Face (14 page)

‘It means that when one sentence finishes, the other starts. Really he got six years.

Did you read all of it?'

‘No.'

‘Read on.'

Martin continued to read. ‘The judge ordered that Fisher stay in prison for the full sentence with no chance of remission or parole. He went on to say that the sentence was a light one. Given that someone was killed and another young boy was scarred for life, he said that Fisher should count himself lucky he wasn't facing a manslaughter charge.'

‘Wow, heavy stuff, man.' Martin handed the paper back to Matthew. His eyes looked glazed as he stared into nothingness. ‘Six years to the day, supplying heroin.'

‘It could have been manslaughter, guy,' Matthew responded. ‘It could have been fifteen or twenty years or something – anyway, man, everyone's talking about it.'

In assembly that morning, Mrs Powell gave another lecture. This time it was about the youth of today being the leaders of tomorrow. ‘If the young people of our nation do not have self-control and consideration for others, we face a future of anarchy,' she said. ‘We must not live in the past but we must learn from our experiences, recognise our responsibilities and learn to say no when temptation comes our way.'

Mr Lincoln stood at the side of the hall nodding like a toy dog. Martin knew that the headmistress had also been reading the local papers and he had expected her to use the case as the basis of her talk but he hated the fact that everyone's eyes turned towards him. Mark went unnoticed because he had no visible scars, but Martin had no choice in the matter. He represented the living and the dead because he was the most visible.

It was a bad start to a day that seemed to drag on for ages. At lunch time, Martin ate alone, as Mark was
busy impressing his new friends, Natalie ate with her girlfriends and Matthew was nowhere to be seen. When it was time to go home it was much the same. Martin felt betrayed. This was the time when he needed moral support and there was no one there. He convinced himself that it wasn't because they were no longer his friends, but because they were all just too busy. As he began to make his way home, he heard somebody calling him.

‘Turner, Turner!'

Martin turned back to see Mr Hewitt the PE teacher running towards him. Mr Hewitt couldn't be anything else but a PE teacher. He was over six foot, and dressed in a tracksuit.

‘I've been looking for you, Turner. I want to ask you something,' he said looking down on Martin.

‘Me, sir?'

‘Yes, you, sir. I have been asked to put a gymnastics team together for a local competition at the Newham Leisure Centre next month, so I need to ask you two favours.'

‘Me, sir?'

‘Yes, you, sir.'

‘What, sir?' Martin was genuinely puzzled.

‘I want you to be in the team.'

‘Oh yes, sir,' Martin said excitedly. ‘I'll do some moves – but what else do you want, sir?'

‘I want you to be the captain of the team.'

Martin's excitement changed to disbelief. ‘What, me, sir? Why me, sir?'

Mr Hewitt poked Martin's shoulder with a sharp finger. ‘Because you, Mr Martin Turner, are the best gymnast we have in the school … because you, Mr Martin Turner, have leadership qualities and because you, Mr Martin Turner, have earnt it.'

‘Me?' Martin was seriously happy. He produced a big smile. ‘Me, sir, honest, sir?'

‘Yes, yes, yes, you, sir. Honest, sir.'

‘It's a deal.' Martin put his hand out for the shake and Mr Hewitt did the same. They shook hands frantically and said their goodbyes. Martin then ran home at full speed. Happiness radiated from him.

When he arrived home, his mother was preparing a meal. He ran up to her and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Guess what, Mom, I'm the chosen one. I'm the main man. I'm the captain.'

‘Calm down, Martin.' His mother couldn't understand a word. ‘What have you won?'

‘I haven't won anything really, not yet anyway, but I'm the captain. I'm the captain of the gymnastics team.'

‘Oh, well done,' his mother replied. ‘Does it mean you get paid then?'

‘No, Mom, it means that I'm the leader. I have to set an example, you know. It means that I'm … it means I'm the main man.'

His mother put her arm around his shoulder and hugged him. ‘I know what it means, silly. I was just pulling your gymnastic leg. Well done, lad.'

