About a boy, Apuntes de Idioma Inglés

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Pearson Education Limited Edinburgh Gate, Harlow, Essex CM20 2JE, England and Associated Companies throughout the world. ISBN-13: 978-0-582-77962- ISBN-10: 0-582-77962- First published in Great Britain by Victor Gollancz 1998 This edition first published by Penguin Books 2003 7 9 10 8 Original copyright © Nick Hornby 1998 Text copyright © Penguin Books 2003

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Contents

Introduction Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Activities

A Man and a Boy SPAT The Dead Duck Day Marcus's Plan New Trainers Ellie Christmas at Fiona's Falling in Love Depressions A Trip to Cambridge Growing Up

page iv 1 6 15 20 27 34 41 45 50 56 63 71

bath, tidying his flat, going to the shops, watching Countdown. Countdown was an afternoon TV quiz show and it was his favourite programme. Sometimes he wondered how his friends had time to work. How could a person work and have a bath on the same day? Will didn't like children. He wasn't interested in them, and he didn't want any responsibility for them. But his friends, John and Christine, had two. The second was a baby girl, born just the week before, and Will had been invited to see her. When he arrived at John and Christine's flat, there were children's toys everywhere. Pieces of brightly coloured plastic were spread all over the floor, videos lay out of their cases near the TV, a white cloth over the sofa was covered with dirty brown marks... How could people live like this? Christine came in holding the new baby while John was in the kitchen making tea. 'This is Imogen,' she said. 'Oh,' said Will. 'Right.' He paused. What did people usually say about babies? 'She's... ' he began, but stopped again. It was no good. He decided to ask Christine about herself instead. 'How are you, Chris?' he asked. 'Well, you know. I'm rather tired.' Why? A lot of parties?' 'No. I've just had a baby.' 'Oh. Right.' John came into the room, carrying three cups of tea. 'Barney's gone to his grandmother's today,' he said, for no reason that Will could understand. 'How's Barney?' Barney was two, and interesting only to his parents, but Will knew he should ask John something. 'He's fine, thanks,' said John. 'He's still getting used to Imogen, but he's lovely' Will had met Barney before and knew that he wasn't lovely, but he decided not to say anything.

'I'm fine, thanks.' 'Don't you want your own family?' I can't think of anything worse, thought Will. 'Not yet,' he said. We're worried about you,' said Christine. 'I'm OK as I am, thanks,' said Will. 'Maybe,' said Christine, and smiled. Will was beginning to feel very uncomfortable. Why did they want him to have children? Children would make him very unhappy. If John and Christine wanted children, and to be unhappy, that was fine. (Will was sure that John and Christine were very unhappy, even if they didn't realize it.) But why should they want him to be unhappy too? Will could see only one reason for having children. When you were old and poor, then they could look after you. But Will had plenty of money, so he didn't need toys on the floor or dirty sofas. John and Christine used to be OK, he thought. Will and a girlfriend had gone out to nightclubs with them once or twice a week, and they had all had a lot of fun. But since John and Christine had had children, everything had changed. Will didn't want to meet Imogen, or hear how Barney was. He didn't want to hear about Christine's tiredness. He decided not to visit them again. 'We were wondering,' said John, 'whether you'd like to be Imogen's godfather?' The two of them looked at Will, smiling and waiting for his reply. Will laughed nervously. 'Godfather?' he said. 'You mean... church and things? Birthday presents? If you two are killed in an air crash, I'll have to look after her?' 'Yes.' 'You're joking, aren't you?'

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you're a very serious and responsible person.' 'Oh, no,' said Will quickly. 'No, I'm not. I'm really a very shallow kind of person. Thank you very much for asking me, but I can't think of anything worse.' He didn't stay much longer.

