The Boy with Two Heads

  Eric then took charge. He dummied neatly and got round his first opponent. The referee screamed, ‘Take him out!’ and two red shirts ran towards him. Eric back-heeled it to Clara, who put it straight out to Salome. Salome then broke, and Mr Barlow’s advice was proved absolutely sound. Two boys came in for tackles, but Salome simply ran through them. She wasn’t fast, but she was as strong as a truck – and she could not be deflected. The red shirts regrouped around her, but she hacked the ball through the lot of them, Eric screamed for the ball, and received it. He dummied again, and got it onto his favoured left foot. He shot hard, low and true, and it was two–one.

  The referee – Mr Merrett – was white with fury. The game stopped for a moment as he went to have words with his goalkeeper, who hung his head and cried. Then Mr Merrett walked to the centre spot and jammed the ball down. He glared at Radford again, who fell back nervously. ‘You’re worse than a girl!’ he said. Then he spat into his whistle.

  Once again, the St Michael’s side looked strong, and once again it was Rikki who won the ball in a fabulous jump. Mark passed to Eric, and Eric took it out to the youngest member of the team: ten-year-old Jason. Jason worshipped Eric, and imitated him skilfully. He leaped and weaved, and Eric was right there, supporting him. Eric took the ball over, and got it to Salome. Salome worked the same astonishing magic – she was more confident this time, moving through with some joyously clever feints and turns. It was Mark who received from her and found himself in front of the goalkeeper, his lanky body wobbling in panic.

  The goalkeeper wasn’t sure whether to come out or stay in the goalmouth – his face was a rictus of indecision and fear. He went as low as he could and put his arms out, and Mark just managed to keep his head. He weaved left and slotted the ball hard to the right.

  The red shirts stood with heads bowed again, waiting for the horror of Mr Merrett’s retribution. He pulled his team together, and the Green Cross children looked at each other as a stream of abuse poured over them. When St Michael’s got back into formation, it was clear that instead of building them up, the referee had only succeeded in breaking them.

  Their co-ordination went to pieces. If the ball came near one of them, it was a ball to be feared – and they’d do anything to get rid of it. They were clearly so frightened of making errors that everything they did was an error. Eric scored again five minutes before the final whistle. And then, to add insult to injury, Carla – who had been playing midfield – managed the most extraordinary lob, and the goalkeeper misjudged it totally. It bounced over his head, straight into the net. Worse even than that, in a last-minute scramble of confusion in the St Michael’s goalmouth, the ball fell to poor little Radford, and his back pass to the goalie turned into the most horrible, hellish own goal.

  When the teams shook hands at the end of the match, Eric noticed that Radford was hyperventilating.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ said Eric. ‘You’ve gone all white, man.’

  Radford pressed his hands to his eyes. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘He’s going to kill me.’

  ‘Oh, come on,’ said Jeff. ‘It’s a game. You played well.’

  Radford shook his head, and another boy said: ‘I won’t get food tonight, none of us will. We’ll be out on a run till dark, and then freezing showers. Extra prep and everything.’

  Meanwhile Mr Merrett had made his way to Mr Barlow. ‘Not sure it’s strictly within the rules, that,’ he said coldly.

  ‘What’s not?’ said Mr Barlow. ‘Good g-game, by the way. Your boys work together nicely.’

  ‘You know what I mean. I’m not sure it’s legal.’

  ‘I’m afraid I d-don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘You’re playing an advantage that distracted all of us. I’m talking about him. Or them. What do you call it?’ He was pointing at Rikki and Richard, who had their arms round Eric and Mark. ‘I’m talking about two-headed players!’ said the ref angrily. ‘It’s like having an extra man. No wonder we lost.’

  ‘I’m sorry you f-feel like that,’ said Mr Barlow. ‘That’s R-Rikki Westlake, Richard Westlake. One man. One pair of b-b- . . .’ He fought for the word. ‘Boots!’

  ‘Well, it cost us the match. It was like being at the bloody circus, and I’m going to write to your headmaster.’

  ‘Stop a minute,’ said Mr Barlow. He put his hand on the referee’s arm, and the two men stood opposite one another. ‘Are you s-suggesting he shouldn’t play?’