When his father arrived home, Martin ran down from his room to tell him. As always, his father showed little emotion. ‘That's very good, son,' he said, patting him on his head. ‘Gymnastics, is that like ballet?'

The new captain of the gymnastics team took his job very seriously. He helped in the selection of the team, he helped organise training sessions and he helped to keep the morale of the team high when the going got tough. Everyone around Martin was aware of how enthusiastic he was about the gymnastics team and the competition.

Word spread quickly about Martin being captain. There were many people in the squad older than him but no one could dispute his ability. The team trained twice weekly and when possible Mr Hewitt would organise out of hours training; on top of this, Martin was practising his moves whenever he could. He had to work hard to get back to his normal level of fitness. If he couldn't fully practise the moves, he would stretch as much as he could and exercise to keep in shape. He worked out a routine that he would do in the mornings before breakfast. Twenty sit-ups, twenty press-ups. Left foot on dressing table for a five minute
stretch, right foot on dressing table for a five minute stretch. Down on floor for five minutes in full splits position. Then breakfast. After breakfast, kick left leg in the air ten times, then repeat with the right leg. Rotate head five times in a circular motion to the left, then five to the right. Forward five times, then back five. Then, to strengthen his calf muscles, he would stand flat on his feet and push forward on to his tiptoes forty times, until it burnt. This was followed by a five minute lie on his bed to do some deep breathing and then he would run like crazy to the toilet. Before he went to sleep at night he did a similar routine.

When Martin started training with the team, everybody could see the scars on his legs. He had to spend a lot of time demonstrating techniques but he always felt at ease. The team became his new gang, and their success was his new ambition. Some believed that after Natalie's acting success, Martin's gymnastic ambitions were only an attempt to impress her. But Martin knew differently.

Eastmorelands concentrated on football and cricket for the boys, so those who liked gymnastics had to wait for opportunities such as these competitions. Martin knew the standard competition routine well, and he knew that to really stand out from the other seven schools in the competition he would have to think up something very imaginative for the free-form display. For the first two weeks of preparation Mr
Hewitt and Martin made sure the team focused on the usual competition disciplines. After a training session at which Martin and Mr Hewitt could see that the trampoline, the horse, the floor and the other disciplines were going well, Martin made a suggestion to Mr Hewitt.

‘Sir, you know our free-form routine? I got this idea. I wanna do a hip-hop dance thing, a kinda funky gymnastics with some bad beats going down.'

Mr Hewitt looked very confused but he tried hard not to show it. It took him a few seconds before his mind grasped the concept. ‘Right, I see. Hip-hop and funky gymnastics with some bad beats.'

‘That's right, sir. That's bad meaning good type bad, sir.'

‘I'm not sure, Martin. It sounds good, my kids would love it but I've never seen anything like that before in a competition.'

‘But sir, in Art, in Drama, even in English, teachers say that originality brings progress. Why not in gymnastics?'

‘Because the judges will be looking for good executions of techniques in the various disciplines.'

‘But sir, this is free-form.'

Mr Hewitt was won over by Martin's argument and his enthusiasm. ‘OK,' he said. ‘At the end of each training session, I'll leave you to work out your funky, hip-hop dance thing. Just don't do anything dangerous.'

‘That's wicked, sir. Thanks,' Martin replied. Then he went off to introduce his ideas to the other members of the team.

Saturday morning, as he lay in a soapy bathtub considering the meaning of life, love and lust, Martin asked himself,
Where do you really want to go tonight?
When he had ruled out the Unity club, the Psycho club and many other places he never really enjoyed, there was only one place left. DANCEMANIA. Then he asked himself,
Who shall I go with?
He concluded that Mark was history, Matthew was a non-starter but Natalie, she just might. It had been her idea to go there before. Maybe she would be interested in a return visit together as boyfriend and girlfriend. Martin jumped out of the bath, wrapped a towel around himself and, still dripping wet, grabbed his little black book and went to phone Natalie. He stood in the hallway wetting the carpet and phone as his parents watched breakfast TV in the living room.

