Scrambled (8 page)

12

That Thursday night was like a carnival in Maesunig. The sun was out and there were crowds of people milling around on the Rec waiting for the race to start, waving at the cameras and eating hot dogs and burgers from the vans that had turned up for the event. Nathaniel Grimes had come to speak to Davidde for the last time.

‘Break a leg, yeah?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah – it’ll be great for ratings. Only joking. Good luck, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

For once Davidde had found a halfway house between feeling nervous and feeling confident. He was also still trying to work out how he was going to finish his Art work by tomorrow – it was
a new experience to be thinking about two things at the same time.

Kaitlinn and he shook hands at the starting gate after they were introduced to the crowd, and the people cheered. Then the gate went down and they were off.

Bucket Head started well and got to the first turn before Mysterion but she was all over him. Bucket Head took a wide line on the second bend and Mysterion nipped in and was in front. For the rest of the lap Bucket Head tracked her, staying within distance of her but not trying anything risky. He thought about what Dwayne had said – don’t go past her until the final turn. When it came to racing, Dwayne had always been right. Bucket Head stuck to the game plan.

Dwayne seemed to be right. On the second lap Mysterion was slower, and Bucket Head found it hard to resist passing her, but he did. On the third lap she was slower again, but Bucket Head tucked in behind her. She slowed as the lap progressed until she was at walking pace, and then finally stopped still on the final corner. Bucket Head stopped alongside her. She opened her visor.

‘What are you doing?’ she said.

‘I’m sticking to the game plan,’ said Davidde after opening his visor.

‘Which is?’

‘Stay with you till the last corner and pass you on the final straight.’

‘And whose plan was that?’

‘Dwayne’s.’

‘If Dwayne told you to hammer rusty nails into your eyes, would you do that?’

‘Yes, if it would help me win.’

‘I gave you loads of chances to pass me, and you didn’t take them. If I’m honest I’m not that bothered about winning. It’s just a stupid bike and I’ve already got one and I could do without the fuss. You should have passed me, you’d have won, but you had to stick to your game plan.’

The crowd were confused – why had they stopped? The cheering turned to silence, and then there were some boos.

Davidde thought. He said, ‘You’re right. Whether it’s school, or bikes I concentrate on one thing and I neglect everything else. I mean, if I win this race, what do I gain?’

‘A nice new bike?’

‘But where’s that going to get me?’

‘Loads of places – it’s a bike, like.’

‘No, I mean deep inside me.’

‘You’re talking about a bike that takes you somewhere deep inside you? Are you on drugs or what?’

‘Look, I haven’t got time to explain, but even if I win, I want you to have it.’

‘But there’s a ceremony. They’ll give it to the winner.’

‘Tell them we can share it. I’m not going to be there. I’ve got to get back to school before it shuts – there’s night classes on and hopefully the Art room will still be open.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘OK then. Ready, steady, go!’

Kaitlinn took off before she finished ‘Go!’ and her bike sped off. Davidde started after her. It was the two of them racing for the line. The crowd erupted. Davidde could feel himself smiling, could feel the bike beneath him, carrying him forward. He was gaining on Kaitlinn. They were neck and neck and stayed like that for seconds.
Eventually the speed of Davidde’s bike over short distances took him past her and he crossed the finish half a wheel-length in front.

Davidde had won!

At the finish line the organisers had a garland and a bottle of pop ready to give to him on the podium, but he never stopped – he just kept riding on at full speed.

He still didn’t know what to do. He was planning on going home first, picking up a few things that he could use and then going to the school. He was home before he knew it, and rode up the alley behind the house, not worrying about Mr Leighton seeing him. It was too late for worrying about stuff like that now. He roared on up the alley, but there was an obstacle in his way – the door Dwayne had discarded, angled like a ramp over Mr Leighton’s wall.

13

Mr Leighton had been tending to his tomatoes in his greenhouse. Mrs Leighton was fond of saying that he loved his tomatoes more than he loved his wife, and in a way she was right. The tomatoes never nagged him or rolled their eyes when he said something they disagreed with. He tended to them with a great tenderness, and they grew and he ate them. And this was going to be a bumper crop, and they’d be ready in a week or so. Mr Leighton was pleased with his work, slid the door shut on his greenhouse and retired to the patio for a mug of tea in the evening sun.

He reflected that he had been a bit grumpy lately, but now the sun was out, his greenhouse was tidy and his tomatoes were thriving, everything was fine. Not even the sound of one
of those scramblers in the distance could affect his mood. He’d stopped phoning the police about scramblers now as well. It was a battle that he was never going to win, so as long as they kept to their patch of land he wouldn’t bother the local constabulary. He was aware that there had been a competition that night. Well, as long as they weren’t coming here, he wasn’t going to worry about it.

The sound of the bike seemed to be coming closer. Mr Leighton did his best not to react to it, but he was little bit annoyed now. It got louder still. Confused, he stood up. He needed to go out the alley and see what was happening. Louder still, then the sound of the bike colliding with something. He saw at eye level a helmet appearing over his back wall. Then arms, a body and handlebars, and the whole bike travelling in a perfect parabola over his wall. For a second at the very peak of its arc, the bike and rider seem to hang perfectly still in the sky, and even Mr Leighton was aware of the sheer beauty of what he was seeing. Then he realised there was nothing he could do to stop it going through his greenhouse.

