Fifteen Days Without a Head Read online

  ‘I can’t.’

  He shrugs. ‘See you later then, man.’

  I watch him go, then turn up the hill and start to run, frustration and anger smelting an iron weight in my guts.

  You can hear them halfway up the drive: kids shouting their heads off inside the House of Fun. I spot Jay’s voice among the others. It seems a shame to take him away, but Mum can only afford to pay the childminder for an hour.

  I press the bell and see Angie approaching through the frosted glass: a kaleidoscope of primary colours.

  ‘Hello, Laurence love!’ She beams at me, as though I’m the one person in the whole world she hoped would be standing on her doorstep. ‘Come in, come in!’ Then she frowns. ‘What happened to you?’ She means my eye.

  ‘Rugby, at school.’ I’m such a good liar.

  ‘Rugby? In the summer term?’ Or maybe not.

  I shrug. ‘Just a one-off game, inter-house thing.’

  ‘Well, I hope you won. I’ve always thought rugby was a barbaric game.’ Angie shakes her head. ‘Let me get you a drink. You must be parched in this heat?’

  ‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’

  It’s the same ritual every time. She offers me a drink, or a biscuit, or a packet of crisps and I refuse. Not because I don’t want them, I just need to get out of there. Angie makes me feel like a vampire caught in daylight.

  I wait in the hallway while she goes to fetch Jay. I hear him complaining that he’s in the middle of a game. Then he appears, sweaty and glaring. A couple of the other kids come out and stare at me, until Angie shoos them away. Jay takes ages putting on his shoes, then finally we’re back outside and I can breathe again.

  ‘Harry thinks you’re weird,’ says Jay, trailing behind me.

  ‘Who’s Harry? The little fat one?’

  ‘Harry’s not fat!’

  ‘I’m not weird.’

  Jay’s eyes flick to my ankles. ‘He says your trousers are too short.’

  ‘Maybe my legs are too long?’

  Jay shoots me a look of contempt, but doesn’t say anything.

  Harry’s right though—my trousers are too short, but that’s the least of my worries. I’m thinking about what Buchan said, and wondering what Han is up to in town, while I’m stuck here, baby-sitting my miserable little brother.

  I’m listening to Baz on the radio in the kitchen. It’s nearly time for the quiz to start. I need to go down to the phone box, but Mum’s not back yet. She should have been home ages ago. On a Wednesday, she finishes work at seven, so even if she stops at the off-licence on the way home, she’s always back by quarter-past.

  I’ll have to take Jay down with me. I can’t risk leaving him here. If Mum comes back and finds him on his own, she’ll go ballistic. She’s probably staying on late at the chippy to help Mrs Choi, so there’s a chance she might see us in the phone box. It’s a risk I’ll have to take. If I don’t phone the radio station in time, I’ll be disqualified.

  I leave Mum a note on the kitchen table, telling her I’ve taken Jay to the park. I’ll probably get it in the ear for keeping him out late, but I can cope with that.

  ‘You’ve got to be quiet,’ I tell Jay, as we squeeze into the phone box.

  He pulls a face. ‘It smells funny.’

  ‘I know. Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Why are we here?’

  ‘I told you—I need to make a phone call.’

  ‘Who to?’

  ‘Somebody from school—a friend. It’s about some homework. Be quiet.’

  Jay sticks out his tongue as I dial the number.

  ‘Radio Ham,’ says a voice in my ear.

  ‘Hello. It’s Daniel Roach for Baz’s Bedtime Bonanza.’

  ‘Hi, Mr Roach, are you on the usual number? I’ll get Cheryl to call you back.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I put the receiver back onto the cradle.

  Jay is frowning at me. ‘You’re not Daniel Roach. You’re Laurence Roach. Why did you tell them that?’

  ‘It’s a code. We have special names for each other. Just a game really.’

  ‘Oh,’ says Jay. ‘Me and Matt do that. I’m Growl and he’s Wild Beast, but if Billy plays then he has to be Wild Beast, and Matt is Swift, but Billy normally plays football, so Matt can be Wild Beast and sometimes, if I feel like it … I’m Swift …’

  The phone rings.

  ‘Hi, Daniel, Cheryl here.’

  ‘Hi, Cheryl,’ I say, doing my Mr Buchan impression.

