When I Was Joe (12 page)

And then it occurs to me that if these people who like to intimidate witnesses get their hands on me, then I will be lucky even to be in a wheelchair.

My 1500 metres race isn't for another hour. I should really eat something now. I try and find Mum to get some
money but she's disappeared. Claire is there though, still reading her book.

‘Umm . . . Claire, did you see where my mum went?' I ask.

‘No,' she says, eyes not moving from the book.

‘Did she say if she was coming back?'

‘No.'

‘Umm . . . she was right here. Maybe I'll wait here for her.' I'm thinking aloud, but Claire slams her book shut and says, ‘Suit yourself,' really huffily, stands up and walks off.

Eh?

I chase after her. ‘Look, I didn't mean to upset you or anything. . . What did I do wrong?'

She's totally blushing and she looks like she's got tears in her eyes, except it's hard to see because her mousey hair is all over her face. What a freak. She needs a total new look.

‘Nothing,' she says. ‘Just leave me alone please. Your mum is over there, look.' And she points at the table where they're selling soft drinks, and when I turn to look she walks away fast.

Huh. Weird. Obviously I could catch her up but I can't see why I'd bother. It's strange though. Most of the girls in this school would take any excuse to talk to me. I know I sound full of myself, but it's true.

I find Mum, successfully extract a fiver and buy myself a sandwich and a can of Tango. Max, Jamie and I eat lunch together, lying on the grass and rating the year eleven girls on general fitness and potential for dating younger men. Mum seems quite happy hanging out with Ellie's family. They've met up with some of their friends and she seems fine, although they're all about twenty years older than her.

Fifteen hundred metres. OK. Humiliation time. As we line up at the start there's a buzz of chat among the spectators. I may be imagining it, but some people seem to be pointing at me, I think I hear my name. I shake my head. I must be getting paranoid. I'm looking at the other runners. They're all in year ten. OK, I'm only a year younger, not two, but even so. . .

Bang! We're off. And I'm taking it slowly, steadily, trying not to worry that I'm slipping to the back of the field, trying to believe that I can break through, accelerate when I need to. Trying to focus. All that matters is my step and my breath. I forget the crowd, forget everything. All the fear flies away.

And then gradually, gradually getting faster and faster, taking more air, lengthening the stride. And there's not long to go, and I'm up with the leaders and my lungs are bursting. I'm moving so fast and there's nothing to hold back . . . keep going, push it. . . Yes! I reach the tape
a split second in front of the guy who's led all the way. I hear Jamie and Max shouting and cheering. I'm gulping, gasping, getting my breath back . . . and inside I'm just exploding with joy because I've actually proved that I'm really good at this. I can do it. I won!

Everyone from Parkview is slapping me on the back and telling me how great I am. Ellie wheels over to me – they all step back and away from the wheelchair – and grabs my hands and shrieks, ‘Well done! That was brilliant!' And I can see my mum standing on the edge of the crowd. She's smiling. She's looking pretty shocked.

A man from the local newspaper comes up and wants to interview me but I say, ‘No, sorry, got to go,' and manage to lose him in the crowd. The rest of the afternoon is a bit of a blur. There's Ellie's wheelchair race, which is amazing – like the chariot scene from that film Gran likes . . .
Ben Hur
, that's it – with the wheels whizzing round and Ellie's muscly arms going like crazy. It's a bit like a grand prix except without the hideous noise. She wins. She wins by a mile.

I'm standing with her whole family and we're all shouting and cheering, except for Claire who's still reading her book. Maybe she's jealous of Ellie because she's such a star. But how can you be jealous of someone who's stuck in a wheelchair?

Then it's presentation time and I get a trophy and
a little silver cup, and Mr Henderson takes them away from me and says my name will be engraved on them, and I feel a bit choked up because I kind of wish I could use my real name. Just because of my dad, that's all. I bet if he was around he'd be pretty impressed with me today.

And then I get changed and we walk to Ellie's house because her mum's invited us back for supper.