-

Not far away, in the Holloway area of London, a twelve-year-old boy called Marcus was lying in bed, unable to sleep. He was worrying about his mum and his new school. Marcus's mum was called Fiona, and she and Marcus had only been in London for a few weeks. They had moved there on the first day of the summer holidays because Fiona had got a new job. Before moving to London, they had lived in Cambridge, where Marcus's father, Clive, still lived. Fiona and Clive had separated four years ago. Marcus thought London was quite boring. He and Fiona hadn't done much in the holidays. They'd been to see Home Alone 2, which wasn't as good as Home Alone 1. They'd been to have a look at his new school, which was big and horrible. And they'd had lots of talks about London and the changes in their lives. But really they were sitting around waiting for their London lives to begin. Marcus had had two kinds of life. The first, which had ended when he was eight, was the normal, boring kind, with school and holidays and homework and weekend visits to grandparents. The second kind was more confused because there were more people and places in it: his mother's boyfriends and his dad's girlfriends; flats and houses; Cambridge and London. It was surprising how many things had changed when Fiona and Clive's relationship ended. But Marcus didn't mind. Sometimes, he thought, he even

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More happened, and that was a good thing. But now Marcus was very worried about his mum. She had started crying a lot in London - much more than in Cambridge. He didn't know why she cried. He wondered if it was about boyfriends. Marcus didn't mind if his mum had a boyfriend. She was pretty, he thought, and nice, and funny sometimes. He wanted his mum to meet someone who would make her happy. He couldn't help his mum with her problems, and she couldn't help him with his other big problem - school. His first day at his new London school had been a disaster. Marcus knew that he was different from most other kids of his age. He wasn't right for schools. Not big secondary schools like the one in London. His school in Cambridge hadn't been so bad. The children there were younger, and there were lots of weird kids there, so Marcus hadn't felt uncomfortable. It was OK not to be right for some things, he thought. He knew that he wasn't right for parties because he was very shy. That wasn't a problem because he didn't have to go to parties. But he had to go to school. Marcus couldn't talk to his mum about his problems at school, because she couldn't help. She couldn't move him to another school. Even if she did move him, it wouldn't make any difference. He'd still be himself, and that, it seemed to Marcus, was his real problem. The other kids laughed at him because he was weird. They laughed because he had the wrong trousers, the wrong shoes and the wrong haircut. Marcus knew that he was weird partly because his mum was weird. She was always telling him that clothes and hair weren't important. She didn't want him to watch 'rubbish' TV or listen to 'rubbish' music or play 'rubbish' computer games. All the other kids spent their time doing these things, but Marcus had to argue with his mother for hours and he usually lost. She could explain

But just when Will was thinking about ending the relationship, Angie decided to finish it. 'Will, I'm so sorry, but I'm not sure this is working. It's not your fault. You've been great. It's me. Well, my situation anyway. I've met you at the wrong time of my life and I'm not ready for a serious new relationship.' It really was very strange, Will thought. Angie had believed he was serious about her, and he hadn't been serious at all. Now she was starting to cry. He had never before watched a woman cry without feeling responsible, and he was rather enjoying the experience. 'You don't have to be sorry for anything. Really.' Of all the evenings he had spent with Angie, he loved the last one the best. The relationship had been perfect, and had finished in a perfect way too. Usually when his relationships with women ended, he felt guilty, but this time he had nothing to feel guilty about. Will knew then that there would be other women like Angie

• bright, attractive single mothers, thousands of them all over London - and he knew he had a lot to offer them. He could sleep with them, make them feel better about themselves, be a parent for a limited time, and walk away without feeling guilty. What more could a man want? -

One Monday morning Marcus's mum started crying before breakfast, and it frightened him. Morning crying was something new, and it was a bad, bad sign. It meant that it could now start at any time of the day without warning. When he went into the kitchen, she was sitting at the kitchen table in her night clothes, a half-eaten piece of toast on her plate, her eyes red from crying. Marcus never said anything when she cried. He didn't know what to say. He didn't understand why she

did it, and because he didn't understand, he couldn't help. So he stood there staring at her with his mouth open. 'Do you want some tea?' she asked him in a sad little voice. 'Yes. Please.' He made some toast, drank his tea and picked up his bag. Then he gave his mother a kiss and went out. Neither of them said a word. What else could he do? On his way to school, he tried to work out what was wrong with her. What could be wrong that he didn't know about? He didn't think it was money problems. She had a job - she was a music teacher - so they weren't poor, although they weren't rich either. But they had enough money for the flat, and for food, and for holidays once a year, and even for occasional computer games. What else made you cry? Death? But he'd know if anybody important had died. He'd seen all his relatives - his grandparents, his uncle Tom and uncle Tom's family - at a party the week before, and they'd all been fine. Was it about men? He knew his mum wanted a boyfriend because she joked about it sometimes. But if she joked about it, why should she suddenly start crying about it? So what else was there? He tried to remember the other things that people cried about on TV programmes. Prison? An unwanted baby? But Marcus had forgotten about his mum's problems by the time he was inside the school gates. He had his own problems to think about. A group of kids usually bullied him on his way across the playground. Today, though, they were at the other end, so he reached his classroom without difficulty. His friends Nicky and Mark were already there, playing a game on Mark's Gameboy. He went over to them. 'All right?' Nicky said hello, but Mark was too busy to notice him. Marcus tried to watch the game, but he couldn't see the Gameboy very well, so he sat on a desk, waiting for them to

