Face (17 page)

‘So do I, mate. The world's not fair but if I hit people every time I got angry, my knuckles would hurt.'

Martin cracked his first smile for days. Alan continued.

‘Martin,
we
also have a serious problem and only you can help to solve it.'

Martin looked surprised. ‘What, me?'

‘Yes, you. You see, Martin, there's this gymnastics team and they really need someone who's got the talent to captain them. They don't want no upstarts or novices, they only want the best. Do you think you can help them out?'

Even at this low period of his life Martin found Alan amusing. Martin still had a lot to think about, but after their conversation, he felt more prepared to face the future.

‘I'll see what I can do,' he replied and he stood up. ‘I really don't want to let the team down – we were doing some good work we were.'

Alan could see that this was a natural time to draw their talk to a close. ‘Go for it.'

In the corridor Alan apologised to Martin's parents for taking so long and informed them, ‘Martin can handle this. If he needs help he knows what to do.'

They were both surprised by Alan's confident tones but they could see that Martin looked much happier and more relaxed.

‘I'm off to visit my family in Scotland this weekend but someone's standing in for me and I'll be back on Monday if you need me. Have a good weekend, Mr and Mrs Turner. And remember, Martin – they only want the best.'

Outside the reception area of the hospital Martin and his parents stood waiting for a taxi. Martin was trying hard not to listen to his parents heated conversation about hospital closures and the future of the welfare state, when he heard someone calling his name.

‘Martin. What's up, man?'

It was Anthony, the boy Martin had met on the ward. Martin's mother and father were shocked by Anthony's disfigured face. His mother grabbed his father by his arm and pulled him to her.

‘Anthony,' Martin replied. ‘What you up to?'

‘I had to come and see my doctor. I got another operation soon so they need to keep an eye on me.'

‘How did you get here? Where's your parents?'

‘My parents? I don't know, they've probably gone to some exhibition somewhere. That's all they do, go to art exhibitions. I came by bus.'

Again Martin was amazed by Anthony's self-confidence. He found it hard to believe that he travelled by bus, and wondered about the types of situations that he found himself in.
What would those children have done if they had come across him?
Martin thought.

‘Who's your friend?' his mother asked.

‘Oh, this is Anthony. Anthony – this is my Mom and Dad.'

Anthony reached out and shook their hands. ‘Pleased to meet you Mr Martin and Mrs Martin. So,
Martin junior, how's Natalie?'

Martin's reply came without hesitation. ‘I've finished with her, man.' Martin surprised himself. He hadn't realised he had made this decision until the words came out of his mouth.

His parents looked at each other with surprise.

‘Well, I did say that she wasn't bad. That could also mean she's not good. You see, Martin, she may have been just too pretty. Now, don't get me wrong, I got nothing against pretty girls, some of my best friends are pretty girls, but sometimes they can get too big for their boots. I like girls that have had a few fights. My girlfriends have to have a few scars. It gives them a bit of character, if you know what I mean!'

There were laughs all round – even Martin's father thought Anthony was funny. His mother was pleasantly surprised.

‘I wouldn't worry about her guy,' Anthony continued. ‘There's plenty more fish in the sea – or dolphins in the ocean.'

‘You're right, man – I'm moving on. She thinks she's the queen or something.'

‘So now that you've been released from Newham Parkside on good behaviour, what are you up to?' Anthony asked.

Martin looked towards his parents before speaking. ‘I'm the captain of my school gymnastics team. We got a friendly competition on Saturday at Newham
Leisure Centre. Come down and chill out.'

Surprised once more, his parents looked at each other and smiled.

‘What, you gonna fly, guy?'

‘Yeah, man. I got hip-hops in my flick-flacks and funky things in my Arab springs. I fly, guy.' They laughed and slapped hands.

A taxi pulled up and the family said goodbye to Anthony. Just before they drove off Martin's father offered Anthony a lift.

‘No, it's OK, Mr Martin, I got my bus pass and I want to walk for a bit. I've heard that there are some dangerous, scar face girls around here!'

‘See you Saturday,' Anthony shouted as the car drove off.

The next day after his father had left for work, Martin proposed a deal to his mother. ‘I'll be a very, very good boy, I'll do lots of housework and I'll make you really proud of me if you let me stay home today.'

‘I'm not sure, Martin,' his mother replied, ‘every day at school counts.'

‘But Mom,' Martin pleaded, ‘it's the last day of the week. What I want to do is stroll into school on Monday morning victorious. My team, I mean our team, will be known as the champions. Let me stay with you, please, best mom in the world.'

His mother stepped towards him and held him in a long, warm hug. ‘OK, but you'll have to earn your keep.'

In the event, Martin spent all of that day sitting in front of the television with his mother watching Australian soaps.

Martin knew that after school that day there was to
be a final training session. Watching the clock carefully, he let enough time pass so that most of the pupils would have left school and he then made his way to the session. Walking the streets again made him realise how much he disliked staying indoors but now he hadn't time for sight seeing or neighbourhood watching. He walked into the school playground and went straight to the gymnasium.

He entered to find the whole squad was gathered tightly around Mr Hewitt receiving words of wisdom. When they saw Martin, everyone had something to say.

‘We thought you had gone to another team.' ‘Aren't we good enough for you?' ‘What are you doing tomorrow, mate?' ‘Would you like to be our captain, mate?'

Mr Hewitt got right to the point. ‘Right, we don't have much time. Warm up, Martin. We'll go through the exercises and when we've done the compulsory stuff, you can do your freestyle routine in your own time.'

The practice session was a good one. It didn't take Martin long to get back into the swing of things and it didn't take him long to realise how much he meant to the team. No one made any serious comments about the days he had missed. Everyone's concern was getting prepared for the next day. At the end of the
session, Mr Hewitt gave all the team members brand new full leotards, sky blue with a large white
E
logo on the back.

