Dare Game (28 page)

I could feel Alexander trembling. His face was peony red. ‘You’re both
really
my friends? You’re not kidding me? This is so great!’

‘
You’re
great. Alexander the Great. Though you’re also crazy, because your so-called friends have broken your leg,’ I said.

‘Yeah, you’ve had to spend hours and hours in hospital,’ said Football.

‘I like it in hospital,’ said Alexander. ‘It’s been ever so interesting. The doctor showed me the X-ray and explained all about bones and it was fascinating. I think I might be a doctor when I grow up. So I suppose I’d really better stop bunking off school or I won’t pass my exams. You have to get top grades to do Medicine. And school won’t be anywhere near as bad if I’m off games for six whole weeks. Then you’ll just have to push me hard again, Tracy, so I can break my other leg.’

‘It was only a
little
push!’

‘I know. I fell awkwardly. I
am
awkward.
That’s
why I’m so useless at football. My legs don’t work the right way.’

‘Your head’s fine though,’ said Football. ‘Here, maybe I’ll train you to do my famous Bonce-Buster so you can head the ball into the back of the net, easy-peasy.’

‘That would be great,’ said Alexander.

‘That would be a blooming miracle,’ I said.

Alexander and Football seemed to be bonding like Superglue. They chatted together in the car all the way to Alexander’s home.

It was a
huge
house, one of those big black and white ones with criss-cross windows and neat little trees in tubs on either side of the front door. We hadn’t realized quite how posh Alexander is. Things got even ritzier inside, with polished wood everywhere and matching sofas and chairs so vigorously tidied with cushions at exact angles that I only dared perch on the end of a hard chair with red and white stripes like toothpaste. Football stayed in the middle of the carpet standing on the outside edge of his trainers, his ball clasped close to his chest.

Alexander’s mum got Alexander tucked up on an armchair with his bad leg propped on a footstool, and then she went away to make us all tea.

Alexander’s dad gave us another one of his lectures about bunking off school and it all got seriously
heavy
and Alexander’s face was as white and stiff as his plaster and Football rested his chin on his ball and I slid down the red and white stripes till my bottom was off the seat altogether. But then Alexander’s mum came darting back with juice and homemade chocolate chip cookies which livened things up a little. I thought this was tea but it turned out this was just to keep us going until she’d cooked the
real
tea. She wanted Football and me to ring home to explain we were out for tea so no-one would worry. Football said his mum was at work so she wouldn’t know – and added under his breath that she couldn’t care less anyway.

‘And what about your foster mother, Tracy, dear?’ said Alexander’s mum.

‘She won’t worry either, honestly,’ I said firmly, though Alexander frowned at me.

Football had to drop his football to cope with his juice and cookie. His ball started
rolling
away so he gave it a nifty little kick up onto his trainer and back again.

‘That was neat footwork, lad,’ said Alexander’s dad.

‘Football’s brilliant at football, Dad,’ said Alexander proudly.

‘I’m not bad,’ Football mumbled, surprisingly bashful.

Alexander’s dad started talking soccer-speak and after a few sentences Football joined in, and even demonstrated a few of his party tricks.

‘Ooh dear, you will watch the ornaments, won’t you?’ said Alexander’s mum, rushing back with bowls of crisps and saucers of Smarties.

‘How about if we nip out into the garden, lad?’ said Alexander’s dad.

They went out through the French windows and almost immediately they were kicking the ball backwards and forwards like old pals.

Alexander peered at them a little wistfully. ‘My dad likes Football,’ he said.

‘He likes you too, Alexander. Underneath.’

Alexander frowned and shook his head.

‘Well, your mum definitely likes you.’

Alexander gave a little nod.

‘And Football likes you. And
I
like you lots and lots. You do know that, don’t you, Alexander?’

He seemed to. His head was bobbing about like he was little Noddy. ‘I like you too, Tracy,’ he said. ‘And Football likes you ever so. He wants you to be his girlfriend.’

‘Well. I’m not so sure about that,’ I said. ‘I
might
be his girlfriend. But I’ll be your girlfriend too. If you want.’

‘I do want! And – and your mum maybe can’t always like you, but Cam does. It sounds like she really really cares about you.’

‘No she doesn’t. Anyway. I’ve blown it with her.’

I let myself think properly about Cam. All the stuff we did together. Daft things – like we’d dance to
Top of the Pops
and we’d shout out silly answers to the quizzes and we’d invent all sorts of new rude funny things to happen in all the soaps. And at night Cam would always tuck me up and ruffle my hair. And if I got scared at night – a bad dream or something – I could always go and climb into her bed. She’d moan and go, ‘Oh Tracy Fidget
Bottom
,’ but she’d still cuddle me close. And though her food was so boring and healthy she took me to McDonald’s too. And when I didn’t get invited to Roxanne’s party at school Cam said we could have our own private party just us two instead and we even had birthday cake.

It wasn’t all Party Time of course. She could get dead narked sometimes and do a real moody on me – but then I suppose I could get a bit stroppy at times too. She didn’t ever leave me alone at home. She didn’t go off with any men. And one time when she was going to this very special concert with Jane and Liz and another friend was looking after me, Cam cancelled because I had this stomach upset. Imagine, she gave up going to a concert to mop up all my sick.

We got on OK, Cam and me. Like real friends. Sisters. Almost . . . almost like she was my mum.

It was weird. Alexander’s mum fixed us this most magnificent tea ever, with pizza
triangles
and quiche fingers and little sausages and amazing chocolate cake and a sponge with pink icing too and ice cream with special strawberry sauce – but when it was in my mouth it all tasted like Alexander’s cardboard.

I couldn’t chew properly because I had this big lump in my throat.

I wanted to go
home
.

Home Sweet Home

SO I DID
go home. Alexander’s dad insisted on driving me back to Cam’s. He took Football too and they were still so busy nattering about football that they didn’t notice I was getting quieter and quieter until I said nothing at all for the last five minutes.

I jumped out the car and waved goodbye to them and then I stared at the door and put my finger on the bell like I was actually pressing it. I heard the car drive off behind me. I stayed standing still with my finger hovering above the bell until my entire arm went numb. I rehearsed again and again in my head the things I was going to say. They all sounded stupid. I decided I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t face seeing Cam because I was sure she’d push me away and tell me to clear off.
I
would
if she’d treated me the way I’d treated her.

I couldn’t go back to my own mum. But I didn’t have to wander the streets or crouch on cardboard furniture in our empty house. I knew the social services emergency number. I could summon Elaine within the hour and she’d be able to find me a bed for the night and get cracking on my case in the morning. Social workers don’t ever give up on you. She’d grit her bunny teeth and do her level best to find me a new home.

But I didn’t want a new home. I knew what I wanted even though it was too late. My finger suddenly stabbed all by itself and the bell rang and rang and rang. Then I heard footsteps running and the door flew open and there was Cam, her hair sticking up and her eyes red and her cardie on all the wrong buttons and yet she suddenly looked the most wonderful woman in the whole world.