by James Erith
‘The wheels are turning and they cannot be reversed.’
TWENTY-THREE
THE GAME
Shortly before the whistle blew for half time, Isabella dashed down the touchline and found Sue.
‘Sue, thank God I’ve found you,’ she said. ‘What’s up with you? We’re on drinks duty in the catering cart, or had you forgotten?’
‘Ah,’ she said. ‘You’re right. My watch …’
They rushed over to the old Volkswagen Combi ice cream van, known by the children as the “catering cart”, which acted as the half time refreshment centre and mobile sweet shop.
Isabella and Sue and a couple of others pulled out a few tables and lined out paper cups for jugs of orange squash. As they did so, a steady stream began queuing to buy drinks or chocolate bars or crisps.
Sue took the money while Isabella handed out cups, but Sue could barely keep up.
Isabella was working at an astonishing speed, darting here and there, handing out confectionery and drinks and talking to everyone about the score or Daisy’s brilliant goals or the curious weather or who was next. It was an orderly, efficient operation.
‘How did you manage to serve all that in ten minutes?’ Sue said, as she squeezed a few more cups into the overflowing bin bag. ‘We must have made a killing.’
She wiped her brow and breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a welcome distraction and with no rain thus far perhaps Solomon was right. Maybe the cloud would break later on that afternoon. And anyway, with everyone chatting and milling around and surging towards the orange juice and chocolate bars, she hadn’t had a moment to think about her predicament, and it was some time after the whistle had sounded for the start of the second half that she focused her attention back to the pitch.
From inside the van she looked out over the scene. The crowd was still three or four deep the entire way around the pitch and she could just make out the steep rise of the bank on the far side that led up to the village.
The floodlights shone down onto the pitch, giving the players a strange quadruple shadow. If it hadn’t been nearly midday, there would be no reason to suspect that they weren’t playing a night match.
‘Isabella,’ she called out. ‘Get a place left of the halfway line. I’ll join you in a minute. I’m going to cash up.’
THE VERY FIRST attack after the break, Chitbury scored. Isabella stamped her feet in frustration. ‘Exactly what we didn’t need,’ she said. ‘Come on, Upsall!’
Sue looked up at the vast black cloud that seemed to be growing thicker and sinking lower as if someone was filling it up with an enormous hose. The feeling of dread she’d experienced before was building inside her; she knew she should get out, run to higher ground, but in her heart, she was swallowed up by the football and the drama, and swept away by the team led by Daisy de Lowe, who blocked and tackled and encouraged her players to keep going with her relentless drive and skill and energy.
A heavy challenge sent Daisy flying. The crowd swayed and spilled onto the pitch.
The noise increased.
‘That was late. Too damn late,’ Isabella shouted, peeling off her scarf.
‘Listen, Bells. Watch it,’ Sue said firmly. ‘You mustn’t go nuts. You’ll get expelled. I promised Solom—’
‘It was deliberate and dirty—’
‘NO, Isabella!’ Sue snapped. ‘Bite your tongue.’ She grabbed her arm.
‘But they’re targeting Daisy exactly as Kemp said they would. They’re going to kick her out of the game!’
Sue closed her eyes. Great, just what she needed; Isabella going out of control, again. She looked at her watch. Ten minutes to go. Isabella was already sizzling like a firework.
‘What’s that noise?’ Isabella said.
‘The gargantuan cloud should give you a clue.’
‘Th ... thunder?’ Isabella said, momentarily removing her eyes from the action.
Sue nodded.
Some of the crowd started to leave; others were gesturing towards the sky and gathering themselves to go. This is it, she thought. This is where it starts – exactly as I saw in my nightmare. It feels the same too. I’ve got to tell Isabella. I’ve got to tell her NOW.
A ghastly feeling of panic prickled her. They should stop the game.
Her thoughts were interrupted as Daisy stole the ball and sprinted down the field. She skipped inside one tackle and then slowed, looking for support. The crowd roared their approval but, from nowhere, a couple of Chitbury boys smashed into her from opposite angles. All three lay on the ground as the ball was kicked away by another Chitbury player.
