Skellig

Chapter 27

“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?” THEY kept asking. “What’s bloody wrong with you?”

I was hopeless. I couldn’t tackle. I missed the ball by a mile when I jumped up to head it. When I had the ball at my feet I stumbled all over the place. I fell over it once and skinned my elbow on the curb. I felt shaky and wobbly and I didn’t want to be doing this, playing football in our front street with Leakey and Coot while Mina sat in the tree with a book in her lap and stared and stared.

“It’s ’cause he’s been ill,” said Leakey.

“Bull,” said Coot. “He’s not been ill. He’s just been upset.”

He watched me trying to flick the ball up onto my head. It bounced off my knee and bobbed into the gutter.

“I’m just out of practice,” I said.

“Bull,” he said. “It’s just been a week since you could beat anybody in the school.”

“That’s right,” said Leakey.

“It’s her,” said Coot. “Her in the tree. That girl he was with.”

Leakey grinned.

“That’s right,” he said.

I shook my head.

“Bull,” I whispered.

My voice was as shaky as my feet had been.

They stood there sniggering.

“It’s that girl,” said Leakey.

“That girl that climbs in a tree like a monkey,” said Coot. “Her that sits in a tree like a crow.”

“Bull,” I said.

I looked Leakey in the eye. He’d been my best friend for years. I couldn’t believe he’d go on with this if I looked him in the eye and wanted him to stop.

He grinned.

“He holds hands with her,” he said.

“She says he’s extraordinary,” said Coot.

“Get stuffed,” I said.

I turned away from them, went past our house to the end of the street, turned down toward the back lane. I heard them coming after me. I sat down in the lane with my back against the boarded-up garage. I just wanted them to go away. I wanted them to stay. I wanted to be able to play like I used to. I wanted things to be just the way they used to be.

Leakey crouched beside me and I could feel he was sorry.

“The baby’s ill,” I said. “Really ill. The doctor says I’m in distress.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah. I know. I’m sorry.”

Coot kicked the ball back and forth against the boards.

“Don’t do that,” I said. “You’ll knock it down.”

He sniggered.

“Oh, aye?”

He went on doing it.

“Don’t do it,” I said.

I got up and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck.

“Stop doing it,” I said.

He sniggered again.

“Doing what, Michael?” he said in a high girlish voice.

I shoved him back against the garage. I thumped my hand against the boards beside his head.

He winked at Leakey.

“See what I mean?” he said.

I thumped the boards beside his head again. There was a loud crack and the whole garage trembled. Coot jumped away. We stared at the boards.

“Bloody hell,” said Leakey.

There was another crack and another shudder and then silence.

I opened the gate into the yard and we tiptoed inside. We stared through the door into the gloomy garage. Dust was falling thicker than ever through the light.

There was another crack.

“Bloody hell,” said Coot.

“I’d better get my dad,” I said.