A Window into Time (Novella) Read Online Free PDF

cowards. But it was London. Young crews are all high on drugs. Rival kids get stabbed all the time because of turf wars; it says so on the tabloid sites. And I was alone. And death is so stupidly easy, with pain more so. There were no teachers to stop them, and no police because they don’t walk the local beat protecting people anymore; they just persecute motorists to rake in money from speeding fines. And I was frightened. Really frightened. And my mum was dead.
    “
Julian,
he got him a special needer badge, bruv.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Tru.”
    “I see you is real.”
    “Take my phone,” I told them. I was crying. Trying to pull the phone out of my pocket. If they got my phone they might run off with it, and fence it for more drugs or something.
    Kenan suddenly yelled: “OMG, you is vile!” And his face twisted up into shock and disbelief. He started shrieking with this cruel laugh that blocked out every other sound. “Julian, you is pissed yourself!”
    And then they were all laughing and pointing at my trousers, which were wet because I was so scared I’d urinated.
    “Julian specially needs to piss.”
    “Pissed hisself! Pissed hisself!”
    It was a chant, growing louder and louder. Their laughter was like a wolf pack howling at the moon.
    I pushed through them blindly. Running. Running I didn’t care where. All the jeering faded away behind me.
    Other people on BusSplash Road were shouting now, calling out as I stumbled past. I’m not good at running. I’m not good at any sport. It was hard to breathe. I could hardly see through the tears.
    Then I was off BusSplash Road, staggering through a little park. I got off the path. There were people on the path. I didn’t want to see them. I didn’t want
anyone
to see me.
    My foot caught on something. This sharp hot pain flared in my ankle, and I went sprawling on the grass.
    And there it was, another memory that didn’t belong to me.
    I tumble onto the grass from a very dodgy tackle—
are you effing blind, ref?
—my legs smeared with mud, and cold with it. And the ball gets kicked out of their half toward our goal.
    “You okay, Mike?” Hooper asks.
    He doesn’t really care, I can tell; he is jogging on, looking back over his shoulder.
    “I’m on it,” I tell him, and scramble up. My ankle is tender, but to hell with that. The other team is slamming our goal like a hornet swarm, and Al Mamun isn’t exactly the greatest goalie in the league. I start running for the penalty box to give the defenders some help. Our supporters along the touchline give a mocking cheer at my heroics, all ten of them: three wives, four girlfriends (Karen gives me this half-sympathetic smile as I go past), and Chaz from the pub, along with some of Gary’s mates. Still, at least the other team has only managed eight supporters.
    The whistle blows just as I arrive. Their star striker—Russell, in his late twenties and a previously unknown species of landwhale—has kicked the ball over the back line.
    “Oh, midfield’s back to help, look,” Hooper says, laughing, as I limp to a halt. “Panic over, lads. Nice tea break, Mike?”
    I flick him a V-sign and get into position as Al Mamun looks around nervously to see who he should kick the ball to.
    Not me, not me,
I try to tell him mentally. My ankle is really quite bad, and—
    Of course he kicks it to me.

Chapter 7
Memory Two
    That night I heard Rachel ask: “Dave, how long do you think this is going to last?”
    “Ease off, darling,” Dad replied. “Boys aren’t kind to anyone outside the norm. It must have been awful for him out there. I bet they were from the sink estate.”
    “You need to get him an education statement.”
    “When term starts I’ll have him assessed, sure. I’ve already spoken to the principal about it. But it won’t help outside school.”
    “His clothes were a right mess.”
    “He’ll be okay. He just needs to avoid those lads.”
    “They weren’t lads, Dave. You’re showing your age.