  ‘I’m suggesting exactly that. We came for a game of football, and you play a . . . freak. It’s bad enough using females – that’s a . . . distraction too. But I would not have agreed to this fixture if I’d known about that creature.’

  ‘Mr Merrett,’ said Mr Barlow. ‘Like I said, your b-boys were good. But they were outplayed. We beat you fair and square. Don’t take it out on R-R—’

  ‘You cheated,’ said Mr Merrett.

  Every player was now watching and listening. The two men were in a large circle of astonished children.

  ‘You’re out of order, sir,’ said Mr Barlow quietly. He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief.

  Mr Merrett smiled. ‘There are special schools for children with that kind of disability. It’s not on, and I’m going to challenge this result and have you disqualified. We train hard, and we don’t expect the rules to be bent. My boys put their souls into this game, and they’ve been cheated.’

  ‘Sir,’ said Radford.

  ‘Shut up,’ said Mr Merrett. ‘Get in the bus, the lot of you.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘What do you want? You shouldn’t be here, Radford. You should be dead, in an unmarked grave.’

  Radford licked a pair of very dry lips. ‘You shouldn’t speak about someone like that, sir. Nobody should.’

  The St Michael’s teacher twitched, and changed colour. ‘Are you telling me . . . how to conduct myself?’ he said.

  ‘We lost the game, sir. But that doesn’t mean you can—’

  ‘Get in the bus!’ roared Mr Merrett. ‘All of you!’

  The St Michael’s boys didn’t stir. They were all looking at their teacher, and then at Radford. The child put his head down, and then lifted it again to meet Rikki’s eyes. Then he looked at Richard.

  ‘I would like to apologize to you on behalf of my team,’ he said. ‘We were outplayed today, and you have been insulted. You have the match, and you did jolly well.’

  The whole St Michael’s team applauded for ten full seconds. Then they turned away, and the Green Cross children watched them walk to their vehicle.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Richard said to Jeff: ‘Are you still mad at me?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can’t we even speak?’

  ‘What do you want to speak about?’

  They had finished changing, and were just leaving school. The strange confrontation after the match had subdued everybody. Nobody knew whether the horrible Mr Merrett would be challenging the result or not – so a place in the final did not feel secure. They didn’t dare celebrate. Many of the children were also extremely worried about what would happen to brave little Radford.

  Jeff wouldn’t meet Richard’s eyes.

  ‘I don’t see why we have to fall out,’ said Richard. ‘If we can play football together—’

  ‘You’re still giving people a hard time. I don’t like that.’

  Rikki sniggered.

  ‘See?’ said Jeff. ‘You’ve always got to be laughing at someone.’

  ‘You’ve still got the hots for Aparna, haven’t you?’ said Rikki. ‘Full-on Hindu wedding?’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Richard. ‘Shut up! Shut up!’

  Jeff looked at Rikki this time, and held his gaze. ‘Why do people like you exist?’ he said. ‘You know, before you came along . . . I won’t say this school had no problems. But it didn’t have many. We got on pretty well.’

  ‘Bad things happen, Jeff,’ said Rikki.

  ‘Bad things like you.’

  ‘You want everything easy,’
said Rikki. ‘The world is not a nice place, and you can’t control it.’

  ‘Rikki,’ said Richard. ‘Just—’

  ‘No,’ Rikki interupted. ‘Jeff’s a big boy – he can take a bit of truth. The fact is, he’s lived in babyland for a long time, and all that’s happened, Jeff, is that you’re finding out you’re a bit of a loser. We don’t need you as a friend.’

  Richard tried to speak, but found that he couldn’t. His jaw seemed locked shut. Then, more worrying, he found that his right fist had closed round Jeff’s tie, and he was pushing Jeff backwards, hard. Jeff tried to get away but failed. In a moment, he’d tripped over a bag and Richard shoved with all his strength.

  The boy might have stayed upright, but his feet got entangled and he was slammed to the ground. He landed on his elbow and lay there, stunned. For a moment nobody knew what to do.

  Richard and Rikki turned, and saw that Aparna was looking at them – she had just emerged from the school gates. Jeff wasn’t aware of her; he was trying to get up, but was in too much pain.

