Fifty Fifty (6 page)

‘God, Louis, what are you getting so angry about?’

‘What am
I
angry about?’ Louis was starting to sound squeaky.‘
You’re
the angry one. You’ve been getting worse and worse for ages now. It just sort of
leaks out of you all the time. It’s like sitting next to a bloody nuclear meltdown sometimes. You never laugh about anything any more. And now you’re showing off about nearly getting
arrested!’

‘I’m not showing off!’

‘You are! It’s so stupid! You never used to be like this!’

‘Yeah? Well, you know what, Louis? I can do without a lecture from you. I get enough of that kind of crap at home.’

Gil spun round and walked off in the opposite direction.

‘You’re doing it again!’ Louis yelled after him.

Gil stopped and turned back, very slowly, as if he was having second thoughts. He stood gazing at Louis until the anger left Louis’ face and was replaced by a look of complete
uncertainty.

‘Maybe you’d like to come over to my house sometime this week,’ Gil said.

‘Um . . . yes, I would,’ Louis said. ‘I haven’t been for ages.’

‘So you’d really like to come, would you?’

‘Yes, sure. Look, I’m sorry I got annoyed. It’s just that sometimes . . .’ Louis looked down, and Gil didn’t wait for him to finish.

‘Well, tough,’ Gil said.

Louis’ head snapped back up. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean you can’t come to my house. I’m grounded. I’m not allowed to see anyone. And you know something else? I don’t care. I don’t want to see you anyway, so
it’s not exactly a punishment, is it? The joke’s on Dad for once. And you.’ Louis opened his mouth but nothing came out. Gil walked away rapidly, and when it became obvious that
Louis was going to spend the rest of the day avoiding him Gil made no effort to try and approach him again. Louis was a prat. He was a moron like Ben, like all the other morons at school. The only
surprise, Gil thought, was that it had taken him so long to notice it.

‘Bag?’

Dad was standing inside the school gates, waiting.

‘What?’

‘Where’s your bag? Did you even look for it?’

‘Uh – no, I didn’t.’

That was true, anyway, Gil thought. There was no point looking for it at school when he knew he’d left it under Jude’s tree.

Dad wrinkled his nose in disapproval. ‘Well, you’ll have to look tomorrow. I haven’t got time to hang about now. I need to get back to work.’

When the car pulled up outside the house, Dad didn’t get out. He waited just long enough to see Gil walk up the path and Mum open the front door, and then he was off again.

‘Hello, darling,’ said Mum.

As usual, the way Mum said
Hello, darling
made Gil’s heart sink. She made it sound as if Gil had been away for weeks instead of hours, and she looked so happy to see him he could
hardly stand it. Mum was
always
at home these days. Not for the first time, Gil remembered how he’d spent all those years at primary school going to an after-school club he hated
because Mum was at work full-time, and just at the point where he was finally looking forward to getting a front door key so he could come home to an empty house, Mum had suddenly given up her job
and announced that she’d be there for him. Every day. It was like walking into a house where the central heating was up way too high.

‘Hi,’ Gil said, squeezing past Mum. He went straight into the front room, fell on the sofa and was just picking up the remote to flick on the television when he heard Mum behind
him.

‘Gil . . .’

She was hovering in the doorway.

‘Oh.’ Gil suddenly realised. ‘I’m not allowed, am I?’

‘No,’ said Mum. ‘I’m afraid not.’

The house was so quiet that Gil could hear the pulse in his ears. If he couldn’t watch television, what was he going to do to fill the silence?

‘Did you have a good day?’ asked Mum. She didn’t quite come into the room.

‘Um – not bad.’

Silence.

‘How about you?’ Gil said.

Mum stared. ‘Sorry?’ she said.

‘Did you have a good day?’

‘Oh. Yes. Thanks. I didn’t do much really. Just pottering, you know.’

Pottering.
That was what old people did, Gil thought. Pottering in the garden. Pottering in the kitchen. There was something about it that didn’t feel right. Surely Mum had never
spent so much time doing so little? She’d always wanted to be out and doing things. And now – pottering. Doing nothing. Hanging about the house waiting for Gil to come home. Why
didn’t she get a job again, like other people’s mums, and get off his back?

Gil couldn’t think of anything else to say to Mum, except all the things he knew he mustn’t say.
Did you go and see Granny again? How is she? What’s wrong with her? Is there
something wrong with you, too? Is that why Dad’s started to treat you as if you were about to break any minute, like a bubble? Is that why you spent most of the weekend in bed? Is that why
Dad’s the one picking me up from school, even though he hasn’t got time and it puts him in a bad mood?

‘How about a bacon sandwich?’ said Mum. ‘You’re probably hungry.’ Then her face fell. ‘Oh,’ she said.

‘That’s on the list too, isn’t it?’ Gil said.

‘Yes.’ Mum looked uncomfortable. ‘Sorry.’

‘Well, I won’t tell Dad if you don’t.’

‘Oh no, I really think . . .’

You really think I deserve to be punished like this
, Gil nearly said, but he stopped, because Mum was looking as if it was just as much of a punishment for her.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll have some cereal,’ he said instead.

Mum went ahead into the kitchen and quickly got out a bowl and the milk. Gil always preferred taking his after-school snack up to his room, but today he sat and ate the cereal at the kitchen
table, wondering if it was too late to say sorry for Friday. The problem was that he didn’t really know what to say sorry
for
, and he couldn’t think of a way to apologise without
risking upsetting Mum again. He gave up. It was safer to leave it as it was.

