‘Karate.’
‘Right … karate. You’re a black belt, yeah?’
‘Yes.’
‘If you can knock me down I’ll get you your trainers back.’
Joe laughs. ‘Oh yeah, a challenge.’
‘But if I knock you down you let whoever’s got them keep them.’
Black-belt Boy doesn’t need to think about this for more than a second. He is a head taller than me and at least ten kilos heavier and I guess he’s fairly sure I am no black belt. He gets straight into his fighting stance and says, ‘Come on then.’
I take the cigarette out of my mouth and reach across, as if to pass it to Joe, but at the same time I raise my legs to put my feet on the edge of the wall and launch myself at the boy, jumping on to his shoulders with my knees. He is on the floor in a second and I manage to land on my feet.
I keep clear of him. He looks pretty mad.
I realize I have dropped my cigarette and move to pick it up but then, like some kung fu movie, out of nowhere the karate teacher appears. This guy is short, probably in his fifties and not to be messed with. Unlike the kids in his class, he looks like he’s hit more than a few things that have hit him back.
However, he says to Black-belt Boy, ‘A deal’s a deal, Tom. He won. And you should have been faster.’
Joe sniggers.
Mr Karate pulls Black-belt Boy to his feet and steers him away.
Casually as I can I pick up my cigarette and drag on it.
Mr Karate calls back to me, ‘Those things’ll kill you.’
Joe blows out a huge smoke ring but it’s a strange shape because he can hardly stop grinning.
When the karate pair have disappeared Joe asks, ‘You planning on living long enough to die of lung cancer?’
the fifth notification
About a week after my expulsion Gran says that she is going to home-school me. It sounds great. No school. No ‘conforming’, no ‘fitting in’.
She says, ‘It is school, but it’s at home.’
She gets Arran’s old books and pens and papers and we sit at the kitchen table. We work through some exercises, very slowly. I struggle to read the questions and Gran paces round the kitchen while I write out the alphabet for her. After she’s looked at what I’ve written she puts all Arran’s books away.
In the afternoon we go for a walk in the woods and we talk about the trees and plants and have a look at some lichen with a magnifying glass.
When Arran gets home Gran asks him to sit with me while I read. Arran is always patient and I’m never ashamed when I’m with him but it’s slow and exhausting. Gran stands and watches. Later she says, ‘Books will never work for you, Nathan. And I certainly haven’t the patience or ability to teach you to read. If you want to learn, Arran will have to try.’
‘I’m not bothered.’ Though I know Arran will insist I don’t give up.
‘Fine by me. But you’ve got lots of other things to learn about.’
The next day Gran and I go on our first field trip to Wales. It is a two-hour journey by train. It’s cold and windy, though not actually raining. We walk in the hills and I love seeing where the wild plants and animals live, how they grow, where they are at home.
On the first warm day in April we stay overnight, sleeping outside. I never want to sleep inside again. Gran teaches me about the stars and tells me how the moon’s cycle affects the plants that she collects.
Back at home, Gran teaches me about potions but compared to her I’m clumsy and don’t have her intuition about how the plants will work together or counteract each other. Still, I learn the basics about how she makes her potions, how her touch and even her breath add magic to them. And I learn to make simple healing lotions for cuts, a paste that draws out poison and a sleeping draught but I know that I won’t ever make anything magical.
I have maps of Wales and I get to know them well. I can read maps easily; they are pictures and I can see the land in my head. I learn where all the rivers, valleys and mountains are in relation to each other, the ways across them, the places I can find shelter or water, where I can swim, fish and trap.
Soon I travel to Wales on my own, often spending two or three days away from home, sleeping outside and living off the land.