In the Bag Page 9

  I buried my face in my hands, totally humiliated. I could feel my cheeks burning with shame, with embarrassment. And I could hear Kurt laughing and shouting. I tried really hard not to look at anyone.

  The whistle went for the end of the game. We’d lost. A couple of people came over and slapped me on the back. I didn’t know who they were cos I still couldn’t bring myself to look at anyone. And I could still hear Kurt taking the piss out of me. There were other people joining in too.

  I trudged off the pitch on my own. And as I heard people taking the piss, chanting my name, I thought to myself that I just had to ignore them, pretend that I wasn’t bothered, and then they’d stop. All I had to do was try and act cool.

  Only, when I got back to the changing rooms, I was met with a barrage of noise and people chanting my name and laughing. And I couldn’t handle it. I felt like I wanted to run away and cry. I sat down on the bench and got changed as quickly as I could, not speaking to anyone, not looking at anyone. The noise and the laughing and the chanting didn’t stop.

  When I’d finished changing, I swung my bag on to my shoulder and walked through the changing room, head down. Before I reached the door, Kurt stepped into my path. The whole changing room seemed to hush, as though everyone was looking in our direction. He stepped right up into my face.

  I tried not to look back at him, but he was so close I could smell his breath. I couldn’t ignore him. So I stared back into his angry eyes.

  ‘If you ever dive again when I tackle you,’ he said, with a real snarl in his voice, ‘I’ll kick your head in.’

  ‘I can’t help it if you tackle like a girl,’ I said. I still don’t know why I said it. I don’t know what possessed me, but the words just seemed to blurt out of my mouth.

  A couple of people laughed. Everyone else just kind of gasped, like, how dare I say that?

  Kurt looked angry for a second. And then he smiled. ‘Yeah? You can talk. You missed an open goal, you donkey. You couldn’t hit a barn door with a banjo!’

  It sounded like everyone in the changing room laughed. And suddenly something inside me kind of snapped. I leapt forward and grabbed Kurt. Somehow I managed to pick him up, like a karate move. I threw him over my shoulder on to the floor. I looked down at him for a second. He looked shocked, lying there. I turned away, picked up my bag, which had fallen on the floor, and walked towards the door.

  Just before I reached the door, I felt an arm on my shoulder. I turned. It was Kurt. He swung his arm, punched me in the stomach and I doubled over.

  ‘Don’t mess with me, dickhead,’ he said, almost spitting it out.

  I didn’t say anything. Even if I’d wanted to, I was too winded.

  As Kurt turned to go back to where he’d been changing, Ash came striding over with his bag on his back. He looked angry and as he reached Kurt, he pushed him hard in the chest. Kurt was taken completely by surprise and went flying back on to the floor.

  Ash didn’t say a word to Kurt. And Kurt didn’t retaliate. A second later, me and Ash were out of the changing room.

  And that was it. Kurt and Ash didn’t speak after that. A couple of months later, Kurt had moved again.

  Ash

  I wait till lunchtime to talk to Joe. We’re out on the field, sitting in the sunshine.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ I say casually.

  ‘First time for everything,’ Joe says. He doesn’t turn round to look at me, but stares at some Year Eights who are throwing piles of cut grass at each other.

  ‘About the money,’ I say.

  Joe’s head turns right away. He looks nervously around to make sure no one’s listening in. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I think we should hide it somewhere,’ I say.

  He stares straight back at me, a kind of confused expression on his face.

  ‘I mean, if I keep it at mine, what happens if someone finds it? What if my mum tidies my room or something?’

  He nods his head. ‘Good point.’

  ‘If we hide it somewhere else, even if someone finds it, there’s nothing to link it to us, right?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Joe says. ‘OK. Where?’

  I shrug. ‘Somewhere no one’s gonna find it. Like the Old House in the woods.’

  Joe watches the Year Eight kids as he thinks about it. After a while he nods. ‘All right.’

  I smile. ‘OK,’ I say. ‘We should do it tonight.’

  ‘Straight after school?’ Joe says.

  I shake my head. ‘No. We should move it after dark, when there’s no one around to see. Meet me at mine at one in the morning.’

