BooksBarbecue
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Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise
  3. About the Author
  4. Title Page
  5. Intoroduction
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. FIVE
  11. SIX
  12. SEVEN
  13. EITHT
  14. NINE
  15. TEN
  16. ELEVEN
  17. TWELVE
  18. THIRTEEN
  19. FOURTEEN
  20. FIFTEEN
  21. SIXTEEN
  22. SEVENTEEN
  23. EIGHTEEN
  24. NINETEEN
  25. TWENTY
  26. TWENTY-ONE
  27. TWENTY-TWO
  28. TWENTY-THREE
  29. TWENTY-FOUR
  30. TWENTY-FIVE
  31. TWENTY-SIX
  32. TWENTY-SEVEN
  33. TWENTY-EIGHT
  34. TWENTY-NINE
  35. THIRTY
  36. THIRTY-ONE
  37. THIRTY-TWO
  38. THIRTY-THREE
  39. THIRTY-FOUR
  40. THIRTY-FIVE
  41. THIRTY-SIX
  42. THIRTY-SEVEN
  43. THIRTY-EIGHT
  44. THIRTY-NINE
  45. FORTY
  46. FORTY-ONE
  47. FORTY-TWO
  48. FORTY-THREE
  49. FORTY-FOUR
  50. FORTY-FIVE
  51. FORTY-SIX
  52. FORTY-SEVEN
  53. FORTY-EIGHT
  54. FORTY-NINE
  55. FIFTY
  56. FIFTY-ONE
  57. FIFTY-TWO
  58. FIFTY-THREE
  59. FIFTY-FOUR
  60. FIFTY-FIVE
  61. FIFTY-SIX
  62. FIFTY-SEVEN
  63. FIFTY-EIGHT
  64. FIFTY-NINE
  65. SIXTY
  66. SIXTY-ONE
  67. SIXTY-TWO
  68. SIXTY-THREE
  69. SIXTY-FOUR
  70. SIXTY-FIVE
  71. SIXTY-SIX
  72. SIXTY-SEVEN
  73. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  74. CLIMATE EMERGENCY
  75. Copyright

With no laptop to spend my time on, I go back to evenings with Mum in front of our usual TV – redecoration shows, house-building shows, which-house-should-we-buy shows. We start getting on better again, but there’s something about her which is even further away than it was before. Mr Walters starts staying after tea for some TV, or maybe a film. From my room, I hear them laughing. Or Mr Walters is laughing; Mum is definitely giggling.

We’re watching something on catch up one evening, just Mum and me, when a home-building project goes hopelessly wrong as the presenter always knew it would. The one-man building team looks at the semi-devastation around his intended five-bedroomed glass box and says, ‘Well, it is what it is.’

I look across, but Mum doesn’t seem to register it.

Every morning comes with the smell of burnt toast. Mum takes the batteries out of the smoke alarm.

FORTY-SIX

FORTY SIX

One weekend, almost at the end of term, I decide to wander to the recreation ground to watch the team play again – the last match before the Christmas break. Jamie’s there, leaning on his crutches, wrapped up against the frost which, on the top pitch right under the trees, has lasted until the middle of the afternoon. Ahmed’s with him. They’re both sipping from cans of energy drink.

I’m reluctant to join them at first, for lots of reasons, but Jamie sees me and raises a crutch aloft.

‘Alright mascot?’ he quips, jocular. ‘Still don’t fancy a game then?’

‘You play?’ Ahmed asks.

‘Played. I used to. Can’t seem to get excited by it anymore.’

‘It’s not easy in this weather to get excited by anything.’ Ahmed stamps his feet which are encased in polar-explorer levels of socks and fur. I look at the snow boots, jealous.

‘Nice boots.’

‘Necessary. I don’t know why all the people here don’t have a pair. You can pick them up cheap on Ebay.’

‘Might have a look.’

‘Do you think they’ll sell me one for half price?’ Jamie looks down at his single shod foot, the other in a blue cast with mismatched football socks pulled over the end. ‘I’ve got two pairs of socks on and my foot’s still freezing. It’s making my other foot cold just standing next to it.’

We laugh.

For a while, our breath smokes together as we watch the twenty-two figures on the pitch jostle for possession and hunch, almost as one, against the occasional blasts of wind that cut across the recreation ground. Ahmed offers me some of his can, but I shake my head.

‘It’s worst for the ’keepers,’ I say.

‘That’s where I play. Played, I mean. Back home.’ says Ahmed.

‘Didn’t you play at your last school?’ I ask.