering you won’t even be doing that. Now give me a hand with this.’

  She gave me one end of the sheet and we shook it.

  ‘It’s not fair. Tony’s having his own fireworks this year, and he’s three weeks younger than me, and Trevor Hutchinson’s mum and dad have got him a five-pound box.’

  We folded the sheet twice to make it easier to iron.

  ‘Then they’ve got more money than sense, that’s all I can say.’

  ‘I’ll pay you back out of my spending money, honest.’

  My mum gave me one of her looks.

  ‘Oh yes? Like you did with your bike? One week you kept that up. I’m still waiting for the rest.’

  That wasn’t fair, it was ages ago.

  ‘That’s not fair, that was ages ago.’

  I’d promised my mum that if she bought me a new bike, a drop handle-bar, I’d pay her some back every week out of my spending money. But she didn’t give me enough. How could I pay her back?

  ‘You don’t give me enough spending money. I don’t have enough to pay you back.’

  ‘Why don’t you save some? You don’t have to spend it all, do you?’

  Bloomin’ hummer! What’s the point of calling it spending money, if you don’t spend it?

  ‘Mum, it’s called spending money, isn’t it? That means it’s for spending. If it was meant for saving, people would call it saving money. You’re only trying to get out of it.’

  I was fed up. My mum was only trying to get out of getting me fireworks. She came over.

  ‘Don’t you be so cheeky, young man. Who do you think you’re talking to?’

  I thought for a minute she was going to clout me one.

  ‘Well, even if I had some money saved, you wouldn’t let me buy fireworks, would you?’

  She didn’t say anything.

  ‘Well would you . . . Eh?’

  She told me not to say ‘Eh’ because it’s rude. I don’t think it’s rude. It’s just a word.

  ‘Well, would you, Mum? If I had my own money, I bet you wouldn’t let me buy fireworks with it.’

  ‘Stop going on about it, for goodness’ sake. You’re not having any fireworks and that’s final.’

  It blooming well wasn’t final. I wanted my own fireworks this year and that was final. Blimey, kids much younger than me have their own fireworks. Why shouldn’t I?

  ‘Apart from being a waste of money, they’re dangerous.’

  Dangerous. Honest, she’s so old fashioned, my mum.

  ‘Mum, there are instructions on every firework. As long as you light the blue touchpaper and retire, they’re not dangerous.’

  She started going on about how many people were taken to hospital every Bonfire Night, and how many children were injured, and how many limbs were lost, and if all fireworks were under supervised care like they are at the Children’s Hospital, then there’d be far less accidents. She went on and on. I’d heard it all before.

  ‘But I’ll be careful, Mum, I promise. Please let me have my own fireworks.’

  That’s when she clouted me.

  ‘Are you going deaf or summat?’

  ‘What?’

  It was Norbert shouting from behind.

  ‘Y’what, Norbert?’

  He picked up a branch that had fallen off, and threw it back on the pile.

  ‘I’ve asked you twice. How many fireworks have you got? I’ve got over two pounds’ worth, so far.’

  Trust Norbert to start on about fireworks again. He knew I hadn’t got any, because we’d talked about it the day before. Barry didn’t help either.

  ‘I’ve got about two pounds’ worth an’ all, and my dad says he might get me some more.’

  It wasn’t fair. I bet if I had a dad, I’d have plenty of fireworks. It wasn’t fair.

  ‘My mum hasn’t got mine yet.’

  Norbert snorted. He’s always doing that.

  ‘Huh, I bet she won’t get you none either. She didn’t last year. She wouldn’t even let you come.’

  ‘That was last year, wasn’t it? She’s getting me some this year.’

  If only she was.

  ‘Well, she’d better be quick, they’re selling out. They’ve hardly got any left at Robinson’s.’

  Robinson’s is the toy shop we all go to. Paul Robinson used to be in our class, but about two years back he was badly injured by a car. He doesn’t go to our school any more. We see him sometimes in the holidays, but he doesn’t seem to remember us.

  ‘All right, all right, don’t panic, she’s getting them this morning, isn’t she? She ordered them ages ago.’

  I don’t think Norbert believed me.

  ‘Oh . . . How many is she getting you?’

  He isn’t half a pest, Norbert. He goes on and on.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ll see when I get home at dinner time.’

  When we got back to Belgrave Street, Tony was throwing stones up in the air, seeing how high he could get them, and Trevor was riding round on my bike. There were stones and bits of glass all over the place.

  ‘Hey, Trevor
, gerroff! You’ll puncture it.’

  I took my bike off him, and leaned it against a rusty oil drum. Tony started to load the wood on to the fire.

