A Thousand Water Bombs (7 page)

‘Hi guys.’

‘What are you doing here, Bee?’ said Fifty.

‘I don’t know . . . waiting, I suppose.’

‘Waiting for what?’ I said.

‘For you, I suppose.’ That didn’t make any sense. We didn’t know we were going to C.P.’s.

‘But we didn’t know we were coming,’ said Fifty.

‘Well, I must be controlling you then,’ she said.

‘So not funny, Bee,’ said Fifty. ‘You’re here for the same reason we are. To rescue our idiotic friend from the dark forces that have lured him to the other
side.’

‘Maybe,’ said Bee. ‘But now that I’m here I don’t know what to do.’

‘Same,’ said Fifty.

I looked towards Copper Pie’s house, hoping he might wander into the garden. I didn’t fancy knocking on the door in case I got his mum.

‘Shall we text him? Tell him to come out?’ I said.

A red car roared past me at a hundred miles an hour, braked and swerved into Copper Pie’s drive. Out stepped the football scout, Simon. Seeing him again made me realise what we were up
against. There was no way Copper Pie was going to give up his chance of stardom.

‘Let’s go,’ I said.

‘I thought we were going to text?’ said Bee. ‘We might as well try.’

‘There’s no point,’ I said, nodding my head towards the man standing on the doorstep. ‘That’s the scout.’

‘He doesn’t look very impressive,’ said Fifty.

‘He doesn’t have to, does he? He’s not the one who kicks the ball,’ said Bee.

‘Come on,’ I said. I’d seen enough. We were no match for a top scout and a football-mad dad.

Later, in bed, all I could think was that we’d decided no one can leave Tribe and no one can join. That’s what we decided. So was it the end? Was Tribe
finished?

a sell-out

It all happened according to plan (as long as you ignored the fact that there were only four of us).

The water bombs went down a storm, as predicted. We lined up the buckets of bombs by our table and made everyone queue in a zigzag (otherwise the queue would have wrapped round three other
stalls). Amir went off to get more stock from the art room every time we ran out (we paid him obviously). We sold our first one to Lily at 2.01 p.m. and our last one to Flo’s friend, Joe, at
2.22 p.m. Allowing for the ones we had to give away as payment, and the ones we accidentally burst, and the ones we had for free, we made £73.19. (Quite how we ended up with nineteen pence I
don’t know.)We could have sold more – there were plenty of people to aim for! I was lucky enough to see a high lob explode right on top of the Head’s hairdo. Miss Walsh got one in
the face and Mr Morris was attacked from three directions in a co-ordinated attack. Flo got a soaking too. (Who would do a thing like that!) All the kids bought one, except Copper Pie, who was too
busy (and wouldn’t have dared come up even if he hadn’t been).

The swap stall didn’t last long either. The whole of the table was piled high with tat ( Jonno’s word: means things no one needs) apart from where Flo’s supermarket till sat
(for the water bomb money). But from the minute the gates opened there were five rows of people all trying to grab stuff. Bee and Jonno tried to control what was given and what was taken in
exchange (to make sure no one
gave
a mouldy tennis ball and took a brand new skateboard – not that there was one) but it was bedlam. Alice and a Year 3 girl had a tug-of-war over a
sparkly skipping rope, Mr Morris swiped a butterfly net from some kid that thought it was a fishing net and two little boys had a scrap over a pottery wheel. (No point. Flo had one. It never
worked.) Anonymous hands kept appearing from behind bodies and snatching. And there was shouting:

I saw that first.

Pass me the orange rubbery thing.

Is it for cooking?

Urghh! It’s all sticky.

It’s a tea cosy, not a hat. Idiot – it’s a hot water bottle cover.

Get off. That’s not a swap. It’s my walking stick.

And then someone spotted the old-fashioned pram, filled it up to the top with stuff from the stall and sauntered off without giving anything.
That
was the final straw. Bee chased after
her. We all watched.

‘Excuse me. The idea of our stall is that you
donate
something you don’t need any more and
take
something in its place.’ Bee stared down at the pramful of
loot.

‘Sorry, love,’ said the woman. She put her hand in her jeans pocket and pulled out a 50p piece. ‘There you go.’

Bee was stunned, and for once, lost for words. The pram lady wandered off. Back at the stall the Give and Take had turned into more of a Shove and Steal. Poor Jonno got elbowed in the face by
someone lunging for the French horn, and clonked on the head by a fruit bowl that someone was trying to pass to an old man at the other end.

‘Let’s leave them to it,’ he said.

