The Sound of Drums
A story perfect for 12-16 years. #Friendship/drama/real life/England
The full Sound of Drums book with all classroom material, audiobook, videos and more. This book was first published in the USA and published in 2024 by Liber AB in Sweden.
This story is about finding out who you really are. It’s about parents, school, wild horses, loneliness, trying to fit in, and, of course, a little bit of wonder. It’s set on the English moors and explores how one boy finds out how to be truly, truly free. I think you can do it in one class with advanced students or spread it out over two or three with some reading for homework. And, as always, you’ll find quizzes, videos from the author, discussions and other lovely classroom stuff - so you’ve got zero teaching prep time.
Again, studies show it’s always good to read the print-published version which you can buy from Liber in Sweden or on Amazon for the UK, USA etc. You will find all your classroom prep and quizzes and videos plus a song here.
Do you know what it’s like to be free?
I don’t mean holiday-free or staying up late – I mean really free. When you feel that you can do anything you want – be anything you want. The kind of free that gets in your head and then stays there like the best drum solo ever. Well, I didn’t. But I do now. And I’m never looking back.
Chapter 1
So, I was sitting on the train bored out of my skull, when in walks this girl. She sits opposite me and gets out a book. I mean a real book with paper and a cover picture. The book had two people kissing on the cover – so she wasn’t someone I’d normally talk to. But Mum and Dad had taken my phone and iPad so I had nothing to do.
‘Alright?’ I said.
‘Yeah,’ she said and went back to reading.
‘Good book?’ I said.
‘Mmm,’ she said, not looking up.
Rude, I thought and carried on looking out of the window. Good-looking girls often think they’re too good to talk to you. I drummed with my hands on my legs. Pat-tat-tat-tat-pa-tat-tat-tat.
It had been three hours since I’d left London. And for the last two hours, all I’d seen were fields and boring little villages.
‘Nice isn’t it?’ she said. She was looking at me. Her eyes were a yellowy brown.
‘What?’ I said. ‘The book?’
‘No, the view. The countryside. I love it.’
‘Oh yeah,’ I said. ‘It’s great.’
‘You don’t sound like you mean it,’ she said. She was smiling like she knew a good joke.
‘Well, it’s all right I guess. But people must go nuts living out here. I mean, what is there to do?’
‘So, I’m thinking you’re a city boy.’
‘Good guess.’
‘Me too. I’m out here visiting friends. I come every year. What’s your excuse?’
‘It was my parents’ idea. They thought that me spending three weeks with my weird gran in the countryside would be good for me. You know, help me focus or whatever.’
She smiled again. ‘They may be right.’
I snorted. ‘Yeah, right. Three weeks of cows and sheep. Three weeks of no computer and no movies. Three weeks talking about jam and biscuits! I’m going to go crazy!’
‘Where does she live?’
‘Who?’
‘The jam and biscuits woman. Your gran.’
‘Out in the middle of nowhere. Somewhere on Exmoor.’
She laughed. She had a nice laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’ I asked.
‘You’re right. That is the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing there. Just miles of countryside. No shops. Nothing.’
‘Great,’ I said. ‘Thanks for cheering me up.’
‘You might like it. It’s really quiet.’
‘Quiet? I hate quiet! I like music. I’m a musician.’
‘Oh yeah? What sort?’
Well, I couldn’t tell her that I didn’t actually play music. Not yet anyway. I’m going to be a drummer in a band when I’m older. But now, the closest I’ve ever come is asking Mum and Dad for a drum kit on my next birthday. But I wasn’t going to tell her that.
‘Oh, you know. All sorts. I drum.’
‘Cool,’ she said.
‘Yeah,’ I said and looked out the window again with an expression on my face that said, dangerous drummer – totally cool. I drummed out another rhythm on my legs. Pat-tat-tat-tat-pa-tat-tat-tat. Tat Tat!
‘You sound good,’ she said.
‘Yeah, well, I practice a lot.’
