A Thousand Water Bombs (17 page)

‘Think of it this way,’ I said. ‘You have a great big board that floats. No one cares if you ride in on your belly. That’s not hard. That’s like lying on a bed that
moves a bit.’

‘OK,’ said Copper Pie. ‘I’ll come.’

‘Mum’ll call all the Tribers tonight. Even you, Fifty.’

‘The answer’s still “no”.’

But of course it wasn’t.

telephone calls

Fifty’s mum said it would be good for him. ‘A day out with his mates doing something outdoors-y will do him the world of good.’

Fifty was shouting in the background. Mum said it sounded like, ‘No, Mum! No!’

Copper Pie’s mum said she’d be glad to have him out of the house.

Bee’s mum said it would give her a chance to train the dog to use the newspaper for his toilet and not the floor. How disgusting is that?

Jonno answered the phone himself. ‘My mum’s out, but I’ve asked her and she says it’s fine. Thank you very much for inviting me.’

It was all set. Sunday: road trip.

making friends with Marco isn’t easy

‘Hi there,’ said Bee.

Marco ignored her.

She smiled anyway, and tried again. ‘The Head asked us . . .’ I think she was going to say ‘to babysit you’ or something like that, but she paused so Jonno helped
out.

‘. . . if you’d like to hang out with us?’

‘No,’ he said. It was the first word he’d said that I’d understood. And not a great start.

‘You can ask us if there’s anything you don’t understand,’ said Bee.

Marco made his eyes go close together in a frown.

‘We’re so-rry a-bout your lun-ch,’ said Fifty, sounding out every bit of every word like people do when they’re on holiday somewhere foreign.

‘I am sorry,’ Marco said.
Great,
I thought.
We’re getting through to him.
But turns out he was only halfway through his sentence. ‘. . . to be in
England.’
Oh! Not so great.

Being friend-ly wasn’t going too well. But at least Marco’s English was better than we thought.

‘What’s it like where you live?’ said Bee. ‘Lived, I mean.’

‘The sea,’ said Marco. They were only two small words but I immediately saw a picture of Marco in my head, all brown-skinned and dark-haired, swimming like a seal. No wonder he
didn’t fit in to our concrete playground. He belonged on a beach.

‘You lived by the sea?’ Jonno asked.

He nodded.

‘You’re a long way from the sea here,’ said Fifty. ‘But there’s always the pool. Keener had his party there.’

There might just have been a chance of getting into a normal conversation, but Copper Pie blew it.

‘What d’you think of Ronaldo?’

‘I hate football.’ His accent made all the words sound familiar but different. I quite liked it.

‘How can you hate football when the only thing famous about Portugal is Ronaldo, and
he’s
a football player?’

Marco flashed his black eyes at Copper Pie, turned round and walked off.

‘Idiot,’ said Bee.

‘I’ve been to Portugal,’ shouted Jonno, taking a few quick steps to catch up with the boy we were meant to be looking after, not annoying. Marco said something back but I
didn’t hear what. But the two of them were talking, which was good, so we left them to it.

‘Well that went well,’ said Bee. ‘Copper Pie, you should try for a job as a peacekeeper.’

‘I don’t think Marco’s interested in peace,’ said Fifty.

‘I don’t think he wants to be babysat by us,’ I said.

‘Same,’ said Fifty.

‘But it’s not up to Marco, is it?’ said Bee.

On that Friday morning, a whole week and a bit seemed a long time. At least we had the road trip to look forward to.

‘I’m not coming,’ said Fifty.

‘What’s the problem?’ I said. ‘We won’t let you drown.’

‘Too right, you won’t. Because I won’t be there.’

‘That’s not what your mum said.’

Fifty tried to look as though he didn’t like me. It looked more like I’d stolen his rattle.

‘Please come,’ said Bee. There was a long silence. ‘Please’ isn’t a word Bee says very often.

‘All right,’ said Fifty. ‘But that doesn’t mean I’ll get in.’

When the bell went, Jonno lined up at the back with Marco. I was pleased he seemed to have found a way to get on with the mountain-boarding maniac. Jonno could babysit Marco
for the week. (I can’t wait to start babysitting – all that money for watching telly. Amy takes her boyfriend.)

It was all up to Jonno. Problem solved.

problem not solved

Jonno did a pretty good job of turning Marco from an alien into a human. We left them to it at break and by lunchtime Marco was sitting at the Tribe table with us having lunch
– smiling, talking and generally being a completely different person.

‘Have you got any sisters?’ asked Fifty.

‘Yes. Two.’ Marco held up two fingers.

I made a poor-you face. Fifty made the opposite sort of face.

‘What are they called?’ said Bee.

‘Adriana and Teodora.’

‘Who’s the oldest?’ said Fifty.

‘Me,’ said Marco, grinning as though he’d won something. ‘They are
bebês
.’

It turned out one of his sisters was three and the other one was one.

‘My big
bebê
sings all the time.’ Marco started singing something in gibberish. Everyone looked at our table.

‘What does the little one do?’ said Fifty, over the racket.

Marco shut up, put his hands together and rested them on one side of his face. ‘Sleep.’

It was quite a laugh getting Marco to tell us the Portuguese words for things like knife and fork, fat, ugly and smelly. In the end, even Copper Pie joined in. Don’t get the wrong idea, I
still didn’t particularly want Marco with us every minute of the day, but I reckoned we could cope for a week.

After school we walked home together, the five Tribers, talking about plans for Sunday. Which were about to change.

The phone rang a few minutes after we got back from our Friday night out at the pizza restaurant. Amy’s boyfriend came, again. He still hasn’t actually said anything to me. And
he’s not getting rid of those spots. Flo picked it up.

