Garion passes to Dave who passes to Steve who kicks it straight to Shaz who does a back heel which doesn’t work at all and leaves the ball bobbling off to a bit of the park where there isn’t anyone. Under pressure from Denner, Posh Geordie and The Mixer, Shaz walks off to collect the ball and hoofs it up towards where it is beautifully trapped by Dave’s instep. Dave —who everyone agrees is probably the best player—spins on his heels to send a delicate ball across to Steve who does nothing with it because he’s in the middle of texting. Steve looks up confused as Dave says three four-letter swear words, one after the other. The Mixer and Shaz tell Dave to: “calm down,” to “chill out,” and to “stop taking it all so serious like always.” Dave shrugs and goes to collect the ball himself. The ball is yellow and brand new. Dave bought the ball himself that morning specifically for the football. Posh Geordie says he thinks it might rain soon. The Mixer looks at the sky and agrees. Garion realises that if Dave passes to him right now he is in actual acres of space. In goal, Disaster-Waiting-to-Happen (DWTH) is stretching his arms up trying to reach the crossbar. Shaz, Posh Geordie, Denner and the Mixer are now all looking up at the sky and flicking bits of grass into the wind to try and establish which direction the clouds are arriving from. Garion overhears one of them say: “I aint getting wet I’ve got a date later.” The Mixer says it doesn’t bother him getting wet because he is wearing shorts. Garion realises that he is now, if anything, in even more space, because of the way everyone has bunched up to talk about weather. DWTH has stopped stretching for the crossbar and is now just leaning against the post chewing gum. Shaz walks over to him to ask for gum. They talk about something Garion can’t catch because he is in just too much space. It doesn’t look like they’re talking about weather because they are both laughing hard and no one laughs like that over weather. Steve is still texting. Dave has collected the ball and is way over to the left of the goal doing keep-e-ups. Denner and Posh Geordie have lit up cigarettes on what would be the edge of the six yard box if this was a proper pitch. The Mixer is doing these exaggerated coughs right next to Denner and Posh Geordie to let them know that he can see they are smoking and does not approve. Denner begins telling The Mixer, Posh Geordie and Steve—who is no longer texting—about the date he has that evening. Garion almost trots over to listen properly but just can’t bear to give up on all that space. The Mixer is still coughing. Garion recalls that The Mixer successfully gave up smoking a year earlier at the age of 26. Dave is still going with the keep-e-ups. From what Garion can overhear Denner is going on a date with a 17-year-old. “It’s alright,” he says, amidst jeers. “She’s 17, she’s legal.” “Barely legal,” says someone, possibly The Mixer: it’s certainly the kind of thing he would say. Denner repeats that she is totally legal. “We could marry with her parent’s consent,” he says. “You’re not going to marry her though are you,” says Steve. Denner says no, he is not going to marry her. It dawns on Garion that it was Denner who said about not getting wet because he’s got a date later. Dave is still doing keep-e-ups. He has a record in the tens of thousands set at a charity keep-e-up-athon when he was still at college. DWTH is watching Shaz do pull-ups on the cross bar. He says over and over: “Do you work out,” in a sort of American accent he puts on from time to time. Shaz is chewing and laughing and pulling all at once. Denner likens the girl he’s got the date later with to, “the one off Harry Potter, circa the Half Blood Prince.” Steve, The Mixer and Posh Geordie all declare this to be “bullshit.” Denner tells them to “fuck off.” He points out that in a few more years they’d all have to be paying to go with an actual teenager. Garion is in a painful amount of space. He begins to wave his arms at Dave who is still going with the keep-e-ups. There is a shout and a thud  and Garion turns to see Shaz lying on his back between the goal posts. DWTH is standing over him laughing hard. Shaz says “Aaaah my back.” Denner, Steve, The Mixer and Posh Geordie all turn round and all laugh. Shaz lies out on the grass groaning. Out to the left Dave has stopped doing keep-e-ups and has the ball in front of him ready to pass. Garion waves from his space. Shaz is still on the floor. Denner, The Mixer, Steve and Posh Geordie are now standing over Shaz and laughing alongside DWTH. Dave spots Garion waving and puts a hand up to acknowledge this. Dave has a great cross on him. Shaz repeats “Aaaah my back,” three more times amidst laughter. DWTH calls him a plonker of the highest grade. Dave floats a ball over to where Garion stands in that inordinate amount of space. Shaz breaks off groaning to accuse DWTH of popping him one in the gonads mid pull-up. DWTH does not say whether or not this is bullshit. Garion realises that Dave’s cross is coming