Dare Game (15 page)

‘I’ve got the ball, I’ve got the ball’ I gabbled quickly, to distract him again.

This time it didn’t work. Football bent over,
grinning
, and picked up the Something with his thumb and forefinger. ‘What’s this, then?’ he said, grinning.

‘Nothing,’ I said. Though it obviously wasn’t Nothing. It was a pretty embarrassing Something.

‘It’s your knickers!’ Football chortled.

‘She’s been leaping up and down and waving her knickers in the air.’

‘Shut
up
, Alexander,’ I said furiously.

I snatched my knickers back and stuffed them in my pocket.

Football laughed loudly and made an extremely coarse remark. I told him to watch his mouth and he said I should watch his ball – as he knocked it out of my arms. He cheered himself wildly and then kicked the ball all round the living room, knocking the television over and severely denting the table.

‘Do you mind! This is my living room, not a football pitch,’ I said.

‘It’s my living room too,’ said Alexander,
quickly
dodging out of Football’s way.

‘I’ve got just as much right to be here as you have. And I say it’s not a dopey old living room, it’s a cracking indoor football pitch,’ said Football, but this time he dribbled the ball carefully
round
the furniture, keeping up a running commentary all the time:

‘Yeah, our boy’s got the ball again, ready to save the day . . .
yes
, he intercepts the ball brilliantly, heading it s-t-r-a-i-g-h-t’ (he took aim as he gabbled and suddenly kicked it hard against the wall) ‘into the net!
Yes!
’ (He punched the air.) ‘I’ve never seen such a brilliant goal.’

‘Sad,’ I said to Alexander, shaking my head.

‘You wait till I’m famous,’ said Football, kicking the ball in my direction. Aiming
at
me, rather than to me.

But I’m no weedy Alexander. I stood my ground and kicked it straight back. ‘Wow! Tracy’s a gutsy little player!’ I commentated. ‘I bet I’m heaps more famous than you anyway.’

‘Women footballers are rubbish,’ said Football.

‘I’m not going to be a footballer, you nutcase. I’m going to be a famous actress like my mum.’

‘Now who’s sad?’ Football said to Alexander. He bounced the ball near him. Alexander blinked nervously. ‘You going to be a famous actress too?’ Football asked him unkindly.

‘He could easily get to be famous,’ I said. ‘He’s dead brainy. Top of everything at school. He could go on all the quiz shows on the telly and know every single answer. Only you’d better have a special telly name. Alexander isn’t exactly catchy. How about . . . Brainbox?’

I was trying to be nice to him but I didn’t seem to have the knack. Alexander winced at the word.

‘They call me that at school,’ he said mournfully. ‘And other stuff. And my dad calls me Mr Clever Dick.’

‘He sounds a right charmer, your dad,’ I said.

‘
My
dad’s the best
ever
,’ said Football, kicking his ball from one foot to the other.

‘I haven’t got a dad so I don’t know whether he’s the best or the worst,’ I said. I’ve never really fussed about it. I never needed a dad, not when I had a mum. I needed her.

‘My mum’s going to take me to live at her
place
,’ I told them. ‘It’s dead luxurious, all gilt and mirrors and chandeliers and rich ruby red upholstery. And she’s going to buy me new clothes, designer stuff, and new trainers and a brand new computer and my own telly and a video and a bike and pets and we’re going on heaps of trips to Disneyland and I bet we won’t even have to queue because my mum’s such a famous actress.’

‘What’s her name then?’ Football demanded.

‘Carly. Carly Beaker,’ I said proudly.

‘Never heard of her,’ said Football.

I thought quickly. I had to shut him up somehow. ‘That’s not her acting name.’

‘Which is?’

‘Sharon Stone.’

‘If your mum’s Sharon Stone then my dad’s Alan Shearer,’ said Football.

Alexander’s head jerked. ‘Your dad’s Alan Shearer?’ he piped up. ‘No wonder he’s good at football.’

Football shook his head pityingly. ‘I
thought
he was supposed to be bright?’ he said. ‘Anyway, my dad’s
better
than Alan Shearer. We’re like
that
, my dad and me.’ He linked his stubby fingers to show us. ‘We do all sorts together. Well. We did.’

Significant past tense.

‘He’s got this girlfriend,’ said Football. ‘My mum found out and now my dad’s gone off with this girlfriend. I don’t blame him. My mum just nags and moans and gives him a hard time. No wonder he cleared off. But he says it doesn’t mean we’re not still mates.’

‘So your dad doesn’t live with you any more?’ said Alexander, sighing enviously.

‘But we still do all sorts of stuff together,’ said Football, kicking the ball about again. ‘We always go to the match on Saturdays. Well, Dad couldn’t make it this time. And last time. But that’s because he’s still, like, sorting out his new life – he’s taking me
next
time, he’s promised.’ He stepped on the ball and patted his pockets, bringing out a cigarette-lighter. ‘Look!’

I looked. He didn’t produce the packet of fags to go with it.

‘Let’s have a smoke then,’ I said. I like the way my mum holds her hand when she’s got a
fag
lit – and the way her lips purse as she takes a long drag.

‘I don’t smoke, it’s bad for my football, right?’ said Football. ‘No, this is my dad’s lighter. See the make?’ He held it out so we could admire it. ‘It’s not one of your tacky throw-away sort. It’s
gold
.’

‘Solid gold!’ Alexander whispered.

‘Well. Plated. Still cost a fortune. It’s my dad’s most precious possession. His mates gave it to him for his twenty-first birthday. He’s never without it, my dad.’

‘He seems to be without it now,’ I chipped in.

‘That’s the
point
,’ said Football. ‘He’s given it to
me
.’ He flicked it on and off, on and off, on and off. It was like watching those flashing Christmas tree lights.

‘You’ll be waving it around at a rock concert next,’ I said.

‘You shut your face,’ said Football, irritated that I wasn’t acting dead impressed. ‘You haven’t even got a dad.’ He kicked the ball hard. It bounced on the television set and ended up inside it.

‘I wish I didn’t have a dad,’ said Alexander,
standing
up and attempting repairs. ‘Or I wish my dad would go off with a girlfriend. I wish wishes would come true. What would you wish for?’ He looked shyly at Football. ‘That you and your dad could be together?’

‘Yeah,’ said Football, looking amazed that Alexander could possibly have sussed this out. ‘
And
to play for United,’ he added.

‘What about you, Tracy?’ asked Alexander.

‘I don’t want a dad,’ I said quickly.

‘What about your mum?’ Alexander persisted. ‘Would you wish you and your mum could be together?’

‘That would be a totally wasted wish, wouldn’t it, because I’m going to be with her
anyway
.’

But I’ll still wish it even so. Let me be with my mum. Let me be with my mum. I’m wishing with all my heart. And my lungs and my liver and my bones and my brains. All the strings of my intestines are tied in knots I’m wishing so hard.

Mum’s Home

WISHES COME TRUE
. My fairy godmother has been working overtime! She made it come true. I spent the whole weekend with my mum and it was
WONDERFUL
and she says she wants me to go and live with her for ever and ever and ever, just as soon as Elaine gets it all sorted out officially.