You Won’t Believe This

‘Gas and air!’ she shouts, yanking at my duvet. ‘Get me the gas and air!’

It’s not my fault, though. It’s bed. At night you complain about having to get into it, but – magically – by the morning it’s become this perfect thing you don’t want to get out of. A quick splash of the face followed by a bowl of Weetabix are NOTHING compared to it.

‘Veronique,’ Mum said, ‘can you come over every night?’

I soon wished the same thing, because it wasn’t Weetabix for breakfast that morning like I normally have: Mum made scrambled eggs. On a Thursday! Then Veronique fed Kit-Kat and, because we hadn’t really thought what we’d do with him that day, Mum called Veronique’s dad and asked him to take Kit-Kat back to their house again.

He met us at the top of the school steps and told us again about Nanai. They’d done this test and that test, but they couldn’t find anything wrong.

‘That’s great,’ Mum said. ‘Such a relief. Though Veronique’s welcome any time. With Kit-Kat of course. What a sweet hamster.’

‘Oh, he’s not a hamster,’ Veronique’s dad said with a frown. ‘He’s a—’

‘GERBIL!’ I shouted.

‘Really?’ Mum said. ‘I could have sworn you said … Anyway, he’s adorable.’

‘And very good at Subbuteo,’ I added.

Now, after what happened yesterday, I’m sure you were expecting me to have been VERY nervous about going into school. And I was – to start with. But then I saw the van, which I’d completely forgotten about.

It was big and red and right outside the gates.

‘Yes!’ I said, and even Veronique hurried up when she saw it.

We joined the kids crowding round the van, until Miss Phillips shooed us towards the door where Frieda Delap, in Reception, was standing with this big medal round her neck. She was the one we had to thank. She’d been to the Science Museum before Christmas with her family – and seen a competition. You had to write a science-based story right there and then, which your mum or dad typed into a screen. She entered her story and a month later Mrs Johnson (our last head teacher) read it out in assembly.

And it was hilarious. A creature called a Pigglyboo saved the world from climate change by replacing coal and gas with energy from people’s lost odd socks. Veronique objected that that wasn’t very scientific but no one else cared: Frieda won! And she got not only loads of science books and posters for our classrooms but some science experiments here in our OWN SCHOOL!

‘I still don’t think the sock supply would be reliable,’ grumbled Veronique as we walked into the hall.

‘It would in our house,’ said Mrs Martin. ‘We’ve got thousands of them.’

It stopped me in my tracks to see Mrs Martin, but then I was SO relieved. She smiled at me with her big, gappy-toothed face – JUST LIKE SHE NORMALLY DID.

Pheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwww.

Panic over.

Five minutes later, after calming down the BUZZING hall, Mr Baker told us what was going to happen. Each class was getting its own genuine Science Museum scientist – for the WHOLE day. We’d do experiments in our classroom before we all met up later for a finale. I was psyched, and then even more so when we got back to our class. I’d been expecting a wacky old man with fuzzy hair, but instead we got Jen, who had tattoos up her arms and hair that wasn’t fuzzy but short – and bright pink.

‘Okay, everyone,’ she said, ‘sit down.’

We did that, and Daisy put her hand up. ‘What are we going to do?’ she asked.

Jen studied us. ‘I’m going to show you something that you’ve clearly never seen before.’

‘What?’

‘Soap,’ Jen said.

Now, at first, I was a bit disappointed: what could be fun about soap? It certainly isn’t fun in our house. Mum makes me use it, which I can mostly understand, though not when she insists on me washing underneath some places and behind others WHICH NO ONE IS GOING TO SEE.

But Jen showed us that soap could be fun. First we made soap-powered boats and raced them in trays. Mine came third, after Billy Lee’s and Daisy Blake’s. (How weird is that?) Next we put washing-up liquid and food dye into milk and made these incredible patterns. Then we made bubbles that filled the whole classroom. We chased those, before making some that were so big we got to go inside them, peering out through the weird colours. It was SO great and, let me tell you, it is such a waste of soap that we use it to wash with.

That took us to lunch. After eating I discussed the Wigan game with Mrs Stebbings, our head dinner lady, who is even madder about Charlton than I am. Get this – her sister knows Jacky Chapman’s dad’s brother’s postman’s daughter! Outside I stood with the others, wondering what we were going to do later, watching the scientists setting up the last experiment of the day on the AstroTurf.

Back in class we started to learn about forces, Jen explaining what made the soap boats move. I asked about helicopters because of Jacky Chapman having his own and she told me all about this thing called ‘lift’. Then we made more boats using other things for power, like birthday candles and rubber bands, and then Jen put some cups and plates from the canteen on a tablecloth. I thought she was going to have her lunch, but as fast as she could she pulled the cloth off, leaving all the cups right there on the table!