  ‘You’ve been ages. What took you so long? It’s nearly dinner time.’

  Barry pointed at Norbert, who was throwing a branch on to the bonfire.

  ‘Ask him, monkey-features. We spent twenty minutes trying to drag him off a tree!’

  The branch rolled back and nearly hit Norbert in the face. He had another go, but it fell down again. While he was doing this, Trevor crept up behind him. He grinned at Tony, Barry and me and took a jumping jack out of his pocket. He lit it, threw it down by Norbert’s feet and ran over to us. Norbert threw the branch up again and this time it stayed on top, and just as he was turning round with a cheer, the jumping jack went off and scared the living daylights out of him. We all laughed like anything, but Norbert didn’t think it was funny.

  ‘Who did that? I bet it was you.’

  He ran towards me.

  Trevor pulled another jumping jack out of his pocket and waved it at Norbert. Norbert went for him, but Trevor was too quick. Norbert chased after him and got him in a stranglehold. Somehow, Trevor got out of it.

  ‘Blooming heck, Norbert, your hands don’t half pong. What’ve you been up to?’

  Barry and me laughed our heads off. So did Tony when we told him. Trevor didn’t. He ran off home to have a wash. It was dinner time by now, so we all decided to go home. Except Norbert. He never goes home on a Saturday. His mum just gives him some money for his dinner, and he stays out all day. I wouldn’t like it if my mum did that. I went over to get my bike.

  ‘See you, Norbert.’

  Norbert had gone back to throwing branches on to the fire.

  ‘Yeah, maybe see you later.’

  ‘Yeah, maybe.’

  I started walking with Tony and Barry, pushing my bike, but then I decided to cycle on ahead.

  ‘I’d better get going. My mum’ll be getting fish and chips.’

  We always have fish and chips on a Saturday. I pedalled off just as Barry called after me.

  ‘We’ll come round after, have a look at your fireworks.’

  Oh blimey! I braked.

  ‘Oh, I’ve just remembered, I’ve got to go to my Auntie Doreen’s with my mum. My Auntie Doreen is doing her hair. I’ve just remembered.’

  That wasn’t a complete lie. My mum was going to my Auntie Doreen’s to have her hair done, but I didn’t have to go with her. Ooh, why had I opened my big mouth earlier on? They’re bound to find out my mum hadn’t bought me any fireworks, especially when I don’t turn up for the bonfire on Monday. Why was I the only one not to have my own fireworks?

  I took a short cut through the park. You’re not supposed to cycle in the park but it was a lot quicker. Anyway, there was hardly anybody about and the Park Ranger was most likely having his dinner. As I was going past the swings and slides, I saw this ginger-headed lad sitting on the kiddies’ roundabout. It was going round very slowly, and he had a brown paper bag on his lap. Nobody else was about.

  ‘Hey, you’re not supposed to ride bikes in the park.’

  He had a blooming cheek, because children over twelve aren’t allowed on the swings and roundabouts, and this lad looked about fourteen.

  ‘Well, you’re not supposed to ride on the roundabouts if you’re over twelve.’

  He pushed himself round a bit faster with his foot.

  ‘I know.’

  He was a funny-looking kid. I didn’t know him, but I’d seen him around a few times. He was always on his own. I think he went to St Matthew’s. He held up the paper bag.

  ‘Do you want to see summat?’

  I wondered what he’d got in it.

  ‘No, I’m late for my dinner.’

  He stopped the roundabout with his foot.

  ‘I’ve got some fireworks in this bag.’

  I got off my bike, and wheeled it over. He did have fireworks in his bag. Tons of them. Bangers, volcanoes, silver cascades, dive-bombers, jumping jacks, flowerpots – everything. Every firework you’d ever seen.

  ‘Where did you get them?’

  He looked at me.

  ‘From a shop. Do you want to buy ’em?’

  ‘I haven’t got any money.’

  That’s when I thought of it. I must’ve been mad. I was mad.

  ‘I’ll swap my bike for them.’

  He got off the roundabout.

  ‘All right.’

  He held out the paper bag and I took it, and he took my bike and cycled off.

  I must’ve been off my head. I ran home clutching my paper bag. I went in the back way, and hid my fireworks in the outhouse, behind the dustbin. I didn’t enjoy my fish and chips at all. I kept thinking about my stupid swap. How could I have been so daft? I still had to go to the firework display at the Children’s Hospital with my mum.

  After dinner, my mum asked me if I wanted to go with her to my Auntie Doreen’s.

  ‘No, Mum, I said I might meet Tony and Barry.’

  What I thought I’d do was go back to the park and try to find that lad and ask him to swap back. I mean, it wasn’t a fair swap, was it?

