Hunky Dory by Jean Ure Page A

said, “Why wouldn’t they?”
    â€œLook at it this way,” said Aaron. “Would you wanna be on a netball team?”
    I said I wouldn’t want to be on any team, but if I had to be on one then netball might well be the one I’d choose.
    â€œYou’re only saying that,” said Aaron. “Netball’s a girls’ game! There’s girls’ games and there’s boys’ games, and football’s a boys’ game.”
    I asked him how he knew this. “Is there some kind of law about it?”
    He said, “It’s just one of those things. Stands to reason! All that kicking and barging and falling about in the mud…what sort of girl would want to do that?”
    I said, “Probably not the sort of girl that needs help taking her dog out.” I nearly said, her imaginary dog, but didn’t want to get into complications. Even as it was, he got a bit offended. He said that all he was saying was kicking and barging and falling about in the mud wasn’t what he personally would call a very feminine kind of thing to do. He added that of course the Herb wasn’t a very feminine kind of person.
    â€œI just hope you told her not to bash me any more!”
    I said, “No, I didn’t. If she wants to bash you, she can bash you, far as I’m concerned.”
    Aaron said, “That’s encouraging violence, that is.”
    I opened my mouth to say, “So what?” but before I could get the words out a great cheer went up and we realised that we had missed a goal.
    â€œWho got it?” said Aaron. “Was it the Herb? She’ll do her nut if we tell her we didn’t see it! She’ll bash me again for sure. Hey!” He poked a finger at a girl that was standing nearby. “Who scored?”
    â€œWe did,” said the girl.
    â€œYeah, but who got it?”
    She giggled and said, “Who d’you think?”
    We both turned and looked at the pitch. We couldn’t see the Herb for all the kissing and hugging that was going on, so then we knew: she had scored a goal andwe hadn’t seen it.
    â€œWhatever you do,” said Aaron, earnestly, “don’t tell her!”
    The girl giggled again, and I suddenly recognised her as the Herb’s little gnome-like like one of the gnomes which our next door neighbour has in her back garden. She has a whole colony of gnomes. Fishing gnomes and smoking gnomes, and beaming gnomes and sitting gnomes. The Herb’s friend looks like one of the beaming ones. She beamed at us now and promised that she wouldn’t breathe a word.
    â€œDid she really bash you?” she asked Aaron.
    Aaron said, “Yeah, with a trowel. Right here.” He tapped the side of his head. “Left a mark.”
    â€œIt was his own fault,” I said. “He was messing around instead of getting on with things. See, we’re digging this hole—”
    Lottie said, “I know. I’ve heard about it from the Herb.”
    I was pleased at that. I’m glad the Herb talks about our hole. It shows that she cares. Unlike Aaron . I turned, sternly, to look at him.
    â€œThere’s only another couple of weeks to go,” I said, “before Dad wants his bit of garden back.”
    Aaron said, “Yeah, all right, all right! Don’t keep on, watch the football! I’ll see if I can get round tomorrow. No! Saturday. No! Monday. Best make it Monday. I’ll come round Monday. After I’ve helped walk Zookie Boy.”
    I said, “ Zookie Boy?”
    â€œSophy’s dog.”
    Lottie giggled.
    â€œShe can’t manage on her own,” said Aaron. “I have to go with her.”
    I said, “Yeah, it’s a massive great dog…cross between a Yorkshire terrier and a Pekingese. What’s wrong with Friday or Saturday?”
    â€œGoing to the dentist.”
    â€œWhat, both days?”
    â€œFriday. I might have to have fillings. Don’t