  ‘How are you this evening?’

  ‘Yeah, fine thanks.’

  ‘Good stuff. Almost halfway there, you’re doing really well.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘We’re going straight to the quiz when this record finishes—in about two minutes. So when you hear Baz talking that means you’re on air. OK? Good luck!’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Why are you talking funny?’ says Jay, looking up at me with his arms folded.

  ‘We do voices too. Now you have to be quiet.’

  Jay frowns. ‘Why do I have to be quiet? It’s not up to you anyway.’

  ‘Please, Jay! Just for a few minutes. I have to concentrate.’

  Jay pulls a face, then turns his back on me as the record fades …

  ‘The HOUR strikes nine!’ says Baz, his voice booming in my ear. ‘Which means it’s TIME! For the BIG—BAZ—Bedtime Bonanza!’ The sound of klaxons and wild cheering fills the studio. ‘Please welcome back—for his FOURTH day in the game—our REIGNING CHAMPION—MR DANIEL—DANNY BOY—ROACHAAAA! How you doing, Champ?’

  ‘OK.’

  Baz laughs. ‘That’s what I LOVE about you, my friend. Nothing fazes you. COOL as ice! Even though you are now just seven days—count them, boys and girls—just SEVEN DAYS away from WINNING an all-expenses-paid trip of a LIFETIME, courtesy of our very good friends at Hardacre Holidaze!’ Cue jingle. ‘So Daniel, I’ve got to ask—do you feel lucky?’

  Jay presses his lips against the wall of the kiosk and licks the glass. I pull him away.

  ‘Get off!’ He glares at me.

  ‘Whoa!’ says Baz, in my ear. ‘Are you all right there, Champ?’

  ‘Yeah, fine, sorry!’ Too late, I realize I forgot to do the accent. I just spoke to Baz in my normal voice!

  ‘Sounds like you’ve got some HELP tonight,’ says Baz.

  Did he notice? He must have noticed!

  ‘No! Er … just one of my lads.’

  ‘Ah!’ says Baz. ‘And who might that be. INTRODUCE US!’

  ‘Um, I’ve got James with me.’

  ‘HELLO, JAMES!’ says Baz. ‘And how old is he, Daniel?’

  ‘Six.’

  ‘I’m not your lad!’ says Jay.

  ‘What’s that?’ Baz chuckles. ‘Hey, put him on, Dan, let’s SPEAK to him.’

  My heart thumps a warning. The last thing I want is Jay, live on the radio. ‘Er … I dunno, he’s a bit shy.’

  ‘I’m not shy!’ says Jay, very loudly.

  ‘Yeah, I’m feeling lucky tonight, Baz,’ I say quickly, trying to change the subject. I glare at Jay and put a finger over my lips.

  ‘Glad to hear it, my friend,’ says Baz, ‘glad to HEAR IT. Let’s hope young James will be a lucky mascot for you tonight.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, as Jay sinks his teeth into my leg and starts to chew. At least with a mouthful of my jeans he can’t make too much noise.

  We get back to the flat, and there’s nobody waiting for us except the roaches. I screw up my note and bury it in the bin, then tell Jay it’s time for bed.

  ‘Not going to bed.’

  ‘Yes, you are.’

  ‘It’s not up to you!’

  ‘Mum’s not here, so it is up to me actually.’

  Jay’s face twitches while he tries to think of a reply. ‘I’ll tell Mum you made me go to the telephone with you.’

  ‘So?’ I hadn’t thought about that, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll say I had to phone Han about some homework. Mum hardly listens to what Jay tells her anyw
ay.

  Jay growls and drops to all fours, then advances towards me, snapping his teeth. I wonder if all six-year-old kids are like this, or is it just me who’s got a lunatic for a brother?

  At least I got through tonight, no thanks to Jay. The questions were easy—three out of three again. Only six more days to go. Just eighteen questions. I’m starting to believe I might actually win.

  I imagine Mum’s face when I present her with the holiday. She’s just back from the chippy, sitting at the kitchen table, cigarette in one hand, glass of wine in the other, with that dead look in her eyes. I give her the envelope and she stares at it, frowning. She probably thinks it’s a letter from school, telling her I’ve been expelled or something—until she sees the Hardacre Holidaze packet inside.

