Scrambled (2 page)

2

That lunchtime, as usual, Davidde went to the library. Sometimes he talked to the librarian, Mrs Tubbins, an older lady with an elaborate grey beehive hairdo. He’d heard that at weekends she went out on a motorbike. He often wondered how she got her hair inside the helmet, or if she’d had one specially made to house her massively elongated head. She’d let him into the library but had left to make a phonecall.

He hadn’t seen the astronomy books for six weeks. He’d read them all cover to cover a hundred times and it was like meeting up with old friends. He still liked to flick through and look at the pictures of the planets and their moons, and the photos of distant stars and galaxies. He found the exotic colours and shapes on the shiny paper
relaxing, a reminder that there was something beyond this town, beyond this planet even. Even the smell of the books was comforting. He was alone and safe. He heard the door open on the other side of the room. He went back to reading about the Crab Nebula.

Then his head was six inches in front of where it should have been, and he felt pain at the back of his head. He turned around to see Dwayne Tight grinning wildly, screeching, ‘BOOK FIGHT! BOOK FIGHT!’ at the top of his voice. Davidde realised he’d been hit by a book thrown by Dwayne. The rest of Lyndon Lyons’ gang piled into the room and ran around pulling armfuls of books off the shelves. They all wore identical expensive hooded jackets and gold chains. They split into two groups either side of the library and hurled books at each other, ducking behind tables and knocking over chairs to create better barricades. Lyndon Lyons threw
A History of Modern France
at Craig Smurfit and it caught him right in the face. He retaliated with
Desmond’s Big Day,
which disintegrated as it left his hand, creating a smokescreen of pages. Dwayne realised that paperback books weren’t any good and crawled
away looking for
The Guinness Book of Records.
The battle continued; non-fiction definitely having the edge over children’s literature. Davidde couldn’t get out and was scared of getting hurt or in trouble. He also felt bad for Mrs Tubbins; there was no way he could stop all this, and she would be upset. She appeared at the door, surveyed the devastation and scurried off for back-up.

Books continued to shoot through the air, and the boys shouted and swore at each other. As the action peaked, Dwayne knew what to do. He had located a copy of Proust’s
A La Recherche du Temps Perdu
, and it was just the job. Big, fat and heavy. He launched it with all his might.

Just before this, Mrs Tubbins’ back-up had arrived in the shape of the new headmaster. He strode manfully into the centre of the library and stood still, with his hands on his hips. The boys stopped. The boys knew they were for it as they looked at the pages and the books on the floor, the waste, the intellectual carnage they had created.

And that was without the book Dwayne had just thrown.

Davidde saw everything from where he sat. He saw the Head walk in and pause, he saw Dwayne
launch the book. It arced through the room, binder first, a perfect shot. The Head raised his hand and pointed seriously, and opened his mouth to speak. He got as far as ‘Guys…’ when the book caught him square on the temple. He went straight over and disappeared under the tables. There was complete silence.

Mostyn Evans reappeared a few seconds later rubbing his head. The Lyons gang looked worried.

‘Listen, guys, I’m not going to start shouting,’ he said.

Lyndon and his crowd looked down when he looked at each of them, trying not to laugh. Anything was possible now.

‘The thing is, guys, I know you’re in high spirits on the first day back, and a certain amount of horseplay is to be expected. I was the same myself, guys, when I was your age – letting down the tyres of my Geography teacher’s car, for example. He wasn’t happy, I can tell you. Especially when he lost his licence for two years.’

Dwayne snorted up his sleeve.

‘But the thing is, guys, Mrs Tubbins is upset, so we’d appreciate it if we could tidy this place up. Can you do that, guys?’

They started to half-heartedly clear things away and Davidde went back to his book. Lyndon noticed this.

‘Sir? Sir?’

The Head took no notice of Lyndon.

‘Sir? Mostyn?’

Still no reply.

He tried again. ‘Evsie?’

‘Yes, what is it, young Lyndon?’