finish. But when they finished, they started another game; they didn't offer him a game or put the Gameboy away. Marcus felt he was being shut out, and he didn't know what he'd done wrong. 'Are you going to the computer room at lunchtime?' he asked. That was how he knew Nicky and Mark - through the computer club. It was a stupid question because they always went to the computer room. It was the only place where they would be safe from the other kids. 'Don't know,' replied Nicky after a time. 'What do you think, Mark?' 'Don't know,' said Mark. 'Probably.' They weren't real friends - not like the friends he'd had in Cambridge — but he could talk to them because they were all different from the other kids in the class. All three of them wore glasses, none of them was interested in clothes and they all liked computer games. Two older boys came and stood in the doorway. 'Give us a song,' they said to Marcus. Marcus didn't know these boys, but they'd probably heard about him singing in the English class. Mark and Nicky started to move away, leaving him alone. Then the older boys started insulting Mark and Nicky, and making jokes about girls and sex. Mark turned the Gameboy off, and all three of them stood waiting for the boys to get bored and go away. Marcus tried to play a game inside his head, listing different kinds of chocolate. At last the two older boys left. The three of them didn't say anything for a time. Then Nicky looked at Mark, and Mark looked at Nicky, and finally Mark spoke. 'Marcus, we don't want you with us.' 'Oh,' said Marcus. 'Why not?' 'Because of them.' 'They're not my problem.' 'Yes, they are,' said Mark. We never got into trouble with anyone

before we knew you, and now we have problems every day.' Marcus understood. They would be better without him. But he had nowhere else to go.

-

Will was looking for ways to meet single mums like Angie, but he didn't know where to find them. Where did single mums go and how could he get their phone numbers? Then he had a wonderful idea. He would pretend to be a single father and join a single parents' group. So he invented a two-year-old son called Ned. 'I'm a single father. I have a two-year-old son. I'm a single father. I have a two-year-old son,' he told himself. But he couldn't actually believe it. He didn't feel like a parent. He was too young, too old, too stupid, too intelligent, too cool, too impatient, too selfish, too careless, too careful. When he looked in the mirror, he couldn't see a dad, especially a single dad. He telephoned a single parents' group called SPAT (Single Parents - Alone Together) and spoke to a woman called Frances. SPAT met on the first Thursday of each month in a local adult learning centre, and Frances invited Will to the next meeting. He was very worried that he'd get something wrong, like the name of his imaginary son - he couldn't stop thinking of him as Ted, not Ned. The centre was a depressing place with lots of classrooms. Will listened for the sounds of a party but he couldn't hear anything. Finally he noticed a small piece of paper on a classroom door with the word SPAT! on it. There was only one woman in the room. She was taking bottles - of white wine, beer and water - out of a box and Putting them on a table in the centre of the room. All the other tables and chairs had been pushed to the back of the room. It was

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His mum turned over on her stomach and looked at him. 'How can you say I don't look after you?' 'Because you don't. You make my meals and I could do that. The rest of the time, you just cry. That's... that's no good. That's no good to me.' She cried even more then. Marcus went upstairs and played a computer game, but when he came downstairs again, she had got up and was cooking supper. 'You're going to a picnic on Saturday,' she said suddenly. 'A picnic? Where?' 'In Regent's Park.' 'Who with?' 'Suzie.' 'Not that SPAT crowd.' 'Yes, that SPAT crowd.' 'I hate them.' When Marcus and his mum had first moved to London, they had gone to a SPAT summer party in someone's garden. It had been full of horrible little kids, all about ten years younger than Marcus. 'Are you going?' he asked. 'No. I need a rest. You told me to find someone to look after you. So that's what I'm doing. Suzie's better at it than I am.' Suzie was Fiona's best friend; they'd known each other since their schooldays. She was nice and Marcus liked her a lot. But he didn't want to go to a SPAT picnic. 'I can stay here. I'll keep out of your way. I can sit in my room all day, playing games.' 'I want you to get out. Do something normal. We're not doing each other any good.' Marcus was shocked. What did she mean, they weren't doing each other any good? She wasn't doing him any good, but what had he done to her? He couldn't think of anything. He felt like crying too.

