7

S.O.S.

I go down to the slipway and wait for the fishing boat to come past again.

I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll shout. I’ll whistle. I’ll fart and set light to it to make a flare… Whatever it takes to get someone’s attention.

I wait all day and there’s no sign of him. No sign of anyone. Why doesn’t the stupid fisherman come back? Doesn’t he have to check his pots? Isn’t he supposed to do it every day?

The only sign of life is a seal, popping his head up to see who I am. Coming in closer when I call to him. Well, who else is there to talk to?

‘How are you doing, seal? Is it cold out there? Did you catch any fish today? Have you seen that fisherman? If you do, tell him to come and get me, will you? I’m getting a bit fed up out here, to tell you the truth. It’s not exactly the most exciting holiday destination in the universe, is it? Not exactly Disneyland. Not exactly the Costa del Sol.’

I go back inside. It must be about time for the local news. I wind up the radio again and it’s already started…

‘One of his friends, Francis Green, is with me, here at the school gates. Anything you’d like to say, Francis?’

Oh my god. Fug. Pretending to be my best buddy.

‘Yeah, we’re all really worried about him. Ben’s a good mate and he’d do anything you ask, pretty much. All we want is for him to come back. We just want to tell him how much we care about him.’

I nearly spew. Francis Ultan Green (Fug for short) always was a good liar, but this is the worst yet. It makes me sick, how he can twist adults round his little finger. How no one sees what he’s up to. Not the teachers, not the head…

I mean, no twelve-year-old boy’s going to say, ‘We just want to tell him how much we care.’ Anyone with an ounce of sense can tell he’s lying through his stinking teeth!

But adults – they can be so dense sometimes. They just hear what they want to hear. They just want an easy life, that’s what I think. I mean, would they even believe me if I told them what Fug’s been doing for years? What he’s been making other people do?

And if Fug found out that anyone had squealed on him – well, life wouldn’t be worth living.

The reporter asks him another question.

‘Have you any idea why Ben might have run away, Francis? Was there anything going on in school that he might have been upset about?’

‘Upset?’ He thinks he’s being challenged, and if there’s one thing Fug can’t stand, it’s being challenged. ‘Why would he be upset?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Exams. Bullying. That sort of thing,’ says the reporter. She’s just floundering around, filling up time. Hasn’t a clue who she’s talking to. But Fug sounds worried.

‘Why are you asking me?’ he says. And I can hear the anger in his voice. He’s fighting it, I know – trying to stop it showing on national radio – but there’s nothing Fug can do once he lets the anger in. Nothing but explode. Or get someone to do his dirty work for him.

‘How would I know?’ he says, all sneery-like. ‘I hardly even knew him…’

‘But you just said he was a good mate.’

‘Did I? Well, yeah. Everyone’s friends in our school, aren’t they? But I don’t know him.Not really…’ He’s well and truly rattled. Trying too hard to get off the hook, before he’s even on it. And I don’t know if the reporter can tell yet. But I can.

He’s gone too far this time, that’s the thing. Gone too far and and he knows it. He’s picked the wrong person to try and break. Me. Ben Hastings.

And because of what he’s done to me, because of what I’ve done in response, the whole world’s going to find out. About his cruelty, his bullying.

So what I can really hear in Fug’s voice is fear. Fear that he’ll be found out for who he is, at last.

And the power’s shifting. From him. To me. It’s shifting.