‘Why isn’t Davidde helping, Sir? He started it. He chucked books at us when we came in. I don’t see why we got to tidy up all this mess when it’s all his fault and he’s just sitting there reading. Like a girl.’

The Head walked over to Davidde.

‘OK, son, muck in, then. Lend a hand, is it?’

Davidde felt his face going red.

‘But I didn’t do anything.’

‘Come on, son, many hands make light work.’

As the Head spoke to Davidde, the gang left their tidying and sidled up to him.

‘Come on, Dai, you done it as well,’ said Dwayne.

‘Ay, don’t be sly, mun,’ grumbled a few other voices.

‘They’re right, Dave, don’t be sly. The more of us
there are helping out, the quicker we can all get on and forget all about this. Or do I need to speak to you in my office?’

Davidde was in new territory now, because he had never been remotely in trouble in his life. It wasn’t that he was a goody-two-shoes, he just hated conflict and hated the idea of letting anyone down, especially the people in charge of him. Being in trouble just didn’t come naturally to him.

‘Do I, son? Need to speak to you?’

Davidde was aware of Lyndon Lyons’ gang smirking as he felt his face burn with shame and indignation.

‘The boys here have been dull, but at least they’ve been honest. Are you going to be honest, or are you going to be sly? Because I won’t tolerate that, not in my school.’

Davidde got up and started to put books away angrily, keeping his eyes down as he felt them becoming watery. The last thing he needed was for that lot to think he was crying. He needn’t have worried, because as he put the books back the rest of them slunk out of the library and up the field for a cheeky fag before the bell went for afternoon lessons.

When he finished he was surprised to find that the Head was still there.

‘What’s your name, boy?’

‘Nippers. Davidde Nippers.’ It was the first time he’d ever spoken to a teacher without using Sir or Miss to finish his sentence.

‘Well, listen to me, Nippers my boy, I’m watching you. I’m going to be watching you very closely.’

And with that, he left.

There was no sign of his father when he got home from school, so Davidde did his homework and went next door to see Mr Leighton. Mr Leighton had spent three hours that afternoon polishing his pristine silver Volvo, but now he was stood at the window of his living room with his binoculars to his eyes, furious. There was always something in his life that could make him furious. His current source of anger was the group of boys riding scramblers on the waste ground at the foot of the mountain, known locally as the Rec. It wasn’t clear whether it was the noise he objected to, the fact that they were churning up the ground and making it unsafe for walkers, or that they might hurt themselves. Nobody knew. All Mrs Leighton and Davidde did know was that he was furious.

‘Look! Look! They’re at it again! No tax or insurance, I bet. They should be doing their homework. Why aren’t they doing their homework, Davidde?’

‘Maybe they finished it.’

‘Finished it! Finished it! They’ve been out there for hours! Finished it! I phoned the police at four o’ clock and there’s been no sign of them.’

When he wasn’t beside himself with anger, Mr Leighton had quite a placid nature. He didn’t really say much, but when he did, it often had very little connection with the current topic of conversation. Once, Davidde and Mrs Leighton had been talking about dogs, and Mr Leighton sat up and said, ‘China’s got to change.’ Another time, Davidde had been a bit sad and Mrs Leighton was doing a great job of raising his spirits. From out of nowhere, Mr Leighton looked into the distance and shouted, ‘Don’t play the banjo, play the violin!’ and left the room. It made going next door interesting at least.

When Davidde got back to the house his father was back from work. He was at the kitchen table reading the paper, smoking and drinking cider. He didn’t look up as Davidde came in.

‘Where you been? Next door with Miseryguts, is it?’

‘Aye.’

‘What was he moaning about today then?’

‘The boys on scramblers down the Rec. He says they’re a nuisance.’

His dad shook his head.