Now that was true. Not on drums of course – I don’t have any – but anything else I can get my hands on. In fact, that’s what got me on this train to nowhere in the first place. The problem is that everything else is completely boring. Except drumming. I’ll be sitting in class listening to the teacher drone on about how much rain there is in Norway or what fish do in their spare time and my hands will start wanting to drum. Pat-tat-tat-tat-pa-tat-tat-tat. On my desk. On my school books. Even on the back of the kid sitting in front of me. Of course, teachers don’t see the creative side of it. They don’t see the world’s next greatest drummer. They just see me not listening. And when teachers see that, they want to talk to my parents. And when my parents hear the negative stuff teachers say about me not concentrating, they think it’s a good idea to completely ruin my summer holidays by sending me somewhere peaceful!
The girl was still looking at me. ‘I’d love to hear you play sometime. Here’s my email.’
She tore off a bit of page from her book. She scribbled on it. She leant over – holding it out to me. I took it. My hand touched hers. Her face went red.
‘This is my stop,’ she said. ‘I’m Emma. Email me.’
The train was slowing down. The girl stood up and started to walk away.
‘Hey! I don’t think my gran’s got email!’ I called after her.
‘When you get back to London then. Maybe we can meet up,’ she called back and got off the train.
She smiled and waved as the train pulled away.
I waved back and tried not to smile too much. Dangerous drummers don’t smile.
Chapter 2
For the next hour, I thought about Emma. There wasn’t much else to think about. The countryside got more and more boring. No houses, no towns and no roads. Just fields and trees and fields and trees. When my hands weren’t drumming on my legs they were holding Emma’s email address. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not ugly or anything – but I’m nothing special either. Girls don’t normally ask me to email them. To be honest, girls don’t normally talk to me.
And then the train slowed down again. Signs drifted past. Exmoor. I had arrived.
Only one or two people got off the train. I got off last.
‘Yooo hoooo!’
I looked at the old woman running towards me. She was wearing a mental long orange coat and bright pink Wellington boots. Her hair was purple and all over the place. For an old woman, she moved fast.
‘Yooo hoooo! Is that my little rabbit?’
Rabbit. That’s what she used to call me. Fortunately, there was only one or two other people on the platform. I hadn’t seen my gran for ten years – not since I was four. I tried to smile.
‘It is my little Jason! And you haven’t changed a bit!’ She opened her arms wide and grabbed me. She smelt funny.
‘I’m fourteen now, Gran,’ I said with as much dignity as I could. I tried to push her away. She held on tight.
‘So you are. So you are. Well, I won’t call you rabbit anymore.’
‘Thank you,’ I said in my politest voice.
‘But still the grumpy little boy with a frown on his face. Just the same as I remember you!’
I was getting annoyed. ‘Yeah, well you’ve changed a lot. You look way older.’
She held me at arm’s length and looked at me. Too rude, I thought. Now I’m in trouble. But she just laughed.
‘An honest boy I see. Maybe there’s hope for you yet!’
I didn’t ask what she meant by that.
‘Do you want help with your bag?’ she asked. I shook my head and picked up the bag. I wasn’t going to let someone a thousand years old carry my stuff for me.
‘Ok, keep up,’ she said and marched off. She really could move fast for an old lady.
Her car was parked on the road in front of the station. OK, I call it a car, but it was more like a wreck – some kind of jeep from World War II by the look of it. And I call it a road, but really it was just a load of mud spread about a bit.
‘In you get,’ she said taking my bag from me and chucking it in the back.
And then she started driving. Again, I call it driving, but it was more like a battle to keep the jeep from rolling over. I mean, I’m fourteen, I’m a guy, I’ve done stupid things like ride my bike down hills with no brakes and pick fights with kids twice my size, but riding in that broken-down jeep with my Formula 1 Gran was probably the most scared I’d ever been. She was like an insane witch flying home on a broomstick to find cats to kill or something. The jeep was all over the road. Skidding and sliding – mud spattering the windows. But she didn’t seem to notice. She just stared ahead with her eyes kind of crazy and wide, whistling to herself between her teeth. She must have noticed I wasn’t happy when she looked at my hands which were gripping the dashboard until my knuckles were white.
‘Not used to country driving I see,’ she laughed.
‘Not used to getting killed in a car crash either,’ I muttered. But she just laughed. She did slow up a bit though.
We didn’t speak after that. She just kept whistling through her teeth. It started to drive me nuts.
‘How about some music, Gran?’ I asked in my most relaxed voice.