Chapter 3 The Dead Duck Day

Will wanted to go to the SPAT picnic in Regent's Park because Suzie was going. But he knew that Suzie would expect Ned to be there too, so he had to invent a reason why Ned couldn't go. He telephoned Suzie on the morning of the picnic and told her that his ex-wife had taken Ned out. 'But that's terrible, Will,' said Suzie. 'You can't let her change your plans like that.' 'I know, I know,' he said. 'And she's taken my car too. Can I go with you to Regent's Park?' 'Yes, of course,' replied Suzie. 'I'm bringing a twelve-year-old kid too - Marcus, my friend Fiona's son. She's asked me to look after him for the day.' All the way to the park Suzie talked about Will's ex-wife. She was very angry about Paula's behaviour. Had he called her Paula? Will couldn't remember. Things were getting rather complicated, he thought. How much longer could he continue pretending? And how could he ever invite Suzie round to his flat? There were no toys there, and he didn't even have two bedrooms. They walked through the park to the lake. Suzie was pushing her daughter, Megan, in a pushchair, and Marcus was walking beside them. Will thought Marcus was a weird kid. He had a very strange haircut and odd clothes. 'I don't even know what you do,' said Suzie. 'Nothing.' He usually invented a job, but he had told enough lies. He had to give Suzie something that was real. 'Oh. Well, what did you do before?' 'Nothing.' 'You've never worked?' 'Well, only for a day or two. My dad wrote a famous song, and I live from the royalties.'

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'Michael Jackson makes £60 million an hour,' said the weird kid. 'How much do you make?' 'Marcus!' said Suzie. 'So what's this song, Will?' Will told them. He hated telling people because the title sounded so silly. 'Really?' Suzie and Marcus both started singing the same part of the song. People always did this, and he hated that too. 'But haven't you ever wanted to work?' asked Suzie. 'Oh, yes, sometimes, but I never seem to do anything about it.' It was true. Every day for the last eighteen years he had got up in the morning thinking about finding a job. But by the evening he had lost interest. He decided to talk to Marcus. If he made friends with Marcus, Suzie would think he was a nice guy. 'So, Marcus,' he said, 'who's your favourite footballer?' 'I hate football.' 'Right,' said Will. 'Well, who's your favourite singer?' 'Are you getting these questions out of a book?' asked Marcus. Suzie laughed, and Will's face turned red. 'No,' he said. 'I'm just interested.' 'OK,' said Marcus. 'Well, it's Joni Mitchell.' 'Really?' said Will in surprise. 'Does everyone in your school listen to Joni Mitchell?' 'Most people.' Will was confused. He read a lot of modern music magazines, but none of them had said anything about Joni Mitchell's new popularity. Marcus turned away, so Will began to talk to Suzie. 'Do you often have to look after him?' he asked. 'Not often. But Fiona, his mum, isn't feeling very well.' 'She's going crazy,' said Marcus calmly. 'Cries all the time. Doesn't go to work.' 'She isn't crazy. She just needs a rest.'

They could see the SPAT crowd of mothers and children sitting by the lake in front of them. The mothers were pouring juice into cups, and the children were eating sandwiches. Will played with the children for most of the afternoon. He kept away from the adults sitting on blankets under a tree because he didn't want to have to answer difficult questions about Ned. He kept away from Marcus too. Marcus was walking round the lake, throwing bits of his sandwich at the ducks. Later, Suzie came to talk to him. 'You miss him, don't you?' 'Who?' He meant it; he had no idea what she was talking about. But then he remembered about Ned. 'I'll see him later.' 'What's he like?' asked Suzie. 'Oh... Nice. He's a really nice boy.' Before Suzie could ask more questions, Marcus ran over to them. He seemed very nervous and upset. 'I think I've killed a duck,' he said. Will, Suzie, Marcus and Megan stood on the path by the edge of the lake, staring at the duck's dead body in the water. 'What happened, Marcus?' Will asked. 'I don't know. I was just throwing a piece of my sandwich at it. I didn't mean to kill it.' 'What's that in the water next to it? Is that the bread you threw at it?' 'Yes,' said Marcus. He didn't like Will much, so he didn't want to answer his questions. 'That's not a sandwich, that's a loaf,' said Will. 'I'm not surprised the duck was killed.' 'Perhaps I didn't kill it,' said Marcus. 'Perhaps it died because it was ill.' Nobody said anything. They were all staring so hard at the scene of the crime that they didn't notice the park-keeper standing next to them. Marcus felt very frightened. He would be in big trouble now.