  Joe sighs and shakes his head. ‘One in the morning? You’re joking.’

  But I know he’ll be there.

  When I get in through the door, I can see Mum in the kitchen.

  ‘Hi, Ashley,’ she says. ‘Tea?’

  ‘Yeah, please,’ I say.

  She fills the kettle and puts it on. And while she’s doing it, I stare at her. Thinking. Wanting to say something, but not wanting to be too obvious.

  ‘Did you have a good day?’ I ask her as she gets the mugs out.

  She plonks the mugs down on the surface and then looks at me, like she doesn’t quite understand. ‘What are you after?’

  I shake my head. ‘Nothing,’ I say. ‘Just being nice. There’s no law against that, is there?’

  Mum opens the fridge and gets some milk out. ‘No,’ she says, pouring some into each mug. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘So did you?’

  ‘Yeah. Not bad,’ she says. ‘A bit weird.’

  It’s quiet for a while. Mum finishes making the tea and then passes me a cup.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘What was so weird about your day?’

  Mum sighs and looks into the distance. Then all of a sudden she looks at me and says, ‘Come on, let’s go and sit down in the lounge.’

  So we go through and sit down. Mum takes a sip of her tea and then she looks at me seriously. ‘I got some post today,’ she says.

  ‘That is weird,’ I say sarcastically.

  Mum rolls her eyes. ‘No, Ashley, I got some very strange post today.’

  ‘What?’

  I get an urge to look away from her, so that she can’t read the look in my eyes, so that I can’t give anything away. But I fight the urge and look her straight back in the eyes.

  ‘An envelope filled with money,’ Mum says. ‘Two thousand pounds.’

  I try and look surprised, confused. ‘What?’ I say. ‘Why?’

  Mum shakes her head and takes another sip. ‘I don’t know,’ she says. ‘There was no letter with it and I didn’t recognise the handwriting on the envelope. It’s a complete mystery.’

  I smile. ‘That’s great,’ I say.

  Mum raises an eyebrow. ‘Is it?’

  I nod. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘You and Dad are always arguing about money.’

  Mum sort of laughs, though I don’t think she thinks it funny. ‘If it wasn’t money, we’d row about something else,’ she says. ‘Anyway, two thousand pounds wouldn’t even pay off the interest!’

  ‘But it’ll help, won’t it?’ I say.

  Mum takes another sip of tea. ‘It would,’ she says, nodding her head. ‘Except I can’t keep it, can I?’

  I have a sinking feeling. ‘Why?’

  Mum raises both her eyebrows. ‘Because it isn’t mine, Ashley.’

  ‘Did it have your name on the envelope?’

  ‘Well, yes, but . . .’

  ‘Then it’s yours, isn’t it?’

  Mum sighs. She takes another sip of tea. ‘If I knew where it came from, then perhaps,’ she says. ‘But I’ve been thinking about it and I have no idea who might have sent it.’

  It’s silent for a while. Mum sits and drinks her tea. And I start wishing that I hadn’t tried to do something nice. She wasn’t meant to get suspicious. This never happened to Robin Hood.

  ‘Perhaps I should take it to the police,’ Mum says.

  I sit up right away. ‘What? Why?’ And
I realise as soon as I’ve done it that I’m not acting very cool.

  But Mum doesn’t seem to notice. She’s in her own little world. ‘Because,’ she says, ‘it’s a bit strange, isn’t it? Money turning up in the post like that, addressed to me.’

  I nod. This has gone wrong. She was supposed to take the money and use it to help pay some debts or something. It was meant to make her and Dad happier. She was s’posed to be so happy that the money was there that she wouldn’t even think about where it came from. Bollocks.

  ‘Maybe you should just keep it somewhere safe,’ I say. ‘Use it if you need to. Don’t take it to the police.’

  Mum sips her cup of tea then puts it down on a coaster. She sighs. ‘We’ll see,’ she says.