‘I am so trying that at home,’ said Marcus Breen.

That took us up to two o’clock. We did a demonstration of our boats to the other kids and then went into their classes to see what they’d been doing. Year 3 had made rockets with balloons. I liked that, but what I was really interested in was Mrs Martin. But again she treated me normally and seemed normal herself. Double phew. After that we went into Year 2, where they’d balanced huge weights on eggs. Year 5 was next. They’d turned their whole classroom into a space station, which was wicked – but you should have SEEN the Year 6 thing.

They’d been working in the hall. After seeing all the other classes, everyone trooped in there. We sat down and looked at Mr Ashe (their teacher). He was sitting on a chair, which was on this circle of wood with red canisters on either side. No one had any idea what it was until the Year 6 scientist stepped forward and pressed a button.

And Mr Ashe lifted off.

A hovercraft! They’d made a real hovercraft! Mr Ashe shot across the hall, spinning round and round, and was about to crash into us when the scientist grabbed him. He spun a few times more and then all the Year 6 kids had a go. Some just lifted off a bit, squealing in excitement and fright before letting themselves down. But Vi and Frieda’s brother Franklin went mad, knocking over two drip buckets and nearly whacking into Mrs Martin, who only escaped by leaping up the wall bars. She wasn’t cross, though. She was really laughing, which made me feel even more relieved.

I looked around at all the kids, whooping and screaming with Mrs Martin, when Franklin whizzed to the other side of the hall. And I asked myself, did it really happen? Did someone really play that trick on her? Everyone looked so happy that I couldn’t believe it. Or if they had then they hadn’t meant anything bad by it. Or – DOH – they couldn’t have known they were Mrs Martin’s shoes! They just saw random shoes.

That was it, of course!

But it wasn’t long before I realised that I was

If the hovercraft had been the last thing we saw, the day would have been excellent. But once all the Year 6es had had a go we went out to the playground. In front of us was a table. It was covered now with a sheet, though at lunchtime we’d seen what was underneath – a thick plastic chimney with a rocket peeking out. On top was a toy frog called Phil, who was, as Jen now explained, going to fly up to the stars.

‘And he’s really nervous, so can we all give a cheer to encourage him?’

After the yelling had died down, the teachers told us to sit on the AstroTurf. Jen told us all about the chemicals in the bucket that were going to cause the explosion that would launch the rocket, though if you want to know what they were you’d better ask Veronique – the rest of us were arguing about how high Phil the frog would go. Up to the side wall? The back wall? As high as the heath? Maybe we’d lose sight of him and Major Tim Peake would be blinking in amazement to see a stuffed frog go flying past his window. We were still arguing when Jen asked us all for a countdown.

The scientists put plastic glasses on and stood next to the table, facing us.

The teachers stepped to the side and the Reception kids at the front squeezed back.

Jen moved to the side of the playground, where she picked up a little blowtorch and turned it on.

She knelt down and pointed the flame at some powder piled up on a metal tray.

The powder lit up, fizzing and crackling until, like a red mouse, it began to scurry along an open metal pipe towards the table.

When the red mouse was nearly at the table, Jen leapt up, ran towards the table and grabbed hold of the sheet.

The mouse flame climbed up the pipe, spluttering for a second then stopping and making us all think it would go out.

It managed to stay lit, though, going up again as Jen pulled off the sheet to reveal Phil the frog, on his rocket, just about to head up to the …

No—

Not Phil.

Not Phil at all.

WHERE WAS PHIL?

We all stared. The scientists, including Jen, were all looking at us – they weren’t looking behind them at the table. And it was weird, really weird, because Phil the frog certainly wasn’t there. Someone must have taken him off. The rocket was there, and something ELSE was on it.

That was the scientists. They’d shouted it, not us, or not many of us, just a few of the smaller kids. Because we were staring, hardly able to believe what we were seeing, the scientists looking confused too – by our reaction – until one by one they turned their heads, to see what we were looking at. And what we were looking at was their experiment – the bucket, the rocket, and the thing tied to it – though instead of what they thought was tied to it there was something else.

Not a frog.

A bag.

A blue, rectangular sports bag, pretty old, with a black stripe across the middle, a bag that was familiar to every single person in our school because of what was on the side of it. Five rings. In different colours. Three on top and two below.

Olympic rings, all linked together with a date above and a word underneath in bold.

BOTSWANA.

Everyone stared. And then everyone’s head swivelled left to where Mrs Martin was standing, her hands still held up in little fists with what had been excitement but which had now been replaced by shock. And surprise. And disbelief. She shook herself together and looked around, at her feet, as if to find her bag there, as if it couldn’t possibly be where it actually was – ON TOP OF THAT ROCKET.