‘He’s moaning cos there’s boys on scramblers. What does he expect? Next thing he’ll be moaning that water is wet, or that wood burns. Boys and bikes go together like fish and chips. When I was your age…’

Davidde had heard this before. When Ralph Nippers had been Davidde’s age, he’d been the best scrambler in the valley. He’d take on all-comers, and he wouldn’t just beat people, he would send them for fags. (Davidde never really understood what sending people for fags actually meant, but the way his father said it, it sounded quite impressive.)

Davidde was also aware that he was a bit of a disappointment to his father. He’d never taken up scrambling or sport the way his father had, and this meant that they didn’t have much to talk about. This hadn’t been a problem when Mam was alive,
because she wanted him to do well at school, but then she got cancer and died, and Davidde and his father had to get by on their own. Most of the time things were fine, but occasionally Davidde felt he should get in trouble at school just to keep his father happy. His father was famous in the area for being expelled from school on his last day because he used a water pistol to squirt pee over the headmaster. The thing was, Davidde didn’t like getting into trouble and he liked doing the work. It was something his father could never get his head around. He considered telling his dad about the new headmaster and how he’d spoken to Davidde earlier that day, but even thinking about it made his cheeks feel hot and his eyes watery. He’d just leave it. Anyway, the last thing he wanted was to give his father a chance to go down to the school and start ranting and raving. That would be awful.

The rest of the evening passed quietly. They had egg and chips for tea and then his father went out to the Club. This left Davidde alone. When it went dark he set up his binoculars to look at the stars. He had a tripod and had managed to fix his binoculars onto it to give himself a steadier
view. He had saved up for a proper telescope and Mr Leighton was helping him choose one. Mr Leighton was an expert when it came to surveillance.

Davidde focused on the Andromeda Galaxy. It was incredible to him to be able to see something that wasn’t just outside the Solar System, but was outside the galaxy. Now this was the sort of thing that sent his head for fags.

He was asleep before his dad got back. He dreamed he was down the Rec, watching Lyndon and Dwayne and the boys messing around on their bikes. They were doing wheelies and their own special scrambler jousting, where they would race at each other and try to spit on the rider racing towards them. They were having a whale of a time, and they didn’t notice Davidde gazing down on them. It was then he saw the Black Rider for the first time.

Riding a gleaming silver scrambler with the shiniest chrome exhaust ever, dressed head to toe in the blackest leather, the Black Rider ascended the crag overlooking the Rec, and then stopped at the very top. Lyndon and the boys, even Dwayne, stopped riding and spitting for a moment to
admire the powerful faceless figure above them. The helmet was black, the visor revealed nothing. The Rider slowly raised a gloved hand and pointed.

At Davidde.

Then the figure beckoned him over. Davidde couldn’t believe he’d been picked out over the other boys. He was uncertain, and a bit scared, but he obeyed anyway. He made his way over, through Lyndon’s gang, who looked on in awe. The rider was utterly still, looking down like a statue carved from granite.

Davidde climbed up the crag, and faced the rider. When he was level, the rider put their hands to the sides of the helmet and slowly started to raise the visor. Inside seemed to be a perfect blackness. The Rider, head bowed now as if in prayer, had the visor completely open. The helmet was raised and Davidde was able to see that instead of eyes the rider had a pair of… ‘Prawn balls, Dai? I got some Chinese for us, butt.’

His father was back, and was sitting on Davidde’s bed, sharing a takeaway with him. He seemed a bit happier, as he often did when he came back from the pub.

‘Bit early to be kipping, isn’t it?’

‘Tired, Dad.’

Davidde tried to eat a prawn ball, but it was making him feel ill, as if he was eating an eye. But whose eye? And what message did they have for him?

His dad left him to get some rest, but Davidde found it difficult to relax, and had a fitful night’s sleep, although he didn’t dream of the Black Rider again.

At least not that night.

3

It was Art again. Dwayne Tight had got hold of a knife and was hacking lumps out of the table. When he had a row, he tried hacking lumps out of Ceri Fuss. When he had a row for that, he started hacking lumps out of himself.

