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Authors: Jacqueline Wilson
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football.
He was in his living room, shoving his feet into his trainers. ‘Here, you. I didn’t ask you in.’
‘I know. But I’m dead nosy. Seeing as I haven’t got a real home.’
Football’s certainly wasn’t my idea of home sweet home. Yesterday’s takeaways were congealing on trays by the sofa. The ashtray was so full it was spilling over and the whole room smelt stale. It was
empty
too. Well, there was a sofa and chairs and the telly, but that was about it. Cam’s got all her cushions and patchwork and plants and pictures all over the walls and books in piles and little ornaments and vases of dried flowers and windchimes and notebooks and painted boxes and this daft old donkey she had when she was little. She said I could have Daisy if I wanted. I said I wasn’t a silly little kid who played with toy animals. Cam said good, because she was a silly little woman who still liked cuddling up with Daisy when she was feeling dead depressed and she didn’t really want to give her away.
I’ve tried hanging onto the old donkey once or twice, when Cam’s not around. Daisy’s got this old soft woolly smell, and the insides of her big ears are all velvety.
You can’t cuddle up with anything at all in Football’s house. Maybe Football doesn’t mind. He’s certainly not a cuddly kind of guy.
We played football out in the street. It was great for a bit.
But then these other guys came sloping past and Football acted like I was this little bee buzzing in his ear. He swotted me away and started playing football with these other guys.
‘Hey, what about me?’ I demanded indignantly.
‘You push off now,’ Football hissed out the side of his mouth, like he couldn’t even bear to be seen talking to me.
‘OK, OK. But you give me back my ball. I found it. And you said it wasn’t yours.’
I got into a bit of an argument about it. Football and his new mates won.
I decided I didn’t want to play footie with him if he were the last guy in the world. In fact, I’d gone off the game altogether so there was no point taking my ball with me. So I didn’t insist.
I sloped off to the old house to see Alexander. I needed to see if he’d followed my advice and learned to stick up for himself.
Tracy and Alexander’s Home
I LET MYSELF in the back window and noted straight away that someone had been making serious improvements in the kitchen. There was a big bottle of mineral water standing on the draining board, with a label saying THIS IS THE TAP . So I drank a little ‘tap’ water because Football (and the ensuing dispute) had been thirsty work. I slurped a little down my T-shirt but there was a clean towel hanging on a hook so I could mop myself up. A cardboard box was stacked in a corner with another label: THIS IS THE FRIDGE . I inspected the ‘fridge’ contents with interest. I discovered two rounds of tuna sandwiches, a packet of cheese and onion crisps, a Kit-Kat and an apple.
Plus
a giant pack of Smarties!!! I helped myself to a handful or two because I’d already burnt up a lot of energy that morning. I was all set to share my own refreshments – only I’d somehow or other eaten them up. Still, I was sure Alexander would be happy to share
his
refreshments with me.
‘Alexander?’ I called. It came out indistinctly, because my mouth was full. I tried again, louder. ‘
Alexander?
’
I heard a little mousy squeak from the living room. Alexander was sitting cross-legged on a little rug in front of another cardboard box. There was a drawing of smiley
Blue Peter
presenters on the front and another label: THIS IS THE TELEVISION .
‘It seems to be on permanent freeze-frame,’ I said wittily.
Alexander seemed unusually immobile too, hunched up with his chin on his chest.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked, sitting down beside him.
‘Yes,’ he said. Then, ‘Well, no, not really.’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘What’s up, then?’
Alexander sighed heavily. ‘Everything,’ he said sadly, and went
He was in his living room, shoving his feet into his trainers. ‘Here, you. I didn’t ask you in.’
‘I know. But I’m dead nosy. Seeing as I haven’t got a real home.’
Football’s certainly wasn’t my idea of home sweet home. Yesterday’s takeaways were congealing on trays by the sofa. The ashtray was so full it was spilling over and the whole room smelt stale. It was
empty
too. Well, there was a sofa and chairs and the telly, but that was about it. Cam’s got all her cushions and patchwork and plants and pictures all over the walls and books in piles and little ornaments and vases of dried flowers and windchimes and notebooks and painted boxes and this daft old donkey she had when she was little. She said I could have Daisy if I wanted. I said I wasn’t a silly little kid who played with toy animals. Cam said good, because she was a silly little woman who still liked cuddling up with Daisy when she was feeling dead depressed and she didn’t really want to give her away.
I’ve tried hanging onto the old donkey once or twice, when Cam’s not around. Daisy’s got this old soft woolly smell, and the insides of her big ears are all velvety.
You can’t cuddle up with anything at all in Football’s house. Maybe Football doesn’t mind. He’s certainly not a cuddly kind of guy.
We played football out in the street. It was great for a bit.
But then these other guys came sloping past and Football acted like I was this little bee buzzing in his ear. He swotted me away and started playing football with these other guys.
‘Hey, what about me?’ I demanded indignantly.
‘You push off now,’ Football hissed out the side of his mouth, like he couldn’t even bear to be seen talking to me.
‘OK, OK. But you give me back my ball. I found it. And you said it wasn’t yours.’
I got into a bit of an argument about it. Football and his new mates won.
I decided I didn’t want to play footie with him if he were the last guy in the world. In fact, I’d gone off the game altogether so there was no point taking my ball with me. So I didn’t insist.
I sloped off to the old house to see Alexander. I needed to see if he’d followed my advice and learned to stick up for himself.
Tracy and Alexander’s Home
I LET MYSELF in the back window and noted straight away that someone had been making serious improvements in the kitchen. There was a big bottle of mineral water standing on the draining board, with a label saying THIS IS THE TAP . So I drank a little ‘tap’ water because Football (and the ensuing dispute) had been thirsty work. I slurped a little down my T-shirt but there was a clean towel hanging on a hook so I could mop myself up. A cardboard box was stacked in a corner with another label: THIS IS THE FRIDGE . I inspected the ‘fridge’ contents with interest. I discovered two rounds of tuna sandwiches, a packet of cheese and onion crisps, a Kit-Kat and an apple.
Plus
a giant pack of Smarties!!! I helped myself to a handful or two because I’d already burnt up a lot of energy that morning. I was all set to share my own refreshments – only I’d somehow or other eaten them up. Still, I was sure Alexander would be happy to share
his
refreshments with me.
‘Alexander?’ I called. It came out indistinctly, because my mouth was full. I tried again, louder. ‘
Alexander?
’
I heard a little mousy squeak from the living room. Alexander was sitting cross-legged on a little rug in front of another cardboard box. There was a drawing of smiley
Blue Peter
presenters on the front and another label: THIS IS THE TELEVISION .
‘It seems to be on permanent freeze-frame,’ I said wittily.
Alexander seemed unusually immobile too, hunched up with his chin on his chest.
‘Are you OK?’ I asked, sitting down beside him.
‘Yes,’ he said. Then, ‘Well, no, not really.’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘What’s up, then?’
Alexander sighed heavily. ‘Everything,’ he said sadly, and went
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