  Mum leans forward and rests her ciggie on the ashtray, so she can use both hands, because she’s interested now. She pulls out the tickets and the brochure showing us where we’re going, then looks at me. The dead glaze has gone from her eyes. Her whole face is changing. It’s like the person she was—the one I remember from years ago—is coming back. She’s smiling and there are tears rolling down her cheeks, but they’re happy tears. They make her eyes sparkle.

  I do my homework, then make myself a coffee and go into the front room. Jay’s asleep on the settee. I switch off the TV and carry him to bed. He squirms and mutters something about Wild Beast, but he’s not really awake. The Scooby-Doo alarm clock says 10:37 p.m.

  Mum must have got paid tonight and gone to the pub. She’ll come crashing in around midnight and fall asleep on the settee, which means I’ll have to do her cleaning shift in the morning.

  That reminds me what Mr Buchan said: if I’m late three more times, they’ll put me on report. Mum won’t like that.

  I touch the tender area around my eye. Somehow I need to start getting to registration on time. I wonder, could I have invisibility and super speed? That might do it.

  I lie in the dark, listening—waiting for Mum to come home. It’s midnight and I’m wide awake. In five hours time the alarm will go off.

  In some countries they use sleep deprivation as a form of torture.

  I turn off the alarm before it starts. I’ve been awake for hours, drifting between sleep and consciousness, listening out for Mum.

  The light in the hall scratches at my eyes as I stumble across to her room. I stand in the doorway for a moment, blinking at the empty bed, then I check the front room. She’s not in there either, but I’m not really surprised—it’s not the first time Mum’s stayed out all night.

  I should go and do her shift, but I can’t leave Jay on his own in the flat. If Mum comes back and I haven’t gone to work she’ll go mad. But if she came back and found Jay here on his own, she’d go mad about that too.

  Maybe she already left and I didn’t hear her?

  But her cleaning overall is still here, hanging over a chair in the bedroom.

  Unless she went straight there from wherever she spent the night. She might have the key card with her. That makes sense.

  I don’t bother to check her overall pocket, the one where she always keeps the card. I just go back to bed.

  The sound of the television wakes me. Jay’s bed is empty, and light is pumping through the window. The numbers on the Scooby-Doo clock tell me we’re late.

  In the front room, Jay’s lying upside down on the settee in his pyjamas. I switch off the TV and tell him to get dressed.

  ‘I’m hungry.’

  ‘We’re late.’

  ‘I want some breakfast!’ He gets up and switches the television back on.

  ‘Jay! We haven’t got time!’ I know already there’s no way I’ll make it today. Another strike on Mr Buchan’s list.

  I switch off the television again and grab Jay as he tries to turn it back on.

  ‘Go and get dressed!’

  ‘I want to watch TV!’ He swings a fist at me.

  ‘No hitting! What does Mum say about hitting?’

  ‘She does it to you!’ Jay glares at me.

  ‘Go and get dressed and I’ll make you some toast.’

  ‘Don’t want toast!’

  ‘It’s all we’ve got.’

  ‘I hate toast!’ screams Jay, and stamps off towards the bedroom.

  The bread’s gone hard, but I can’t see any green bits. I put two slices in the toaster, then go to the bedroom where Jay is throwing clothes around. I forgot to go to the launderette last night; my school shirts are still in a dirty pile on the floor. All I can do is pick one and coat the thing in deodorant. The sticky cloth clings to me like a rash.

  I smell the toast burning a second before the smoke alarm goes off.

  ‘She’s hot, man!’ Han shows me the picture on his phone again. The girl’s face is too blurred to see properly, but I nod anyway.

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘Nice? Man!’ Han gazes at the screen. ‘You should’ve come up the Arcade last night—she’s got friends!’ His eyebrows do a Mexican wave. ‘I’m meeting them Sunday, yeah—at the festival. You gotta be there, man.’

  ‘What festival?’

  ‘In the park, Sunday. Loads of bands and stuff. It’s all sorted, I tell you!’

  ‘If I can, yeah.’ If Mum’s in a good mood—if it’s safe to leave Jay on his own with her—I might be able to get out for a while.

  Han puts his mobile back into his pocket. ‘You coming for a game? Mike’s got his footy with him.’