  I’m up in my room after tea. Mum’s downstairs watching TV. Dad’s still at work, as usual. I push my swivel chair across the room and wedge it underneath the door handle, so no one can get in. I walk over to my wardrobe and pull the bag out. I unzip it. I pick up a wodge of notes and look at them. I smile. It feels kind of mad to be getting rid of it all. Well, I guess we’re not getting rid of it exactly . . .

  But there’s still a part of me that wants the money here, where I can get to it. I look at the notes in my hand. I count them. Three fifties, eight twenties and five tens. Three hundred and sixty quid. I put my hand in the bag and pull out two more twenties. Four hundred pounds. Joe will never know it’s here and not in the bag. I fold the money up and hide it in the drawer of my bedside cabinet underneath a couple of old magazines.

  Joe

  It’s five to one in the morning. The house is still. Mum and Dad came upstairs just before eleven and Kate’s been in her room all night. I can hear her snoring right now. I’ve been thinking about what’s going to happen tonight, making a plan for how to get out and then back into the house without anyone noticing. And I have to admit that I’m feeling nervous.

  But now it’s time for action. No going back. I’m wearing black from head to toe. It’ll make me harder to spot if there’s anyone out there. I get up off my bed, open my door and go out on to the landing, closing my door carefully behind me. The landing’s dark. I stand still for a couple of seconds, making sure that no one’s stirred. But everything’s quiet, apart from the snores.

  I creep down the stairs, treading as lightly as I can, sticking to the outsides of the steps where they don’t creak. And then, as soon as I’m downstairs, I head for the door, unlatch it and pull it open. I feel the blast of cooler air before I even step outside. I leave the house and quietly pull the door closed behind me.

  My bike is leaning up against the side of the house. I get on and start pedalling down the drive and towards Ash’s house. I feel nervous. My stomach’s churning. I don’t want to be doing this. This feels like the most stupid sensible thing I’ve ever done. Being out in the woods in the early hours of the morning carrying a holdall full of cash. It’s risky.

  Ash is waiting on his bike at the end of his road. He’s got a black hoodie on just like me, only his hood is pulled up over his head. On his lap there’s a black bin bag, which I guess has the holdall inside. He’s smoking a cigarette as I pull up beside him. He takes it out of his mouth.

  ‘All right, Joe?’ he says quietly. From the pocket of his hoodie, he pulls out a torch. He shines it up underneath his chin, making his face look ghostly.

  But I’m not in the mood for jokes and messing around. I don’t smile, I don’t say anything, I just nod. I don’t feel all right, no. I feel weird. And nervous. And scared. I’ll feel all right when this is all done and I’m back in bed.

  Ash throws his cigarette to the ground and then looks at me. ‘Let’s do this,’ he says. And he starts pedalling.

  I sit and stare at him disappearing into the night for a second. He looks like he’s in a film, as cool as you like. Maybe it is just like a film in his head – no consequences. Maybe that’s how I should be. Maybe then my heart wouldn’t be beating like a drum against my ribs. Before Ash is out of sight, I pedal after him.

  Neither of us have any lights on our bikes. I have brackets fitted to my bike for them, but I didn’t put my lights on tonight. I figured that we’re not supposed to be drawing attention to ourselves. And shining a light would do that. But now that I’m on the road, I’m beginning to think that maybe I should have put lights on.

  Just before we get to the main road, I hear something. It’s a car. ‘Ash,’ I hiss. ‘Car.’

  I jump off my bike and flatten myself against the hedge. Ash does the same. We stand there, branches sticking into us, and wait silently. Slowly a silver car appears on the main road. It’s a police car. It cruises past the end of the road and then accelerates off into the distance, out of town.

  ‘Jesus, that was close,’ I say, feeling sick and shivery with nerves.

  Ash nods. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  We get back on our bikes and start pedalling again. On to the main road and then into the woods. Neither of us says a word. I catch a glimpse of Ash’s face. He’s looking straight ahead with a kind of steely, determined expression.

  We follow the track for a while. There’s no noise, apart from the sound of our bikes on the path. We head in the direction of the Old House. The trees tower over us on either side, silhouetted against the dark sky. It gives me the creeps. I can’t help thinking about who might be lurking in the woods, what the darkness and the trees could be hiding. I want to get this over and done with as quickly as possible and then get back out.