Play continued, but it was a poor decision.
‘That’s another foul. Yellow card,’ yelled a senior boy. ‘C’mon ref!’
The atmosphere turned. Late tackles and players being kicked indiscriminately out of sight of the referee.
Then one of the Chitbury strikers stole into the penalty area as a massive crash of thunder reverberated around them. At that exact moment, little Jimmy Nugent, chasing back, tapped the forward’s foot and the player fell head-first into the turf.
The whistle shrilled.
‘Penalty!’ Isabella spat. ‘I don’t bloody believe it!’
The ball was placed on the spot.
‘This is it,’ Sue said quietly, ‘the end of Daisy’s dream ... Bells, what on earth are you doing?’
Isabella was scribbling furiously in her notebook. ‘Just watch for me a minute – you know, commentate like they do on telly.’
She didn’t need to. The groan told her everything.
‘What happened?’
‘The ball trickled past Archie – he should have saved it. All he had to do was put his foot out. Two-all. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred he’d have had that.’
Isabella stood up and thrust the paper into Sue’s overcoat pocket. ‘Ye of little faith, Sue Lowden,’ she said. ‘You’ll see. Daisy will score again. I’ll bet you a real barometer she does!’
Another roll of thunder boomed and cracked. More spectators headed off.
Sue’s stomach lurched. It was now or never. She grabbed her friend and faced her. ‘Bells, we must get out of here. I mean it. But listen to me first. If it starts raining, this pitch will be a river in less than ten minutes. It’s important—’
‘Please, Sue. Just shut up!’ Isabella snapped as she turned back to the game. ‘Get the ball to de Lowe,’ she screamed. ‘Give it to Daisy!’
She turned to Sue. ‘Listen, hun, tell me whatever is so damn important at the end, OK. There’s less than five minutes to go and it’s two-all in the most important match of my brother and sister’s life. Just give it a break for five minutes. Five minutes.’
And with that, Isabella sidled out onto the pitch, ran down the touchline and dived in among some spectators further down.
ARCHIE STOMPED around the penalty area, his face burning with shame.
For some reason, just before the Chitbury player stepped up to hit the penalty, it came to him; the person he’d seen way up on the steps heading into the alley was Kemp. It could only have been Kemp. For a start, his orange hair was a complete giveaway and secondly he was wearing a long coat – Cain’s coat – that dragged along the floor.
Instantly, he knew Kemp must have been checking out whether there was any truth to what he’d told him earlier about meeting Cain.
Intense confusion filled him and all he wanted was to run up there and find out what Kemp was up to.
In the very next instant, the ball trickled past him into the goal, even though the Chitbury striker had totally miss-hit the ball. The whistle shrilled as a collective groan eased around the ground. Daisy would be furious with him. Isabella’s reaction didn’t bear thinking about.
If Cain was there and Kemp had gone to find him, would Cain know? Would he care? But surely he was the one who was going to receive the power of a horse and strength of a lion, not Kemp.
He grabbed the upright and kicked the base of the post again. He felt h
e’d accomplished nothing – only given things away, like a vital goal and the opportunity for something extraordinary.
The more he thought it through, the more certain he was that Kemp was still there. And the angrier it made him feel. All I ever do is look on hopelessly, he thought. When will I stop being so average and pathetic?
A slow-burning fury started moving through his body. It was an anger borne of frustration and annoyance and it was beginning to consume him.
‘NOW, LOOK,’ Kemp said pulling himself together. ‘If you ask me, you need help.’ He drew himself up, his confidence returning. ‘All that forty days and nights rain stuff happened a very long time ago in this book called ‘The Bible’. But I don’t see any ark or animals.’
‘Look above you, Archie,’ the ghost said.