  I shake my head. ‘I’ve got some homework to finish.’

  Han shrugs. ‘OK. Later, man!’

  The library is in the old part of the school; a long narrow room with high ceilings and tall sash windows. It smells damp and musty, even on days like today. I walk between the shadowy bookshelves to the Media Centre—a grand name for a few tables and a row of computers at the far end of the room. It’s virtually deserted, which suits me.

  I was lying about the homework, but I have got things to do. I’ve been thinking about what Baz said the other night, about a sport question—it made me realize I know nothing about sport. I haven’t bothered to revise before, but now I’m starting to believe I might actually win. I want to give myself a chance. It can’t hurt, can it?

  I choose a terminal and log on to the system, then enter sporting facts into a search engine. A page of links pops up: Interesting Facts: Sports and Games, 10 Sports Trivia Facts, Freaky Sports Facts. I try the first one, but it’s all old stuff about the original Olympic Games in 776 BC and how the Ancient Romans played a game a bit like golf, using sticks and a leather ball stuffed with feathers. I can’t imagine Baz asking me anything like that. The next site is American—loads of stuff about baseball and why American footballers put black stuff under their eyes.

  I try another search. This time I type Sports Quiz Questions, and add UK to the end. The first website brings up a page of questions: In snooker, how many red balls are on the table at the start of a game? Which sport uses different coloured balls, depending on temperature? On a dart board, what number is directly opposite number one? There’s a button at the end of each line to find out the answer. I don’t know any of them. Perhaps I should write some down? I could try to memorize a few for tonight. But there are three screens of questions, it will take ages.

  The more I read, the more panic crowds in on me. Baz might ask me any of these questions, or a million others. I could spend the rest of the day looking through this stuff and still know next to nothing. Maybe it’s better to leave it? Trust in fate. It’s worked so far.

  ‘Stupid thing!’

  The voice comes from close by. A girl is standing over the printer table, swearing. She snatches a sheet of paper as it rolls into the tray and growls, then moves to a computer and starts hitting keys. Each thump is accompanied by a different oath. I’m impressed. Most people can swear, but for variety and invention, this girl is a master.

  ‘Are you going to help, or just sit there gawping?’ She turns and glares at me.

  ‘What?’

>   She points at the computer. ‘This thing won’t do what I tell it!’ Her accent sounds funny, northern.

  ‘What’s wrong with it?’ I stand up. It looks like I’m helping whether I want to or not.

  ‘I’m trying to print these out.’ The girl waves the scrunched up sheets of paper at me. ‘But it keeps coming out the wrong size.’

  ‘How big do you want it?’

  ‘I want it to fit on there, don’t I!’ She looks at me like I’m an idiot.

  I sit down at the terminal. I’m no techno geek—we’ve never had a computer at home—but I’ve learned the quirks of the school printers.

  ‘You have to choose this tray, look.’ I point to the screen. ‘And select Fit to printable area.’

  ‘I did that!’

  I shrug as the printer groans into life and grinds out another page.

  ‘Yes!’ The girl grabs the sheet and punches the air in triumph. ‘You’re a genius!’ She grins. ‘Right—I want twenty.’

  We wait while the printer chugs out another twenty copies. I can feel her watching me.

  ‘What you doing in here anyway?’ she says, after a moment. ‘Shouldn’t you be out on the field playing footy with your mates.’

  ‘I don’t really like football.’

  ‘Really? I thought that was all lads ever talk about. Lucky for me, eh?’

  I look at her and swallow.

  ‘I mean, there’s never normally a geek around when you need one.’

  ‘I’m not a geek!’

  She laughs. ‘Just playing with you, Big Man! No offence intended. Anyway, wouldn’t matter to me if you were. I quite like geeks.’

  I turn away and pick up one of the sheets coming off the printer, hoping my cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. ‘Um … so what’s this for anyway?’

  Pop in the Park it says across the top of the poster. I realize it must be the thing Han was going on about—Hardacre’s very own summer music festival. There’s a list of local bands I haven’t heard of, but the headline act—the big finale before the fireworks—is a Queen tribute band. Mum would like that. Maybe we could all go? If she’s in a good mood.

  ‘Can I keep this?’

  The girl frowns. ‘I suppose, seeing as how you helped. You going to come?’

  ‘Might do.’