said. 'This isn't about you. You k n o w that, don't you? I mean, you're n o t the reason she... you're not the reason she's here.' ' H o w do you k n o w? ' He pushed Suzie away and went to get a drink from a machine. ' W h a t can you tell a kid whose m o t h e r has just tried to kill herself?' Will asked. He really wanted to know. 'I don't know,' said Suzie worriedly. 'But we'll have to think of something.' T h e y waited in the hospital for a long time. M e g a n went to sleep and Marcus ate a lot of sweets and chocolate from the machine. N o n e of t h e m talked m u c h. At last a w o m a n came over to see t h e m — not a nurse or a doctor, but somebody official. 'Hello. D i d you c o m e in with Fiona Brewer?' 'Yes. I ' m her friend Suzie, and this is Will, and this is Fiona's son Marcus.' ' R i g h t. We're keeping Fiona here for the night. Is there somewhere Marcus could go?' ' H e can stay w i t h me tonight,' said Suzie. She put M e g a n back into the car seat and they made their way out to the car park. 'I'll see you soon,' said Will. 'I'll call you.' 'I h o p e things are OK with N e d and Paula,' Suzie said. For a m o m e n t Will didn't k n o w w h o she meant. N e d and Paula, N e d and Paula...? Ah, yes — his ex-wife and son. ' O h , it'll be fine. Thanks.' He said goodbye and w e n t to find a taxi. It had been a very interesting experience, but he wouldn't want to repeat it every night.

Chapter 4 Marcus's Plan

T h e next day Suzie t o o k Marcus h o m e and left h i m while she went to get Fiona from the hospital. He was just tidying the

kitchen, as Suzie had told h i m to do, w h e n he saw a n o t e on the kitchen table. He picked it up and sat d o w n. Dear Marcus, A big part of me knows that I'm doing a wrong, stupid, selfish, unkind thing. But unfortunately that's not the part that has control of me now. None of this is about you. I've loved being your mum, always, although I've found it difficult sometimes. And I don't know why it isn't enough for me, but it isn't. I just feel very tired, and there doesn't seem to be anything to look forward to. Things will be better for you than they were before. Really. You can go to your dad's, or Suzie has always said she'd look after you. Love you, Mum Marcus was still sitting at the kitchen table w h e n his m u m came back from the hospital w i t h Suzie and Megan. She could see immediately w h a t he'd found. ' I ' m sorry, Marcus. I'd forgotten about the note.' 'You forgot? You forgot you wrote a letter about killing yourself?' 'Well, I didn't think I'd ever have to r e m e m b e r it, did I?' She laughed at that. She actually laughed. T h a t was his mother. W h e n she wasn't crying at breakfast, she was laughing about killing herself. 'It was stupid of me to leave Marcus here before I w e n t to get you,' said Suzie. 'I wasn't thinking.' 'Suzie, n o n e of this is your fault. But maybe Marcus and I ought to have a little talk alone.' ' O f course,' said Suzie. She gave Marcus a kiss. 'She's fine,' she whispered, loud enough for his m u m to hear. ' D o n ' t w o r r y about her.' W h e n Suzie had gone, Fiona made tea and sat d o w n at the table with Marcus. 21

'Are you angry with me?' 'What do you think?' 'Because of the letter?' 'Because of the letter, because of what you did, everything.' 'I can understand that. I don't feel the same as I did on Saturday, if that's any help.' 'So your problems have all just gone away?' 'No, but... at the moment I feel better.' 'At the moment's no good to me,' said Marcus. 'I can see that you're better at the moment. You've just made tea. But what happens when I go back to school? I can't be here to watch you all the time.' 'No, I know. But we've got to look after each other.' Marcus was no longer interested in what his mum said; the important thing was what she did, or what she was going to do. She wasn't going to try and kill herself again today. She'd drink her tea, and tonight they'd watch TV, and it would feel like the beginning of a different, better time. But that time wouldn't last for ever. Marcus knew that, for him, things would never be the same again. Two people in a family weren't enough. He'd always thought that two was a good number, and that he'd hate to live in a family of three or four or five. But now he could see that if there were lots of people in a family, and one of them died, you wouldn't be left on your own. But how could he make his family grow? He was going to have to find a way.

