Free Dare Game by Jacqueline Wilson Page A

exactly catchy. How about . . . Brainbox?’
    I was trying to be nice to him but I didn’t seem to have the knack. Alexander winced at the word.
    ‘They call me that at school,’ he said mournfully. ‘And other stuff. And my dad calls me Mr Clever Dick.’
    ‘He sounds a right charmer, your dad,’ I said.
    ‘
My
dad’s the best
ever
,’ said Football, kicking his ball from one foot to the other.
    ‘I haven’t got a dad so I don’t know whether he’s the best or the worst,’ I said. I’ve never really fussed about it. I never needed a dad, not when I had a mum. I needed her.
    ‘My mum’s going to take me to live at her place ,’ I told them. ‘It’s dead luxurious, all gilt and mirrors and chandeliers and rich ruby red upholstery. And she’s going to buy me new clothes, designer stuff, and new trainers and a brand new computer and my own telly and a video and a bike and pets and we’re going on heaps of trips to Disneyland and I bet we won’t even have to queue because my mum’s such a famous actress.’

    ‘What’s her name then?’ Football demanded.
    ‘Carly. Carly Beaker,’ I said proudly.
    ‘Never heard of her,’ said Football.
    I thought quickly. I had to shut him up somehow. ‘That’s not her acting name.’
    ‘Which is?’
    ‘Sharon Stone.’
    ‘If your mum’s Sharon Stone then my dad’s Alan Shearer,’ said Football.
    Alexander’s head jerked. ‘Your dad’s Alan Shearer?’ he piped up. ‘No wonder he’s good at football.’
    Football shook his head pityingly. ‘I thought he was supposed to be bright?’ he said. ‘Anyway, my dad’s
better
than Alan Shearer. We’re like
that
, my dad and me.’ He linked his stubby fingers to show us. ‘We do all sorts together. Well. We did.’
    Significant past tense.
    ‘He’s got this girlfriend,’ said Football. ‘My mum found out and now my dad’s gone off with this girlfriend. I don’t blame him. My mum just nags and moans and gives him a hard time. No wonder he cleared off. But he says it doesn’t mean we’re not still mates.’
    ‘So your dad doesn’t live with you any more?’ said Alexander, sighing enviously.
    ‘But we still do all sorts of stuff together,’ said Football, kicking the ball about again. ‘We always go to the match on Saturdays. Well, Dad couldn’t make it this time. And last time. But that’s because he’s still, like, sorting out his new life – he’s taking me
next
time, he’s promised.’ He stepped on the ball and patted his pockets, bringing out a cigarette-lighter. ‘Look!’
    I looked. He didn’t produce the packet of fags to go with it.
    ‘Let’s have a smoke then,’ I said. I like the way my mum holds her hand when she’s got a fag lit – and the way her lips purse as she takes a long drag.
    ‘I don’t smoke, it’s bad for my football, right?’ said Football. ‘No, this is my dad’s lighter. See the make?’ He held it out so we could admire it. ‘It’s not one of your tacky throw-away sort. It’s
gold
.’
    ‘Solid gold!’ Alexander whispered.
    ‘Well. Plated. Still cost a fortune. It’s my dad’s most precious possession. His mates gave it to him for his twenty-first birthday. He’s never without it, my dad.’
    ‘He seems to be without it now,’ I chipped in.
    ‘That’s the
point
,’ said Football. ‘He’s given it to
me
.’ He flicked it on and off, on and off, on and off. It was like watching those flashing Christmas tree lights.

    ‘You’ll be waving it around at a rock concert next,’ I said.
    ‘You shut your face,’ said Football, irritated that I wasn’t acting dead impressed. ‘You haven’t even got a dad.’ He kicked the ball hard. It bounced on the television set and ended up inside it.
    ‘I wish I didn’t have a dad,’ said Alexander, standing up and attempting repairs. ‘Or I wish my dad would go off with a girlfriend. I wish wishes would come true. What would you wish for?’ He looked shyly at Football. ‘That you and your