Robert Swindells: Daz 4 Zoe

Not much more 2 tel. i dont stop 2 swop doodies. i grab the bag and set of, wynding in the twine. Slow job that wynding, speshly if sum 1 after you wiv a gun. i dont yuse the flashlite 4 a bit in case they seeit plus i cant stop 2 get it owt.

Aniway, no 1 after me. big noyz outside – yells, fans, shooting, i dunno wot they shooting, each ower i hoap. after i bang my hed abowt six milyon times i stop and get my flashlite owt the bag and evryfing fine after that. No miner tour, no Clint goast. Skelington stil ther but so wot – damsite wors if he walking abowt rite?

So i get hoam okay and that wen i start 2 worry. Zoe. she herd shooting mebbe she fink i’m ded nor i cant tel her i’m not. Mebbe they pick her up 4 Chippy-lover 2.

So big worry but worf it thogh. O yes.

Zoe.

When I got home Mum wanted to know why there was mud on my shoes. It wasn’t the number one topic on my mind. I told her I crossed the school playing-field. She didn’t know anything about the name-calling and I wasn’t about to tell her.

I couldn’t eat. I mumbled some excuse about a big school lunch and cleaned up my shoes while my parents ate. After that I went to my room and tried to do my homework. I couldn’t concentrate. A voice in my head kept saying, he could be dead. You were with him an hour ago and now he could be dead.

I’d have to watch the news. There’s this bulletin at nine o’clock. Normally I’d have been walking back from youth club with Tabby at that time, but I couldn’t go now. I told Mum I wasn’t feeling too good and stayed in my room, looking out the window. If there weren’t houses between I could’ve seen the fence from here, close to where the tunnel was. As it was I could only see the faint radiance floodlights make in the sky.

Around seven the phone rang in the downstairs hallway. I hoped it was Tabby. Mum would say I was sick but at least it’d mean she was still allowed to associate with me.

It seemed like years till nine o’clock. At five to I switched on my set and caught the weather forecast. Wind and rain. Who cares?

There was nothing on the news. There wouldn’t be in the main bulletin, of course, but there was nothing in the Silverdale spot, either. No news is good news, right?

Wrong. Not for me, anyway. I knew I was in for a sleepless night with plenty of tenterhooks, before the next bulletin at six a.m.

I was right. If you’ve ever stayed awake all night – one of those long autumn nights – you’ll know how the time can drag. I rolled around till my blankets got all knotted up. I drank water and looked at my watch and went to the bathroom about eight hundred times and grew steadily more convinced that Daz was dead. Just before six I switched on with the volume real low and sat on the edge of my wrecked bed squinting at the screen and there is was, first item in the local news:

‘There was an incident in south Silverdale last night when remote surveillance showed a man acting suspiciously near the perimeter fence. When challenged by a security guard the man, who was wearing outsider coveralls fled, ignoring repeated orders to halt. The guard opened fire but the man made off into the darkness. An exhaustive search failed to find him, and people living in the area are warned to be vigilant since the man is almost certainly dangerous and may be armed.’

Alive! My eyes burned, I looked like a lunatic in an old horror movie and I was starting a headache but I got up and danced round the room, waving my arms, swooping by the mirror to grin at the frightful image I saw there. I took care not to stomp, because I didn’t want to wake my parents. I realised I was probably the only person in Silverdale who was glad the intruder hadn’t been shot, and I didn’t care. Let them stare. Let them call me names. Let them ostracize me for his sake if it suits their tiny minds.

He’s alive.

So Zoe knew i was okay but i dint know that, i’m worrid she be worrid so wot i done is, i went up 2 the dump. Dump is wear trash trucks go 2 empty plus the deepo is ther. i fort mebbe i fynd the crew wot graft rownd Zoe way and thay can slip her a noat. i know wot Zoe way called, she told me.

i go up ther and ast arownd a bit and shorenuf i fynd the rite crew. 2 snags. 1 this fursday and thay dont work Zoe way til saterday. 2 crewboss nosy. ‘What you,’ he sez. ‘Subby-lover or somfing?’

‘Non ov yor biznis,’ i sez.

‘Not easy,’ he sez, ‘tork 2 a Subby kid. Trashman tork 2 Subby kids loos seeit, mebbe, loos job.’ Corshous littel basted this crewboss but fond ov peanuts, same evrybody.

‘Lissen’ i sez. ‘This Subby kid rich, rite? mebbe got peanuts 4 you, plus a noat 4 me. she be lucking owt 4 you, see – you chicken or wot?’

He tuck my noat. Tanks mate,’ i sez. Tanks a lot.’ not easy 2 smuggel anifing in 2 Silverdale (or any ovver veezaville i gess) evry crew searcht at the gate, easy 2 smuggel stuff owt cos whos gonna fynd 1 littel fing in a truckful ov trash? aniway he tuck it and i’m finking thats better. Zoe know i’m alrite saterday.

i’m going back frou the dump wen i herd futsteps behynd and sum 1 grab me and its Mick and a guy i dont know, thay frow me down in the muck and this guy neal on my back and twist my arm wile Mick jerk my hed up by the hare. ‘Lissen,’ he sez. ‘This from Cal. Cal knows you went frou the tunnel, got shot at. he finks mebbe the Subbies fynd the tunnel cos ov you.’ he slam my face in the muck, jerk it up again, blud in my nose and mouf plus loos teef and eyes water. ‘Cal sez stay owt ov that tunnel, understand?’ i understand but befor i can tel him he slam me down again, jerk me up. ‘Understand?’ a gud explainer old Mick but i cant tork, mouf ful ov muck and blud and teef. i nod my hed a littel but he done it again aniway and i fink, hes gonna kill me, but he dont do it nomore. the ovver guy get of my back so i can breev, only not 2 gud breeving blud and snot and bits ov toof. i roll over and sit up, holding my face. Mick kick me in the kidnies, sez ‘thay find that tunnel, we be back 2 finish you.’

i sit a longtime holding my face witch it hurt very bad. no 1 com 2 help. You help Cal enemy, you Cal enemy 2 and no 1 needs that. So. i sit a longtime in the muck, then i get up and go hoam and tel our mam i fel off a nellifant.

‘You darft our Daz,’ she sez, and shes rite. And you know wot make me darft?

luv.

Saturday. One of those raw, foggy days when it never seems to get light. I’d written a note the night before and now I was hanging around with the thing in my pocket, waiting for the trash truck. I stood in the window looking down the garden. Naked trees, the lawn and pathway slimy with fallen leaves. I hoped the truck would be early. I go for Tabby around ten on Saturdays and my parents might notice if I broke my routine.

Tabby had been sort of distant with me since my clash with Moncrieff over those stupid lines, though she had come up to me in the schoolyard Thursday morning and said she hoped I was feeling better. I’d forgotten I was supposed to be sick and almost gave myself away. I told her it wasn’t anything much and we chatted awhile, but there was a coolness about her which made me feel uncomfortable. It was as if in talking to me she was doing something she’d been advised not to do, and I wouldn’t be surprised at that.

It must’ve been my lucky day because the truck came quite early, and as it drew up Mum called me. I went through to the kitchen and she handed me a bag of trash. ‘Be an angel and go put this by the can. It’s almost full and they might as well take it.

I could’ve hugged her. I’d dreamed up an excuse to go down the garden just as the crew arrived, but it wasn’t nearly as good as this one. I grinned. ‘Sure, Mum. It’ll be a pleasure.’ She probably thought I was nuts.