She looked at me. To be honest, I wished she’d just kept her eyes on the road.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Your mum did tell me you weren’t allowed any of your music this holiday.’
‘Yeah,’ I answered. ‘Apparently, I spend too much time listening to music and not enough time …’ I did my best Mum voice ‘… concentrating on important things like school work.’
Gran laughed again. That surprised me. Grown-ups tend to stick together.
‘You sound just like her when you do that.’ She grinned at me. And I noticed she only had two teeth to whistle through.
Chapter 3
One hour of driving across empty land and we arrived at Gran’s house. Ok, so I call it a house, but really, ‘house’ is definitely the wrong word. Gran said that it was built by her great-grandfather (my great, great, great grandfather!) over a hundred and fifty years ago. And then her family (my family) had lived there ever since. Each time the new generation moved in they added bits. So the original farmhouse was now joined by lots of other bits and pieces. Old outdoor toilets, broken down sheds and greenhouses with cracked glass.
The overall effect was like an overactive kid had made it with bits of Lego and then finished it off with junk they’d found on the beach. And then after that, the plants had moved in and taken over everything. Old creepers grew up the grey blocks of stone and green moss covered the wooden beams. Spiders’ webs were strung across the windows like broken Christmas lights and piles of dead flies acted as doormats. Definitely a dump. A cool dump, but still a dump.
But the freakiest thing of all, was where it was. Or rather, where it wasn’t. Nothing. I mean, nothing. Trees and grass and moss and rocks. Forever. Like someone had started to make the countryside and then got bored after rocks. Miles of flat, brown-green emptiness with the wind blowing over it like a wet sneeze. And even though it was August, it was cold.
It was so cold, that even though Gran’s place looked like someone had dropped it from a very high mountain, I was happy when we went inside.
Inside. How to describe the inside of Gran’s house? Imagine the messiest kid’s bedroom you’ve ever seen. I don’t just mean messy, I mean a kid who finds old pizza under his dirty socks three months after he’d thought he’d eaten it. Then, combine that with a museum – not a cool museum with dinosaurs and interactive games – I mean the sort of museum you find in little villages that exhibit an old bit of wood a dead farmer found under a stone in 1912. Do you get the picture? There was stuff everywhere! Old mugs, dusty paintings, shirts, plates with half-eaten sandwiches, stuffed cats! At least I thought it was stuffed. It was large and black and sitting on one of two armchairs in front of an open fireplace. When I walked over to clear myself a space it opened one big yellow eye and then spat at me.
‘Jacky boy!’ said Gran trotting over. ‘Be nice to our guest.’
But Jacky boy was having none of it. He stood up, arched his back and hissed at me like I was the devil. Gran just picked him up and threw him over her shoulder like he was a sack of coal (actually, he was about the size of a sack of coal).
‘Don’t worry about him. He’s just a bit strange,’ she said.
‘It’s not him I’m worried about,’ I said as coolly as I could and snorted through my nose a bit.
Gran stopped and turned. ‘I wasn’t talking to you Jason. I was talking to Jack.’ She blinked at me and then disappeared through a door with her sack of coal cat.
I sat down in one of the armchairs and breathed out slowly. This was going to be a long, long three weeks.
Chapter 4
I sat in the chair and watched Gran make up the fire. Living in a flat in London, I’ve never seen anyone make a fire before. Gran showed me how to use the little sticks (kindling she called them) to make a pyramid around a ball of paper and then gently put more shredded paper near the bottom of the sticks. Then, when the fire got going, she put on bigger bits of wood, until soon, the whole thing was dancing and spitting. It felt fantastic. My face and front were red and hot but the back of my head was cold. While I watched the fire, Gran made us some food. Tomato soup with lots of strong chili and garlic in it.
‘Can’t you buy meat out here?’ I asked cheekily.
‘I can,’ she answered putting more wood on the fire, ‘but I don’t eat meat. I don’t think it’s right.’
Now that annoyed me. I’ve always loved meat and some crazy old woman was not going to tell me what’s right or not.
‘But eating meat’s natural,’ I said. ‘It’s how we evolved.’
‘Speak for yourself,’ she said in a tone that implied she didn’t think much of my personal evolution.
‘But it is!’ I was really annoyed now. ‘It is natural to eat meat! Look at lions and dogs and loads of animals. We evolved from animals so it’s natural we eat meat.’
