Chapter 2

The boy could sense the people crowded around him long before he opened his eyes.

He could hear lots of different voices. All talking in unison. Making it impossible for him to work out quite what was being said. 

But it was clear they were concerned about something. Or someone. He could tell that from their tones. But Leo didn’t have a clue who or what it was they were worried about.

And he didn’t overly care.

He just wanted them to be quiet so that he could go back to sleep.

He was just drifting off again, when he suddenly felt something poke at his left shoulder. Softly at first, then rather more vigorously.

The poking stopped. Then he clearly made out a distinct, solitary voice. It sounded like it belonged to a boy of around his own age.

“Hello,” the voice said, uncertainly. Leo felt another finger jab into his shoulder. It was starting to get quite painful. 

“Hello,” the same anxious-sounding voice repeated. “Are you okay?”

Two thoughts immediately crossed Leo’s mind.

The first was: ‘how could I possibly be okay with all this kerfuffle going on around me while I’m trying to sleep?’

The second was: ‘why is there another boy in my bedroom attempting to wake me up by prodding me hard in the shoulder. And why does he sound so worried?’

Slowly, Leo opened his eyes. For a few seconds, the young boy was unable to focus properly. The world around him appeared blurred. As though someone had wrapped cling film across his eyes while he had been sleeping.  

“He’s alive,” he heard the voice shout, obviously relieved.

'Of course, I’m alive,' Leo wanted to reply. 'Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve only been sleeping. Just like I do every other night.'

However, when he tried to speak, he found himself only able to form a barely audible grunting noise.

Gradually, Leo’s vision became less foggy. His eyes started to adjust to his surroundings.

And when he could finally see clearly again, what he saw shocked him.

He wasn’t in his bedroom.

He was sprawled on wet, muddy grass.

Standing over him were six boys, all of whom looked to be around 10 or 11 years old. Each boy wore an expression of anxiety, mixed with a healthy dose of intrigue, across their face.

Somewhat strangely, Leo didn’t recognise any of the faces that were staring down at him. 

At least, not to begin with.

Furthermore, he couldn’t understand what they were wearing. He’d never seen clothes like them before. Each boy looked like they were wearing a tracksuit, albeit one made out of some type of weird puffy, shiny, crinkly-looking material. 

Yet this wasn’t the thing that made the boys’ attire appear so odd-looking. Well… not the only thing.

The really peculiar thing about the clothes were their colours. Each tracksuit – if that’s what they were – featured all manner of garish patterns and fluorescent stripes. They looked like they had been designed by a colour-blind toddler.

Believing at first that his vision must still be impaired, Leo carefully shook his head, hoping that this would somehow change what he was seeing. It didn’t. Not in the slightest.

If he was confused before, he was doubly so now.

Surely this couldn’t be real. None of it made any sense. Where was he? Who were these strange boys? Why were they poking and prodding at him? And why on earth were they dressed like that?

“Can you sit up?” asked the boy who had been prodding at Leo, holding out his hand to assist the baffled stranger. 

The boy was the shortest of the bunch. He had brown, curly hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a brush for a good few weeks.

Tentatively taking the proffered hand, Leo gingerly manoeuvred himself into a sitting position. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

“What were you doing on the ground?” asked another one of the boys. This one was tall and gangly, and his spotty face made him appear like he was a little older than the others. 

He was also wearing the most alarming ‘tracksuit’ of the whole group. Bright red, with pink, yellow and green lines zig-zagging and criss-crossing down each side. Leo had never seen anything like it before. And he never wanted to again.  

“I’m not too sure,” Leo answered, starting to feel a little brighter. He racked his brain, attempting desperately to recall the last thing he remembered. For a few seconds, nothing materialised. Then, from out of nowhere, came the vaguest glimmer of a memory.

“I think…” Leo began, trying to get his thoughts in order, “… I was playing football.”

“Well, duh, we’d figured that out for ourselves,” the spotty boy replied sarcastically. “You’re lying on a football pitch. And wearing a football kit. We’re not completely stupid.”

