Chapters (75)
- Cover
- Praise
- About the Author
- Title Page
- Intoroduction
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EITHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- SIXTY-FIVE
- SIXTY-SIX
- SIXTY-SEVEN
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- CLIMATE EMERGENCY
- Copyright
A few seconds later, I hear the side gate open on its squeaking hinges. Just the postman after all. I relax again and go back to focussing on whether the couple on TV will buy the house with a garden big enough for their dogs but not enough bedrooms, or the one with a granny-annexe and near to woodland walks. Watching TV with Mum has started to wear off on me, I think.
A huge thud at the back window makes me jump almost a foot in the air. Behind the flat palm that made the thud is a grinning, demonic-looking skull – teeth bared and nostrils wide open. I’m rooted to the spot in sheer panic.
As I watch, unable to look away, another skull hovers up to the glass, grinning.
‘Josh! Let us in!’ It’s Alan. It takes another second to realise the hideous face is Vince. Both their heads are freshly shaved.
Alan taps something else against the glass, making a cutting, metallic sound. It’s a beer bottle. He holds up three more in his other hand. ‘Hey! Skiver!’ his smile broadens. ‘Look what we found in your shed!’
*
After I’ve let them in and Alan and Vince have drunk a beer each at the kitchen table in a single, long swallow, they start talking.
‘Noticed you weren’t in today. Thought we come and pay you a breaktime visit, after we’d sorted our hair out.’ Vince swallows a belch, runs a hand across his stubbled head.
‘Just a flying one though. Vince has got a meeting this afternoon he can’t miss.’
‘Head’s detention. Dump-tackled some immigrant kid from St Martin’s in the rugby game last week and got sent off. Head was watching. Thinks I did it on purpose.’ Vince spits into the top of his empty beer bottle.
‘You did do it on purpose, Vince,’ Alan clarifies. ‘You told me right from the start of the game you were going to do it, as soon as you saw him. Why they still let you play is a fucking mystery.’
‘Well, whatever. They’d get murdered without me.’ Vince is worrying at the top of another beer with the edge of his key-ring, then jerks his head at me when he realises what he’s said. ‘Oh.’
There’s no apology, but is this Vince’s way of at least softening a bit? I pass it off with a shrug.
Alan thumps my arm. ‘What’s your story, Skiver? You look at those other websites yet?’
‘Yeah, some.’ I take a sip of my beer. On an empty stomach, it almost comes up again. I swallow it for the second time.