Gran sighed. ‘Oh do shut up Jason and eat your soup.’
I wasn’t having that. ‘What about your cat? He eats meat, doesn’t he? So you can’t say it’s wrong! It’s hypocritical!’ I was proud of using that word right. Probably one of the only things I ever learnt at school.
Gran looked at me like I was stupid. ‘I’m not a cat. I’m a nasty old lady. Now shut up and eat your soup before I pour it all over your pompous little head!’
No grown-up has ever talked to me like that. So I shut up. I ate my soup. It was actually really good.
We didn’t talk much after that. I didn’t want to be the one to start speaking, not after she’d been so rude to me. And she didn’t seem like she was bothered. In fact, when she finished her soup she just sort of sat back and closed her eyes. It was only when the soup bowl slid off her lap and made a mess on the floor and she started snoring that I realized she was asleep. Carefully, so as not to wake her, I picked up her bowl and went to find the kitchen. I wish I hadn’t.
What a mess! The sink was so full of plates and cups you couldn’t see the bottom. Now, I’m not the most tidy of people, but this was gross. So, I washed up. It took me over an hour. Then, I put stuff away in the cupboards. Then, once stuff was away, I could see that everywhere was really dirty. So, I cleaned.
Another hour later and the whole kitchen looked like it was new. Then I heard Gran behind me. I turned, expecting her to say thanks or something, but she didn’t even notice. She just looked around the kitchen and said, ‘Where’s my chocolate mug?’
‘What?’ I said. I couldn’t believe it!
‘My chocolate mug. I always have a warm chocolate milk drink before I go to bed. With something special in it.’ I saw her look on top of the fridge. There was a half-empty bottle of whisky there.
‘I don’t know,’ I said, sulkily. ‘Maybe I put it away,’ I stared at her meaningfully, ‘with all the other stuff I put away after I had finished cleaning! You know – cleaning! Your kitchen!’
‘Cleaning?’ she said and then turned and walked out. ‘What a waste of time!’
I had to bite my tongue to stop myself saying anything. I followed her out.
‘This is your room,’ she said and opened a cracked wooden door. Now I really was surprised. The room was nice. I mean, really nice. There was a little wooden bed with a snow-white, thick duvet on it. At the end of the bed was a china bowl full of water on a stool. The windows had proper curtains – nothing girly with flowers and butterflies – just plain blue. And, best of all, there were posters on the walls. Posters of some of my favourite bands.
Gran said, ‘Your mum told me about all the bands you’re not allowed to listen to. Well, you can’t listen to them … I promised her that … but at least you can look at them and think of the music.’
How did Gran know where to buy all those cool posters?
‘Thanks Gran,’ I said. I didn’t know what else to say. ‘They’re … really great.’
Gran rubbed my hair with her hand. ‘Now, don’t get all sloppy on me Jason. You’re fourteen, remember? Keep frowning.’ And she walked out, closing the door behind her.
Chapter 5
I couldn’t sleep. I mean, I was tired – I was exhausted, but I couldn’t sleep. I’m used to going to sleep with my music on – and not having anything to listen to was doing my head in. I never realized that silence can be the loudest sound of all. It kind of rushes in your ears like a waterfall or something. So, after about two hours, I decided to go for a walk.
I pulled on my jeans and got a thick jumper out of my bag. Gran was asleep and the fire had died out. There were still orange logs glowing and the room smelt of wood smoke. I closed the front door softly behind me and walked out.
The whole of the outside was totally different - like the surface of Mars. I walked across the mud road and into a field. I walked through the heather and long grass, feeling it smack wetly on my jeans. I kept walking – across one field, into the next. Across that and into the next. The air smelled strange – like melted ice and apple slices. The land changed from fields that looked like someone looked after them to rough land with jagged rocks and dark mosses.
The moon was half full and there were no clouds so I could see quite far in all directions. I came to a big rock that looked like an elephant’s head and a few twisting trees. Just through the trees was a stream running over more little rocks. The water made a sound that didn’t care. I jumped it easily. Then the ground sloped up and at the top of the hill, I had a really good view. I could just make out Gran’s place like a toy house about half a kilometre away.