  Miss Maycock appeared and crouched beside him. ‘Anything broken?’ she asked softly.

  Jeff was holding his left arm, and his face was twisted in agony.

  ‘Can you stand up?’

  ‘Yes. No.’

  ‘Let’s try. Move on, everyone. Show’s over.’

  Jeff struggled to his feet, still nursing his arm. He let the teacher gently straighten it, and then he flexed it slowly.

  ‘Move your fingers,’ said Miss Maycock.

  Jeff did so. There were tears running down his cheeks, and he was deathly pale.

  ‘Nasty sprain, I think. But nothing broken. We’re lucky. I’m going to sit you down for a moment – come back inside. Richard? Rikki? I’ll see you tomorrow. Aparna, can you come with me?’

  When Richard and Rikki got to school the next morning, they were both nervous. They’d said nothing to their parents, but they had the same fear that had been haunting Eric: would they now be kicked off the residential? It was obvious that people were ignoring them as they came up the corridor. Word had spread, and they knew they were in trouble.

  ‘Take no notice,’ said Rikki.

  ‘This is your fault.’

  ‘He had it coming.’

  ‘You’ve lost every friend I had. You’ve made us hated.’

  They went to their locker, and saw at once that it had been broken open. The little padlock had been forced, and it dangled from the catch.

  Richard opened the door. Sure enough, revenge had been swift, thorough and horrible. The pictures of aeroplanes that he’d lovingly pasted to the walls had been shredded, and some of the pieces fluttered out onto the floor. There was a stink of fruit, and he realized that milk and banana had been rubbed over his books. The whole locker was soaking wet and stinking. The model plane was gone, but more shockingly, the precious wings – the priceless gift his grandad had given him – had been cut in two. The pieces lay in a puddle of white. He could only stare in horror.

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Rikki. ‘We’ve been visited.’

  The classroom was almost empty. The other children were not looking. In fact, they seemed remarkably busy doing other things.

  ‘You swine,’ whispered Richard at last.

  ‘Someone’s angry with us,’ said Rikki. ‘You think it’s Jeff?’

  ‘No. He’s not even here yet. Unless he . . .’

  ‘Unless he came and went. Sneaky boy. Where’s his locker?’

  ‘Let’s get everything out. We are not doing anything about this.’

  ‘This is going to need careful thought, Richard. We have been attacked. You’re upset. You’re going to blow.’

  Richard started to arrange everything on the nearby desks. He found a roll of paper towel, and started to salvage what he could. It was clear that a lot of his things would have to be replaced. ‘We tell nobody, OK?’ he said. His voice was shaking. ‘We don’t tell tales. We don’t go crying to Bra-low—’

  ‘Sure,’ said Rikki. ‘What we do is work out a counter attack so massive, the enemy backs off. I think it was Salome and Jeff together. Look at that . . .’ He picked up a piece of the embroidered wings. ‘What do we say to Mum and Dad about this?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Richard was taking deep breaths.

  ‘It’s only stuff.’

  ‘Where’s the model? Where’s the Venom?’

  ‘Stolen,’ said Rikki.

  ‘Oh God.’

  ‘Don’t cry. It’s just stuff. You know that.’

  ‘We made that together. Me and Grandad! Me and—’

  ‘It’s stuff. Richard! Stop crying!’

  ‘I’m not crying. It’s all because of you!’

  ‘We’ll fight them. We’ll let them think they’ve won, all right? And then we blow them out of the water. That Jeff kid needs a serious battering – we should have stamped on his head.’

  ‘Richard,’ said a voice. ‘Rikki?’

  They turned, and saw that the headmaster had entered the room. He was staring at them, with an expression of cold dislike.

  ‘Could you do that later, please? I need you in my room. Leave your things where they are.’

  Richard and Rikki followed him up the corridor.

  The headmaster turned. ‘What’s happened to your ties, by the way?’

  ‘It’s in my pocket,’ said Richard.

  ‘You look a mess. Have you walked to school like that?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I don’t like it, Richard. Rikki – I don’t put up with it. Get your shirt tucked in, and make yourself look presentable. I’ve noticed you more and more lately – you look like a ragged urchin. Now sort yourself out.’ Richard and Rikki both looked at him. ‘Things are getting very serious here,’ Mr Prowse added, ‘as you no doubt know.’