‘Hello, who’s there?’

The other person must have said something.

‘It’s Flo here.’

The other person must have said something else.

‘I know. You’re going surfing,and me and mum and Amy are going to make beady necklaces and go for a cappuccino after.’ You’d think my sister was seventeen, not seven.

I realised the call was for me, but Flo wouldn’t give me the phone.

‘I’ll ask Dad,’ she said and passed it to him.

‘Who is it?’ I asked.

She made a foul face.

‘Well, hello, Jonno,’ said Dad.

Why was Jonno talking to my dad? Weird.

‘I don’t see why not,’ said Dad.

Jonno was obviously confirming the details for the Tribe surf trip. Trust him to ring and check with Dad. He’s like a responsible adult.

‘Yes, we’ll see you then. Bye Jonno.’

Dad turned to me. ‘He’s very nice, that new friend of yours.’

‘He’s a Triber, Dad. We’re
all
nice.’

Dad winked at me. Flo can’t bear anyone else getting any attention so she scrambled on to his lap. Amy was already on her boyfriend’s lap. It’s gross.

‘So there’ll be six on Sunday.’

‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘Do you think you’ll be outsurfed by the five Tribers?’

‘No, I can handle you lot. But what about the mystery guest? Has he ever been on a board?’

‘Who’s the mystery guest?’ I could tell it was a joke or a trick, but I didn’t get it. That’s not unusual – there are lots of things I don’t get until
someone else explains them to me.

‘Jonno said you’re looking after some new boy and asked if he can tag along?’

My mouth fell open. I started to dribble because there was no bottom lip to keep my saliva in.

‘Do I presume from your face you didn’t know about this?’

‘He hates the Portuguese boy, Daddy,’ said Flo.

Thank you, Flo. Always ready with a helpful comment.

‘I don’t hate him. It’s just that we’ve never taken anyone with us before and I wanted it to be just the Tribers.’

I sounded about five. I knew Dad would be
disappointed
by my attitude. Don’t you hate the way parents use the word
disappointed
?

‘I’m a bit disappointed —’
See!

Dad went on about how I should be kind to a boy who’s arrived in England all the way from Portugal. And how I should have learnt that it’s exciting to make new friends.
But just
because Jonno turned out to be one of us doesn’t mean anyone else would, does it?
I didn’t say that to Dad. I didn’t say anything. I was too busy being:

1. mad that Jonno hadn’t asked me first;

2. mad that Jonno wanted marked-man Marco to come;

3. mad that Dad said ‘yes’ without asking me;

4. mad that the day was bound to be ruined;

5. just totally, completely, utterly mad.

‘Doesn’t chicken piri-piri come from Portugal?’ said Amy. That made me even more mad. If we hadn’t found the chicken piri-piri we wouldn’t have got the babysitting
job and if we hadn’t got the babysitting job, we wouldn’t be taking Marco to Woolacombe on Sunday. Would we?

a Tribe of five

I rang Fifty straight after my swimming lesson on Saturday morning (I found eight pound coins left in the lockers which is a record – six pounds was the next best).

‘Have you heard about Marco?’ I said. Fifty had. Jonno had told Bee, and she’d come straight round to Fifty’s with the news. And it was worse than I thought. Marco
wasn’t only coming surfing with us, Jonno’d actually asked him to
join
Tribe.

Copper Pie was going round after football so I threw my towel and trunks in the general direction of the washing machine and legged it over there as well. Or tried to.

‘Bye Dad. Off to Fifty’s.’

‘Hang on a minute. The boy that’s coming with us tomorrow – I think I should call his mum. I don’t feel right taking him off for the day having never met the parents, or
the boy, in fact.’

‘OK.’

‘So do you have a number?’

‘Nope, sorry.’

‘Could you get the number?’ Dad raised his eyebrows, which meant ‘try and be helpful’.

‘I’ll text you.’

Dad raised his eyebrows even higher, which meant ‘you’ll forget’.

‘I won’t forget,’ I said. And legged it, properly this time.

They were in the Tribehouse – Fifty on the safe, as usual, Copper Pie leaning against the wall and Bee standing with her hands on her hips – it means business.

‘He can’t be a member of Tribe. We’re a Tribe of five – that’s it. No question. The Tribe waiting list is closed, forever.’ Bee was impressive. And it was
exactly what I wanted to hear.

‘But how do we tell him?’ said Fifty. ‘We’re meant to be babysitting him. We can’t tell him to get lost or the Head’ll be on our backs again.’

Jonno barged in, out of breath and with steamed-up glasses.

‘Sorry everyone,’ he said.

I should think so too,
I thought.

‘I should think so too,’ said Fifty. Stealing my thoughts again. ‘Going around inviting strangers to be Tribers.’

‘That’s not fair,’ said Jonno. ‘Did Bee tell you
exactly
what happened?’

There was some shrugging.

‘Well, no one told me,’ I said.

‘Good, because that means I get another chance to explain,’ said Jonno, pushing his mad hair off his face. I don’t know why he does that because every single hair springs
straight back to where it started. ‘Marco
completely
misunderstood me. I couldn’t think of much to talk about, so I started telling him that we’re Tribe and he thought the
“we” meant him too. But I didn’t realise at first. I thought he was getting muddled up between “you” and “us” but when I said “we”, as in
Tribe, were going surfing he got really excited and assumed he was coming too. That’s when I worked out he thought he was a Triber too. I tried to put him right but he made that angry face
and did some Portuguese shouting so I . . . gave up.’