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Will kept thinking about Marcus and Fiona. There wasn't much else happening in his life, so he had a lot of time to think about them. He had a strange thought: perhaps he should try and help them. He telephoned Suzie. 'I was wondering how Marcus and Fiona are,' he said.

'Not too bad, I think. She hasn't gone back to work, but Marcus went to school today.' 'Listen, do you think there's any way I could help? Perhaps I could take Marcus out?' 'Would you like to?' said Suzie. 'I could ask Fiona.' 'Thanks,' said Will. 'And it would be nice to see you and Megan again soon.' 'Yes,' said Suzie. 'I'm looking forward to meeting Ned.' Will bought Time Out, a magazine with information about events in London. He was looking for something that a twelve- year-old boy might like to do on a Saturday. He tried to remember what he liked doing at Marcus's age, but he couldn't. Then the telephone rang. 'Hi, Will. It's Marcus.' 'Hi, Marcus.' 'Suzie said you want to take me out for the day on Saturday. I'll come if my mum can come too.' 'What?' 'I'll come if my mum can come too. And she hasn't got any money, so we'll either have to go somewhere cheap, or you'll have to pay for us.' 'Well... wouldn't it be better with just you and me? Your mum could stay at home and have a rest.' Suddenly Will remembered last Saturday. They had left Fiona at home to rest, and she had tried to kill herself. 'I'm sorry, Marcus,' he said quickly. 'I wasn't thinking. Of course your mum can come too. That would be great.' 'We haven't got a car. You'll have to bring yours. And you can bring your little boy if you like.' He laughed. 'Thanks.' 'That's OK,' said Marcus generously. 'He'll be with his mum again on Saturday.' 'Fine. Come round at about half past twelve. You remember

teacher and they talked about his dad's song. But later Fiona sat down at the piano and started to sing. She wasn't a bad singer, but Will was very embarrassed. She sang old pop songs from the sixties, and she sang them with deep feeling; she even closed her eyes. Then Marcus began to sing too, in the same way, and they made Will sing with them. It was awful. Will could see that he'd made a big mistake about Marcus and Fiona. He couldn't do anything to help people like them. They were too weird and they felt too deeply about things. Will didn't feel deeply about anything. He couldn't imagine wanting to kill himself. He just wanted to live a long life without any problems. Fiona called Will and left a message on his answer machine, but he didn't call her back. He was trying to return to his old life. He went shopping for CDs and clothes, he played a bit of tennis, he went to the pub and to see films with friends. Then, one afternoon, the doorbell rang. It was Marcus. 'I've come to see you,' he said. 'Oh. Right. Come in.' Marcus marched into the sitting room, sat down on the sofa and looked round. 'You haven't got a kid, have you?' 'Well... ' began Will. Marcus got up and walked around the flat. 'Where's your toilet?' he asked. 'It's just down the hall.' When Marcus was gone, Will tried to think what he could say about Ned, but he couldn't think of anything. 'You've only got one bedroom,' said Marcus when he got back. 'You've got no children's toys in the bathroom, there are no toys in here... You haven't even got any photos of him.' 'Is that your business?' 'No. But you've been lying to me, and my mum, and my mum's friend.' 'Who told you where I live?'

'I followed you here once.' 'Why don't you just go home, Marcus?' 'All right. But I'm going to tell my mum.' Will couldn't think of any explanation to give Marcus except the truth — that he had invented a child so he could join a single parents' group and meet women. And the truth sounded much worse than he had ever intended. 'Listen, Will,' said Marcus. 'I won't say anything to my mum if you go out with her.' 'Why do you want your mum to go out with someone like me?' 'I don't think you're too bad. I mean, you told lies, but you seem OK. She's sad, and I think she'd like a boyfriend.' 'Marcus, I can't go out with someone just because you want me to. I have to like the person too.' 'What's wrong with her?' 'Nothing's wrong with her, but... ' 'You want to go out with Suzie, don't you?' 'I don't want to talk about this with you.' 'I thought so.' 'I didn't say anything. I just said... Listen, I really don't want to talk about this with you. Go home.' 'OK,' said Marcus. 'But I'll be back.' When Will had joined SPAT, he'd imagined entering the world of single mothers and their sweet children. He hadn't imagined Marcus, and he hadn't expected anyone to break into his world. He was one of life's visitors; he didn't want to be visited.