I thought she'd live in one of those houses you see on telly when they tell you how you can sell your house in London and buy something huge in the country, with a big garden and a driveway. I suppose I assumed that everything in her life had been perfect, then destroyed by a moment of terrible bad luck.

But actually she lives in an ordinary grey semi-detached little house, quite scruffy, with a blue door and a pile of rubbish in the tiny front garden. Janet leads us through to a big kitchen at the back, explaining that they had to extend and adapt the house when Ellie had her accident so that she could sleep downstairs.

‘It was chaos then and it's a madhouse now,' she says cheerfully, ‘But we all muddle through somehow.'

‘You must be busy,' says my mum. ‘Four kids – that's a lot of work,' and Janet says yes, she doesn't know how she gets through the day sometimes and she's glad
she's got a job because it keeps her sane. And my mum says, ‘Oh, I know just how you feel,' which is kind of insulting given that she's just got me.

Ellie's brothers ask if I want to play on the Wii with them. Of course I do. Mum never let me have anything like a Wii or a DS or a PlayStation – we couldn't afford it, she claimed, and it would distract me from schoolwork – so my entire life has been spent desperately wanting things that everyone else has got.

It's brilliant fun. We play tennis against each other and we're just doing the final battle between me and Ellie's brother Sam – I'm Nadal, my backhand is amazing, and he's Murray and he's got great fighting spirit – when Claire comes in and says, ‘Supper.' She looks really narked to see me there. I'm more than a bit pissed off with her by now. How rude can you get?

I make sure to avoid her when we sit in the big kitchen and eat cold chicken and salad and boiled potatoes – absolutely the best meal I've had for ages, and I'm on to third helpings before anyone else has even finished their first.

Ellie's still banging on about my potential.

‘You saw what he could do today,' she tells my mum. ‘If he just commits himself he could go far.'

Good luck. She's talking to the woman who once took me on a bus for a day out in the City of London.
She showed me lots of huge skyscrapers and we watched people in suits rushing around and she said, ‘This is where the rich people work. If you work hard at Numeracy and Literacy you can come and work here one day and make lots of money.' I was only six.

‘I don't think there's much chance he could do all the travelling and everything,' says Mum. ‘I remember there's a lot of going to competitions. All over the country. It's not very practical.'

‘How do you mean, you remember?' asks Ellie. Here we go. Mum explains about getting pregnant at the peak of her schoolgirl athletics career. I concentrate very hard on shoving potatoes into my mouth. But I glimpse Ellie's mum's face and I think I spot a slight wariness behind the friendly smile.

Ellie is thrilled though. ‘Oh, then you understand how he has to train.'

‘I really want him to concentrate on doing well in his other subjects,' says Mum. ‘He has to work hard at things like Maths and English as well as running. He'll be starting his GCSEs soon.'

‘Not that soon, Mum,' I say swiftly. ‘I'm only in year eight, remember. One more year to go.'

‘But if you've got a real talent, then surely you have to put that first?' persists Ellie.

‘Sometimes it's just not possible,' says Mum.
‘He needs to think about his future career.'

‘Well, just because it wasn't possible for you, I'd have thought you'd want to make absolutely sure that Joe makes the most of his potential.' Ellie's face is a bit pink and her voice is getting louder.

‘Slow down, Ellie,' says her mum. She turns to my Mum. ‘I'm sorry. Ellie tends to be a bit single-track. Sees what she wants and never mind about obstacles in her way.'

‘It's good to be like that,' says Mum. ‘That's what you need to get on. I wish Joe was more like that.'

I'm silently outraged because I am very dedicated to my future. It's just that it doesn't happen to be the career in investment banking or international law that she's picked out for me.

‘Exactly, we agree then,' says Ellie triumphantly, and even Mum laughs.

‘Well it's up to Joe,' she says, ‘although if he lets his schoolwork suffer he'll have me to answer to. I wonder, though, whether he'll be as single-minded as you want him to be.'

Huh. Just because she wants to totally control my life. Ellie starts listing star athletes who've also got university degrees for Mum, and I'm exhausted just knowing these two bossy women have so many plans for me. Never mind. It doesn't bother me too much when
I've got a huge bowl of apple crumble and custard to take care of.