I sat down on the grass and looked up. The sky was amazing. I’d never seen so many stars. In London the sky’s always a kind of dull orange colour – I guess from all the street lights. But out here I was under a bowl of glittering silver, white and black. And then a bright light shot across from one horizon to the other. A shooting star. A meteorite or bit of space dust caught in the atmosphere. I remembered I was supposed to make a wish. But I couldn’t think of anything I wanted – except maybe a drum kit or to see Emma again. So I wished for both.
I walked down the other side of the slope. In front of me – about fifty metres away – was a tree on its own. And under it was a horse. Her long neck was bent and she was eating at the grasses at the base of the tree. She was much smaller than a racehorse, but she didn’t look like a pony. She was thicker – not fat, but kind of wide with a long shaggy red mane and thick legs.
I walked closer. Maybe I could stroke her – but suddenly her head jerked up and she looked at me with big dangerous eyes. ‘It’s ok, I’m a friend,’ I started to say, but she was off and running. So fast! Her mane flew behind her and then she was gone.
I walked home. I got back into bed about 2.30. And then I fell straight to sleep.
Chapter 6
Gran wasn’t in the house when I got up. I made myself some toast and put the kettle on for a cup of tea. But I couldn’t find any teabags. I couldn’t find any milk or juice either. So I stood in the kitchen holding a piece of dry toast wondering what I was going to do all day.
Gran didn’t even have a TV and I don’t think she knew what a computer was. But then I heard a sound I knew well. Drums. I followed the beat outside. It was coming from one of the extra wooden rooms in the garden. I pushed open the door. Inside Gran was sitting in front of a wheel thing. She was wearing a long white dress and her hair was tied up like a weird purple flower. She was covered in mud.
‘Gran!’ I shouted, but she couldn’t hear me. The music was really loud. And fast. Lots of crashing guitars and fast drums.
‘Gran!’ I yelled again and this time she heard me. She turned and waved me in. She was shaping the mud with her hands. She stood up and walked over to an old turntable and turned the volume down.
‘Welcome to my art studio,’ she said. ‘Have you had breakfast?’
‘Well, I had a bit of toast.’
‘Good. Have you ever done this before?’ she pointed to the pile of mud in front of her on the wheel thing.
‘No,’ I said. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s clay, stupid. You make stuff with it.’
‘Oh yeah, like bowls and cups and things.’
‘Not just that,’ she said. ‘Look.’
She pointed over to some shelves in the corner of the room. On them were figures and statues of cats, dogs, people and horses.
‘You made all these?’ I asked. I picked up a little horse. It was beautiful.
‘No,’ she said. ‘They just appeared there by magic. What do you think?’
I ignored her rudeness. ‘Can I have a go?’
Gran nodded. She pushed some old clothes from a bench and I sat down. She put a lump of clay in front of me.
‘Now, just use your thumbs, like this.’ She pushed her thumbs into the clay. ‘And then stretch it out like this.’
I tried. The clay was wet and slippery.
‘That’s it,’ she said. ‘Now, you mess around with that.’
She turned the music back up.
‘Hey,’ I yelled. ‘Mum and Dad said I couldn’t listen to music this holiday.’
‘No they didn’t.’ she yelled back. ‘They said you couldn’t listen to any of your music. And you’re not. This is my music. Real music. Are you complaining?’
‘No. NO!’ I said quickly. Any music was better than no music. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s punk. What? You don’t know punk!’
‘Of course I do. But not like this.’
‘Well, this is real punk. Old style.’
She sat back down and started making stuff again.
I worked on the clay, trying to make a horse like the one I’d seen last night. But it was too difficult. In the end, I made a kind of blob thing that could have been a head. I put it down and looked around. Gran’s studio was even more of a mess than the house. In one corner was a pile of old clothes bigger than me. But I wasn’t going to sort it out.
Gran came over when she saw I wasn’t doing anything with the clay anymore. She picked up the blob.
‘It’s not very good,’ she said.
‘Thanks!’ I said angrily. ‘It is my first try.’
‘Yeah, but even for a first try this is pretty terrible.’ She held it in her hand like it was the ugliest thing she had ever seen.
‘Whatever! Look, is there anything else I can do around here except mess about with mud like a baby?’