Miss Pughes-Pervis had explained the two-year course to the class and had started them off on their first project, which involved the class drawing a still life of a flattened hedgehog. Then she took Kaitlinn and Davidde to one side to talk them through the first part of their course.

She opened up a booklet with the list of projects in it.

‘Obviously you need to keep all your planning sheets and preparatory work and put it together with your final piece to make it a proper job. Now
then, here we go – choose one from the following list of five!’

She clapped her hands together with excitement.

‘One: Phlegm through the Ages. Hmm – interesting – suggests sculpture to me. Two: Horsepower – that could be one for you, Kaitlinn!’

Kaitlinn loved horses, and with her longish face and sizeable nose, Davidde sometimes thought she’d started to look like one. Miss Pughes-Pervis, though, didn’t suggest Kaitlinn try a self-portrait.

‘Three: The Joy of Wrecks. Sounds like landscape to me. We could organise a trip to the seaside or something. Four: The Sky at Night. That could be one for you, Davidde – you like stars and planets and Astrology and all that.’

‘Astronomy, Miss.’

‘Whatever. Five: Pterodactyl Soup. That sounds a bit weird to me – and I’m an Art teacher!’

She turned to her A-grade students and asked them what they thought.

‘Horses,’ said Kaitlinn, thinking that she could use her own horse, Alfie, in some way.

‘The Sky at Night,’ said Davidde. He was going to buy the telescope this week. Mr Leighton had been helping him choose one online, and they’d
almost come to the end of the decision-making process.

‘That’s great. Well, you can start on a few planning sheets, and it would be lovely if you could come back to me a week today with something to show me, and with some idea of what your final piece is going to be.’

They went to different tables to start gathering a few ideas. Kaitlinn worked with her back turned to Davidde.

‘I’m drawing Alfie,’ she said.

‘I’m sketching Uranus,’ said Davidde.

Kaitlinn rolled her eyes.

‘That’s exactly what I mean by pressure. Every day. Every stinking day.’

Davidde didn’t have a clue what she was on about.

‘What you drawing, butt?’

It was Dwayne. Miss Pughes-Pervis had had to separate him and Ceri because he was trying to bite her. He was only joking, he said. But Miss thought it was safer if they sat apart. Davidde was concerned about having Dwayne sat next to him, but he tried not to show it. The only times
Dwayne had spoken to him before were to call him a tool or a spanner when Davidde dropped a pass in rugby.

Davidde showed him his planet.

‘That’s good that is, butt.’

Davidde asked Dwayne what he was drawing.

‘An SMX-600, butt. My dad’s getting me one this weekend.’

Davidde looked at it and tried to work out what an SMX-600 was. It looked like it had been drawn by a hyperactive chimpanzee, high on cheap squash.

‘Can you help me with the front wheel, butt? And the ’elmet.’

From Dwayne’s questions, Davidde was able to make out what the drawing was meant to be. It was a scrambler with the rider leaning back, doing a wheelie.

‘Nought to sixty in five seconds, thirty brake horsepower, top speed sixty-eight miles per hour! Motocross, boy, racing on dirt-bikes!’

He leaned back on his stool as if he was riding it, his hands on the handlebars, his right hand revving the throttle.

‘Mwaaaaaah! Mwaaaaaaaaaaaah!’ he shouted at
the top of his voice, imitating the sound of the engine, changing pitch as he changed gear.

Davidde tried helping out with the front wheel and helmet.

‘Thanks, butt, that’s tidy, that is.’

He paused, then shouted, ‘Miss, Miss, look what I done!’

The lesson passed, and Davidde was surprised to enjoy sitting next to someone for the rest of the lesson, even if it was Dwayne, who never called him a tool or a spanner once.

Back at the house after school, Davidde was in his bedroom counting up his money. With his last pocket money from his dad, he had just enough to buy the telescope and tripod Mr Leighton had helped him choose. He’d been keeping all his birthday and Christmas money for the last couple of years, and now he was ready. He counted it one last time to make sure he was right, and then went round and knocked on the door. Davidde was going to give Mr Leighton the cash so he could order with his card. There was no answer. Davidde tried again. This was very strange – Mr Leighton was always at home in the afternoons.

