Tall Story Page 9

  As the double doors at the other end of the court flapped shut behind him, I stood there like an idiot. Then the meaning of what Rocky had said penetrated my brain.

  YES! I jumped high, releasing the ball as I leaped. It flew true and swished into the basket without touching the sides of the metal ring.

  Suddenly I had a chance. Training with the Souls was just a few steps away from becoming one of the team.

  ‘Andi!’

  I whirled round. Mrs Green? How did she beam herself into the gym without my noticing?

  ‘You know that playing in the gym during break is forbidden.’

  ‘I uh …’

  ‘See me in detention. After school.’

  14

  Bernardo

  It was dark when I woke.

  I got up slowly from the mattress on Amandolina’s bedroom floor and drew the curtains. Nothing. The room remained dark. I could see a street lamp glowing outside. I flicked on the light switch by the door and immediately spotted the note taped to the knob.

  It was signed with a massive letter ‘A’ – for Amandolina, I suppose, except the A had a pair of horns.

  Back at 4 p.m.? The digital clock on Amandolina’s bedside table said 5:00 – five what? Could it be 5 a.m. in the morning? But that would be silly, wouldn’t it? If it were morning, Amandolina would be in her bed next to mine and the roosters would be crowing. But wait, this was London. There were no roosters. Most likely it was 5 p.m. and Amandolina was either late coming home from school or downstairs in the kitchen.

  ‘Amandolina?’ I stood at the top of the stairs and listened. But the silence from downstairs was deafening. There was definitely nobody at home.

  I shivered, suddenly aware of the cold gnawing on my bare feet, neck and arms.

  I looked down at myself. I was in the same shirt and trousers I was wearing when I got off the plane. I smelled like onions left out on the chopping board.

  I had to wash.

  I went to the bathroom.

  There was a real bathtub.

  San Andres was a village known for what it didn’t have and a bath was definitely on that list. A shower served its purpose. Or a tall bucket of water and a tabo, a plastic beaker to ladle water on yourself.

  I stared at the bathtub – not that I’d never seen one before; I’ve seen them plenty of times in American movies – but how was I going to sit inside it? I could not possibly fold myself small enough and neat enough to fit. Besides, the thought of immersing myself in water infused with the dirt and odours I was trying to get rid of was nauseating.

  What would Jabby say? Get a grip, Bernardo! Use your coconut!

  I decided to fill the tub with water and kneel next to it and wash myself as per usual – a saucepan from the kitchen would make as good a tabo as any. I found the rubber stopper and plugged the hole.

  But then the tap marked H for hot ran cold. And the tap marked C for cold ran freezing.

  I left both taps running and hurried downstairs to the kitchen. The electric kettle on the counter was far too small for the quantity of hot water I needed. I searched the cupboards and took out the biggest pot I could find, filling it with water, then putting it on the stove to heat. I could mix the heated water with the cold in the tub for a warm bath. Problem solved.

  I went up to Amandolina’s room and found my suitcase behind the door. I needed a change of clothes. I unzipped the bag and pulled out a fresh pair of trousers and a T-shirt. Something solid dropped out onto the floor. My heart leaped.

  Gabriela’s stone.

  * * *

  Do you feel guilty, Giant Boy? Guilty about Gabriela? Guilty for what you did to me?

  Mad Nena.

  Always sneaking along behind me. Staring from behind lampposts. Waiting outside the school gates. Praying. Mumbling. Now that I’d finally put a whole world between me and her, I was glad that she wasn’t going to be bothering me any more.

  Do you feel guilty? Guilty? Guilty?

  Not guilty. I didn’t deserve her accusations despite what happened. I didn’t even know that Nena was Gabriela’s mother. Although I should have guessed. There was a similarity in the arch of their eyebrows, the curl of their lips. Gabriela was a young beauty and Nena was – used to be – a handsome woman.

  She was the village witch.

  And she terrorized San Andres in the same way Gabriela terrorized the school.

  She wielded good magic and bad. White magic – love potions and spells for fine weather and high grades – was not her bread and butter, though she rarely turned away business when it came.