Gran frowned and put her hands on her hips. ‘So, you want grown-up stuff to do. Ok.’ She took me outside and pointed to the roof.
‘The roof needs mending,’ she said. ‘You’ll find some hammers and nails in that box over there and a ladder around the back. Now, I’m going to mess about with mud as you so beautifully put it.’ She turned and stormed off.
So, I got on the roof. It really did need repairing. Almost all the tiles were loose and lots had just fallen off.
I’d never done anything like that before – you know, mend stuff. But, actually it was kind of fun.
I liked being on the roof too. It felt a bit dangerous and from up there I could see a long way. At the back of the house was a little river I hadn’t seen before - quite fast-flowing. I could even see the dark shapes of fish swimming with the current.
Gran’s punk music was loud enough so I could hear it from the roof. The drums were great and I banged in the nails in time to the beat. Pat-tat-tat-tat-pa-tat-tat-tat. Tat Tat! The sun was hot so I took my shirt off. And there I was, for hours, banging in nails to punk drums and whistling along to the fast songs I didn’t know.
I guess I lost track of time because suddenly Gran was yelling at me from the garden.
‘Come on down! You’ve been up there all day! Aren’t you hungry?’
I realized I was.
Chapter 7
This time, I made the fire while Gran made dinner. Then we sat and ate in silence watching the flames. Before Gran could have her after-dinner sleep I asked her about the animals that lived on the moors.
‘Well, we have foxes and deer and all kinds of birds.’
‘Yeah, but what about wild horses?’
Gran looked at me in a funny way I couldn’t work out. She thought for a moment.
‘Some people do think we still have wild horses here. But that’s just stories. Of course, there used to be horses here – before the people moved in and ruined everything. Those horses were from an ancient tribe of horses – actually they were the original wild European horses. But people captured them and tamed them; making them into pets and selling them for money. I don’t know – sometimes I really don’t like people.’ She stroked Jack who was sitting as normal on her lap. Jack opened one eye and hissed at me again. ‘You know where you are with animals. They don’t lie and they don’t cheat. They just are and they aren’t. Separate and part of everything all at the same time.’
I didn’t really understand what she was talking about. But I didn’t say any more. I didn’t want to tell her I’d been out for a night walk. She might get angry.
‘So, how about a game of cards?’ she asked and pulled a pack from one of her many pockets. She picked up our plates and just put them on the floor. Jacky Boy jumped down and started to lick them clean. I shivered.
Gran ignored me. ‘What can you play?’ she asked.
‘Nothing really. I mean I played snap when I was little, but I only really play proper games now. You know, on the computer.’
‘Pah!’ said Gran and I thought she was going to spit at me like her horrible cat. But she didn’t. ‘Well, I don’t have any of those machines here.’ She said the word ‘machines’ like other people say ‘bad breath’.
I sighed. I’d kind of figured that out.
‘So, do you want to learn?’ she continued brightly.
Why not? I thought. Nothing else to do.
So Gran showed me how to play an old English game called cribbage. It was hard to learn, but once I got the hang of it I enjoyed myself. She beat me of course.
When the fire started to die down, Gran sent me outside to get some wood from the woodshed. I put lots of logs into a big basket and carried it back inside.
Gran was standing by another record player that I hadn’t seen before. I guess it was covered in stuff. She was holding a record.
‘How about some more music?’
I nodded and she switched it on. Immediately the house was full of drums and guitar. Loud and fast. Gran started punching her fists in the air.
‘What are you doing?’ I said.
‘Haven’t you seen dancing before?’
‘Yeah, of course. But that looks like you want to beat someone up. Not dance.’
Gran laughed. And suddenly she looked different. ‘This is how you dance to punk music. It’s called wrecking. When I was younger and went to see bands play, we’d all get to the front of the room right by the stage and then we’d dance like this.’
She grabbed my hands and started jumping up and down. I was worried she was going to have a heart attack. Then she punched me! Right on the arm. I mean, not really hard, but hard enough. Her arms were punching out all over the place and she was jumping up and down. I laughed. She really was crazy.
So I started jumping too and punching my hands out in time to the drumbeats. I reckon if anyone had been looking in the window from outside they would have thought we were both totally insane. A fourteen-year-old boy and a million-year-old woman jumping up and down to loud music, punching each other and the air. When the song finished Gran fell back into her chair, still laughing. I carried on dancing as the next song came on. Spinning round and round and punching the air as hard as I could.
