‘Where are we going?’
‘It’s amazing!’ said Mark. He dragged his legs up so they were crossed, and looked serious. ‘It’s a totally different place, thank God. ’Cos you remember last year? They got a week at “Lambs and Ponies”, and everyone said it was the lamest place in the world? Well, for us it’s going to be five days at an SAS Survival Camp!’
‘Show him the brochure,’ said Eric. ‘It’s unbelievable.’
‘We’ve got to get slips back fast,’ said Jeff. ‘You’ve got it, Eric – you show him.’
Eric searched in his pockets, but brought out only sweets and a toy car. Jeff searched his, and finally found a crumpled, multi-coloured leaflet. Unfolding it, Richard saw a picture of grinning children in bright red crash helmets. He struggled into a sitting position, Rikki lolling against his ear.
‘Wow,’ he said. ‘Is this serious?’
‘We go all the way to Wales,’ said Jeff. He pointed at one of the headings: Can You Handle a REAL Adventure?
‘Let him read,’ said Eric. He was finishing the chocolates.
Richard turned the paper over, and was bewitched in an instant. He didn’t know where to start, because the photographs were all so captivating. There were children abseiling down savage cliffs. There were children in a canoe, rolling under great sprays of white water. A boy was being belted into some kind of paraglider at the edge of a precipice, and under that there was a girl squeezing through a dark cave, a torch strapped to her forehead. On the back of the leaflet stood a whole crowd of children, in green camouflage dress, with painted faces. They were screaming with joy, some leaping – and they held aloft an enormous banner: ‘Who Dares Wins!’
‘This is incredible,’ said Richard.
‘We’ve got to get into groups of five,’ said Jeff. ‘You’re in our group: Tiger Team. It’s a whole week of activities, and we spent all this morning going through them.’
‘You sleep out in tents,’ said Eric. ‘They teach you how to read maps, and then one night they just dump you in the middle of a wood, no landmarks or anything. And you have to work out how to get back. Bra-low said you have to sign a form saying that if you die, your parents won’t sue.’
‘It was a joke,’ said Jeff. ‘But it does sound dangerous.’
‘You got to buy the kit first,’ said Mark, wiping his nose again. ‘You get basic provisions, and then you’re out all day – trapping animals, cooking them up. You learn how to skin rabbits—’
‘When is it?’ said Richard. His heart was thumping. ‘End of term,’ said Mark. ‘Two weeks before.’
Eric hauled the duvet up, and threw it over their heads. In a moment, the boys were cocooned in an igloo, the brochure between them.
‘Look at the picture there,’ said Eric, pointing. ‘That’s what I want to be!’
‘So cool,’ whispered Jeff.
They were looking at a soldier in full battle-dress. ‘The SAS train hard,’ said Eric, reading with difficulty. ‘Because they know. That who dares wins. They know that when. You’re up against it, it’s true. Survival skills that are necessary.’ He paused, and it was as if they were there, in a foxhole. They could almost hear the wind racing over the plain. ‘Clifden Adventure Centre,’ said Eric. ‘It’s been recommended. By the SAS. But are you tough enough? Will you survive?’
‘Oh God,’ said Richard. ‘We’ve got to get back!’
‘Will your parents let you go, though, huh?’ said Mark anxiously. ‘Will Rikki be OK? ’Cos if he screws up, wow . . .’
Richard’s mind was in a whirl, for he could see himself in every picture. He knew his parents would have to say yes: it was inconceivable that they wouldn’t, and he felt every nerve tingling with anticipation. Rikki’s head flopped against his, and he adjusted it gently.
‘Mr Bra-low is sound,’ he said. ‘I vote we call him Barlow from now on.’
‘I agree,’ said Jeff. ‘He’s the best teacher in the school. When are you out of here?’
‘Soon.’
‘It’d better be by Tuesday, man.’
‘What’s happening on Tuesday?’
‘Richard,’ said Eric, turning to him in disbelief, ‘I think your memory’s going. Tuesday’s football practice. It’s the cup match next week!’
