It’s 6.30 am and I’m getting ready to go to school to use the fitness suite before lessons start when there’s a knock at the door. Who the hell’s here so early? I pull back the curtain in the living room to get a look, and see Doug – a crumpled, unshaven, surly-looking version of Doug. I open the door reluctantly and stand there clutching school bag and PE kit, ready to leave right away.
‘What do you want?’ I ask. ‘Mum’s asleep and I’m going to school.’
‘Bit keen, aren’t you? It’s only just got light.’ I could say the same thing to him, except I can’t be bothered. He gives a big yawn. ‘Your granny gave me a ring. She told me you’d been leaving messages on her phone. That’s the kind of problem I have to drive through the night to sort out.’
‘It was Mum, not me, and it was one message.’
‘Well, your granny’s scared witless.’ I don’t believe him. Nothing scares Gran. ‘I’m in charge of seeing that she’s kept safe and sound too, and she’s under strict instructions to let me know if anything happens to jeopardise anyone’s safety. And unlike you and your mum, your granny knows what’s what.’
‘Oh.’ Doug’s in charge of looking after Gran as well as us. I don’t feel exceptionally confident here. ‘Well, what’s going to happen? Are we in danger? Will we have to move?’
‘That is for me to discuss with your mum. Can you wake her up?’
‘No.’ I say. I’m fed up with this. ‘You can, or you can wait. I’m going to school.’
I push past him and run down the path. I deserve at least one day making use of this prized access card, even if tomorrow I might be on my way to . . . where?
I put Doug out of my mind and have a fantastic training session in the gym. I plug myself into my music – the iPod that was Arron’s present to me on my fourteenth birthday, the birthday that has now been removed from history – and I let the beat fill my head. I throw myself so thoroughly into the exercise and the music that I clean out all the worry and memories and fill up with a sort of excited joy.
By the time I’m done I’m soaked with sweat, and there’s only ten minutes to get ready before registration. As soon as I enter the changing room I crash down from that training high. Carl and the rest of the under-fourteen football team greet me with noisy abuse. I don’t feel great in the circumstances about stripping off and making for the showers, so I sit down, start rooting around in my kit bag and hope they will leave soon.
Carl’s a burly guy with hair so short that you can see the pink skin of his scalp gleaming through the bristles. He’s got Manchester-City-blue eyes fringed with stubby near-white eyelashes, and a fertile crop of spots. He’s about the only boy in year eight that’s taller than me and he’s twice as broad. He looks more like a rugby player than a footballer, although apparently he’s like a brick wall in defence and has been scouted for some Championship team’s academy. If he was in a film, he’d be played by Shrek.
He thrusts his face next to mine. ‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you, getting your girlfriend to blag an access card for you?’
I’m not having this argument. ‘Look, mate, it’s not my decision. If it were up to me, you could all have them.’
‘Nah, don’t give me that. You think you’re better than us, coming here from London. Well, you better watch yourself, or you might find you don’t look so clever after all, and all the girls won’t think you’re so great. We might have to reorganise that face of yours.’
God, this guy can’t even come up with one decent insult. He can’t even get the words right when he issues a threat.
The bell rings for registration – bugger – and they shuffle out. I dive in the showers and have the quickest wash ever, but I’m still buttoning my shirt with my tie flapping over my shoulders as I sprint to the classroom. Everyone else is filing down to assembly. Ashley Jenkins and her mates start whistling at me, but I just concentrate on the stupid buttons.
Our form tutor, Mr Hunt – you can imagine his nickname, and he does his best to live up to it – doesn’t look pleased with me. ‘Good of you to turn up today, Joe,’ he says, very sarcastic, ‘although we do prefer it when pupils get dressed before they come into the classroom.’
‘Sorry, sir.’ I’m tying my tie and trying to do up my cuffs at the same time.
‘Can you explain yesterday’s unauthorised absence? A domestic crisis I understand?’
If he knows, why is he asking? ‘Yes, sir.’
‘You don’t have to call me sir, Joe; you’re not in the cadet corps now.’
Eh? I can’t be bothered with this. I have bigger worries than Mr Hunt understands, and I might not even be in his class by tomorrow. ‘Shall I go to assembly, sir, or would you like me to explain about how my mum was ill?’ I say, sounding as bored as I dare.
‘Take a detention for turning up half-dressed and go to assembly,’ he says, and I get there just in time to line up with my class, sitting down hurriedly next to mousey little Claire who goes pink when I lean over and whisper, ‘I never knew you were Ellie’s sister.’
‘Silence!’ shouts Mr Hunt, and we all sit catatonic while the head teacher lectures us about moral choices and how they are linked to school uniform. Making the right decisions becomes a habit, just like being smartly turned out – outward order, inner discipline – blah, blah, blah. It makes no sense to me at all.
At break, Brian in the next desk says, ‘Wait a minute, Joe,’ and pulls some papers out of his bag. ‘It’s the homework you missed from yesterday. I thought I’d better keep it for you. You have to do this and this by Monday, and on this one,’ – he solemnly thumbs through a massive pile of Maths – ‘pages four, five and six by Wednesday.’