  Black magic was her big ticket, the ruin of a rice crop, a plague of dengue fever, the seduction of a virgin, the nasty accident. Her clientele came from far away and crossed her palm with the kind of wealth people in San Andres could only dream of.

  Who would dare defy that kind of power? Who would dare stand up to a woman like Nena?

  She and Gabriela had a dog named Judas, a cross between a German shepherd and a boxer. Nena once turned up with Judas on our street and Old Tibo’s dog, Flash Gordon, rushed joyfully towards him to sniff his bottom as friendly dogs do. Flash Gordon would do anything for a pat on the head. But Judas, it turned out, was not of the same love-hungry mould. Judas was vicious for no other reason than that he was born vicious. Poor Flash Gordon found that out soon enough – and now has half an ear to show for it.

  Shopkeepers looked the other way when Nena bypassed the till or helped herself to an extra measure of rice or grabbed another tin of tuna. Far better for the books to fall short than to suffer some mysterious illness.

  Tricycle cabs stopped for her even when they had passengers. The passengers got off without complaint and let her have their fare. It was said that she was quick to punish any sign of disrespect.

  Sebastian, the tricycle driver, was in such a rush to meet his girlfriend one day that he didn’t stop when Nena tried to flag his cab. People nearby saw Nena raise one crimson-nailed finger in a strange gesture. One of the tyres on Sebastian’s tricycle blew out with a massive bang. He careened into a bus speeding in the opposite direction.

  He didn’t stand a chance.

  At school, Gabriela exacted from us the same obedience and terror that her witch mother commanded from our parents. Gabriela and her gang ran roughshod over the playground on a daily basis. They got away with everything. My little packet of shells was only one small item in a long list of delinquencies.

  So maybe I was being foolish when I decided to do what I did. Or maybe it was because I was just thirteen and had no sense. Or maybe the news that I wasn’t going to London after all made me reckless.

  I don’t know.

  Maybe I was just being totally, utterly stupid.

  I decided to pay Gabriela back. I would steal that necklace she was always dangling at me. Then she would know how it felt to lose something.

  But what happened next was not of my making.

  Guilty.

  Mad Nena’s voice whispered in my ears like poison.

  No, I’m not.

  Coward. Running away.

  ‘I am NOT running away,’ I said aloud.

  Loser!

  ‘Leave me alone.’ I covered my ears.

  It’s boiled itself dry!

  ‘Boiled itself …?’ I started at the illogical words.

  ‘THE POT!’ It was not Gabriela – it was Amandolina, screaming frantically at the bedroom door.

  ‘IT’S BOILED ITSELF DRY! AND THE BATH! YOU LEFT IT RUNNING AND IT’S FLOODED EVERYTHING!’

  15

  Andi

  Surprise, surprise, it was all my fault.

  ‘If you had come home at four like you promised, this would not have happened!’ Mum yelled.

  ‘I was in detention!’ I yelled back.

  ‘Detention! Of all days to behave badly!’

  ‘I wasn’t behaving badly!’

  ‘But you were in detention!’

  ‘I left Bernardo a note. I told him not to do ANYTHI
NG!’

  ‘But you were LATE!’

  And on and on and on.

  Anyway, the upshot was: Mum grounded me for a week.

  Which, of course, was convenient. Now Bernardo was guaranteed his babysitter after school every day and Mum and Dad could do all the double shifts they wanted at the hospital. Mum couldn’t have planned it better.

  How was I to know that Bernardo would try to run a bath? A DINGBAT from the MOON would’ve known to watch the boiling pot and mind the running bath. It’s not like being FOREIGN exempts you from COMMON SENSE.

  I mean, he’s sixteen. He’s practically an adult. I’m just thirteen. I’m barely a teenager.

  He left Mum’s best soup pot burning on the stove. It was ruined. The carpet in the hall was ruined. The ceiling under the bathroom crumbled to pieces. Ruined.

  I was the one who raised the alarm. I was the one who turned off the heat. I turned off the taps. I cleared up the mess. Well. Bernardo spent hours scraping that pot with a scourer, but that was nothing. I mopped up the bathroom and covered the carpet with towels. But nobody’s going to thank me for that, are they?