Mr Leighton was at home, but he was in his greenhouse tending to his tomatoes. He loved it in there. He couldn’t hear boys on their dirt bikes, he wasn’t getting annoyed by his computer playing up, it was just him and his tomatoes. It was his favourite place, the only place where he found inner calm. He didn’t know what he’d do without it.

Mr Leighton was getting a little older and deafer and Mrs Leighton was out getting a few things for the house, so she wasn’t there to let Davidde in. Davidde wondered what to do.

As he did so, he saw something that, before today’s Art lesson would have been a worrying sight.

It was Dwayne Tight, pushing a scrambler up the street. Normally Davidde would have avoided eye contact with him, but now he felt confident enough to talk to him. Dwayne pushed the bike past him.

‘Alright, Dwayne?’

‘Alright, butt?’

‘Where you going?’

‘I’m selling my bike like, got a new one coming this weekend. I’m taking it down Phil’s to see how much he’ll give me for it.’

Phil’s was where Davidde’s father worked. Davidde thought for a few seconds. A strange idea started forming in his mind. Davidde walked after Dwayne.

‘How much do you expect to get for it?’

‘I’ll take anything round an ’undred.’

Davidde felt the money in his pocket. It was madness. What would he do with Dwayne’s old scrambler? But then again, who was the Black Rider? Maybe it was a sign.

‘I’ll give you a hundred for it.’

‘Who? You?’

‘Aye. Me.’

‘Where you going to get that money from?’

To Dwayne’s amazement, Davidde produced it from his pocket and counted it for him.

‘You sure about this, butt?’

‘Never been surer.’

Davidde looked at the bike and scratched his head.

‘I’ve never done this before – I’ll need a few lessons.’

‘I can help you, butt, no problem.’

Dwayne turned the bike around so they could go back down the Rec.

‘How do I start it?’

‘Stick this on your bonce for a start.’

Dwayne gave Davidde a helmet. He put it on and pulled down the visor. He started to feel different.

‘I’ll throw in a penknife as well – you never know when it’ll come in handy,’ Dwayne said. He got Davidde to sit on the bike.

‘You’re not really meant to do this on the pavement but it’s OK because there’s no one around. Just be careful. It’s in neutral – start her up.’

Davidde didn’t know what to do.

‘Kick starter – right foot, mun.’

The engine was running.

‘Now rev the engine – right hand, butt.’

The scrambler roared. Telescopes weren’t this exciting.

‘Pull in the clutch – left hand. Right, put it in gear – use your foot!’

Davidde put it in gear, but he wasn’t prepared for the raw power of Dwayne’s bike. The back wheel spun, and because Davidde was leaning back the front wheel reared up and he fell off. The bike powered on down the pavement by itself.
Dwayne was laughing hysterically when a figure came out of one of the houses, with the bike going straight for him.

It was Mr Leighton!

He saw the bike just in time and threw himself into the nearest garden. He was in a rose bush shouting ‘HOOLIGANS!’ at the top of his voice. Dwayne was chasing after the bike, which had fallen on its side. His face was red with laughing, tears streaming down his face. Davidde got up and ran after him, hoping Mr Leighton wouldn’t recognise him with the helmet on. He ran after the bike and Dwayne, and felt an elation he’d never felt before. Dwayne was already on the bike and got Davidde to jump on the back. They rode away down to the Rec so Dwayne could start Davidde’s education properly.

Davidde spent the next couple of hours with Dwayne. It turned out that Dwayne was a good teacher. By the end of the session Davidde was able to balance and ride quickly without falling off, and was doing a decent wheelie. He put the bike in the garage that backed on to the alley behind his house. He walked into the kitchen to find his father smoking and drinking cider again.

‘Where’ve you been?’

‘Down the Rec. On my scrambler.’