  ‘All right then, love, but if you go anywhere on your bikes, be careful.’

  I felt sick.

  After my mum had gone, I went outside and got the bag of fireworks. I was looking at them in the front room when the doorbell rang. It couldn’t have been my mum because she’s got a key, but I put the fireworks in a cupboard just in case and went to answer it. Norbert, Barry and Tony were standing there. Barry looked at the others, then looked at me with a kind of smile.

  ‘We saw your mum going up Deardon Street. She said you were at home.’

  I didn’t say anything. I just looked at them. Norbert sniffed.

  ‘Yeah. So we thought we’d come and look at your fireworks.’

  Norbert grinned his stupid grin. I could’ve hit him, but I didn’t have to.

  ‘You don’t believe I’ve got any fireworks, do you?’

  Tony and Barry didn’t say anything. Norbert did.

  ‘No!’

  ‘I’ll show you.’

  I took them into the front room, and got the bag of fireworks out of the cupboard. I put them on the carpet, and we all kneeled round to have a look. They were really impressed, especially Norbert.

  ‘Blooming hummer, did your mum buy you all these?’

  ‘Course. I told you.’

  Norbert kept picking one up after the other.

  ‘But there’s everything. Look at these dive-bombers. And look at the size of these rockets!’

  Tony picked up an electric storm.

  ‘These are great. They go on for ages.’

  The three of them kept going through all the fireworks. They just couldn’t believe it. I felt really chuffed.

  ‘I’d better put them away now.’

  Norbert had taken out a sparkler.

  ‘I’ve never seen sparklers as big as these. Let’s light one.’

  ‘No, I’m putting them away now.’

  I wanted to get rid of Barry, Tony and Norbert, and see if I could find that lad in the park. I’d proved I’d got my own fireworks now. I’d make up some excuse for not coming to the bonfire on Monday, but none of them could say I hadn’t been given my own fireworks. None of them could say that, now.

  ‘Go on, light a sparkler, just one. They’re quite safe.’

  Well, what harm could it do? Just one sparkler. I got the matches from the mantelpiece, and Norbert held it while I lit it. When it got going, I took hold of it, and we all sat round in a circle and watched it sparkle away. Suddenly, Tony screamed.

  I looked down and saw lots of bright colours. For a split second I couldn’t move. I was paralysed.

  Suddenly, fireworks were flying everywhere. Bangers went off, rockets were flying. Sparks were shooting up to the ceiling. It was terrifying. Norbert hid behind the sofa, and Tony stood by the door, while Barry and me tried to put out
the fireworks by stamping on them. I could hear Tony shouting, asking if he should fetch my mum.

  ‘Yeah, get her, get her, she’s at my Auntie Doreen’s, get her!’

  I don’t know how long it took us, it could have been half an hour, it could have been five minutes, but somehow Barry and me managed to put all the fireworks out. The room was full of smoke, and we were coughing and choking like anything, and I couldn’t stop myself from shaking, and even though I was sweating, I felt really cold.

  As the smoke cleared, I saw my mum standing by the door, her hair wringing wet, and all I remember thinking was that I wouldn’t need an excuse for not going to the bonfire on Monday.

  THE MILE

  What a rotten report. It was the worst report I’d ever had. I’d dreaded bringing it home for my mum to read. We were sitting at the kitchen table having our tea, but neither of us had touched anything. It was gammon and chips as well, with a pineapple ring. My favourite. We have gammon every Friday, because my Auntie Doreen works on the bacon counter at the Co-op, and she drops it in on her way home. I don’t think she pays for it.

  My mum was reading the report for the third time. She put it down on the table and stared at me. I didn’t say anything. I just stared at my gammon and chips and pineapple ring. What could I say? My mum looked so disappointed. I really felt sorry for her. She was determined for me to do well at school, and get my O Levels, then get my A Levels, then go to university, then get my degree, and then get a good job with good prospects . . .

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum . . .’

  She picked up the report again, and started reading it for the fourth time.

  ‘It’s no good reading it again, Mum. It’s not going to get any better.’

  She slammed the report back on to the table.

  ‘Don’t you make cheeky remarks to me. I’m not in the mood for it!’

  I hadn’t meant it to be cheeky, but I suppose it came out like that.

  ‘I wouldn’t say anything if I was you, after reading this report!’

  I shrugged my shoulders.

  ‘There’s nothing much I can say, is there?’

  ‘You can tell me what went wrong. You told me you worked hard this term!’

  I had told her I’d worked hard, but I hadn’t.

  ‘I did work hard, Mum.’

  ‘Not according to this.’