‘You said you were ready,’ said Jeff. ‘We’re relying on you.’
‘Yeah,’ said Mark. ‘You’re part of that team too.’
CHAPTER THREE
His parents came to collect him the very next evening.
As Richard walked out of the ward Rikki’s head was heavy against his own, blinking groggily. Mr Westlake was in earnest conversation with Dr Warren.
‘We’ll talk about it later,’ said his mother, putting the adventure leaflet in her handbag. ‘I’m sure it’s possible, but there’s a problem we need to deal with first.’
‘What problem?’ said Richard. ‘Is it what we did to the office?’
‘Well,’ she said. ‘We need to talk about that too. But the real problem appears to be your friend, Salome.’
‘Oh.’
‘Did Jeff tell you?’
‘He said she’s being kicked out of school.’
‘Yes. And her father’s coming round to see us. They say they want to have it out with us, face to face. I’m not sure what we can do, but that’s the priority. He sounded very upset.’
Richard and Rikki had hardly finished their tea when the doorbell rang. Two minutes later, everyone was in the lounge. The television was off, and the chairs were full. Salome’s father was a big man, and he used up most of the sofa. He appeared to have come straight from the club he ran, because he was in a thick tracksuit. Salome was squeezed next to him on one side, and her mother sat opposite, pouring the tea that Mrs Westlake had set on the coffee table. Salome was looking at her knees.
‘I’ll come straight to the point,’ said her father. ‘My daughter shouldn’t have done what she did, and there’s no two ways about that. She let us down, and the first thing we’re here to do is apologize.’
‘Apologize, girl,’ said Salome’s mother.
Salome looked up. She had clearly been crying. She licked her lips and said in a small voice, ‘I’m very sorry, Rikki. I’m sorry, Richard. I shouldn’t have hit you. I have to learn to control myself.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Richard.
Rikki said nothing.
‘Two things are happening to our girl,’ the man continued. ‘Three things. Number one, we as a family are punishing her. Big time. She is grounded. Phone, computer – she don’t even get to look at them. And that, for Salome, is a big deal. And that is going to go on, and on, until she’s satisfied us that she can behave. Number two and number three are the problems, though. Which is why we are here. You know the school is suspending her?’
He was talking to Mr Westlake, who nodded.
‘Well, they tell us today they want to expel her.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘They say she doesn’t fit, and that means she’s out, and that means she loses her boxing licence too. Salome’s in the under-thirteens junior flyweight right now – you probably didn’t know that. There’s a tournament covers all this district, and the next fight is Monday, and she’s been training two, three times a day. Got through the qualifiers, got a TKO in the second bout, won the next two on points.’
‘That’s very good,’ said Mr Westlake. ‘I’m amazed.’
Salome’s father stared at him.
‘You must be very proud,’ said Mrs Westlake.
‘I am proud. We are very proud. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. She’s a hard hitter, but she’s also technical. Needs to work on her left – she’s a jabber and that’s OK up to a point, but I always say, “Salome, the jabs are preparation – you got to have a bigger finale.” So we’re working on the left, and we always do footwork.’
‘She’s been fighting since she was three,’ said Salome’s mother. ‘Her big brother used to use her like a punch bag, so I g
uess it was inevitable. He don’t do that no more.’
‘She hits hard,’ said her dad. ‘That’s what your boy got. That was a shoulder-right full-on to the nose and mouth, and that’s a head shot we’ve practised . . . If she could do that with the left, she’d be made. But . . .’
‘Rolo’s different, of course,’ said Salome’s mother.
‘We heard he wasn’t well,’ said Mrs Westlake. ‘How is he now?’
‘Oh, he’s got a condition. He’s never been well.’
‘But he’s a fighter in a different way,’ said Salome’s father.
‘To be honest,’ said her mother, ‘I’m glad to have one child who stays outside the ring. Four boys I’ve got, and Salome. All they talk is training, weights, diet. It’s nice to have a little boy who’s normal.’
