Scrap CH THREE part 24

Scrap CH THREE part 24
‘Dad, get up, you promised to play footie with us.’ Robbie is already kitted out in his Arsenal top and school PE shorts; his feet squeezed into his worn-out football boots. Scotty opens one eye; the other being glued shut with sleep, squints at the sunlight piercing the gap in the curtains and rubs his face awake. ‘Give us a minute Robbie, what time is it?’ The clock on the mantel shelf has stopped at half past two and he gropes in his pocket for his wristwatch, which he also has failed to wind up. ‘It’s nine o’clock,’ Dawn shouts from the kitchen, ‘we’ve been up for hours; it’s time you were too.’
Scotty gets to the bathroom before anyone else can commandeer it, has a slash and quick wash, finds some old clothes in the wardrobe and stumbles downstairs where Robbie and Stuart are waiting. He gulps down a cup of tepid tea, grabs a crust of bread and puts his shoes on. ‘Okay lads, what are you waiting for?’ He sprints out the door and up the path with the boys in pursuit, bouncing the football as he goes. ‘Come on you two, keep up; you’ll never make the squad at this rate.’
Half a dozen other scruffy kids are already at the playing field, kicking an old tennis ball about when they see their captain arriving with the only proper football between them. Robbie takes first pick of the players as usual, as it is his football and Spike Mullins from the Crescent takes charge of the opposing team, choosing Precious Mbele before Robbie can bags her services. Scotty, as always, is designated referee, with Stuart in goal for Robbie’s team and Stinker Smith for Spike’s side.
The game gets off to a ferocious start with Precious nabbing the ball and dribbling it all the way to the far end of the pitch, whacking in a goal before poor Stuart has a chance to do up his shoe laces, which he forgot to do earlier. Despite his protestations the goal stands and the ball is brought back to approximately the centre of the field for the game to recommence. Spike and Robbie tussle for control as the other players hover about in their respective ‘positions’ waiting for someone to pass to them. Spike’s brother Roger may be only eight years old but he knows how to play dirty. He kicks Robbie in the shin, bringing him down with a howl. Scotty shoves his fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly. ‘Foul, free kick,’ he orders as Robbie’s team mates gather round ready for a fight.
The game settles down, the players growing increasingly muddy, making it hard to discern which side they are on. Two more goals are scored for Spike’s team, both courtesy of the only girl player, and one for Robbie’s side scored by accident by Spike himself. The referee blows for half time and the kids sort through their various pockets looking for anything which might serve as a snack.
The chimes of the ice cream van arrives as if by magic and Scotty is caught once again, feeling obliged to buy ice lollies for both teams. They take their time finishing the treats before Scotty decides to start the second half.
Spike Mullins goes down writhing in apparent agony after a tackle from Robbie’s team mate Louis, who barely tapped the boy, and the referee tells him to stop making a meal of it and get on with the game. Spike had been hoping for a penalty even though he was nowhere near the area and pushes Louis in the chest as he gets to his feet. ‘None of that’ warns the ref, ‘or I’ll send you off.’
The muddy players race up and down for another fifteen minutes or so with dubious goals scored on both sides and when they look as though they have had enough Scotty whistles for full time and declares the match a draw, despite the fact that Mullin’s team have scored one goal more than Robbie’s. Most of the players accept the decision and arrange to meet again later in the week for a re-match. ‘Thank you for the ice lolly,’ says Precious as she leaves the field of play. ‘Why can’t you lot be that well-mannered?’ Scotty gives her a warm smile and ruffles the hair of his two boys, who glare at the girl as she skips off towards her foster mother’s house where she will no doubt be in trouble for getting her Sunday best frock muddy.
‘Dad,’ begins Robbie in a wheedling tone, ‘Mullins says we won’t be allowed to play on the field after we move to the new house because we’ll be too posh to play with the council house kids.’ Scotty stops bouncing the ball and stares at the boy. ‘He’s talking nonsense; anyone can use the playing field and we will never be ‘posh’ as he puts it, we’re just normal working class people who are trying to better ourselves. Don’t take any notice of him: he’s only jealous.’ They move on, reaching the house just as Mavis pulls up outside in her old Hillman Minx. ‘Good day mother-in-law, come for your free Sunday roast?’ Mavis scowls as she locks the car, shifting the basket of home-baked cakes onto her arm. ‘Less of your cheek miladdo or you won’t get any of my apple pie.’ Scotty grins at her, takes the basket and leads the way into the kitchen.
‘Look at the state of you lot,’ Dawn grumbles as the muddy boys troop in, ‘go and get yourselves cleaned up before dinner. Then you can all help with the last of the packing.’ The boys groan as they stomp loudly up the stairs to the bathroom where Janet has been preening herself since they left for the sports field. She eventually emerges in a cloud of deodorant and hair spray and Stuart pushes past to open the window so they can breathe. She has used all the hot water from the immersion tank and the boys have to make do with a quick wash down at the hand basin, mostly the parts which show. Scotty follows them in and is washed and out again in record time drawn by the smell of roast pork wafting up from the kitchen. Dawn may be an old grouch but she can cook a decent roast.
Once everyone is seated Dawn and Mavis start passing round the food. The bowls are soon emptied with the usual complaints about who has pinched the biggest roast potatoes and choicest cuts of meat but the bickering stops as they start shovelling the food into their mouths. ‘This is the last Sunday dinner we will have in this house,’ says Dawn, ‘it’s going to seem strange after fifteen years to be waking up in new surroundings.’ The family turn as one, staring in disbelief as they watch tears welling in her eyes. ‘Come on mum,’ says Janet, ‘we’re going to a lovely new home with all the modern things you’ve always wanted, you can’t be sad, surely?’ She dries her eyes on her apron and puts on a forced smile. ‘I’m just saying,’ she begins, but can find no other words to express her feelings. Mavis lifts her glass of pale ale and makes a toast; ‘here’s to happy times in your new home,’ she says cheerily. The rest of the clan join in, raising their various glasses and putting a happier light on the scene. It will be strange though after such a long time, but exciting too.
The apple pie goes down a treat but before the clan can do their usual disappearing trick they are assigned to packing duties which they go to without too much grumbling. ‘Yes, you as well,’ Dawn says as Scotty tries to slide past for a nap in the living room, ‘you’ve got that shed to clear out, remember?’