straight to him. Dave is already jogging towards the goal. Shaz is still groaning on the goal line and everyone else is still laughing. Garion can see he is not going to have to move here. All he has to do is lean forward and take the yellow ball on the volley and this is going to go in. DWTH finally spots Garion in the space getting ready to shoot and says: “Hey, hey, fucking goals ahoy.” The goal line ensemble disperses. Garion leans forward to put his laces through Dave’s sublimely weighted ball. DWTH is almost standing on top of Shaz, who is still laid out on the floor, groaning. As his foot hits the ball Garion realises that he is looking directly at where DWTH is standing over Shaz. Garion knows that this means he cannot be looking at the ball. This is fatal. Garion watches DWTH as both their eyes follow the ball way off to the right. The yellow ball rises higher and higher until it disappears into the trees over on that side of the park. Nearly everyone swears. Denner calls Garion a “Cunt” and a “Twat.” Steve and the Mixer chant “Cheerio Garion, where the fuck are you from?” Dave says that was all fucking shocking. DWTH repeats the phrase “Taxi for Garion” six times. Shaz says “Aaaah, my fucking back.” Posh Geordie says “Fuck me, it is going to rain.” Everyone implores Garion to go and fetch the ball pronto. Garion trots away from the space to find the ball. Someone continues singing “Cheerio-Cheerio-Cheerio,” long after everyone else has stopped. Just as Garion enters the trees he hears DWTH shout after him to “think long and hard about what you’ve done.” The trees are pretty thick and close together. There are dense clumps of nettles and brambles and the trees are tightly packed. Garion estimates where the ball might be and pushes through the undergrowth. Garion is really glad he is wearing trousers today with all these nettles around.  Garion is scanning the ground ahead of him looking for the yellow ball. He imagines what a yellow ball would look like in amongst all those nettles and brambles. He sincerely hopes the ball has not popped on a bramble. There is the sound of singing somewhere which Garion figures must be DWTH or Steve or Denner. It should not be hard to spot a yellow ball in green undergrowth. Garion realises that the singing is really high pitched, like a girl’s voice would be. Garion listens hard to the singing as he rounds a tree and finds a little blonde boy standing in front of him. The little blonde boy is kicking a yellow football and singing. The boy does not look at all like he knows Garion is behind him. Garion wonders how he could ever have thought that the little blonde haired boy’s voice belonged to DWTH or Steve or Denner. Sometimes DWTH puts on a silly girls voice that sounds a bit like something from Monty Python. Garion walks towards the boy. On the other side of the boy is a clearing. In the middle of the clearing is a rug. There is a picnic laid out on the rug. There are crisps and sandwiches and apples and mini savoury eggs. The little blonde boy is kicking the yellow ball back towards the rug and the picnic in the clearing. Sitting next to the picnic reading a book is a girl with short blonde hair tied back in a knot. Garion hears her ask the little blonde boy what he has found. “Foosball,” he says. The girl smiles at the boy. She says football firmly and loudly, emphasizing the T. “Foosball,” says the little blonde boy. The girl smiles a second time. The little blonde boy kicks the ball off in the opposite direction and runs after it with busy steps. Garion is stood on the edge of the clearing when the girl notices him. “Hello,” says the girl. Garion reckons she must be 19 or 20 years old. She is wearing open-toed sandals. Garion says hello. He recognises the girl from somewhere. He recalls long blonde hair that flowed down her back and was never tied up. There was a nickname. The girl puts down her book. “Bex,” says Garion. Bex smiles. She nods. “Garion right,” she says. Bex asks Garion how are things, what’s he been up to, where’s he been? Garion explains about playing a bit of football with the lads. He says he lost the ball and came to find it. “Has my son stolen your ball,” says Bex with a smile. Garion watches the little blonde boy kicking the ball across the clearing and chanting: “Foosball, foosball, foosball.” Bex smiles and says something about Ts and Ss being interchangeable this week. She is wearing denim dungarees with a white vest underneath. Garion watches her slim arms stretch out to pick up a mini savoury egg. Bex is the little sister of Chris who Garion knew when he was at college. Garion even spots Chris’s old school bag which Bex has brought along to carry the picnic in. Garion last saw Bex when she was 14, 15 maybe. He works out she must now be 21. She picks up a second mini savoury egg and pops it in whole. “It’s been a while,” says Garion. “It’s been years,” says Bex. Bex glances over her shoulder to where the little blonde boy is still kicking the yellow football back and forth across the clearing. Garion