‘We can’t,’ said Bee. ‘They’ll take everything.’

‘Isn’t that the point?’ he said.

Just then the lady who’d taken the pram appeared back at the stall. I had a good look at her in case she was a professional thief and the police needed a report: jeans, green jumper,
parrot earrings.

‘I’ll take the lot off you for a tenner,’ she said.

‘No way, ’ said Bee. ‘This is about recycling. It’s not for sale.’

‘Are you joking?’ she said. ‘Listen to her, Ray.’ She nudged the man next to her. I stopped serving so I didn’t miss what was coming.

‘We’ll give you twelve quid. Put it in your recycling tin,’ he said.

Jonno held out the fruit bowl that the old man at the end had put back. ‘Twenty-five pounds and it’s all yours. It’s worth at least that.’

‘What are you doing, Jonno?’ Bee hissed.

‘Getting rid of this lot – they don’t care about the planet.’

I scanned the crowd – it was still three deep. People grabbing things with their sticky fingers, dropping them, putting them back, picking them up again, desperately trying to get the
plastic flowers or the soap dish before someone else did.

‘I’m with Jonno,’ I said.

‘Same,’ said Fifty.

‘Twenty,’ said Ray.

‘Twenty-five and I’ll throw in the fruit bowl,’ said Jonno.

‘No. Twenty’s my top.’

‘Strictly speaking you still owe us for the pramload
she
took earlier,’ said Bee.

Ooh! It was getting nasty.

‘I paid you,’ she said.

‘50p. Big deal. It’s people like you —’

‘I’d stop there if I were you,’ said Ray.

‘We didn’t come here to be insulted.’The woman’s parrot earrings began to swing wildly

‘Why did you come then?’

‘Leave it, Bee. Twenty-five pounds and I’ll put it all in boxes for you,’ said Jonno.

Bee turned round and walked off with her nose in the air. Jonno put his hand out for the money. Everyone was waiting to see if Ray was going to pay up. He reached into his back pocket, pulled
out a wad of notes and peeled off two tens and a five.

‘Thanks,’ said Jonno, and passed it to me. ‘And what about all the stuff in the pram? A fiver?’

‘You’re joking.’

‘No.’

‘Give him the money,’ said a girl’s voice in the second row.

Jonno held his palm out again.

‘Hand it over,’ yelled Fifty.

‘Be fair. They’re only kids,’ said someone else.

Ray looked at the woman. He didn’t seem to know what to do.

‘I saw her take the pram. It was full to the top with brilliant things,’ said a familiar voice. ‘It was full to ten pounds.’
Well done, Flo!

Being accused by a cute (if you don’t know her) little girl was too much for Ray.

‘Daylight robbery . . . Another tenner it is then. But for that I want it all packed up and brought over to my car. It’s the navy Range Rover.’ He pointed to the shiny tank
parked across two spaces. I was glad Bee wasn’t there or they’d have had an argument about 4x4s polluting the planet.

‘Will do,’ said Jonno. He turned to the crowd. ‘Stall’s shut, sorry.’

No one seemed to mind the sudden closure. I think they’d all enjoyed the show.

‘Well done,’ said Fifty. ‘You stood your ground.’

‘Thanks, but why did he want all this junk?’ said Jonno.

‘To sell at a car boot sale,’ said Fifty. ‘It’s big business.’

‘Good luck to them.’

‘Same.’

While me and Fifty were busy selling, and Bee was shouting, and Jonno was negotiating, the fact that Copper Pie was scoring goals right in front of us didn’t seem so terrible. But as soon
as the table was cleared and delivered to the Range Rover and the water bomb buckets were empty, the horrible feelings of betrayal came back, twice as bad. Bee and Jonno had a walk round the other
stalls and then sat under our table. I didn’t even bother with the walking round, not even to splat a rat.

‘Keener, why’s Copper Pie playing with Callum?’ said Flo. That was all I needed. I thought about making up some stupid answer but I couldn’t be bothered so I told her the
truth.

She was excited. Trust her. ‘Which one’s the scout, Keener?’

‘I don’t know, ’ I said.
Where is the scout?
I thought.

It was 3.07 p.m. and there was no sign of Simon of the big white trainers and the red car.

‘Fifty, have you seen the scout anywhere?’

‘Nope.’

I didn’t move from my spot for the next fifty-three minutes. I kept watch. I was pretty sure Copper Pie was doing the same. A couple of times I caught his eye but he
pretended I hadn’t. I was absolutely sure that the scout hadn’t turned up. And neither had Copper Pie’s dad. But I wasn’t pleased. There was no ‘ha ha serves you
right’. Inside, even after what he’d done to Tribe, I wanted him to have a chance at being Ronaldo, or Ronaldo Junior . . .