The front wheel pierced the roof; there was a
sound of cracking and then glass smashing on the floor. The bike lurched through the glass and Davidde followed it through, the suspension cushioning him from the blow when the bike hit the ground. He got thrown over the handlebars of his mangled bike and he landed flat on his back in his leathers at Mr Leighton’s feet.

There was a moment of stillness. Davidde opened his eyes. There were clouds in the sky. He felt confident that he wasn’t dead. His leathers had protected him and he’d been thrown clear of most of the glass. He was glad about this. There was a human shape standing over him. He sat up slowly. He could still move.

He pulled off his helmet.

‘You!’ cried Mr Leighton, as he reached out for one of his battered tomato plants and started hitting Davidde over the head with it.

‘Let him carry on,’ thought Davidde to himself stoically. ‘I deserve this. Let him do his worst.’ Mrs Leighton came out to see what the commotion was. She was so surprised to see her husband attacking her teenage neighbour with his plants among the debris of glass and scrambler that at
first she couldn’t say a word. But she felt she had to step in when Mr Leighton started throwing fat, ripe tomatoes at Davidde’s head as hard as he could at point-blank range.

‘What on earth is going on?’

‘Mrs Leighton, Mr Leighton. You’ve been really good to me and Dad over the years. You’ve helped bring me up, helped me with the things Dad couldn’t help with. I thank you for that. And lately, well, I know I haven’t been around much, but I made a few choices, some of them wrong. But I’ve been on a journey, see, and the last part of the journey didn’t go very well, what with me driving my bike through your greenhouse. But I can fix the greenhouse, I promise, I’ve just run into some money. The thing is, I know this is the wrong time to ask, but I really need a favour. I need to take a few things to school in your car.’

The next morning Miss Pughes-Pervis drove to school with a ferocity Mr Rastud had never experienced before. He pretended to be asleep while she tore up the narrow streets. She was angry that she’d been let down by Davidde. She thought about all the help she’d given him over the years, and all the lies he’d told her recently. She was going to look like a fool in front of the moderators. She was going to have to get another job. She couldn’t cope with being let down so badly.

In her room Kaitlinn’s work took up one corner, her three-dimensional Celtic Horse, all lively colours and bright ideas, executed with skill and precision. But the middle of the room had changed. The tables had been moved out,
and there was a bike with its front wheel and handlebars flat against the floor and its rear wheel in the air, as if it had just come through the ceiling. Around it was glass, a greenhouse, with a hole in the top where it looked like the bike had come through. Bits of glass were hanging from strings. It was the recreation of the moment just after a scrambler had gone through the roof of a greenhouse.

Davidde had done an installation! He’d used the title The Joy of Wrecks!

Miss Pughes-Pervis’ spirits lifted. It was a good piece of work, not as good as Kaitlinn’s, but good enough to pass. Somehow Davidde hadn’t let her down.

The previous night, after finishing his work at school with the help of Mr and Mrs Leighton, Davidde had made it to the engagement party, which was still in full swing at 10 o’clock.

He received a hero’s welcome, shaking hands with people and even, to his surprise, getting on quite well with Kaitlinn. Mr Leighton and Mrs Leighton came along too, and Dwayne and the boys were there as well.

It was warm and sticky in the club, especially for Davidde who still had bits of tomato in his hair. He went outside to get a little air.

On the way he bumped into Dwayne.

‘Where you been, butt?’ he said.

‘I just finished my Art project.’

‘No way! Miss will be landed.’

‘Dwayne, I want to say thanks. You’ve been a real good friend to me.’

They shook hands.

‘Look, I gorra go,’ said Dwayne. ‘I need to give these pork scratchings to Ceri.’

‘You do that, Dwayne. She’ll enjoy them.’

Davidde went outside.

As he stood on the pavement, there was the sound of a bike. It came up the street and stopped directly in front of Davidde. It was the Black Rider.

The visor raised again. This time a face was visible. The Black Rider smiled with pride at Davidde, then shut the visor and rode off, disappearing into thin air, for the last time.

15

The Black Rider was Davidde’s mam.

Huw Davies grew up in Nantyffyllon, near Maesteg and studied English before becoming an English teacher. He always wanted to be a writer, but it took him a while to realise that in order to achieve this he would actually need to do some writing.

As a teacher, he came to feel that there was a lack of what he called ‘daft books for boys’, and started work on
Scrambled
. The book is set in the fictional town of Maesunig, which is loosely based on Maesteg, Nantyffyllon and Cymer in South Wales.

Huw is also a member of the bilingual Gonzo Power Pop outfit Nimrodsound, a unit so successful that they once supported a band who had a song used on an advertisement on TV (he thinks it was for a car but it could have been for slug pellets). He lives in Carmarthen with his wife and three children, where he has embraced middle age by taking up running.
Scrambled
is his first book for children.