Ostrich Boys (10 page)

“So what’s at Blackpool for you three, then?” Joe asked.

Kenny, Sim and I exchanged looks. Nobody spoke.

Joe kept flicking glances at us in his mirror. Waiting for one of us to reply. Or say anything. I pulled my rucksack closer to my feet, wrapped my legs around it as if to protect what was inside.

At last Sim said: “You know. Just …”

“O-kay … Dodgy question,” Joe said. He kept one hand on the steering wheel while he lit himself a cigarette. “Change the subject, right? So what do you do when you’re not going to Blackpool? What do you get up to back home?”

“We’re still at school,” Kenny said.

“Right. But what’s your story? What’re you into? School can’t be everything.”

We weren’t sure what he meant. Then Kenny said: “Do you mean other stuff like computers? It’s computers for me, I suppose. I’m good at all that stuff.”

“Stuff like programming?” Joe asked.

Kenny blushed, clashing with his T-shirt. “I invent my own games … sometimes.”

Sim gave Kenny a playful punch in the arm. “He’s really good. He’s not as stupid as he looks.”

I remembered Mr. Fell wanting Kenny to help him out. “Ross’s dad wants you to go round and fix his computer. He says he’s lost his novel.”

Sim groaned, shook his head. “Not the greatest novel ever written!”

Joe laughed too, but only because of the way Sim said it. “What’s this?”

“This bloke we know,” Sim explained, skipping mentioning who the bloke was. “He wants to be a famous writer and he’s been writing the same book for, like, seven years or something. It must be a million pages long by now. And it’s all he ever talks about.”

Ross used to call it the most famous book never written. The thought made me laugh, but Kenny looked furtive, uncomfortable.

“So you’ll help him, right?” I asked. “You can’t let him lose his masterpiece.”

“I kind of already know about it. Ross phoned me. It was him who lost it.”

“What? When?”

Kenny leaned forward, wanting to exclude Joe and Gus. Not that Joe could hear up front unless we shouted, and Gus couldn’t have looked less interested if he’d tried. “Last week,” Kenny said. “He was panicking a bit, but I was really busy. I couldn’t go round.”

“How could he completely wipe it?” I asked.

“Well, he probably didn’t. He’d probably just accidentally buried it somewhere—you never really completely wipe stuff. I told him to try a couple of things, but he didn’t understand what I was on about.”

“I bet he was shitting it,” Sim said. “His dad would not have been happy. All that work lost.”

Kenny looked glum.

“So why didn’t you go round and help?”

“I was busy.”

“Christ-on-a-bike, Kenny. You could’ve helped him, at least.”

“I would’ve gone later. But that was the day when … you know?”

Sim and I were amazed. “Last Saturday?”

Kenny nodded.

The weird thing was, I was jealous. The last thing I’d seen or heard of Ross was at school last Friday. Kenny had been the last one to speak to him, but I wished it had been me. Maybe if he’d been with me he wouldn’t have got knocked off his bike….

“And you didn’t even help him,” I said. “Great mate you are.”

Kenny squirmed, but couldn’t defend himself because Joe was watching us in his mirror.

“Everything okay?”

Kenny, Sim and I shrugged, nodded, shrugged again.

Joe was curious, but must have decided not to ask. Gus, on the other hand, still looked bored.

“So what about you? Blake, yeah? What’s your story?” Joe tried to continue the previous conversation.

But the problem was, I was stuck. What was I into? Not computers or writing. Most of the time it was just school in my life. Shit. Was that a bad thing?

Sim tried to rescue me. “He’s the clever one. He’s always top of the class and getting the teachers to kiss his backside.”

“Not much wrong with being clever,” Joe said.

Kenny nodded. “Maybe, yeah. But he’s a smart-arse with it. I’m telling you: he never lets you forget how clever he is.”

“You just wish you were cerebral too,” I told him.

Kenny pulled a face. “See what I mean? Big words give him a boner.”

“So that must mean you’re the dark horse, right?” Joe said to Sim. “What’re you? Shakespearean actor, or ice-skater—something like that?”

“In your dreams.”

“He’s always playing footie,” Kenny said. “But he’s crap at it.”

Sim punched his arm, hard this time, making Kenny yelp. “I reckon I’m gonna do what you and Gus are doing,” he said. “Sport at university.”