  Before long, we’re not surrounded by pine trees any more, but by gnarled older trees, and I know that we’re close to the Old House. We slow down and get off our bikes without exchanging a word. We wheel our bikes off the track and in among the trees. We leave them in the undergrowth and then walk the rest of the way. Ash takes a torch from his pocket and lights the way in front of him. I try to concentrate on the ground in front of my feet.

  Eventually we pick our way through to the Old House. Ash shines his torch on the front of the building. It looks even more rundown than it did last time I was here. There’s so much ivy and stuff growing on the outside, it almost looks like part of the forest rather than a building. The windows and door are still boarded up, but the chipboard looks like it’s rotting and about to fall off. Ash shines the beam of the torch on the grey chipboard rectangle that covers the front door. He goes on ahead, pulls the board off the front of the doorway and in we go.

  Inside it’s pitch black except for the beam of Ash’s torch. He shines it around, lighting up one corner at a time. He leads us off to the left, into the room where we used to hang out back when we were in Year Seven or something. I shuffle along behind, disorientated by the dark, feeling like I’m gonna crash into something any second.

  ‘Where shall we hide it?’ Ash says, shining the torch slowly from side to side.

  I follow the torch with my eyes, looking for a hiding place. But there isn’t anywhere obvious. There’s hardly any furniture – no cupboards or anything like that, just a couple of wooden chairs, a table and some old crates. But then the beam of light hits the side of the room, and I have it.

  ‘What about the chimney?’ I say.

  We both rush over to it. Ash bends down, shines the torch upwards and looks. ‘There’s a ledge up there,’ he says. He steps out of the way so that I can look as well.

  I take a look too. The ledge is just big enough. ‘Do it,’ I say.

  Ash shoves the bag up the chimney until it rests on the ledge. He turns and shines the torch right in my face so I can’t see. I put my hands in front of my eyes.

  ‘There. It’s done,’ he says. ‘No one’s gonna find it there.’

  I smile at him. I feel relieved.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ he says.

  Ash leads the way out of the house. We rush along through the undergrowth, among the trees, the beam from his torch bouncing around as he moves. We get back to our bikes and pick them up. Ash switches the torch off, sticks it back in his pocket an
d then we wheel our bikes back to the path. We jump on to them and start pedalling back through the forest as quick as we can manage, despite the fact that it’s too dark to see the ground in front of us. And pretty soon, we’re well away from the Old House.

  But then, as we bomb along the path with pine trees towering either side of us, Ash skids to a halt and says, ‘Did you hear that?’

  I didn’t hear anything, just the sound of my tyres. But I stop as well. And as soon as I do I can hear what he means. An engine. Tyres crushing small stones. There’s a car somewhere near. I keep still and listen. It sounds like it’s coming from the track up ahead of us. We both stare ahead, looking for any sign of a car. Nothing. Then I see the flash of headlights between the trees way up ahead of us, round a bend in the track.

  ‘This way,’ I say, running off to the right of the track with my bike. ‘Quickly!’

  We both run, carrying our bikes, in among the trees, until we’re twenty metres or so in. We drop to the ground and hide down behind some ferns.

  Up on the track the car moves slowly forward, its headlights on full beam. And I realise how exposed we are, that even hidden behind the ferns they might be able to see us.

  As the car gets closer, I recognise it as a BMW. It’s difficult to tell the colour, but it’s definitely dark. Maybe black. Maybe dark blue or green. But what the hell is it doing in the forest at this time of night?

  The wheels crunch along the path painfully slowly. Then they stop. And it feels for a second like my heart has stopped beating. The car is literally right in front of us, just twenty metres away up on the track. And I feel vulnerable, like whoever is in the car can see me, like they’re looking right at me. Cos for all I know, they could be. Why else would they choose that exact place in the whole of the woods to stop? A shiver runs down my spine. I try and get as low as I can in the undergrowth, hide myself away. If I could tunnel downwards into the earth, I would. My eyes stay locked on the car, wondering who is in there and why they’ve stopped right in front of us, whether they’ve spotted us.