The raffle prizes were announced and the Head, whose hair was still wet, declared the fair over (and a great success). Bee handed over the £35.50 from the car-boot man and his
pram-stealing wife. Fifty handed in our £73.19. (Dad said we didn’t need to pay him back for the water bombs. It was his contribution.) We put the buckets back in the art room and
left.

I was really miffed. All this fuss. Tribe in pieces. All for nothing. More than anything I wanted everything to go back to normal. But I’d never get the others to agree. Scout or no scout,
Copper Pie had left us in the lurch. I went off with Bee, Fifty and Jonno to the Tribehouse for cakes as agreed, but I didn’t want one. I wanted to find a way to put it all right. I was still
cross with my oldest friend, but not so cross that I didn’t want to be his mate. No . . . not that cross.

cakes at the Tribehouse

‘The Head said ours was the most successful stall,’ said Jonno as we walked down Fifty’s street.

‘Depends what you mean by success, doesn’t it?’ said Bee.

‘She means money.’

‘Money sounds like success to me,’ said Fifty.

‘It would,’ said Bee. ‘But selling out to a car-boot king wasn’t what I had in mind.’

‘Loads of people got great swaps before the pram thief bought everything,’ said Jonno.

‘It wasn’t only the pram thief ’s fault,’ said Fifty. ‘Everyone was pushing and shoving.’

‘You’ll be telling me I should thank the pram thief next,’ said Bee.

‘You know, Bee, you should be thanking the pram thief!’ said Fifty.

I let them ramble on. Didn’t they care about Copper Pie? Were we really about to have the Tribe meeting with cakes but without a ginger nut?

We went through the cat flap. I was last and by the time I got into the garden the Tribers had frozen like musical statues again! Bee pressed her finger against her lips. ‘Shhhushhh . .
.’

‘We’ve seen feet,’ whispered Fifty.

This time I
knew
it was a joke. There couldn’t be another uninvited guest in our hut. I ignored them and went up to the door – totally confident that the Tribehouse was empty.
But before I went in, I glanced down, to check that where the door doesn’t fit properly, light was shining under as normal. Something wasn’t quite right. There was light, but it was
stripy – light/shade/light/shade/light. It looked like there were two blocks in the way, like . . . legs.

‘Shhushhh,’ I said.
What else could be blocking the light?
The safe?
No.
A new chair with very fat legs that Fifty’s mum put in there to surprise us?
No.
I
stepped back, on to Fifty, and knocked him flying. (It’s a hazard, him being so small.) He squeaked.

‘Shhhushhh. There really
is
someone in there,’ I said, and ran . . . I’d like to say that I knew the Tribers were right behind me but actually I didn’t care. If it
was a monster – one with lots of heads – I didn’t want to be there to see it.

‘At last,’ said a voice I’d heard before. ‘I’ve got better things to do than hang around in garden sheds for some kids that are nothing but trouble.’

The monster was Copper Pie’s dad.

still cakes at the Tribehouse

(because the cakes hadn’t been eaten yet)

‘Err . . . hello,’ said Fifty.

‘Your mum’s not in so I waited here,’ said Copper Pie’s dad. ‘Thought you’d all turn up eventually. I’ve been sent to get you.’

‘By who?’ said Bee.

‘By the boss, that’s who.’

‘Which boss exactly?’ said Fifty.

‘The wife. Copper Pie’s mum.’

‘She wants us?’ said Bee.

‘She does,’ said Copper Pie’s dad.

‘Could I ask why?’ said Fifty, being ultra-polite.

‘To sort out this mess, of course.’

‘With Copper Pie?’ said Jonno.

‘That would be it.’

‘What about Callum?’ said Bee, with ice in her voice.

‘He’s gone off in a right mood.’

‘Because the scout didn’t turn up?’ said Jonno.

‘He did turn up,’ said Copper Pie’s dad. ‘A bit late, that’s all.’

‘Too late,’ I said.

‘That’s why you’ve got to come over. It’s my fault Copper Pie didn’t get his chance, so the wife says. And it’s my fault you lot have fallen out, so Copper
Pie says. Now, I don’t need all this fuss so you need to come with me and sort it out.’

I didn’t know what the other Tribers were thinking but I didn’t want to go. I wanted us to be friends, but not because C.P.’s mum and dad bullied us into it.