Read Online Heartland by Anthony Cartwright - Free Book Online Page A

felt sick and looked at the sea, musing on submarines and sea monsters.
    Turned out all right in the end, eh Glenn? Rob grinned, trying to copy the way he’d seen his dad hold a cigarette.
    Adnan nodded, looking out at the waves and the grey squall, thinking about what lessons he could take from the day.
    Zubair had sent Rob a text message. Simeone’s left boot remind you of anyone’s? Zubair meant his own, of course, how in the game the other week, he’d arced a pass that dropped over Rob’s head for his kid brother to race after. Rob couldn’t turn. Zubair couldn’t run, mind you, could barely move at all these days, but he could still strike a ball.
    Rob wanted to tell him to fuck off, but thought of him sitting there in his office alone and started to write Ha, ha instead.
    Sorin got forward, back-heeled it. Kily Gonzalez was on to it. Movement, patterns, watching it was like thepieces of a puzzle falling into place. Kily Gonzalez hit it to the sound of moans. The shot flew wide.
    On the replay you could see how Nicky Butt had done enough to put him off, just thrown himself in there to try and close down. That was the stuff that won games, Rob thought, little jobs done properly like that; probably some message for life itself, he thought.
    Ha, ha! he wrote. Then, That was close.
    Con I play Gulf Strike now, Rob?
    Rob looked at his watch and leaned back in the chair. Goo on then but first yow’ve gorra find me a book on snakes from in here an bring it to me.
    What fower? I ay doin that.
    Goo on, see if yer con find one. I’m thinking o gerrin me one as a pet.
    Serious?
    Arr, but I wanna find which one to get.
    Yow con get em dahn the Merry Hill.
    I’m sure yow can, arr.
    There were kids who couldn’t read. Not those who were dyslexic, or those with other Special Needs (that could mean anything), or kids who arrived only speaking Punjabi or Urdu. No, kids who had grown up in Cinderheath, just like him, and had somehow got to twelve, thirteen, fourteen unable to read more than a couple of words. It was unbelievable. There weren’t hordes of them – but neither were there so few you could ignore it and since he’d started looking there were new ones turning up all the time. Some had missed a lot of school – that was how he came across them, turning up in groups that ran for non-attenders – but not all of them. Some of them, like Andre and Kelvin, boys he worked with at the moment, had somehow managed to complete nine years of school each and could read barely a dozen words between them.Chelsey, for example, had loads about her and was coping so brilliantly in lots of ways, and she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, read a word. When kids like that kicked off in a class reading
Macbeth
or doing simultaneous equations and threw a chair or called the teacher a wanker, everyone wrung their hands and wondered why.
    Anyway, before Jasmine’s arrival and any talk of reading recovery, he’d decided to do something about it: teach them to read. Although, that was proving more easily said than done. He didn’t know where to start.
    The morning he’d spoken to her at the library, she’d got a couple of the headscarf girls from Year 8 with her; she’d met them in her own time and brought them to join the library. Rob thought that was great and told her so, though the reason might have been the way she looked, dressed in a pink summer dress with a cardigan over her shoulders and her hair down.
    He’d said he liked her dress and she’d laughed, but looked pleased. She said it was old and then held up her bag, a Burberry check handbag, as if it was a court exhibit.
    And this is my mum’s, don’t get the wrong impression. A lot of my stuff’s still in London.
    When dyer get the rest of yer stuff from London, then?
    She’d waved her hand as if to say it wasn’t important.
    Oh, some time in the next few weeks, I think.
    He’d