  ‘Thank you, Amandolina,’ Bernardo whispered.

  OK. Now Bernardo was making me feel guilty. I sneaked a glance at him. He sat on his mattress with his back to my bed and his knees drawn up to his chin and both hands clasped over his knees.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘I am the blame.’

  YES, YOU ARE THE BLAME! You are the reason I’ve got half a bedroom and now I’ve got half a life as well. You are the blame the blame the BLAME!

  ‘Nah.’ I flopped down on the mattress, scowling at my socks. ‘It wasn’t your fault. You don’t know anything.’

  ‘I don’t know anything,’ Bernardo repeated like he needed to memorize it. ‘I don’t know anything.’

  Oh shut up. But aloud I said, ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  Bernardo grabbed my hand. I was so surprised I tried to snatch it back.

  He smiled at me and gently put something on my palm.

  ‘What’s this, Bernardo?’ It was a smooth flat black stone, the kind that’s perfect for skipping on the ocean. There was a hole bored into it where a chain could slip through.

  ‘It have magic,’ he was whispering now. I had to bend my head close to his to hear what he was saying. ‘You make wish. Wish come true.’

  What was I supposed to say to that? Should I tell him now that I don’t believe in magic and have never even read Harry Potter? Should I tell him that I do not bother to read the fortune cookies that come with the Chinese takeaway?

  This was what I said: ‘Really? Is that so?’

  Bernardo swivelled round so that he was leaning on one elbow, looking squarely into my eyes. He was close enough for me to see the pupils blooming to the edges of his amber irises.

  He took the stone from my hand and clasped it against his chest like he was about to pledge his loyalty to the Queen. ‘I have sorry about the flooding, Amandolina,’ he said softly. ‘Please. Make a wish. Don’t say loud. Just wish with your head.’

  16

  Bernardo

  From: Mary Ann Hipolito-Jones

  mahjones@gmail.com

  To: Hipolito, Sofia

  Subject: From Bernardo

  Dear Auntie and Uncle,

  Kumusta? How are you? How have you been up to?

  Mama borrowed me her email so that I could make news to you about life here in London. I write you in English because I must practise before I have school on Monday. It’s up for me to be fitted in.

  Mama, Uncle William and Amandolina are making their best so I feel like home. Uncle William always says he loves to have me. He is good.

  It have very cold in England but inside the house it have very warm because the house makes heating. Now and there I really miss you, especially when the house makes cold.

  I have some mistake at the beginning but Mama teach me how to use bathtub now. I just have to take things slow by slow.

  Yesterday was Saturday and Mama took me shopping for clothes. We went to internet shop TallMan.com – there have a house where they keep stock of shoes, clothes, everything for Tall Man – like me!

  Mama buy me very nice rubber shoes – in London rubber shoes are called trainers. Imagine me now I have rubber shoes! I cannot believe. The trainers so comfort, they have shock-absorbing soles and breathable fabric according to the box. I have happiness so much. So many years I wear rubber slippers or sandals because no shoes fitting me. Timbuktu sandals good but London very too cold to have bare toes.

  Mama also buy me four T-shirt, four pair sock, two pair jean (tell Timbuktu I have wear the trousers he made me on special occasion only), pyjamas, two sweater, one fleece hoodie very warm, one tracksuit very warm. Uncle William’s jacket fit me so we have no need to buy coat. Anyway, Uncle William’s jacket is as brand as new.

  I miss you. Please give my regards to Jabby, Sister Len-Len, Salim and Old Tibo.

  Love,

  Nardo

  PS Don’t worry about happened in train. I am OK now. I have brain scan.

  From: Jabbar theoneandonly@hotmail.com

  To: Hipolito-Jones, Mary Ann

  Subject: Pls pass to Nardo ‘Michael Jordan’

  Hipolito

  Dir Nardo,

  Sister Sofia show me your email n I was very impress!!!!!!!! You R now d genuine English gentleman speaking d Queen English like James Bond dressed in d genuine English hoodie. D brain scan sound like gud idea – maybe dey find your brain at last!!!!!!!!

