Read The Day the Ear Fell Off Online
Authors: T.M. Alexander
‘It was hardly no reason. He accused us of waltzing.’ I sounded ridiculous. Bee started jogging on the spot (none of us know how to waltz) and giggling, and then me and Fifty joined
in (the laughing,
not
the dancing).
I was last in the line-up for lunch, and still chuckling, when Jonno came along with an ice pack pressed against his neck. I shut up and turned to study the back of Bee’s
head, praying he wouldn’t speak to me, or worse, punch me.
He didn’t.
Copper Pie’s punishments were: a talking to from the Head and Miss Walsh, an apology to Jonno, to stay in every lunch break this week and, worst of all, a letter home.
‘It could have been worse,’ said Bee.
‘Could it? Mum’s gonna hit the roof.’ Even Copper Pie’s freckles looked pale. His mum
is
quite shouty.
‘You could have been suspended.’ Bee shook her head and tutted.
We were eating slowly for a change, so that Copper Pie had less time sitting outside the Head’s office on the naughty chair. I had plain pasta (no sauce), cheese, sweet-corn and a muffin:
one of my favourite lunches.
‘At least your mum won’t start wailing, “Where did I go wrong?” like mine does and suggest we schedule in more “quality time”,’ said Fifty.
‘Your mum’s nice – well, apart from all the kissing,’ said Bee. ‘All my mum does is feed me and buy my school shoes. At least your mum’s interested in
you.’
‘Too interested,’ said Fifty. ‘Kids aren’t meant to be interesting to their mothers. Kids like junk food and danger, that’s it. Like C.P. here.’
For the first time since ‘the incident’ Copper Pie smiled. ‘Don’t forget telly and football.’
Fifty smacked him on the shoulder, which meant something like, ‘You’re our mate no matter what.’
Eventually we had to go out. Copper Pie went to meditate outside the Head’s office and the three of us headed for the tree. I had a quick peek to make sure HE wasn’t there. No. No
sign of him. I didn’t want to see Newboy for a while. I was worried he might have fingerprints on his neck.
Tuesday afternoons are my favourite. I got top marks in the science test so Miss Walsh put my name on the board in the tick column, making me officially a keener. Copper Pie
was already up there with the crosses! And I worked hard at my model in D.T. – it’s a Spitfire, made from two boxes and the cardboard tube from the kitchen roll all covered in brown
paper with wooden sticks attaching the wheels, clear plastic for the windscreen and a working propeller with a battery under the wing. I can’t wait to paint it. I’ve got a picture to
copy so it’ll be an exact replica. Fifty’s making a fire engine. It’s rubbish. He says he’s going to burn it in the metal bin in his room.
The bell went and I still wasn’t packed up so everyone skedaddled without me. When I came out, the playground was nearly empty. Fifty was waiting with my mum, my sister Flo, and (
what
was HE doing there?
) Jonno. Peculiar. Unbelievably, after all that had happened, he was
still
bothering us. And where was
his
mum? She was obviously super-late.
As I walked towards them, Fifty stepped towards me doing a mini version of the cut-throat sign. He looked worried. Perhaps his mum was in with the Head who was advising her that her son should
stop mixing with a certain ginger-haired ruffian. Perhaps my mum would be called in next?
‘Disaster,’ Fifty said in my ear. There was no time to ask what he meant because Mum was right behind him.
‘There you are. Honestly, anyone would think you didn’t want to come home.’
I smiled, keeping my eyes focused on Mum and not on Fifty who was making an I’m-being-strangled face behind her.
‘It looks as though we’ve got a houseful for tea today. Come on, you lot.’
I started to walk beside Fifty – he was obviously coming for tea. He comes most weeks so it wasn’t really a reason to make I’m-about-to-die faces, but he does like acting.
Mum and Flo followed . . . and so did Jonno.
He was probably hoping to be invited too,
I thought.
No chance!
I was about to ask Fifty what he thought Jonno the shadow was doing when Mum bent her head forward and whispered, ‘It seemed kind to offer to have him round for tea. You don’t mind,
do you?’
What did she mean? Why did we need to be kind to Fifty? Why would I mind my friend coming over?
Uh-oh . . . A nasty thought found its way to the front of the queue.
Surely she couldn’t mean Jonno?