Salome’s father interrupted. ‘Listen, though, Mr Westlake. We’re not here to tell you about our family. We got another agenda here altogether, and when she hit Rikki, Salome broke every rule in the book. She . . . I mean, those fists of hers, they are offensive weapons. Have I told you that, Salome? Sit up!’
‘Yes, Dad.’
‘Do I tell you that every time we train?’
‘Yes, Dad.’
‘Control is what it’s about, and you would have thought she’d remember. But she lets us all down, and she forgets. What she did to your boy’s going to cost her the thing she loves most. She’s going to lose that licence – and it’s like losing a loved one.’
There was a short silence, and Richard said, ‘How would they know? We’re not going to tell.’
‘They find out,’ said Salome’s father. ‘The school tells the Association.’
‘That is the real issue,’ said her mother. ‘The school has to sign her licence, you see – so they sign up to say her behaviour and conduct are exemplary. She gets expelled, and they report it – they have to. And, Salome, you can cry as much as you like, my girl, but that’s the fact.’
Richard looked at Salome, and saw a tear drip down her cheek.
‘I see,’ said Mr Westlake.
‘That’s why we’re here,’ said Salome’s father. ‘We would like to know where you stand on the incident, because we will mount an appeal, and where you stand is critical.’
Mr Westlake sipped his tea. Then he turned to Rikki. ‘What do you think, son?’ he said. ‘You’re the one who got hit.’
‘She shouldn’t have hit me,’ said Rikki.
‘You shouldn’t have called my brother—’
‘Shhh!’ said her father. He stared at Salome, and she looked at her knees again.
There was a silence.
‘I think she has to learn her lesson,’ said Rikki. ‘She can’t control herself. That Association, whatever it was, needs to know what she’s like. She’s a thug and I want to see her go down.’
Everyone in the room stiffened.
‘Rikki,’ said Mrs Westlake softly. ‘Salome is not a thug and you know it. She has apologized to you—’
‘What’s she going to do next time?’ said Rikki.
‘I will control myself,’ said Salome.
‘Which is what we all need to do,’ said Mrs Westlake. ‘You, most of all, Rikki.’
‘Fine,’ said Rikki. ‘But what if I accidentally say something else she doesn’t like? I might get a chair over my head. Or a knife in my back. I would not feel safe if she was in the school, so I think she’s getting just what she deserves. She ought to be in a zoo.’
‘Ouch,’ said Salome’s father after a moment of silence. ‘You don’t forgive, do you, boy?’
‘Never.’
‘Why not, though?’ said her mother. ‘You have to let things go, sometimes. If you don’t . . .’
‘What?’ said Rikki. ‘What happens?’
‘You can’t move forward. Nobody can.’
‘I don’t want to move forward. I’m going sideways.’
Mr Westlake licked his lips. When he spoke, his voice was soft. ‘What about you, Richard? You feel the same as Rikki?’
‘I don’t know, Dad.’
‘What don’t you know?’
‘I . . . Look, I didn’t get hit.’
‘You surely did,’ said Salome’s mother. ‘I think you’ve got to have an opinion on this. We were all told you are the same person.’
‘OK, then.’
‘He thinks what I think,’ said Rikki.
‘Is that true?’ said Salome’s mother.
Richard closed his eyes. ‘I think Rikki’s wrong,’ he said. ‘Totally, utterly wrong.’
Rikki shook his head. ‘You cannot back me up, ever—’
‘Shut up, Rikki,’ said Mr Westlake. ‘Nobody interrupted you. So let’s hear Richard.’
‘Look,’ said Richard slowly. ‘I think that Salome was in the right. I don’t think she’s done anything she needs to apologize for. What Rikki said . . . what we said, about Rolo . . . If anything, I think she should have punched us harder. Because if . . .’
‘What?’
‘If someone said that about me, then I think Rikki would get upset. Or even the other way round – I hope. He talked about dying.’
‘I wouldn’t get upset,’ said Rikki. ‘Not about you.’
‘You would. If she insulted me, you’d be angry – but Salome would never insult me, because we’re friends – good ones. Or we were.’
Rikki shook his head. ‘We are such a loser,’ he muttered. ‘You get confused!’