Of course I could be anywhere by then. But it’s nice of him to have kept it for me. Not the sort of thing Arron would have thought of. In fact, Brian, now I come to think of it, seems like an all-round good guy. Someone I can probably trust.
‘Thanks Bri, that’s excellent, really helpful.’ I stuff the papers in my bag. ‘Bri, can I ask your confidential advice about a few things?’
Brian’s beaming. ‘Of course.’
‘Well . . . you know Carl and his lot? When they’re trying to be threatening, what do you think they have in mind? Do I need to, you know, worry about them?’
Brian has no idea what I mean. I can see it in his innocent small-town, thirteen-year-old eyes. ‘He’s a bit of a bully, but it’s probably mostly talk,’ he says. ‘He generally picks on people smaller than you.’
That sounds OK. I need to be sure though. ‘So I don’t need to be, you know . . . prepared?’ He gapes. I spell it out. ‘Weapons, blades, Bri. No one here uses them, do they?’
The penny drops. He shakes his head. ‘Wow . . . no, I don’t think so.’ He looks curious, and impressed. ‘Is that what you’re used to?’
We’re not going there. I change the subject, skilful as a Ronaldo step-over. ‘You know how everyone goes down the shopping centre on a Saturday morning?’
‘Yeah. . . Do you want to come with us?’ asks Brian, half nervous, half hopeful. ‘Well, yeah, but the thing is that my mum, it’s her birthday, see, and she wants me to go shopping with her, but I’m not sure how it’s going to look. . .’ I trail off. It strikes me that I’m a lot clearer about knives and fights than I am about shopping etiquette.
‘You can probably get away with it,’ says Brian decisively, ‘although I’d never live it down. Of course it all depends on your mum. Is she cool?’
The unsaid words ‘like you’ hang in the air, and suddenly I feel better about the whole shopping thing. Six months ago, when Mum was a lot cooler and I was not cool at all, this would not even have been an issue.
‘She’s OK. And maybe I can send her off somewhere and hang out with you guys.’ I say, and Brian is obviously delighted. I can’t help comparing his eager friendliness to Arron. Arron, who never seemed to have time for me any more. Arron, with his scary new friends. Arron, with his little jokey digs and put-downs that made me wonder if he really didn’t want to be my friend . . . but then there was the iPod. . . I think back to Ty, patient and anxious, examining all the mixed messages that his friend was handing out and I just despise the poor sod – I mean me. It’s getting harder to remember that I was Ty, that he really was the same person that I am now.
We go and play kick-about in the playground with Brian’s friends and all is well until Carl and his cronies decide to join in. They smash the ball here and there, and then Carl launches himself at my shin in an assault dressed up as a tackle. ‘Ow!’ I crash to the ground. Carl and his mates are shouting with laughter. Good thing he wasn’t wearing studs or I’d have a pulverised leg.
‘Watch it,’ I shout as I hobble off, wondering if I’ll even be able to train with Ellie today. During the afternoon a huge bruise emerges, and it’s quite painful as I jog to meet her on the running track. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asks instantly, and I show her. ‘Ouch, that looks bad. What happened there?’
‘Oh, nothing. Just playing football in the playground and some ape crashed into me.’
‘I can guess which one.’
‘Yeah, yeah. It’ll be OK.’
‘What happened yesterday? Is your mum better now?’
‘Yes, I think so,’ I answer, then wonder how Mum has been today. What happened with Doug this morning? Has it set her off again? What will I find when I go home? I remember the packet of cigarettes retrieved from the rubbish bin.
‘Ellie,’ I say, ‘sometimes my mum talks about, you know, moving on from here.’
‘Going back to London?’
‘Maybe,’ I say, wondering how everyone seems to know that we even come from London. Did I say something? I don’t think so. Maybe I just have an air of city sophistication. Maybe not. ‘If I, you know, just leave all of a sudden, then don’t worry about me. It’ll be OK.’
She gives me a strange look. ‘If you say so, Joe, but it’d be nice if you kept in touch though.’
I find myself making a promise I’ll never be able to keep. Then we start warming up on the track and running races against the stopwatch. She seems pretty happy with the results, and there’s something satisfying about running through the pain in my leg. I can cope. I can endure. It’s got to be a useful skill.
We’re nearly done when Mr Henderson comes out to join us. He looks a bit ticked off, and doesn’t really cheer up when Ellie shows him her clipboard of times. ‘Very good, well done,’ he says, then, ‘Joe, when you’re done I need a serious word with you.’
‘We should be finished in ten minutes. Is that OK?’ asks Ellie.
‘I’ll be in my office,’ he replies.
As I cool down and stretch I scan my brains for reasons why he might be cross with me. As far as I can see there’s nothing that I’ve done, but who knows? Ellie seems puzzled too and says, ‘It’s probably nothing, don’t worry about it. I had a chat with him yesterday and told him you were doing very well.’
Mr Henderson’s office is a smelly muddle of sports equipment and sweaty kit. It’s quite cosy though. There’s a squashy armchair in the corner and he nods at it as I come in. I sit on the edge, feeling a bit nervous.