‘Yeah, right,’ Kemp said. ‘A few dark clouds. Big deal. Hey! Is that a lion?’ He pointed down the alleyway. ‘And look – two kangaroos and a couple of woolly mammoths. Excuse me, freak, but I’m outta—’
‘No – you – are – not,’ said the old man, spitting each word out so severely that Kemp fell back on the ground. ‘Out of all the people on this puny planet, I’ve selected you. So be grateful, Archie de Lowe, because I’m giving you the chance to save your life. There is no other way.’
Kemp squealed and looked down the passage. What was holding him back? Why didn’t he run? Why didn’t he say that he wasn’t Archie? But he felt oddly dizzy – as if a force was holding him against his will – like an elastic band stretched out only to rebound.
‘You need convincing,’ the old man said, his voice as smooth as honey once more. ‘This has come as a shock, so I’m going to show you something to … reassure you. All I’m asking for is a little co-operation.’ The old man took a step back. ‘Please turn your attention towards the dark sky. Watch it closely.’
Kemp stood up, his knees barely able to hold him.
‘You see, I’m going to tell you the story of what has happened so far and then I’m going to tell you what will happen next. Do you understand?’
Kemp nodded.
‘Good. Firstly, let me tell you about that piece of paper in your pocket. Then I’ll explain who you are and how you are going to help me.’
ARCHIE WAS ABOUT to kick short from the goal kick, but, from out of the corner of his eye, he saw Daisy in yards of space on the halfway line, catching her breath after the last attack. Could he reach her? It was worth a try. He pushed the ball ahead, ran up, and thumped it hard. The ball rose high into the air.
Daisy saw it and ran ahead, her eyes never leaving the ball. She took it down in her stride and, with a burst of speed, she tore past one player then another. Then she stopped so suddenly that another over-ran and she side-stepped one more who fell over. The crowd roared – this was Daisy at her best.
‘D-D-L, D-D-L, D-D-L – she will, she will – ROCK YOU!’ the crowd chanted.
Daisy side-stepped another and with a burst of speed headed towards the penalty area with real menace. Four Chitbury players lay sprawled on the floor, only one more to beat.
‘Go on Daisy, you can do it,’ Archie screamed.
Archie watched as the remaining defender was sold a beautiful dummy, which Daisy seemed to do with such ease it was laughable, and as she pushed the ball past and effortlessly made her way around him, the defender slid out a leg and tripped her – quite deliberately. Daisy stumbled and fell but she wasn’t giving up. She crawled towards the ball and then, even as she lay on the ground, with the ball wedged between her knees, she somehow still managed to keep moving.
But a cry went up as three Chitbury players and the goalkeeper converged on Daisy. It felt as if Daisy had fallen into a trap as the Chitbury boys cocked their legs back and kicked out, striking more of Daisy than the ball. And then they kicked her again and again in a kind of frenzy, with Daisy refusing to give the ball up.
The crowd swayed and screamed and then fell silent. They could quite clearly see Daisy’s face contorting as kick after kick rained in on her.
A boom of thunder echoed around the silent field as the crowd watched in startled amazement.
ARCHIE COULDN’T BELIEVE IT. Where was the referee? This wasn’t football, it was violence.
He thumped the goalpost. How had he missed saving that penalty? He shook his head and looked up. The giant, angry bruise in the sky now stretched above him like a vast, black, monstrous airship. It sagged so low he felt he could jump up and burst it as easily as pricking a balloon. Perhaps Isabella’s experiments weren’t so crazy after all.
The heady smell of damp filled his nostrils as another crack of thunder escaped. Archie felt the blood boiling inside him. Now there were five of them surrounding Daisy. She managed to stand, but one of them pushed her over.
That was the final straw. Anger flooded through him. No one, Archie seethed, does that to my sister.
He gritted his teeth, but he couldn’t control himself. He found himself running down the pitch, the crowd baying, the referee shouting, desperately trying to separate the players, but everyone, it seemed, was fighting.
‘NO! Don’t retaliate, Archie—’ he could hear someone yelling. But it was too late, he was already there and it seemed as if hell had broken loose.
One of the Chitbury boys was holding Daisy’s hair and leering at her, screaming at her. Archie grabbed him by the collar and threw him away, as if he were a doll. The boy sailed through the air and landed in a heap on the ground. Then Archie punched another hard on the nose and he thought he heard crunching sounds, then found himself receiving blows but he couldn’t feel them.