  Bad news about Mountain Men. D new contractor said more building work needed. What a waste of a good basketball court! Not yet ready for grand opening. So our game wid Giant Killers postponed until further notice. Bad trip, man.

  But never mind. My secret entrance still there. So I go every day to d Arena to shoot hoops.

  Without further adieu,

  Jabs

  17

  Andi

  Like Cinderella I closed my eyes and wished.

  I even had a little debate in my head: wish for something that could actually happen, wish it won’t rain tomorrow … or wish for something noble like Peace on Earth for ever and ever amen. But no. I wished for the impossible. I wished that the Souls would make me their point guard.

  Which would have been grand if I actually did believe in magic stones.

  Of course I don’t so it didn’t matter what I wished.

  It was worth it, though, if only to see the smile on Bernardo’s face – so wide I thought his head would split in half.

  Dad and I were watching TV when they got back from the Tall Man shop. Ma said she found the shop on the internet and the blurb had said ‘for men six foot four and taller’.

  Bernardo was already wearing his new clothes. He looked so pleased – you would have thought he’d won the lottery.

  The Tall Man shop should have called itself the Old Man shop – the T-shirts had collars, the trousers were high-waisted with turn-ups, the trainers were boring white, no stripes, no brand, no nothing – but anything was better than those horrible home-made sandals and Velcro trousers. I don’t suppose Tall Man had much of a range – there can’t be that many Shrek-size men in England.

  Apparently trousers were hemmed on the shop floor to make sure they fitted even the tallest people. Who would have thought there was such a place?

  In fact, Bernardo looked OK.

  More than OK.

  He looked almost normal.

  He looked warm too (Mum bought him two sweaters and he had both on, and the fleece, and the tracksuit jacket, and we were indoors). Which made me realize how cold he must have been since he arrived.

  No wonder he boiled the house.

  ‘TA-DAA!’ Mum said with a theatrical flourish.

  Bernardo bowed from the waist, his head just missing the pendant lamp in the sitting room.

  Dad had a hand over his mouth like he was stifling a cry of joy. Then he got up and hugged Bernardo (around the ches
t, by the way, because unless Bernardo walked around on his knees it was impossible to reach anywhere near the top of his head) and said, ‘You look terrific, son.’

  Huh. I could tell it was only a matter of time before Dad was going to tell Bernardo to call him Dad.

  ‘Call me Dad,’ Dad said, and his eyes were kind of red and puffy like he felt like crying. Mum’s eyes got red and puffy too and they leaned towards each other like two old trees.

  My eyes stung and I rubbed them. Crowd hysteria. One person starts crying and it sets everyone off. I opened my eyes and realized that Mum was glaring at me. She obviously thought it was my turn to say something nice or at least burst into tears.

  So I said, ‘Yeah, Bernardo. You look really cool.’ I meant it too. Cool. As in: no longer uncool.

  ‘Thanks you,’ Bernardo said.

  ‘You are welcomes,’ I said and Mum scowled at me. As if Bernardo was the type to get upset about a little joke.

  But truly, I was glad for Bernardo. The guy deserved a break.

  An hour later, I was sitting on my bed, reading Lay-up Magazine, when Mum came into our room with a bin bag which she began to fill with all the Velcro clothes he’d brought from the Philippines. Bernardo burst in after her. It was the first time I’d seen him … angry.

  ‘Ma! NO!’

  ‘Nardo, you won’t be wearing these any more!’ Mum held up the Velcro tie, wrinkled her nose and stuffed it into the bag.

  Bernardo snatched the tie from the bag and threw it back into the wardrobe.

  I couldn’t believe it. Bernardo didn’t want to get rid of his horrible old clothes. He actually thought they were cool.

  ‘Mama, Timbuktu made them for me, special quality!’

  ‘Ay, that Timbuktu. That tailor is the reason why the whole of San Andres is a fashion disaster zone!’

  ‘But, Mama!’

  ‘Nardo, when you go to school on Monday and meet the other kids, you will thank me.’

  For once, I agreed with Mum. But in the end she had to compromise, allowing Bernardo to keep the Velcro suit he arrived in. There’s no accounting for taste. Hopefully there will be no opportunities for him to wear it ever again.