Dare Game Read online

  ‘It was – when – Tracy – knocked me – over. My leg!’ Alexander gasped.

  ‘Oh help!’ I said. ‘Stand up, Alexander, and let me have a look.’

  ‘I can’t. I really can’t.’

  I bent over him. I saw his leg. ‘Oh no, Alexander! I’ve really hurt your leg! It’s all bendy. How terrible! What am I going to do?’

  ‘I think – better – get me – to hospital,’ Alexander mumbled.

  I tried to help him up. Alexander groaned with the pain.

  ‘Here, I’ll carry you. Come here, little guy. Don’t worry, I’ll be ever so gentle,’ said Football, putting Alexander over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

  ‘Oh Alexander,’ I said, holding his hand. ‘Please be all right. I can’t stand it if I’ve hurt you. You’re my best friend in all the world. Please please please get better!’

  Alexander’s Real Home

  WE TOOK ALEXANDER to hospital. Football was willing to carry him the whole way but I still had some money from Mum’s wallet so we took a taxi.

  The taxi driver sighed when he saw Alexander. ‘You kids been rough-housing?’ he said, shaking his head.

  Alexander looked delighted to be thought capable of roughing up a house. He was very brave. He was obviously in terrible pain, his face greeny-white, his fringe sticking to his sweaty forehead, but he didn’t cry at all.

  We waited with him at the hospital until he was whisked away in a wheelchair to the X-ray department.

  ‘We’d better get going then,’ said Football. ‘They’ve phoned for his parents. I don’t fancy meeting up with them. Especially the dad.’

  ‘But we’ve got to wait to see if Alexander’s all right!’

  ‘Of course he’ll be all right. He’s in hospital,’ said Football. He looked round the bleak orange waiting room and shuddered. ‘I hate hospitals. They give me the creeps. I’m off.’ He stood up. ‘Come on, Tracy.’

  ‘No. I’m waiting.’

  ‘He’ll be all right. It’s just a broken leg. The nurse said.’

  ‘How would you feel if you’d “just” broken your leg, Football?’ I asked.

  ‘Well. It would be tragic for me, seeing as it would affect my game. But Alexander’s hardly going to bother, is he?’ Football sat down again, sighing. ‘I hate hospitals.’

  ‘So you keep saying.’

  ‘The way they look. All them long corridors and lots of doors with scary things going on behind them.’

  ‘So close your eyes.’

  ‘I can still smell I’m in hospital.’ He sniffed and pulled a terrible face. ‘It’s making me feel sick.’

  ‘How do you think Alexander feels behind one of the scary doors?’ I said severely.

  Football hunched down lower on his plastic chair. ‘He’s a weird little chap,’ he said. ‘He breaks his leg – well, you break it for him – and he hardly makes a sound. I’ve seen really tough nuts in agony on the football pitch, effing and blinding, even sobbing. Not old Alexander. He’s really . . . brave?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to break his leg!’

  ‘Yeah, I know, but I still think it’s mad to hang around here. His mum and dad aren’t going to be too pleased with you.’

  ‘It was just one little push. I wasn’t trying to hurt him, I was simply trying to get him out the way. I can’t bear it that it’s all my fault.’ I started crying, snivelling and snorting like a baby – even though I never ever cry.

  Football looked all round, embarrassed. ‘Don’t, Tracy, people are staring,’ he hissed, giving me a nudge.

  I went on crying noisily.

  ‘Here, haven’t you got a hankie?’

  I shook my head, past caring that I had tears dripping down my face and a very runny nose.

  Football darted across the room. I thought it had got too much and he was running away – but he dashed into the toilet and came back with a wad of loo-roll.

  ‘Here,’ he said, dabbing at my face. ‘Don’t cry so, Tracy. It wasn’t really your fault at all. It was mine. I was the one who really lost it back at the house. I was out my mind setting all that stuff on fire.’ He paused. ‘Do you think I’m really crazy, Tracy?’

  ‘Yes!’ I said, blowing my nose. Then I relented. ‘No, not really. Just a little bit bonkers.’

  ‘Do you think I should get some kind of treatment?’

  ‘You’re fine, Football. It’s Alexander we’ve got to worry about right now. I just don’t get it. One little push, he falls over and breaks his leg. Yet when he falls off the roof he doesn’t so much as break his big toe. He bobs up again as right as rain. He’s a marvel, little Alexander.’ I gave my face another mop. ‘He is going to be all right, isn’t he, Football?’

  ‘Of course he is. It’s only a broken leg.’

  ‘Yes, but it might have been badly broken. It looked all funny and sticky-out in the wrong place. What if they can’t set it properly? What if infection sets in? And his leg goes all mouldy and maggoty and has to be cut off?’

  ‘Shut up, Tracy. That couldn’t happen. Could it?’

  ‘We didn’t even notice. We were too busy fighting,’ I wailed.

  ‘You’re a fierce little fighter, Tracy,’ said Football.

  ‘I’m going to give up fighting now. I hate it that Alexander got hurt.’

  I sighed, wondering exactly what they were doing to Alexander. Football sighed too. We took it in turns. I fidgeted. Football fidgeted.

  I stood up to stretch my legs – and nearly bumped into a couple who came rushing into the waiting room. The man was very big and bossy-looking with a briefcase. The lady was small and timid with a little twitchy mouse face. I didn’t need three guesses to work out who they were. I whizzed back to my seat sharpish.

  ‘I believe our son Alexander has been brought into Casualty,’ the man said to a nurse.

  ‘Please can we see him? Is he really all right?’ the woman said, nearly in tears.

  They were led along the corridor. Football let out a huge sigh. So did I.

  ‘Time to get going, Tracy,’ said Football.

  I knew it was the wisest option. But I had to wait to see if Alexander was all right, even if it meant being beaten up by Briefcase Guy for injuring his son. Maybe I almost wanted to get into serious trouble with Alexander’s parents. I felt I deserved it.

  Football thought this was crazy – but he stayed too.

  We waited and we waited and we waited. And waited some more. And then suddenly we heard Alexander’s little piping voice nattering nineteen to the dozen and there he was in the wheelchair being pushed by his dad, with his mum running along beside him. His leg was propped up and covered in plaster.

  ‘Alexander! How are you?’ I said, charging up to him.

  ‘Tracy! And Football! You waited for me all this time!’ Alexander said excitedly. ‘Mum, Dad, these are my friends.’

  ‘Alexander’s been telling us all about you,’ said his mum.

  ‘Yes, we should really give all of you a severe telling-off,’ said his dad ominously.

  ‘I told you we should have scarpered,’ Football muttered.

  ‘It was my fault,’ I said. I meant to sound bold and brave but my voice went all high and squeaky so they didn’t hear me properly.

  ‘It’s very silly to play truant. I’m sure you’ll be in as much trouble with your schools as Alexander is with his,’ said his dad, wagging his finger at Football and me. ‘But I suppose I’m pleased you’ve all made friends. Alexander’s always found it so hard to make friends because he’s so shy.’

  ‘You’ve been such good friends too,’ said his mum. ‘Alexander’s told us all about his accident – how you were so kind and sensible when he tripped over. Other children might have run away and left him but you picked him up and looked after him and got him to the hospital. We’re so grateful to you.’

  Football and I shifted from one foot to the other. We looked at Alexander. He grinned back at us.

  ‘Alexander’s our best ever friend,’ I said.