Eight Foot Blue - 8

We played football until my feet were sore and my legs felt stiff and heavy. I took my boots off outside the back door and left them there, all covered with blossom and mud. Then Dad took me inside, straight into the kitchen, and made me a drink of orange squash in my favourite blue tumbler. I drank it all at once, in about a second or two and so Dad ruffled my hair and made me another and called me a little star.

I was still drinking my second squash when the telephone rang. It made me jump and gave me a little tingle right inside my tummy, because I liked to answer it and say hello, 54517, George O’Dell speaking, like Mum had taught me to do. But this time I couldn’t get to the phone quickly enough, because Dad had run across the room and beaten me to it. I didn’t really mind because it wasn’t a fair race. I was still holding my drink and so I hadn’t been able to use my arms.

“Hi, George O’Dell,” said my Dad, not answering the phone as nicely as I would have done. Then he went quiet, listening, and I couldn’t see anything in his face, if he was happy or sad, or maybe nothing at all.

“I see,” he said.

“Straight away,” he said. He seemed to be gripping the phone even tighter than before, no longer holding it beneath his chin, and he was twisting the cord around in his free hand and it looked like it might break. Then after a second or a minute, I wasn’t really sure, he put the phone down and turned to me and said, “put your shoes on, get your shirt, George, quickly. We’ve got to go to the hospital.”

“Why,” I said.

“It’s time,” said Dad.

“But shouldn’t I have a wash and get changed,” I said because I knew that this is what Mum would have made me do. Anyway there was no rush really as Mum had gone to Nana’s house because it shouldn’t have been time for at least another two weeks.

“No, no time, hurry up,” said Dad and I didn’t understand but I didn’t really mind. I didn’t really want to get washed or changed, I just thought I ought to offer.

So I put what was left of my orange squash in the blue tumbler on the table in the kitchen and then I put on my orange t-shirt, with the tiger picture, but I couldn’t remember where I had put my training shoes. “Where are my trainers?” I asked, but Dad didn’t answer. I realised that he wasn’t in the kitchen and he wasn’t in the lounge either, and the front door was open. I was looking for him, because he hadn’t said where he was going and I was in the hall now. I could hear the engine of our blue car starting, and when I looked out of the front door Dad was already making the car go backwards down the drive and out into the road. I still didn’t know where my trainers were and so I put on my school shoes which were just sitting where I left them at the foot of the stairs, even though Mum had asked me to put them away both yesterday and the day before.

My school shoes were made by Clarks and were black, though a bit scuffed, with black laces and a pattern made with dots. Mum had let me choose them from the shop which had a rocking horse you could play on while you waited.

Except I didn’t really choose them at all.

I had wanted to go to a different shop and buy slip on shoes like everyone else, but Mum said I couldn’t on account of that fact they were bad for growing feet, which I didn’t think could be true because all the other boys had growing feet, and all the other boys were wearing them.

And maybe it was because I had really wanted slip on shoes, or maybe it was because Dad was sitting in the car beeping the horn and waiting for me, that I didn’t bother to ties the laces. Instead I just slammed the front door hard behind me. I ran down the drive and jumped into the front passenger seat, which was definitely my favourite seat in the whole car. I was only allowed to sit in it when Dad was driving and Mum wasn’t with us. I mean when Mum was driving she said it made her nervous to have me sitting next to her, because I always said such silly things and she found it hard to concentrate. One time, when we were alone, I asked Dad why and he said something like, what your Mum really meant was she doesn’t like driving but sometimes that’s a hard thing to say.

Although Dad didn’t mind me sitting next to him, he still made me put my seat belt on, and as we started to drive he didn’t say very much. He just gripped the steering wheel really hard until his knuckles had gone all white, and when I looked at him, his bald head had gone all red, like he was thinking too much, or trying to do something he couldn’t do. Also the hairs at the back of his neck were standing all up on end and he had this funny smell, like only he ever had, which I thought was from his cigarettes and his aftershave and his body because we’d been running around.

And as we drove, we stopped at traffic lights, and then drove and stopped some more. Dad kept asking me if I was alright. Are you OK, George, are you OK?

I thought it was a very strange thing to ask considering I was six years old and we’d spent nearly all the afternoon playing football, and I had won, sixteen-twelve, and now I was sitting in the front of the car, and I hadn’t even had to get changed. I mean I hadn’t even had to wash and we were going to hospital because Mum was going to have a baby, which most likely would be a brother for me to play football with, even though everyone said it might be a girl. It didn’t really matter, because even if it were a girl say, then I would still teach her to play football, it was just that she would never be as good as me.

Then sort of suddenly, like I’d been told by my own voice, I realised Dad was just talking to himself, because he was called George too.

He’s George too, George.
He’s George too.

Still it didn’t really matter who Dad was talking too, because of course I was alright, but I was hungry though. “I want something to eat,” I said to Dad as he turned into the car-park for the hospital. And although I’d never been here before, I knew it was the hospital as there were about a hundred ambulances stood together outside, and there were a few people in white coats, both men and women, and also lots of younger women dressed up like nurses. Most of them were walking quickly, going this way or that, either towards or away from the big doors that went into or out of the tall concrete building, but also some were just standing around, talking and smoking cigarettes and doing things like that. So, as Dad parked our blue car I wanted more than anything for an ambulance to start, because I wanted to hear a siren and I wanted to see these people start running like they did on television sometimes.

“I’ll get you something later, let’s go and find Mum first,” said Dad.

“What?” I said.

“Tea, I’ll get you something to eat,” said Dad, and I sort of nodded and smiled, but didn’t say anything. I’d already forgotten I was hungry anyway.