‘We should be the one apologizing,’ said Richard loudly. ‘Rolo’s one of the nicest kids in the school, and I can’t believe what we said.’
Mr Westlake sat back again. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘My view is very simple. Salome should not have hit you, Rikki. You should not have provoked her. You got punched, and Salome is now getting punished. But there is no way she should be punished three times over. I do not want her losing her licence, and I want her to stay at the school, with you.’
‘Dad,’ said Rikki. ‘You are undermining me.’
‘You are in the wrong, Rikki. Totally. I told you that.’ He looked at Salome’s father. ‘What is it you want us to do, sir?’
‘I want you to go down to that school, Mr Westlake. I want you to say exactly what you just said, to the headmaster. That way, we might save the day.’
‘I’m going to do that, Rikki. And you’re going to come with me.’
‘I bet I’m not.’
‘I will take the morning off, and I will be outside his office as soon as the school opens. And you better learn from this, Rikki, that I will not tolerate you provoking people, winding them up and being a general . . . menace. You’re the one who’s going to get himself expelled.’
Rikki stared back at him. ‘I hope I do,’ he said.
Salome’s father sat forward. ‘Why?’ he said. ‘What’s wrong with you, boy?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Salome’s your friend – or ready to be. She was before this, wasn’t she? That’s what Richard said.’
‘No,’ said Rikki. ‘Never.’
‘She was!’ said Richard. ‘We were good friends, I know we were.’
‘I don’t want friends,’ said Rikki. ‘They let you down just when you need them most. I’m on my own, and that’s how I like it.’
‘Then you’re in a lonely place,’ said Salome’s mother quietly. ‘I hope you come back from it.’ She looked at Mrs Westlake and smiled sadly. ‘You got a fighter too, you know, dear? I hear it in his voice, so don’t expect rest, ever. Oh, and Salome? – you’re listening to this?’
‘Yes.’
‘This young man is going to need you, some time. Whatever he says – whatever he does—’
‘I don’t need anyone,’ said Rikki.
‘You say that,’ said Salome’s mother, ‘but we know better. That’s your duty, Salome – or part of it.’
CHAPTER FOUR
Time passed.
The football season continued all year round at Green Cross, and the next game was looming. True, th
ere was a bit of cricket, and some rather feeble athletics. A parent ran a Saturday rugby club, which was well attended, and there was a karate class after school on Tuesday. But football dominated, for the simple reason that Mr Barlow loved the game and spread a real passion for it among girls and boys alike. In his youth he had ‘tried out’ for a London side, so he knew what he was talking about. He wasn’t fit any more, but he pushed the children as hard as he could.
They had beaten Morden Manor three–nil, and it was during that first game that Richard and Rikki were exposed to the more hostile stares of other children. They quickly got used to being called ‘two-heads’, and soon discovered how those who insulted them always seemed to be the most stupid.
‘Oi. Two-heads.’
‘Yes?’ said Rikki.
‘You’re a freak.’
‘Thank you.’
That would usually be the end of it.
‘Do you two snog?’ said one witty boy, just before half time.
Rikki smiled, and Richard waited until the next tackle, then elbowed the boy so hard in the stomach that he was stretchered off.
Richard was astonished to find that he was getting used to his second head. From the beginning, he had been relieved to discover that Rikki did not prevent him sprinting, dribbling or shooting – in fact, he had turned into a much better player. His balance was as good as ever, and he found that in the course of a game, they worked together and followed just the same instincts. The next match was a quarter-final against their arch-rivals, Blagdon Road Juniors. In fact, every other school was an arch-rival, for Mr Barlow liked to whip up a real sense of competition when there was a cup involved.
‘They’re a quick s-s-side,’ he said, spluttering slightly. ‘But they’re not so, so s-strong at the back. I’ve also . . . I shouldn’t be telling you this, maybe, but I was t-talking to their headmaster and one of their strongest has got chickenpox. They’ve got a new f-full-back, and he’s not experienced. That’s why we’ve been w-working on the one-touch pass – I w-want to get that ball forward. Are you . . . are you with me?’