‘I had to fight hard for these. Look after them, they cost half of the school's annual budget!'

Just before they dispersed to the changing rooms, Martin felt a speech coming on. ‘I've got something to say,' he announced. ‘I'm sorry for missing this week's training and thanks for bearing with me.' The speech was a good idea but as soon as he started he was lost for words. ‘Well, I just wanna say that tomorrow … we can do it, that's all I gotta say!'

Saturday morning was bright and crisp. The fields at the leisure centre had a light covering of mist on them but the packed gymnasium was hot. All the teams lined up whilst the Lady Mayor pronounced the games open. As Martin stood in line, he looked around for familiar faces. His parents sat with his school supporters but he couldn't see anyone else he knew. There were over four hundred spectators and he found that when he looked too hard, all the faces blended into each other. It was the first time for a long time that he had been in the company of so many people.

His heart raced, then he heard his name being shouted from amongst the crowd.

‘Martin, look this way!'

He looked but couldn't see anyone.

‘Martin, over here!'

He continued to look until his eye was caught by Marica and Teen wearing their
I love Jamaica
T-shirts. Next to them was Naz in a West Ham tracksuit. They were jumping up to get noticed and making joyful noises. In spite of his nervousness, he couldn't help laughing and he waved back.

Soon a voice boomed through the loud speaker system telling the crowd to settle down, and the games began. There were five judges, who had to judge the contestants on a rating of one to ten for each discipline. They were to assess each competitor's poise, balance, co-ordination, elegance, confidence in execution and correctness. At the end of the competition the points would be totalled.

The first competitors to compete were the tram-polinists. There were two from each school team and Martin was one of those representing Eastmorelands. As he walked out to the trampoline, he became very conscious of his face. He knew that every person in the hall was looking at him. He was tempted to look around to see their expressions. Were they looking at a gymnast or a face? He was nervous but he tried not to show it. He would not give into temptation. He just stared straight ahead in order not to lose his concentration. He knew that this was a big test of his confidence.

When his name was announced, there was a roar of support for him. He could hear his mother encouraging him with shouts of, ‘Go on, Martin, you can do it' and his father with, ‘You're all right, son.' It all helped to calm him which in turn helped him to focus on his gymnastics. He was happy with his display which consisted of seat drops, knee drops, swivel hips and front drops, followed by a fine display of somersaults. He then watched other members of the team competing on the vaulting horse, the parallel bars, the rings and the asymmetric bars.

Then it was Martin's turn on the beam, where he did a series of balance exercises.

Just before Martin began his floor exercises, he heard a voice from behind him.

‘Be cool and deadly, fly guy.'

He knew it was Anthony but he did not want to break his concentration, so he just looked straight ahead and began his routine. He took a couple of steps and did a turning jump. As he landed he did two hand springs and went into a front tucked somersault. He then did two cartwheels and an Arab spring followed by four perfect flick-flacks. As he reached the opposite corner of the mat and changed his direction, the crowd applauded. He did two head springs, a forward roll, and another Arab spring, followed by four more flick-flacks, ending on a superb back somersault, which commanded more applause from the crowd.
He saw the rest of the team punching the air with their fists and he knew he had done well.

As he walked back to the team's bench, he looked back to see Anthony. He was standing in the crowd being very loud. He pointed to Martin and shouted loudly, ‘You see that man there? He is the man, he is the brother.' The Jamaican sistas shouted their approval and there were laughs throughout the gymnasium.

The main part of the competition was over. All that was left was the freestyle section.

Martin was certain that freestyle was his team's strongest point. The standard routines had to be executed according to rules laid down years ago but freestyle meant freedom. There were no precise rules to follow. All the judges needed to see was an inspired performance.

Eastmorelands were the last to perform which was the way Martin liked it. He watched the seven other schools do performances which were close to ballet, or performances with classical music. Then it was the turn of Eastmorelands. All eighteen members stood around the floor mat. First there was silence. Then it came. It was a mighty, hip-hop beat that shook the gym. Eight of the team, including Martin, took to the floor, dancing as they walked to the centre of the mat. When they got to a central point they simultaneously somersaulted backwards in time to the beat. They did
some synchronised moonwalking before splitting off into pairs. Then came some fancy partner work: one partner threw the other under their legs, then over their shoulder. This was followed by cartwheels that took them out to the edge of the mat where the other eight, who had been hitchhiker dancing, took over. Martin and the other seven watched as their team members on the mat bodypopped like robots, hopped like Russian Cossack dancers and kicked the air like kung-fu fighters. Then Martin and the others joined them on the mat for the last section. The people in the house began to clap, their bodies swaying to the beat, and even above all the noise, Martin could still hear Anthony's comical commentary.

The performance finished with the team doing a series of somersaults around the edge of the floor mat. As they did so, Martin broke away and went to the centre. Finally the team pirouetted towards him, dropping at his feet into full splits on the beat of a big bass drum. The spectators loved it and leapt to their feet. Martin's parents stood proud, the Jamaican sistas were still dancing although the music had stopped and Anthony was informing everyone around him that he and Martin were good friends.

Through the loudspeaker a voice again demanded order and the spectators gradually quietened. All was silent as the five judges whispered to each other and wrote things down on the pieces of paper that they
shuffled between them. None of the judges looked a day under fifty.

When the sports centre manager stepped into the centre of the gym carrying a microphone, everyone knew it was results time. He announced the marks given for each discipline and as he did so the scores appeared on digital displays above the spectators. Everyone struggled to calculate the overall winner.

Then the manager announced, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. I want to take this opportunity to thank all eight schools for taking part in this competition and I am now pleased to announce the winners of the first Newham's Gymnastics Winter Friendlies. In third place we have Eastmorelands.'