Chapter 5 N e w Trainers

Marcus knew that he couldn't make Will go out with his mum if Will didn't want to. But he knew Will's secret now, so perhaps he

could make him do something else. He started going round to Will's flat after school. The first time, Will wasn't very pleased to see him. He stood in the doorway and didn't invite Marcus in. 'What?' 'I just thought I'd come round. What are you doing?' 'Watching Countdown! Marcus knew about Countdown — the most boring programme in the history of television. But he wanted to get inside Will's flat. 'I could watch it with you if you want. I really like it.' Will looked at him for a time. 'All right. Come in.' There were lots of interesting things in Will's flat — hundreds of CDs, records and cassettes. There were pictures from films on the wall, and black and white photos of people with musical instruments. 'Who are these people? And why are they on your wall?' 'They're musicians. And they're on my wall because I like their music and they're cool.' 'Why are they cool?' 'I don't know. Because they took drugs and died, probably.' Marcus thought he wouldn't want pictures on his wall of people who took drugs and died. He'd want to forget all about that kind of thing, not look at it every day of his life. Will made tea in the kitchen. Then they went back into the living room and sat down on the sofa. 'Do you like school?' Will asked. 'No. I hate it.' 'Why? Do the other kids bully you?' Marcus looked at him. How did he know that? 'Not really. Just a couple of kids.' 'What do they do to you?' 'Nothing really. Just, you know, say things about my hair and

glasses. And my singing. Sometimes... I sing without noticing.' Will laughed. 'It's not funny.' 'I'm sorry. But you could do something about your hair. You could have it cut in the way you want it.' 'This is how I want it.' 'Why do you want your hair like that?' 'Because that's how it grows, and I hate going to the hairdresser.' 'I can see that. How often do you go?' 'Never. My mum cuts it.' 'Your mum? How old are you? Twelve? You're old enough to get your hair cut yourself. You could get married in four years' time. Will you let your mum cut your hair then?' Marcus didn't think he'd be married in four years' time, but he understood what Will was telling him and knew that Will was right. But there was another way of looking at the situation. If his mum was going to cut his hair in four years' time, then she would still be alive. Marcus visited Will a lot that autumn, and by about the third or fourth visit he felt that Will was getting used to him. They didn't talk about much at first, but one day Will said, 'How's the situation at home?' for no reason that Marcus could understand. 'You mean my mum?' 'Yes.' 'She's all right, thanks.' Marcus had never talked about it, and he'd never said how he felt. But what he felt, all the time, every day, was a horrible fear. This was the main reason why he came round to Will's after school. Every time he climbed the stairs at home he remembered the Dead Duck Day. When he saw his mum watching the news or eating or preparing work on the dining table, he wanted to cry, or be sick or something. But he couldn't talk about it. 'Are you still worried about her?'

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asked them in a very boring way. She just repeated the last thing he said, made it into a question and shouted. 'I go round to his flat after school.' 'YOU G O R O U N D T O HIS FLAT A F T E R S C H O O L? ' 'Well, you see, he doesn't really have a kid.' ' H E D O E S N ' T REALLY HAVE A KID?' When the questions had finished, he was in a lot of trouble, although probably not as much trouble as Will. Marcus put his old shoes back on, and then he and his mother went straight to Will's flat. Will opened the door and Fiona immediately started shouting at him about SPAT and his imaginary son. At first Will looked embarrassed — he had no answers to her questions, so he stood there staring at the floor. But as it continued, he started to get angry too. 'Why do you invite twelve-year-old boys round to tea-parties in your flat after school?' asked Fiona. Will looked at her. 'Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?' He went red in the face and started shouting very loudly. 'Your son invites himself round here. Sometimes he's followed by other kids who attack him. I could leave him outside, but I let him in for his own safety. I won't do it again. Now, if you've finished, you can both get out of here.' 'I haven't finished yet, actually. Why did you buy him a pair of expensive trainers?' 'Because... because look at him.' 'What's wrong with him?' Will looked at her. 'You really don't know, do you? Marcus is being eaten alive at school by the other kids. He gets bullied every day.' 'Marcus is doing fine,' his mother said. Marcus couldn't believe she'd said that. He wasn't doing fine; his mum was being blind and stupid and crazy. 'You're joking,' said Will.

