Chapter 12
GEORGE
George strutted down the hill from the station in the rough direction of The Lanes, listening to his music and practising his best ‘dude’ walk.
His skateboard was under his arm and his bag was slung over one shoulder; he knew he looked cool.
Since last month, when he had first thought of coming to Brighton (after a really bad row with DH) George had done his research carefully.
Kids on their own ran the risk of stupid grown-ups asking even stupider questions, so the trick was to look as if you knew where you were going.
Ideally you were best with an iPhone glued to your ear, but Grumpy Granny had told DH that George was way too young to have his own phone.
As if! Nearly everyone in Year Four had got one, except for that skinny girl from the care home, oh, and Tyrone, who was only interested in vintage cars.
Even without a phone, you needed to look as if you were on the way somewhere and you didn’t want anyone to bother you, and whatever happened, you just kept on walking.
Eye contact too, that was another thing to avoid.
George’s teacher was always going on at him to make more eye contact with her, but for someone who wanted to keep a low profile, it was the worst thing to do.
George scowled menacingly, just in case anyone was looking, and an old lady wobbling up the hill on two sticks jumped and seemed to teeter on the edge of the gutter.
As George passed the tantalising sign for the toy and model museum, he paused.
He had some spare cash, and it would only take half an hour to have a look in there.
But then he thought of the reason for his journey and imagined MM’s face when he saw his son, and it was enough to keep him moving.
The sun was dazzling, reflecting off the rows of houses with their white, pale pink and ice blue paint.
George loved this town. Everywhere was so bright and…
well… funky. People wore what they wanted to wear.
He saw a couple coming towards him hand in hand and he could tell by their smiles as they walked past him that the two men didn’t mind that George had noticed their dresses.
The boy walking just in front of George had lots and lots of piercings, and he was so thin that George could see his shoulder blades through his t-shirt.
George bet the boy’s mum didn’t nag him to eat his mashed potatoes and greens.
He bet the boy lived on burgers and fries.
Yum. The thought of food made George’s tummy roll alarmingly and he stopped for a moment to check his pockets for change.
Suddenly, there was a crash, and he found himself falling to the ground, hitting his head on the pavement with a sickening crunch.
He shouted in pain as his skateboard was wrenched from his hands, his wallet was pulled from his jeans pocket, and a kick, aimed at his head, connected with his chest as he tried to roll out of the way.
The boy laughed at the tears which were now embarrassingly running down his cheeks.
‘See you, sucker. Next time watch your back,’ he said, as he sped off down the road on George’s skateboard.
George jumped up, seeing stars, and began to cry as he realised what this meant.
DH’s credit card was gone, his precious skateboard was stolen, and all he had left was his backpack and his precious headphones.
What would Dad say? George had a feeling he would get that spiky look back, the one he usually saved for the Dickhead and Grumpy Granny.
Wiping his nose on his sleeve, George limped on down the road.
He really needed to get to Magic Man’s secret hideout now, because he was feeling sadder than he had ever felt in all his eight years.