No. Of course she couldn’t. It wasn’t possible that Jonno could be coming for tea because I hadn’t mentioned a new boy to Mum. Maybe Fifty’s mum was ill . . . or worse,
in hospital. Yes, that would be it. Be kind to Fifty while we break the news. The fact that we were all walking together was a coincidence, that’s all. Or maybe Jonno was still hoping to worm
his way in with us, even though we’d shown him we weren’t interested.
I couldn’t wait to talk to Fifty about how
completely
crazy Newboy was.
Mum leaned forward again. ‘Only I met Jonno’s mum this morning at the surgery. It’s so hard being the new boy in a class.’
tea with the enemy
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. There was a tight feeling as though someone had bandaged up my lungs a bit too tight with parcel tape.
Loads of questions were flying around my head, out of my ears, back in through my nose, buzzing in front of my eyes.
Will Jonno rat on us?
If he does, what will Mum say?
If he doesn’t, will we all pretend to get on like proper mates?
Will Jonno go along with it?
Will I be able to swallow my tea with Jonno staring at me?
Does Jonno have any telltale signs of being throttled?
The words started to reorganise themselves into nonsense:
I like to swallow throttled rat.
Mum drew level and gave me a worried look. ‘I know you don’t like things that aren’t planned, but Jonno’s mum was so pleased that I asked, and when she suggested today .
. .’
I could feel my legs start to tingle. Luckily Mum knows the signs.
‘Take a breath NOW,’ she ordered.
I did.
‘That’s right. And another.’
HOW I BECAME A BREATH-HOLDER
When I was a tiny baby and couldn’t walk or talk or get food in my mouth without smearing it over my face first, my mum had a bright
idea: I think I’ll take this little baby (who can’t even sit up) for a swim. So she took me and my sister Amy (who was five) to the pool and (because she’d been told that
babies can swim underwater) she let go of me. I floated below the water for a bit while she chatted to Amy and then (when she remembered I was there) she pulled me out of the water.
At that point, I was meant to take a big breath but no one had taught me that, so I didn’t. That was the first time I went blue.
Amy says that after that I did it every time I didn’t get my own way. But that’s a lie.
Everything started to come back into focus. I’ve been a breath-holder since before I could talk, although it doesn’t happen very often now. I don’t mean to do it. It just
happens. I forget to breathe, go bluish and then faint. Luckily as soon as I begin to faint my body takes over and I start breathing again. Fifty’s mum says it’s attention-seeking
behaviour. My mum says it’s a quiet version of a tantrum and tells everyone to ignore me. That’s what it’s like having a mum-doctor! Even if I’m really ill, all I get
given is a spoon of pink medicine and a vest.
The breathing helped. I needed to stay calm.
‘The car’s just along here. Jonno, would you like to sit in the front with me so we can get to know each other?’
‘Thank you,’ said Jonno. I hadn’t noticed his voice before. It was proper, like on the radio.
Flo scrambled on to her seat and I got in the middle, followed by Fifty. Using faces and signs, we panicked silently. Mum did the talking. ‘Your mum’s description was spot on, Jonno.
I had no trouble finding you.’ She paused. ‘So how are you settling in?’
‘OK so far,’ he said.
Phew!
‘Snack?’ Mum asked as we walked into the house.
‘Yes, please,’ said Fifty and Jonno at the same time.
‘Yes, please, Mummy,’ said Flo. She’s a creep.
The four of us sat at the kitchen table eating cheese biscuits and drinking blackcurrant. Luckily Flo chats to anyone so she made all the noise. I was completely mute. What could I say to a boy
we’d deliberately told on for things he hadn’t done, been rude to and practically beaten up?
‘What are you going to do before tea?’ Mum said.
Fifty could see I still wasn’t functioning so he stepped in. ‘I think we’ll go outside and . . . find something to do there.’
‘Good. What about you, Flo?’
‘Can I do Play-Doh?’
‘Of course,’ Mum said. She cleared away the plates and sent us out.
So we stood on the grass.
My gaze was fixed on the wavy blades, the bright shiny green and the duller greyish green of the underside. I could easily have stopped breathing again. It would have been better than the
embarrassment of not knowing what to say. And the worry that we’d
still
be standing in a silent circle when Mum called us for tea. And if she
never
called us for tea because a
big wave swept her away, then we’d grow old and grey and die there. In between my desperate thoughts, a label kept gliding into view, like a subtitle on a film. It said,
SORRY
.
‘Sorry,’ said Fifty.