  A minute later, Richard and Rikki stepped into the study. Mr Barlow and Miss Maycock were already there, sitting on wooden chairs. In the corner of a small sofa sat Dr Warren, with a sheaf of papers in his hand.

  He looked up and smiled. ‘Good morning,’ he said.

  ‘Doctor Warren was here about Eric,’ said the headmaster. ‘But I’ve asked him to be present for this, and Miss Maycock – as you know – witnessed yesterday’s assault. Things appear to be escalating—’

  ‘He’s not our doctor,’ said Rikki.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Doctor Warren. We don’t want him here.’

  ‘Keep a civil tongue in your head, Rikki Westlake!’ said the headmaster. ‘I’ve had about as much as I can stand. It was Doctor Warren who predicted exactly this kind of . . . horrible climax, and I have to say I’m at my wits’ end.’

  ‘We can still find a solution,’ said Dr Warren quietly. ‘I’m here to protect you, Rikki. Richard. And the school wants to do everything it can.’

  ‘You’re not our doctor,’ repeated Rikki.

  ‘Why are you so hostile?’

  ‘You lied to me.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘The first time we spoke. When I woke up in bed, remember? Everything’s going to be OK.’

  ‘I still believe that, Rikki.’

  ‘But I don’t!’

  ‘Look,’ said Mr Barlow, ‘I agree that things are getting c-complicated. Can I suggest, therefore . . . before we get t-tangled up again, that Richard and Rikki tell us what happened yesterday? In their own words?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Dr Warren. ‘Good plan.’

  ‘Happened y-y-yesterday?’ said Rikki. ‘How far are we going back?’

  ‘You know what we’re talking about,’ said the headmaster. ‘What led up to your fight with Jeffrey? The attack was witnessed by several people, and appears to have been totally unprovoked.’

  ‘Jeff insulted me,’ said Rikki.

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘He d-denies that, of course,’ said Mr Barlow quietly.

  ‘He called me a two-faced freak. He’s been doing it for weeks. I tried to be friendly with him, and h
e just . . .’ Rikki wiped his eyes with his sleeve. ‘He just makes it clear he hates me and thinks I’m an outsider. So do other people. He insults my family too.’

  Dr Warren nodded. ‘I wonder if we could ask Jeff to step in? Miss Maycock, would you mind?’

  Miss Maycock left the room. The headmaster perched on his desk.

  ‘I’m sorry it’s come to this, Doctor Warren,’ he said. ‘I know you’ve done your best, and I like to think we all have. But things have been brewing for a considerable time – and perhaps I should have put my foot down far sooner. Physical assault, vandalism: we just don’t put up with it here.’

  ‘No, sir,’ said Richard.

  ‘That’s what I tried to tell Jeff,’ said Rikki. A tear rolled down his cheek. ‘It’s what I tried to tell Salome, as well, when she attacked me—’

  ‘Let’s leave her out of it at the moment. Explain the picture, please, Richard.’

  ‘What picture?’ said Richard.

  Dr Warren said: ‘Does the picture upset you? You mentioned it before, I think.’

  ‘What picture?’ said Rikki. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  The headmaster stood up. ‘Do you deny touching it?’

  Rikki stared at him. ‘I don’t know anything about any picture,’ he said. ‘You’re not making sense.’

  ‘I’m warning you,’ hissed the headmaster. ‘You’re this close to expulsion already, so—’

  ‘What he meant—’ said Richard. But he got no further, for Rikki interrupted loudly.

  ‘What I meant, sir, was that I have no idea what you’re referring to when you say, “Do you deny touching the picture?” Sir, I don’t know how else to express myself! Sir! Because I don’t understand the question!’

  The headmaster yanked open the door of a large cupboard. He lifted something out and leaned it against his desk, covered in a cloth. Richard and Rikki couldn’t see what it was, but when he pulled off the blanket, they gasped.

  Aparna’s Icarus picture had been smashed and wrecked. The glass was broken and a monstrous, jagged scribble had been scrawled across the sky, like black lightning. Worst of all, a filthy word had been written huge and cruel, and Richard shuddered at its obscenity.