‘Joe, why were you out on the running track when Mr Hunt tells me you had detention this afternoon?’
‘Oh. I totally forgot.’
‘Mr Hunt is none too happy with you. Says you were “bordering on the insolent” this morning and came into the classroom late and half dressed.’
To my surprise, I feel myself getting a bit upset. ‘The thing is, he thinks I’m being rude when I say ‘sir’, but it’s what I’m used to and I don’t mean to be, and actually I’m really trying to be very polite and I didn’t mean to be late and half dressed but when I finished training this morning the whole changing room was full of people and it wasn’t really my fault, but he isn’t interested and it isn’t really very fair what he says. . .’ I wind down. I sound like a whinging toddler.
‘Two days ago I gave you the very big privilege of getting an access card to use the facilities out of hours. I don’t have to tell you what an advantage this gives you and how many other people would like to have that card. I was somewhat surprised not to see you making use of it yesterday, and even more surprised when my wife told me that she’d seen a Parkview schoolboy down at Morrison’s mid-morning. It wasn’t hard to work out who it was from her description.’
Blimey. This little town has spies everywhere. I put my head in my hands. ‘Mr Henderson, my mum was not very well yesterday. She . . . we . . . didn’t have any food in the house at all. I needed to look after her. I really wanted to be at school and training and everything but I just couldn’t. It’s just Mum and me. We don’t have anyone else to help us.
‘I really do appreciate getting the access card and I did get up really early this morning and did a lot of training and I really like it and please don’t take it away.’ I plead.
I can see Mr Henderson is gagging to ask what was the matter with my mum, and I am desperate to spill it and say, ’She got drunk and nearly set the house on fire,’ but we both hold back, which is good because the last thing I need is a visit from social services.
‘Ellie tells me that you seem to be under some emotional stress, and she’s worried that training is putting too much pressure on you.’
‘No, no, no it’s not. She never said that to me.’
‘No, she likes working with you and she wants to continue. But she is only a student and she is being supervised and she was right to tell me of her concerns.’
She likes working with me! I have a warm, glowing, happy feeling inside. But I also have an uncomfortable warm, glowing, embarrassed feeling turning my face red as I wonder what exactly she did tell Mr Henderson.
‘I think you’d better go and apologise to Mr Hunt in the morning. Explain that you’re new to the school and sometimes things are a bit difficult. ‘
‘He knows that. . . What will happen about the detention?’
‘You’ll probably end up doing it tomorrow. Maybe he might hand out a double detention. You’re already on full report, so he can’t add that sanction.’
‘What do you mean?’
He looks a bit sheepish. ‘I think it’s probably something you’re not meant to know if you haven’t been told. My mistake.’
‘But you just told me. And I don’t even know what it is.’ It sounds bad though.
‘It just means that the head teacher has requested regular reports on your behaviour and progress. It’s what we do with people who are persistent troublemakers. When there’s a full report request for a new pupil we usually find that it’s someone who has had trouble in their old school, maybe an excluded pupil, something like that.’
I’ve never even met the head teacher. Could this be Doug’s way of spying on me at school? Does my head teacher know the whole story? Mr Henderson says, ‘This doesn’t seem to be a big surprise, Joe.’
‘No, I know why,’ I say. ‘I can’t exactly explain but I’m not a troublemaker and I do want to make the best of this opportunity.’
He realises he’s not going to get any more out of me and asks, ‘Did you not have the chance to train at your last school? Did they not spot that you could run? Didn’t your parents realise that you had a talent there?’
Athletics didn’t really exist at St Saviour’s. It was a voluntary option and you had to sign up for it and spend half an hour getting to a sports centre after school. I was quite interested but Arron said no way, and I wasn’t going to go with all the posh boys and not him.
I did once go along to the local running club but when I got there everyone else was black, and although they were friendly enough, I felt a bit strange and never went back. Does that make me racist? I really hope not.
‘I’ve never seen anything like this school,’ I say. ‘We didn’t have these facilities. And my mum was more bothered about stuff like Maths.’
‘Hmm,’ he says. ‘Look, on Sunday we’re hosting the inter-schools athletics competition. You’ll be able to have a go at racing. Maybe bring your mum with you, show her what you can do. I’m sure Ellie will think it’s a good idea.’
‘Come along at 11 am,’ he says, ‘and I’ll speak to Mr Hunt in the morning and try and sort things out for you. Feel free to come and talk any time you need to.’
Walking home, the fears I’ve been holding back all day suddenly come crowding back. How can I have abandoned my mum to face Doug on her own? Has she put us in danger? Is Gran OK? Are we going to have to move on? Is Joe about to disappear altogether?
The house is very quiet and dark. I wonder if Mum is even here, but then she comes to the top of the stairs. ‘I’m in my bedroom,’ she says, and I bound up the stairs and follow her into the room.
Her suitcase is on the bed. Her wardrobe is empty. I look from one to the other in despair. ‘They’re moving us, then? They think it’s too dangerous?’
‘No,’ she says. ‘They want us to stay. They think it’s still safe. But I’ve had enough. I’ve told them that you’re not going to testify after all. We’re going home.’