'I know he's taking some time to get used to his new school, but... ' Will laughed. 'Oh, yes. And after a couple of weeks he'll be OK? When they've stopped stealing his shoes and following him home from school, everything will be great.' That was wrong. They were all mad. 'I don't think so,' said Marcus. 'It's going to take more than a couple of weeks.' 'It's OK, I know,' said Will. 'I was joking.' Marcus didn't think there was much to joke about in the situation. But he was very pleased that Will understood what was happening to him at school. He'd only known Will for a short time, and he'd known his mother all his life. So why could Will understand, and his mother couldn't? But now his mother understood too, because Will had told her. 'You're not going to Will's again,' Fiona said to Marcus on the bus on the way home. 'If you've got anything to say, you say it to me. If you need new clothes, I'll get them.' 'But you don't know what I need. I don't know what I need. Only Will knows. He knows what kids wear.' 'We don't need that kind of person. We're doing all right our way. Marcus, I've been your mother for twelve years. I do know what I'm doing.' Marcus didn't think either of them was doing all right. He wondered if his mother had a kind of plan for him. In the next few days he began to notice the way she talked to him. He was interested in everything she said about what he should watch on TV or listen to or read or eat. She had always said it was important to talk about things, and that she wanted him to think for himself. They had often discussed what was bad about fashion and modern pop music and computer games. But if she didn't like what he said, she argued with him until he agreed with her. But he hadn't agreed, really; he'd just lost the argument.

'I've been thinking for myself,' he said,'and I want to go round to Will's flat after school.' 'No. He's a rich guy who doesn't work, who tells lies, and who... ' 'He understands about school. He bought me those trainers. He knows things.' He was getting annoyed. 'I'm thinking for myself and... it doesn't work. You always win.' 'Marcus, it's not enough to tell me you're thinking for yourself. You've got to show me too. Give me a good reason why you want to go round to Will's.' Marcus gave her a reason. It wasn't the right reason, and he felt bad saying it because it made her cry. But it was a good reason and he won the argument. 'Because I need a father.'

Chapter 6 Ellie

Will hadn't seen Marcus for a week and hadn't thought about him much. He preferred watching Countdown alone anyway. Then Fiona phoned. 'Marcus seems to think he needs an adult male in his life. Like a father. He talked about you.' 'Listen, Fiona, I definitely don't need a son in my life. Why doesn't he use his own father as a father?' 'His father lives in Cambridge. It's a long way' 'You told me not to see Marcus again. Fine. I told you I didn't want to see Marcus again. And now you're telling me... I don't understand.' 'Listen,' said Fiona. 'Can we meet tomorrow night for a drink to discuss all this?' They met in a quiet pub. Will had never been alone with Fiona before. He didn't find her attractive and he certainly didn't want to

sleep with her. But conversations with her were never dull. 'I've always been worried about Marcus not having a father around,' said Fiona. 'But he's always told me it didn't matter. Then, when I said I didn't want him to see you, he said he needed a father.' 'He said that because he wanted to win the argument. Never trust a human male when he talks about his feelings.' 'Really? Well, maybe it's best if he doesn't see you.' 'What do you want me to do if he rings the doorbell?' 'Don't let him in.' 'Right.' Marcus was waiting for Fiona at home. He didn't like the idea of his mum talking to Will because he'd stopped believing that he and his mum and Will and Ned were going to live together in Will's flat. Ned didn't exist, and Will and Fiona didn't like each other very much. When Fiona came back, he looked at her face to see if she was angry or depressed, but she seemed OK. 'Did you have a good time?' 'It was OK. But you're not going round there again. He's not going to answer the door. He told me.' Marcus wasn't worried. He knew how loudly Will's doorbell rang inside the flat, and he knew he could ring it for a very long time.

Fiona had made a complaint to the school about Marcus's new trainers being stolen, so he had to go and see the head teacher, Mrs Morrison. He was waiting outside her office when a girl called Ellie McCrae came and sat down next to him. Ellie was fifteen and she was famous in the school. She wore a lot of black eye make-up and cut her own hair, and she was always in trouble, usually for something serious.