There wasn’t a ‘ONE!’ We just watched, no one able to move as the snapping red flame reached the bottom of the bucket. And it shook, with a really loud BANG. And the rocket took off, though it didn’t go as far as we’d expected. Not to the side wall. Not up to the heath. Just half a metre, before it nosedived on to the table where it rested, as Mrs Martin’s bag slid down on to the ground.

Silence. It struck the teachers and the scientists and all of us sitting on the AstroTurf. No one said a word. Not even Marcus Breen. We all just watched as the bag Mrs Martin had got at the Olympics fizzled and gurgled and spluttered.

And

then

it

I think I need to tell you a bit more about Mrs Martin. She’s got this gappy smile, like I’ve said, that is impossible not to smile back at. You can hear her laugh ALL around the school. She teaches Year 3 but does dance routines at lunchtimes with the Year 5 and 6 girls (but only if they play Abba songs). She begs you not to tell Mr Martin about her mid-morning Twix or how she really wishes she’d married someone called Mr Kipling instead of him. She cheers all the teams on at Saturday football.

She works on the Friends’ Forum, like I said, but I didn’t tell you she was in charge of it, sending out all the letters and emails and organising the fairs and coffee mornings and cake sales and sponsored walks and the carol singing round Blackheath every year. I didn’t tell you that she stays late to clear up after all the evening events because the parents have to get their kids to bed (hers are grown up).

And I didn’t tell you something I learned from Mum, about when all the windows were being replaced in our school. Mrs Martin was the one who found out that the builders were putting in cheaper ones than the ones they’d promised, which wouldn’t have been so soundproof. She forced the council to get them done properly, which means we can all learn in peace. The most important thing, though, is how she makes us feel: good, and safe. Like we’re at home and not at school. Absolutely everyone has called her Mum by mistake at some point – SO embarrassing – and when she tells you that you can do something, you believe her. You can’t help it – and then it turns out to be true.

We have four different houses in our school. They’re named after inspiring people like Nelson and Rosa Parks (which I’m in). When I was on the school council I started a petition to get one of the houses renamed and I’m sure you can guess whose name I wanted. Yes – Jacky Chapman, the best captain Charlton have ever had. I’m still waiting to hear about that, but if they say no I’ll definitely suggest Mrs Martin instead because she’s AMAZING.

So how could anyone DO that to her?

Auntie Mill picked me up that day. Her and Mum, which was weird. Why were they both there? I didn’t really think about it, though, because the Mrs Martin thing was too huge.

Jelly – so what? But THIS …?

As I climbed into Auntie Mill’s car I kept seeing Mrs Martin’s bag before it was blown up, and then again twenty seconds later, after Jen had put it out with a fire extinguisher. It was all blackened and melted, with a gaping hole in the side. And I saw Mrs Martin walking forward and picking it up off the ground, staring at it in total shock before using the same expression as she turned around.

And stared at US.

We’d all stared back, in SILENCE, until Mr Baker towered over us.

‘Classrooms!’

We’d marched off and I felt SO terrible that I got this feeling you might recognise from your own school, when someone’s done something bad. It really did feel like it was me who’d actually done it. And when I passed Mrs Martin it got worse. I didn’t giggle. Not this time. But instead my face went red. And Mrs Martin had been looking at me. I didn’t actually see her because I was keeping my eyes on Daisy right ahead of me, but I could FEEL it, her eyes following me all the way into school and up the stairs, the tops of my ears prickling with heat when I got there.

‘Had a good day?’ Mum asked as Auntie Mill pulled away, barging in front of Lance’s mum’s Fiesta. I didn’t say anything. I just wanted to get home so I could talk to her on her own about what had happened.

AND GET HER TO CALL MRS MARTIN.

But again I didn’t get a chance to.

I expected Auntie Mill to turn right at the little roundabout – towards our house. Instead she went up through Blackheath to her house, which is next door to Veronique’s, actually (Billy Lee lives on the other side of the road). We weren’t giving Veronique a lift because she was doing fencing, which my cousin Juni does as well, though it’s at Juni’s school so no one needs to take her. Why we were going to Auntie Mill’s I didn’t know and I intended to ask, waiting while Auntie Mill’s new electronic gate opened and then as she turned her burglar alarm off. We went inside, where I expected to see Clay (my other cousin), but he was at rugby practice. That just left us three, which seemed a bit weird.

‘What’s going on?’ I said, feeling small in their huge living room.

Auntie Mill held her hands up at that and walked through to their kitchen, as if to say to my mum that it was her job to answer me. Mum took a breath. She walked over to one of the sofas, sat down and took my hand.

‘It’s Stephan,’ she said.