My head snapped up. ‘Yes. Sorry.’
‘Accepted,’ said Jonno. ‘I’ve had worse welcomes.’
Although we’d only said eight words between us, everything changed. Not speaking was so uncomfortable. Speaking was like finally having a pee when you’ve been holding on and holding
on. Jonno grinned so I grinned back.
‘Have you been to lots of schools?’ asked Fifty.
‘Enough. This is the fourth school in seven years.’
‘Did you get expelled?’ Fifty said.
‘No, but I wouldn’t have minded if I had. I’ve been to schools where the classroom is scarier than being in a cage with . . .’ He paused.
‘A panther?’ I suggested.
‘I was actually deciding between the devil and the tooth fairy, but a panther would do. Did you know there’s no such species?’
‘There is. It’s black and it’s a cat,’ said Fifty.
‘It’s black and it’s a cat, but it’s actually a leopard or a jaguar with black skin. Opposite of an albino.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ I said.
‘Same,’ said Fifty.
After that the questions flew: Why does he keep moving? When is he moving again? Why is he scared of the tooth fairy? (He isn’t, any more.) Which school was the best? What is the worst
thing that’s happened to him? How far can he see without his glasses? (As far as his elbow. )
We started to chuck a ball around as we chatted and it was OK. (And his neck looked normal!) He’d lived in London and Glasgow, where he met his best friend, Ravi. His worst first day was
in Oxford where the teacher asked a posh kid to show him the way to the loos and he showed him the girls’ not the boys’ and then went and got all the other boys so they could watch him
come out. How nasty is that?
It was nice talking to someone new – we all know everything there is to know about each other.
Jonno asked questions too: Why do you have such strange nicknames? I can guess Keener, but Fifty? Copper Pie?
We enjoyed answering that.
NICKNAMES
COPPER PIE: Ages and ages ago (we must have been about six) he was eating in class (absolutely not allowed) and the fill-in teacher (a
man who didn’t know any of our names) shouted, ‘You with the ginger hair, put down that sandwich.’ And C.P. yelled back, ‘My mum says it’s copper, not ginger,
and this is not a sandwich it’s a pork pie.’ He’s been Copper Pie ever since.
FIFTY PER CENT (or FIFTY): He hasn’t grown since he was about three, so he’s half the size of everyone else.
BEE: Short for Beatrice.
KEENER: It’s obvious, isn’t it?
JONNO: Has never had a nickname.
‘Do you want to go out the front?’ I said. Our garden’s quite small so we often play on the road.
We decided to play piggy in the middle, one on each side of the road and the pig in the middle, who had to try to get the ball
and
not get run down. I was in the middle, and had been for
ages, when we heard yelling.
‘Keener!’ It was Copper Pie, and someone chasing him – Bee.
What were they doing here? My house isn’t on the way to Bee’s or C.P.’s. She lives on the estate and he lives on the main road.
Copper Pie skidded to a stop two drives down. So I ran over.
‘What is it?’
‘What’s
he
doing here?’ Copper Pie gave Jonno the evil eye.
‘Long story. Mum invited him. He’s all right.’
‘He’s the reason I’m for it.’
‘Come on, Copper Pie. He just wanted someone to hang out with. Do you know he’s never been at a school longer than about five minutes? He’s
always
been the new
boy.’
‘So?’
‘Anyway, why are you here?’
Bee caught up. ‘Trouble. Big, big trouble.’
Fifty came over. ‘Did I hear trouble is brewing, witchy-poo?’
‘Brewed,’ said Bee.
Copper Pie sat on the kerb and put his head in his hands.
Bee made an aren’t-you-going-to-tell-them face, but he didn’t look up.
‘What is it?’ I said. ‘Did something happen on the way home?’
Bee shook her head.
‘Well there wasn’t time to get in any more trouble at school today,’ I said. ‘Was there?’
clumsy clot
Bee did the talking.
‘C.P. went back up to the classroom after D.T. to get his catapult. He thought he ought to leave it at home for a few days because of . . .’ She stopped and stared at Jonno with big
wide eyes that seemed to say, ‘All your fault, Newboy.’
‘Anyway, on the way back down the stairs he was just testing the elastic, he
says . . .’
(she made a ticking-off face at Copper Pie) ‘when his finger slipped and . .
.’ (she winced) ‘he knocked the left ear off the statue of Charles Stra-Stra-Stra-att-on . . .’