Blood coursed through his body and he felt strong and powerful – invincible. A couple of Chitbury boys jumped on him but he easily beat them off. Then he found another hitting Alexander. He smashed the boy hard in the stomach and threw him away like a piece of litter.
The whistle shrilled.
Finally a sharp, stern voice rose up out of the melee. It was Isabella. Archie could see her marching towards them. Uh-oh, he thought. He was in for it now.
Archie looked around and found a couple of Chitbury boys and the referee staring at him with their eyes wide open. Were they looking at him in fear? It was a sensation he’d never really experienced before. He noticed the four boys he’d hit still lying in agony on the floor. Blimey, he’d done that.
Archie wiped his brow and allowed himself a smile. It felt strangely good.
FOR THE FIRST time in her life, Sue could feel the sensation of utter panic building up in her veins like a bubbling chemistry experiment. A series of flashes filled the sky, mirroring the extraordinary scenes of fighting on the pitch. Lightning fizzed and crackled in the dark cloud, forming – for a brief moment – a picture.
Sue gasped. A boy.
Then a thunderclap smashed overhead so loudly that the crowd cried out. Shrieks and screams filled the football field.
Sue fell to her knees, barely able to think, her body shaking. No! It can’t be! It’s not possible. It’s ... it’s ... Kemp’s face – the lightning was Kemp’s face super-imposed in the cloud. But how, how was it possible?
She looked around. Where was Isabella? Had she gone already; left her? Surely not. She followed the eyes of the crowd.
Oh NO! Isabella was striding towards the fighting on the pitch.
‘STOP! ISABELLA, STOP!’
There was no reaction.
Without thinking, she took off after her. ‘Isabella, LISTEN!’ she screamed as she ran. ‘It’s you!’
She ran on further.
‘The dream is about your family, the de Lowes.’ She sensed Isabella slowing down. ‘You must ALL survive until sunset. Do you understand? SUNSET. YOU MUST STAY ALIVE.’
Her voice was petering out as she realised she was screaming herself hoarse. She sucked in a deep breath.
‘Find clues in your house – Eden Cottage. You must find the clues.’
Sue coughed and then repeated the last part, adding, ‘GO! GET HOME! NOW!’
A LOUD ICE-CLEAR voice cut through the air: ‘STOP IT – NOW!’ It was Isabella’s and she was striding towards the players with a sense of purpose.
The teams almost instantly ceased brawling. Isabella’s direct approach had that effect on people.
‘You’re pathetic – all of you,’ she shouted, pointing at various individuals. ‘It’s like a wrestling match for the Under 5s. Chitbury – especially you three – should be utterly ashamed of yourselves.’
Isabella scooped up the ball. ‘And as for the refereeing – it’s a disgraceful display. Twelve deliberate fouls by blue totally unaccounted for and you haven’t even got the balls to book them, let alone send them off for repeated violent conduct.’
The football smacked into the referee’s hands. ‘What has the world come to when—?’
Before she had a chance to finish she was grabbed by Coach and Mr Bellwood who hauled her off her feet and away to the sidelines.
THE REFEREE RESPONDED by pointing rather belatedly at Isabella. ‘GET HER OFF!’ he yelled. ‘You’ll be dealt with later by the authorities.’
He blinked, trying hard to pull himself together. Why couldn’t he remember the procedure for dealing with a brawl? It felt as if his brain had emptied.
‘And along with that madwoman, Upsall numbers one and eight, and blue players five, seven and four,’ he said pointing at the Chitbury players. ‘GET OFF THIS PITCH.’
The referee waved his red card at the players and scribbled in his book.
Another huge slap of thunder exploded almost directly overhead. A terrible feeling crept right up his back sending his hairs erect.
The ground shook.
‘Direct free kick to red,’ he said, quickly pointing to a spot just outside the penalty area. ‘And the quicker we’re out of here, the better.’