‘How’s Louis?’ asked Mum.

‘Oh – fine.’

The conversation crashed again. It was too complicated to talk about what had happened with Louis, and anyway Mum would only give herself a hard time for phoning Louis in a panic on Friday.

Slowly the week staggered past. Now and again Mum would remind Gil about something he wasn’t allowed to do, but always really gently. Dad did the school run every morning and afternoon,
his head so full of work he barely spoke. Louis carried on avoiding Gil, and Gil went on obeying every single item on Dad’s list of punishments. The only thing that mattered for now was
staying in control.

On Wednesday evening Gil came down to get a dictionary from the front room. Dad was watching the news, and Gil hadn’t seen any television for days. The story was something boring to do
with banks, but he looked at it anyway while he pretended to leaf through the dictionary. After the news there was two minutes of sport, and then the jingle that started the local news
programme.

‘And there were angry scenes in the city centre today as environmental protesters clashed with police over plans to cut down trees in Stanmore Park,’ said the presenter
cheerfully.

The camera panned over the little park with the two big trees, and Gil suddenly started to pay attention. There was a shot of Jude’s hammock flapping in the branches, and then a mass of
bobbing heads and waving placards, and a screaming woman being dragged away feet first by two policemen. Gil’s heart thumped as Jude’s face filled the screen, his hair blowing wildly in
the wind. He looked magnificent, like the hero of a disaster movie.

‘There has been no consultation of any kind about this redevelopment,’ he said. ‘We want to draw people’s attention to the council’s total hypocrisy on
environmental matters. It is appalling that these trees —’

Dad flicked the button on the remote and the television pinged off.

Turn it back on,
Gil wanted to shout.
I want to see Jude.

‘Is that where the police picked you up, then?’ said Dad, glancing round.

‘What? I wasn’t watching,’ Gil said. ‘How do you spell
Palaeolithic
?’

‘Ah,’ said Dad. ‘Early Stone Age. Interesting. What did you want to know?’

‘Just the spelling, Dad, thanks.’ Gil was tempted to add
I know you were born in the Stone Age, Dad, but I really don’t need you to tell me all about it
. He thought
better of it.

After Gil had managed to escape back to his room, he went over and over the tiny bit of news he’d seen. Jude had looked smooth, polished, powerful. He wasn’t just a bloke up a tree,
smoking a roll-up. He was a leader. He was in charge. He was the one the television cameras focused on, the one everybody wanted to interview, and Gil longed to be there in that crowd of pushing
shouting people, linking arms with Jude as the bulldozers roared towards them.

The next day at school, Gil’s bag reappeared. It arrived in the classroom without any explanation. There was nothing missing. Even Gil’s wallet was still inside, holding the cash
that Gil hadn’t managed to spend in town.

If it was Jude who brought it back, Gil thought, then it means the police didn’t get him. He’s free.

He searched the bag for some trace of Jude – a twig, a cigarette end, anything to prove that it had passed through his hands. The bag did smell a bit of smoke, which was something. But it
was only when Gil got home and pulled everything out of his wallet that he found the note, folded up neatly and slipped in behind a five pound note.

Gil, I hope this finds you OK. I hope the police didn’t frighten you too badly. The first time is always the worst. After that you get used to their bully-boy tactics. You tried to help
me – I appreciate that. You’re a true friend. Maybe you’ve seen us on the news. Maybe by the time you read this they’ll have bulldozed the park, but the struggle will go on.
There are so many battles to fight, Gil. Perhaps you’ll join us some day. Remember – the revolution will not be televised! I’ll see you around, brother!

Jude felt like clean air, freedom, defiance. Jude had leapt out of the cage, and this was a clear invitation to follow him. Gil folded the note again carefully and hid it right at the back of
the drawer under his bed.

On Saturday morning Dad woke up in a horribly good mood.

‘Well, Gil, you’ve done fairly well this week,’ he announced over breakfast. ‘We’re not going to abandon the punishments just yet, so you can’t go skating,
I’m afraid, but we think you’re due for a bit of a treat.’

Gil didn’t like the sound of it.

‘I’m going to take you into town,’ said Dad. ‘I want to go to the market, but then there’s a special exhibition on at the Natural History Museum. I thought we could
go there together.’

He waited. Gil couldn’t think of a reply, except for ‘Thanks, Dad, but I’d rather spend the day cutting my toenails’, which probably wasn’t the answer Dad
wanted.

‘Don’t look so enthusiastic,’ said Dad, raising his eyebrows. ‘Anyone would think it was another punishment. Anyway, you don’t really have a choice. Your
mother’s going to the hairdresser’s and we don’t want you to stay at home on your own.’

So there it was, thought Gil. A compulsory reward.
You are going to enjoy yourself whether you like it or not.
Another of Dad’s specialities.

They went into town on the bus and Gil wandered slowly round the market behind Dad for what felt like hours. Dad pored over the food stalls, buying watercress, a bag of tiny apples and some
smoked eel. The eel looked revolting, like a piece of rotting rope. Then it was on to the butcher’s stall, where Dad chose some lumps of blackish-red meat that looked as bad as the eel.

‘What
is
it?’ Gil asked.

‘This one’s venison,’ said Dad. ‘Deer meat. It’s just like steak. We had it at Christmas, remember?’

‘You made me eat
deer
?’

Dad laughed. He was still in a good mood. ‘And this one’s rook,’ he said. ‘Wild rook.’

‘Rook? You mean those big black birds that look like crows?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Dad, how
can
you?’ said Gil, pulling a face.