“Trust me, you don’t need to be any good at football to do sports science. That’s right, right, Gus?”

Gus nodded.

“I’ll tell you what Sim does,” I said to Joe. “Name an animal—any animal,” I told him.

Joe drew on his cigarette. “Giraffe.”

“A tower,” Sim said.

Joe frowned. “A what?”

“Say another,” I told him. “Come on, make it difficult.”

Both Joe and Gus were intrigued now. “Hippopotamus.”

Sim didn’t even hesitate. “A bloat.”

The two students were confused. Kenny and I were laughing. “He knows them all,” I said. “What do you call a load of giraffes? A tower. What do you call a big bunch of hippos? A bloat.”

“Right, yeah. Someone told me about this before,” Joe said. “There’s a special name, right?”

“Collective nouns,” I said.

“That’s it, yeah. Hedgehogs?”

“A prickle,” Sim told him.

Joe beamed at us in the rearview mirror. “Yeah? A prickle of hedgehogs. That’s fantastic. Where’d you learn this stuff?”

“It’s just something I remember from primary school. The teacher made us write a poem about them or something. But I thought they were funny, you know? I’ve got a massive list of them somewhere.”

“There was this kid at my school who could tell you every capital city of every country,” Joe said. “No matter how weird the country. The two of you should get together—you’d be great in pub quizzes.”

Sim grinned, a little embarrassed.

“Snails,” Joe said.

“A walk.”

“Hamsters.”

“A horde.”

And that kept us amused right up until we needed to stop for diesel somewhere near Skipton.

We stopped at a small garage, still on the A59, somewhere between Skipton and Clitheroe, going by the map. There were two other cars filling up alongside us. One was a boxy people carrier with the parents up front and a bunch of kids squabbling in the back. At the pump on our other side was a flashy couple in a flashy convertible. Kenny, Sim and I didn’t so much as glance at the people carrier. I reckon we were all thinking the same thing: that we’d rather end up like Ross than driving one of those things. We were much more interested in the convertible, and the blond woman in its passenger seat. She might even have been good-looking, but it was difficult to see her through all that fake tan.

Sim said to Kenny, “That’s the kind of car you reckon you’re getting, isn’t it?”

“Changed my mind,” Kenny said. “I’ve decided I don’t want the sort of car Munro’s dad drives, do I? I’m having
one of these instead. I’m telling you: the very next second after I pass my test, I’m having a taxi.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Look at him: he can only get one girl in his convertible. You can fit loads in one of these.”

Sim shook his head. “Like you’d ever have loads.”

We climbed out to stretch our legs. I took my rucksack with me—it just didn’t feel right leaving it lying around, out of sight. My T-shirt was sticky and uncomfortable, like the weather. This was turning out to be the hottest day I could remember. It had felt cooler in the cab with the wind rushing in through the open window.

Gus unhooked the diesel hose, pushed the nozzle into the cab’s tank and pulled the giant trigger. The pump rumbled into life and the display’s numbers began flickering ever upward. The smell of the fuel in this heat wasn’t pleasant and I stepped away toward the grass verge, watched the traffic shooting by on the road.

Kenny and Sim followed me. “What time is it?” Sim asked.

“Half-two,” I said. “Just after.”

“What time d’you reckon we’ll make it to Blackpool?” he called over to Gus.

Gus looked to Joe, who had his wallet open, counting his cash.

“Fourish?” Joe said without looking up.

Sim turned back to me. “What d’you reckon? We should still be able to get a train then, yeah?”

“How should I know?” I said. “This is your plan now. I thought you knew what you were doing.”

“It’s got to be easier just getting one up the west coast. We don’t have to be fannying around in Newcastle or anything.”

“Kenny still needs another ticket,” I reminded him.

He put his sunglasses on; nonchalant. “Bet you we’ve still got time.”

“I’m going to get something to eat,” Kenny said, turning toward the garage shop.

“What with?” I asked.

Kenny was halted in his tracks. “Lend us a quid, will you, Blake? I’m starved. I’ll get some crisps or something so we can share.”

Joe came round the side of the taxi. “Talking of money … hate to mention it, but can you help out with the diesel a bit?” He had a twenty in his hand. “A tenner should do it.”

I looked at Kenny and Sim: we all knew exactly how little we had. “Each?” I asked Joe.

“Between you’s fine.”