I frowned. ‘Are you going to the pictures tonight? It’s only Thursday.’

‘I know.’ Mum shook her head. ‘And no. I’m staying here.’

‘Good. But what, then?’

She took a breath. ‘Well, Stephan wants to spend more time with me.’

I took that in. ‘Like, maybe, Tuesdays too?’

‘A lot more, actually.’

‘Oh.’

‘And I said I wasn’t sure about that.’

‘There are only so many films you can see, aren’t there?’

‘Right. So I suggested that, before we commit to spending a lot more time together, we get to know him a bit better. And he gets to know my family properly, too.’

‘So?’

‘He’s coming round here.’

‘Couldn’t everyone have come to our house?’

‘That’s what I said. But Mill needs the Internet for some reason and our connection’s not that good.’

‘Oh. But shouldn’t Dad be here too, if Stephan’s getting to know us?’

‘Ah,’ Mum said. ‘No, I … I think your dad’s working.’

That was a shame, but they’d already met, actually. When Dad brought me home after the weekend once, Stephan was already there. He was all friendly, but Dad sort of pretended he was invisible.

‘So just Stephan tonight. He’s staying for supper.’

‘Fine. Though … what is for supper?’

The reason I was asking was simple. When Mum was not well before Christmas, I stayed with Auntie Mill for a while and was exposed to certain foodstuffs. The worst were called artichokes, which take my favourite food (pizza) and make it taste REVOLTING. Auntie Mill also served me fish that was actually RAW, though the people at the takeaway place had tried to disguise that by chopping it small and wrapping it in rice. How lazy can you get?

This time, Mum answered, she would be cooking. She was making something special for Stephan because he’s a vegetarian. That seemed okay, but when I said that I’d got something to tell her, Mum told me to save it for later because she had to ‘get on’. I sighed and asked if I could watch TV. Mum agreed and I grabbed the remote control. I turned on Auntie Mill’s MASSIVE screen and went into iPlayer. Whoever had used the TV last had set the volume too high, though, and Mum came rushing back through.

‘Nice try,’ she said, whisking the remote away.

The TARDIS whirled off without me.

I gave up on TV and went outside, where Clay’s World Cup 2018 ball was on the grass. I tried to beat my solo header record (four) but gave up because I couldn’t concentrate. The plastic, all mangled. That look on Mrs Martin’s face. Me, going RED … With a sigh I went back in where I did Minecraft on Mum’s phone until the battery died. I rooted in her bag for her charger, understanding why she can never find her keys when I saw the lipsticks and sketchpads and her bamboo coffee cup and all the other stuff in there.

And then my eyes fell on a box. Small. Hard and square. It had a little gold star stuck on, the sight of which made me feel a lot better. What had Mum bought me? The box really was tiny – a new Subbuteo man? A Jacky Chapman one? And why had she bought it? Was it because I was upset over Mrs Martin? Maybe she had been listening after all. Knowing that I shouldn’t look inside – but that I definitely was going to look inside – I began to open it. The doorbell made me jump, though, and Mum shouted out for me to answer it.

I shoved the little box back inside her bag.

It was Stephan at the door, though it took me a second to recognise him. For one thing, it was a bit odd to see him at Auntie Mill’s and for another he normally wears jeans and a hoody. He had a jacket on for some reason and he’d flattened his hair down. And he looked nervous – had he heard about Auntie Mill’s cooking? I was going to reassure him that Mum was doing it tonight but I didn’t get a chance – Auntie Mill came bustling through.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘how lovely!’

Auntie Mill held her hands out for the bunch of flowers that Stephan was holding, which was a bit awkward as he explained that they were actually for Mum. Auntie Mill said what a shame, they were lovely flowers, and she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had bought her any. Stephan said he found that hard to believe and Auntie Mill blushed. She said he was a real charmer and touched his arm, before pushing her hair behind her ear. Mum came out of the kitchen and glared. Mum and Auntie Mill sometimes argue and I thought they might then, actually, but the doorbell went again. This time it was Juni (my cousin).

Juni’s a year older than me. That means that she calls most people ‘SUCH morons’, completely ignores me, and walks like the Hunchback of Notre Dame because someone seems to have Velcro-ed her eyes to her mobile phone. She’d been fencing. Apart from her phone this is her thing and if she’d been at our school Mrs Martin would have made a great song for her. When she wins it’s good, because she breaks her ignoring-me rule to tell me about it. She describes how she lunged forward to stab an opponent or lunged back to stop a different opponent stabbing her. I don’t think she’d won that day, though. Without a word she stomped in, kicked open the cellar door and bunged her mask down the stairs. She followed that by chucking her sword down after it, and then she announced that there was only one thing in the ENTIRE world that she hated more than fencing.