Glancing around, Leo carefully studied his surroundings. The place where he was sitting definitely looked familiar. He was certain that he’d been here before. But there was something… different about it. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“What are those on your feet?” the curly-haired boy asked.

Leo slowly tilted his head to check. What a strange question. Surely it was perfectly obvious what were on his feet. Even in his woozy state he knew instantly what they were. 

“They’re my football boots,” he answered.

“But they’re green with pink laces!” the small boy continued, sounding truly astonished. “That’s mad! Coloured football boots! Where did you get them from?”

Leo couldn’t work out why the boy seemed so surprised. Loads of people had boots like his. In fact, these were quite plain compared to some of the boots his friends owned. Surely this boy must have seen coloured football boots before? 

“I got them from the shop,” Leo replied, a frown creasing his brow. “What coloured boots have you got, then?”

“Black,” six voices chimed in unison. The way they said it suggested that there could be no other possible answer.

Now Leo was really flummoxed. How could it be possible that these boys could wear clothes featuring colours he’d never even seen before, yet seem so offended by the notion of non-black football boots. It didn’t make any sense.

But there was no time for him to ponder it.

“What team’s kit are you wearing?” The older-looking boy had resumed the role of question-master.

Leo squinted his eyes as he tried to remember. It was as though he had been asked the trickiest maths question ever devised. 

Slowly, the answer started to work its way into his brain. “Porthamp… no wait… Portchel… no, no, hang on, it’s coming, it’s coming… Portland City Under 10s,” Leo answered, delightedly.

For a moment, none of the six boys said anything. Instead they all looked at one another in turn, each shrugging their shoulders as they did so.

After 30-seconds or so of silence, it was the curly-haired boy who spoke next. “You’re a liar,” he stated crossly, his brown eyes blazing and his right index finger pointing accusingly at the suddenly startled Leo.

“N… No, I’m not,” stuttered Leo. What was going on? Why had his answer made the other boys react so angrily?

“Well, we play for Portland City Under 11s and that ain’t the kit we play in,” the small boy continued, gesturing to Leo’s green and white striped shirt. “Plus, none of us have ever seen you round here before. What’s your name?”

Fortunately, this was one question that Leo was able to answer without having to wrack his brain. He was just about to, when another boy suddenly wandered over to join the group. “Alright lads,” the newcomer called. “What’s going on?”

Not for the first time in the past few minutes, Leo couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

Only this time it was not the new arrival’s fluorescent green, purple and orange tracksuit that had planted a seed of doubt in his mind. It was his face.

From the tightly cropped red hair, to the myriad of freckles plastered across his features, and the deep-set light-green eyes. It was like Leo was looking at a mirror.

And Leo was evidently not the only one to notice the similarity.

“Blimey, Macca, have you got a twin you ain’t told us about,” chuckled one of the other boys. It was a comment that caused all the others to laugh out loud.

‘Macca’, thought Leo, unable to comprehend quite what was happening. As in, short for McCarthy? It was a nickname that some of Leo’s own friends called him. Surely It could only be a coincidence. Couldn’t it?

“Nah, never seen him before in my life,” the red headed boy answered. “You know I haven’t got any brothers or sisters. Anyway, he don’t look anything like me. Not all us gingers look the same you know,” he added, rather defensively.

“Blimey Pete, you don’t have to be so sensitive all the time. We’re only having a laugh,” stated the tall, spotty boy. “You do really look like him, though.”

Upon hearing the boy’s first name, a shiver worked its way down the entire length of Leo’s spine. He was now almost certain.

No. He was now entirely certain.

The red-haired boy standing in front of him was none other than Peter McCarthy.

Leo’s Dad.

Chapter 3 to be released on 6th August 2024

To read the first chapter, click here: Chapter 1

Text and image copyright © David Fuller

 David Fuller asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronical, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without prior permission of the author or publishers.