His father stopped mid-drag.

‘You what?’

‘I’ve been down the Rec on my scrambler.’

‘Shut up, mun.’

‘I have – it’s out the garage – come and see.’

His father followed him; he was staggered to see the scrambler. Davidde wasn’t sure, but thought he saw his dad’s eyes go slightly glassy.

‘Dai, Dai, I never knew. I … I … would have bought you one years ago. But you were always doing daft things like – well – reading books, and doing homework. What sort of a father am I?’

‘It’s alright, Dad.’

Ralph looked at the scrambler, and thought back to when he was Davidde’s age, racing and getting into scrapes with his bike. It was great. Davidde
could
be a chip off the old block after all.

‘Let’s go back inside. You can have a glass of cider with your old man.’

Ralph put his arm round his boy’s shoulder and led him proudly back to the house.

His father told him stories he’d heard many times, but it didn’t matter. It was great to see his
father so happy, and to be happy with him. It didn’t take long before Ralph said that it was a shame his mother wasn’t here to see him. At this point Davidde was concerned things were going to get a bit sad – he couldn’t cope when his father drank too much and started crying, so he made his excuses and took himself off to bed.

‘Thing is, butt, I loves her.’

Davidde found this hard to understand. Dwayne was sitting next to Davidde again in Art, because he’d tried sitting next to Ceri Fuss but got moved because he’d poked her in the eye.

‘I want to say something nice, or do something tidy, and I go to do it but then I pull her hair or I bite her. I can’t explain… You won’t tell the boys, will you?’

‘Why don’t you want them to know?’

‘They’ll make fun. They can be hellish nasty.’

Davidde knew how hellish nasty they could be. But he was surprised that they’d be nasty to one of their own. They seemed thick as thieves most of the time.

‘That’s why I picked Art. I can’t stand drawing, but none of the others took it so it means I can
have a break from the boys making fun of each other’s family. I remember once Muppet asked Froggy if his gran would give him piano lessons, and he knows she ain’t got no arms!’

‘Don’t worry, I’m not got going to say anything, Dwayne.’

‘Thanks, butt.’

Normally after getting home from school Davidde would have done his homework, but that night he’d arranged to meet Dwayne down the Rec to get a few more lessons. The other boys in Lyndon’s gang would be in football training, but Dwayne preferred messing around with bikes. Davidde was improving rapidly, and Dwayne enjoyed helping someone develop an interest in something he loved.

An hour later, Davidde noticed Lyndon’s gang in the distance. This made him feel uncomfortable, and he noticed it made Dwayne uncomfortable as well. Davidde thought the best thing to do would be to go home. He had work to do by the next day anyway.

‘Who was that on your bike, Tighty?’ asked Froggy.

‘That was that Davidde Nippers kid, wasn’t it?’ said Muppet.

‘Nuh.’

‘Yeah, it was…’

‘You fancy him!’

‘I don’t!’

‘Yes you do, look at him blushing!’

‘I’ll tell you who’s gay, Froggy.’

‘Who is, then? Tell me.’

Dwayne had to think for a minute.

‘Er … your pants! No, your mother’s pants – your mother’s knickers. No, your mother’s sweaty fat knickers!’

The boys groaned at Dwayne’s efforts. Dwayne didn’t find making original insults very easy.

Davidde sat at his desk to do his RE homework. He resented having homework for a subject that he hadn’t chosen, and he’d also given up believing in any sort of god after his mother died. However, he sat down to do it because he liked the teacher, Mr Muffin, and doing homework was something that he did. He’d never think about not doing it.

But as he sat there, toying with his penknife, trying to follow a dreary worksheet about Saint Denzil (the patron saint of tarpaulin) he drifted
off to sleep at his desk, and he was back down the Rec. Lyndon Lyons was there, taunting Davidde, saying he rode like a girl. Davidde challenged him to a race, and Lyons asked him how far. Davidde looked up, and in the distance could make out the Black Rider, motionless on the crag.