Afterwards I play football in the garden with Alex and Sam, Mum helps with the washing up and it's the most normal afternoon we've had for months.

Neither of us really want to leave. Mum says, ‘Thank you so much. That was really lovely,' to Janet and they have a quick hug. The boys demand that I come again soon. Ellie waves at me and says, ‘Training as usual tomorrow, no slacking.'

Only Claire is nowhere to be seen. But as we pull the front gate closed behind us she's waiting on the street, hidden by the overhanging hedge. She thrusts something into my hand without a word and runs back into the house.

‘What was that all about?' asks Mum, watching her go. I shrug. ‘No idea. She's a total weirdo.'

‘Funny that,' says Mum, ‘when the rest of the family are so nice.' Then she says, ‘You know, Ty, I was proud of you today,' and my day is just about perfect.

Much later, after I've polished off my Maths homework and I'm safely alone in my bedroom, I retrieve the twist of paper from my back pocket. Claire's folded it about a hundred times and it's so creased it's hard to read the faint, pencilled words. ‘Joe, I'm sorry I can't talk to you,' I make out.
‘Please don't tell anyone you came to our house. And don't show them this note. Please. I trust you. Claire.'

I have no idea what it's all about. But here's someone who seems almost as scared as I am.

I have no idea what Claire's problem is. I suspect she's just a nutter. I refuse to believe that she's under threat in the same way as I am. How could she be? And why is she bothering me about it?

I'm still having problems sleeping. Alone in the dark it's hard to block out the churning thoughts that I keep under rigid control all day. I try and dodge the memories – the mud, the blood, the lifeless body – and I run right into the fears: hitmen and assassins, shadows and fire. I need a new direction, something to knock out everything. And I remember Ashley as she stroked my arm in Top Shop.

Despite myself I'm beginning to feel a bit excited by Ashley's interest in me. She did look pretty good in that T-shirt. She is very confident, and seems very . . . up for it, eager, experienced. . . She smells of cake,
vanilla-flavour cake. I wonder what her skin would feel like to touch? I surrender mind and body to a fantasy Ashley. I've found the perfect distraction to help me relax.

Next morning, running on the treadmill, I decide to go for it. Ask her out. Try my luck. Why turn down something that's offered to you on a plate? If there's any danger that I'm going to die young, I don't want to go without at least a snog.

The only problem is that she's always surrounded by her posse of girlies, and I'm usually with Brian, Jamie, Max and a few hangers on. I can't quite face asking her out in front of all of them. In the end I write a note which says, ‘Starbucks, today, 6 pm?' and pass it to her as we go into our French class, first period. She glances at it, smiles to herself, and when we start practical conversation, leans over my desk, giving me a distracting glimpse of flesh and whiff of vanilla, and whispers, ‘
Oui.
'

‘
C'est bon
,' I reply, and then Brian cuts in with a stumbling question about the weather and Ashley gives her attention to Lauren.

Brian's trying to find out what's going on. ‘
Avez-vous un assignation avec cette jeune fille
?' he asks, although his accent is so terrible, it's like he's invented a whole new language.

‘
Oui, c'est vrai
,' I reply, pleased with myself, and he says, ‘
Oo la la
,' and gives me the thumbs up. Of course, by break the entire year group seems to know about it. In the distance I see Claire staring at me, white-faced. I ignore her – that's what she wants, isn't it? She turns away. What is her problem?

Ellie gives me a really difficult training session after school. She's not satisfied with anything that I do, keeps telling me to go faster, be stronger. A few weeks ago I would have been slacking off. But I'm still on a high. I push myself harder than ever before.

Ellie's looking thoughtful when I finish my last circuit. ‘You really enjoyed winning on Sunday, didn't you?' she says.

‘Yes,' I answer honestly. ‘More than I'd thought.'

I'm taken aback by how great this feels. I was never competitive before, never really felt I had anything to be competitive with. But this, this could be addictive. I don't care that if Joe Andrews wins an Olympic gold medal he'll probably get killed right afterwards. Right now, it almost feels worth it.