takes a step forward. He asks what she’s been up to, what she did after school – did she go to college? Bex pops a third mini savoury egg in. “I went to college,” she says. “I did music. I played the piano. I was good at the piano.” Garion remembers Bex being good at the piano. He remembers going round to Chris’s house to play video games and her sitting in the other room and just playing and playing and playing. “You were always good at the piano,” says Garion. Bex suddenly drops her head forward and lets her eyes look serious. “I wasn’t just good Garion, I was really good. Strangers would come to my concerts. They would sit with their arms crossed and their eyes half closed. When I finished playing they would applaud. I got on a course in Manchester to do nothing but play piano, at the Royal Northern College of Music. I went up there totally excited; in Manchester there were going to be loads of people who would come and cross their arms and half close their eyes. There would be loads of people to applaud.” Garion takes another step forward. The little blonde boy is sitting on the football, inspecting something in the dirt with his hands. “I was really good at the piano,” repeats Bex. Garion nods. He remembers how he and Chris used to call her Chopsticks to her face. Bex looks off into the trees. She says she got pregnant in her first month in Manchester. She says she didn’t know anything about it. An honest mistake, she says. Before the first year was done she was back home with a blonde haired baby boy. Bex swings round to watch the little blonde boy push a grubby stick in and out of his mouth like a done lollipop. The stick is covered in mud and glistens from where it is being sucked. “Take that dirty stick out of your mouth please,” says Bex. She turns back to Garion: “Just because he’s had his tetanus he thinks he can eat anything. He says it gives him superman powers. He says he can fly and see through walls.” “What do you say?” Asks Garion. Bex looks serious again. Her head is tilted forward and her eyes are low. “I see no reason to doubt him,” she says. “Besides, it’s good to know someone who can fly.” Bex looks back at the little blonde boy, now poking harmlessly at the ground with the stick. “That’s my fresher’s week baby right there,” grins Bex. Garion realises he wants to sit down on the rug. He wants to sit down with Bex and share her picnic. He wants to pass the yellow ball back and forth with the little blonde boy while Bex holds his hand. He wants to go home with them and help out around the house. He wants to get up early and watch cartoons with the little blonde boy so Bex can lie in bed with a cup of tea. He wants to use the money from his job to buy her a proper picnic basket so she doesn’t have to go around with her brother’s old school bag. He wants to drive them all to the beach so the little blonde boy can build in the sand while Bex finishes her book in the sun. He wants to find her a piano so play so that in the evenings he can stand at the kitchen sink washing up, while Bex and the little blonde boy sing songs that they have made up together. He wants very much to hold Bex by the hand and kiss her on the lips when she is half asleep. There is a crunch when Bex picks up an apple and takes a bite. “Oh sorry,” she says, looking up at Garion with a mouth full of apple, “you must want your football back.” She calls the little blonde boy over. He runs slowly kicking the football ahead of him with his shin. “Foosball, foosball, foosball,” he says. Bex holds him by both hands. “No,” she says, “listen, football, there’s a T.” “Foosball,” says the little blonde boy. “No, there’s a T, football.” “Foosball,” says the little blonde boy with a wide smile. For a moment Garion watches Bex say nothing. The little blonde boy begins to laugh. “Foosball, foosball, foosball,” he says. Bex begins to laugh with him. “OK,” she says. “This week it’s a foosball.” She tells the little blonde boy that this man is Garion. She says the ball is Garion’s ball. She asks the boy to please give the ball back to Garion. Slowly the boy picks up the ball in both hands. He holds it close to his chest with his arms stretched right round it. He walks towards Garion and holds the ball out towards him. “Your foosball,” he says. Garion looks at the ball. He looks at the little blonde boy. He looks at Bex on the blanket. “Your foosball,” says the boy, looking confused. “My football’s white,” says Garion. “It must be somewhere else.” The boy grins. Bex smiles. Garion nods. The boy drops the ball and kicks it back across the clearing. Garion turns and trots back through the trees. The insults arrive with the rain, long before he’s clear of the nettles.

 

Thomas Chadwick is a fiction writer. Originally from Wiltshire, England, he now lives in London where he is working on his first novel. He has an MA in creative writing from Oxford Brookes University and his short fiction has also been published by Litro. He has his own dog. For more information please see: thomas-s-chadwick.tumblr.com.