He dialled. The phone rang. The phone was answered: it was Natalie's father. Martin deepened his voice. ‘Err, hello. Could I speak to Natalie Hepburn please?'

‘May I ask who's speaking?'

‘Certainly, it's Mr Turner from CBTV.'

‘Oh, hold the line, please, she will be with you in a moment,' Mr Hepburn replied.

‘Hello, this is Natalie Hepburn. Who's speaking?'

‘Natalie, stay cool, it's me, Martin. Can we talk?'

‘Not really.'

‘Well, just listen to what I say then. Let's go out tonight. Let's go back to Dancemania, the rap club. Remember you first took me there, let's go for a laugh.'

‘I'm sorry, I'm busy going to drama today and tomorrow I'm attending a dance class and an audition, so I really don't have any time.'

‘Come on, Natalie, it'll be fun. I'll teach you some of those dance moves that you said you wanted to learn.'

‘I'm afraid I must rush. I'm sorry I can't help you but I do wish you success.'

‘Success,' he repeated, ‘you wish me success.'

She put the phone receiver down and so did he. It was painful. He went to the bathroom, got back into the bath and soaked until the water went cold.

Later on that morning he found his father in the back garden replacing guttering. As his father worked away, Martin began to question him. ‘Dad, when you met Mom, did you lust her or love her?'

His father stopped for a moment, raised his eyebrows as if he was searching into the distant past and declared, ‘I did both, son, yeah, both at the same time.'

‘Did you go out with her a lot before you got married, Dad?'

‘No, son, we stayed in a lot when we were courting.'

His father seemed to be answering different questions from the ones he was asking but Martin continued.

‘Dad, am I too young to fall in love?'

‘Listen, son, ask your Mom, she knows a lot about that stuff.'

Martin realised that his dad wasn't in a philosophical mood. He shrugged his shoulders, scratched his head, and then went to see his mother who was watching television. ‘Mom, I think Natalie hates me.'

‘That's a bit strong,' his mother replied, patting the seat next to her where she wanted him to sit. ‘She doesn't hate you. Why should she hate you?'

‘Because she thinks she's beautiful and she wants beautiful friends around her and she never spends any time with me now. She's always doing drama or rehearsing or auditioning.'

‘She's just trying to be an actress.'

‘So, can't she be an actress with me?' Martin said, raising his voice slightly.

His mother took hold of his hand. ‘Look, Martin, your friends are going to change, you know that. Even your girlfriends will change but whatever happens, your family won't change. We'll always be there for you. We love you come what may.'

‘That's another thing, Mom. What's the difference between love and lust?'

His mother smiled and looked down into her lap, embarrassed. ‘Well, Martin, love is when you want a person forever and lust is when you want a person for a bit … a bit of time that is.'

‘So,' Martin said rubbing his chin, ‘you can't lust someone and marry them.'

‘You can,' his mother replied, ‘but those marriages don't usually last very long. Love is the best, son.'

‘Do you think Natalie loves me or lusts me?'

‘I don't think Natalie knows herself, Martin,' she said, shrugging her shoulders.

Martin stood up and began to leave the room. ‘I've got some thinking to do,' he said before heading upstairs to his bedroom.

There he made up his mind. He was going to the club tonight alone. He knew this was a bold move but he wanted his life back. He had a flashback to the accident. He re-lived his life being shattered but he told himself that his life was not going to stay that way. He was the captain, and he was going to celebrate. He began to search his wardrobe to see what he could wear. He pulled out his big blue Gucci trousers, his big blue Polo shirt and his brown Levi jacket.

‘Mom,' he shouted downstairs.

‘Yes, son,' came his mother's faint reply.

‘I'm going out tonight, Mom.'

‘Are you sure, son?'

‘Yes, Mom. I'm going out on my own. I'll be all right.'

He laid his clothes out on the bed, positioned as if he was wearing them. Then he placed his underpants on top of his trousers and at the bottom he placed his West Ham football team socks. He looked at his old white trainers and decided that they were too worn out to wear. He had no choice, he had to wear his sensible school shoes. As he searched for his baseball cap, there was a knock, knock, knock, on his door.