“We can’t,” Kenny started, “because—”

I cut him off. “Yeah, no problem. That’s fine. A tenner’s fine.” I didn’t want to argue in front of Joe and Gus. It would have been embarrassing, demeaning. I didn’t want them to think we were scrounging off them. I dug for one of the notes I had in my pocket. “Here.”

Joe didn’t take it. He was watching Kenny pull faces.

“Honestly,” I said, holding out my note. “It’s fine.” I nudged his hand with it. “It’s really good you could give us a lift and—”

“How much have you got?” he asked me.

I pretended to count in my head. “About twenty-five. Something like that.”

He asked Sim, “And what have you got?”

“Er, yeah, about the same. About twenty-five.”

Then to Kenny: “And you’ve not got anything?”

Kenny shook his head.

“Fifty quid between the three of you? Jesus. Hope you’re not planning on …” But he saw the look on my face. “No? Twenty-five
between you?
How far’re you hoping to get on that?”

“I lost my bag,” Kenny said. “I had about a hundred, but …” He trailed off.

Joe thought for a second, then called over to Gus. “That should do it, yeah?”

Gus cut the pump off at nineteen pounds.

I felt small, mean. “Honest, Joe. We don’t want to rob you. Why don’t you give us your address and we can send it to you?” Kenny and Sim both nodded.

Joe walked away to pay without answering, whispering something to Gus as he passed. The first thought that raced through my mind was that they might leave us here.

It was Sim’s too. “They’re gonna leave us,” he said. “I don’t even know where we are. I mean, I’ve never even heard of Clitheroe before.” And of course he blamed Kenny. “I can’t believe you were stupid enough to lose your bag. This wouldn’t have happened if—”

Kenny bit back. “Me and Blake were going to get another ticket. It’s you who said go to Blackpool. And Blackpool’s not even anywhere near—”

“Christ-on-a-bike, Kenny! Can’t you—?”

I left them to it, went after Joe.

The garage shop had air-conditioning. The cold was a shock at first, then a relief. There was some horrible soft rock playing over the speakers—the kind of stuff dads who watch car programs on telly think is cool. Joe was down one of the short aisles, picking a bag of party-sized Mars Bars off the shelf. I still had my tenner out in front of me.

“Joe,” I said. “Joe, listen, we—”

“Are you on the run or something?”

“What? No.”

“You’ve not all run off from some home somewhere and there’s going to be social workers and police chasing you?”

“God, no. It’s not like that. We … you know? We’re just wanting to go to Blackpool. We love all that deck chair and donkey stuff.”

He laughed and pointed at his T-shirt, plucked at the material. “Sorry, should’ve said. This is my bullshit-proof vest.”

He waited for me to say something. I didn’t know what I should say.

He seemed to weigh me up as he tugged the elastic band out of the back of his hair; tucking the bag of Mars Bars under his arm, he used both hands to scrape loose strands of hair off his face and redo his ponytail. He pinned me with those sharp blue eyes of his.

I tried to stare at my feet but still felt obliged to say something. “It’s just not what you think.”

“But with all that whispering about your other mate going on a few miles back—you’re in trouble, right?”

I almost laughed. But couldn’t. “Yeah. But not the way you think we are.”

“You going to get me and Gus into trouble?”

“No, no way. I swear.”

He pursed his lips, blew out a short breath. “Okay, we’ll take you as far as Blackpool. But you’re going to tell us what’s going on, right? Because we don’t know you, do we? We don’t know why you’re all so wound up and jumping at your own shadows. And we’ve not got a clue why you can’t let go of your bag there, even for one second.”

I flinched, and knew I looked guilty—caught red-handed.

I wasn’t sure I wanted anyone knowing what we were doing. I liked Joe, thought I could trust him—but who knew? And I didn’t know how Kenny and Sim would feel
about explaining everything either. What we were doing felt personal, between the three of us. I didn’t think I wanted to share it.

Joe shrugged. “You’ve got some story going on. Sorry, but it’s obvious. And let’s just say you’ve got me intrigued. Gus too, probably. So we want to know—the truth, right? And my guess is you three are going to tell the best story me and Gus have heard all year.”

That was what changed my mind. I liked the way he kept using that word:
story
.

Ross writing all those adventures with us as the characters. Ross once saying,
You’ve got to keep making stories you can tell about yourself. What’s the point in life if you’re not making stories?