‘Go Jason!’ yelled Gran and she was smiling really wide. So I jumped even higher and then pretended to be playing guitar. Gran loved that and started giggling so hard her eyes watered. Jacky Boy just watched me with his big yellow eyes like I was an interesting mouse he’d like to get to know better.
The next song Gran got up and danced again. The music was so loud that the pots and things on shelves were bouncing up and down as well. I hadn’t realized old people’s music could be so good! It went on like that. We’d dance together for a song, then Gran would have a break in her chair and watch me jumping and spinning around. Then she would dance with me on the next one. Finally, the record finished. I fell into my chair. I was covered in sweat. I felt great!
‘Phew!’ said Gran wiping her forehead. ‘I haven’t danced like that in years!’
‘Oh come off it I said. You’re like a pro!’
She smiled. ‘Well, I had a lot of practice when I was younger. Lots of concerts! Lots of great bands!’
‘Tell me about it,’ I said. And I wasn’t being polite. I really wanted to hear.
So she did. She told me of bands I’d never heard of with mental names like ‘Stiff Little Fingers’, ‘The Clash’ and ‘Peter and the Test Tube Babies’. She talked about the parties and dressing up with black makeup and staying out all night. She showed me photos of her when she was younger – dressed in green short skirts and black stockings. Her hair bright red and sometimes green.
She laughed at one photo of her dressed in a big old yellow jumper with loads of holes in it. Her hair was spiky and orange. ‘Look at me there!’ she said. ‘What did I look like with all that orange hair? What a kid!’
‘Yeah right,’ I said, ‘and purple hair is way more grown up!’
She laughed again and then pinched my cheek – really hard! ‘You do say the sweetest things Jason.’
Then we played some more cards and drank hot chocolate. By the time I went to bed, it was past midnight. I fell straight asleep.
***
The next day I tried to make another clay horse. It was slightly better but still rubbish. Gran told me I had as much artistic talent as a dead chicken. But she said if I practised, maybe there was hope. Not much, but a glimmer – whatever a glimmer is. I would have given up – but when I looked at her stuff, I really wanted to get good. The sculptures she made were amazing.
Gran also showed me loads of other house jobs that needed doing. Repairs on the windows, painting the walls – all sorts of stuff. But I didn’t mind. It kept me busy. Strangely enough, Jacky Boy kept me company. He started following me around and sitting close by when I was doing something.
That evening as we sat in front of the fire playing cribbage, Gran whistling along to some punk, I decided to ask her about the horse again. I lied a bit – and told her I thought I’d seen one from the roof.
She gave me another of her weird looks.
‘Well, that’s really odd,’ she said. ‘I told you, some local people believe that wild horses do still live here. They also say that if you can touch one you’ll be lucky forever.’
I decided then to go for another night walk and see if I could see my horse again.
When I went to bed, Gran had left an old apple on my pillow. Yuck! I hate apples! And it was brown and a bit mouldy. Why was Gran trying to feed me mouldy apples? But I was getting used to Gran’s strange ways now. Anyway, I thought, maybe the horse will like it. So, I put it in my pocket.
I waited for an hour or so until I was sure Gran was asleep and snuck out of the house again. It was raining slightly and I was soon cold. But when I got to the hill and looked down the horse was there. I pulled the apple out of my pocket and walked ever so quietly towards her. Again, her head jerked up and she ran away. I left the apple at the bottom of the tree and walked back. I was wet and cold. But I was determined to try again. I wanted my lifetime of luck.
***
The days turned into a week and the week turned into two weeks. Each day was pretty much the same as the one before. I’d get up, have some toast and go and join Gran in her ‘studio’. Gran played punk music and made beautiful statues and I tried to make lumps of clay look like something other than a lump of clay. I guess I got better, because Gran started to know what they were. She’d say things like, ‘Well, it could be a dog or maybe a cat.’ Or, ‘Is it a fish or a balloon?’
In the afternoons I did jobs around the house with Jack following me. My favourite job was still fixing the roof tiles. Jack would sit on the roof as well in the sun and watch me work. He seemed to enjoy that – lazy sack of coal! My hands got sore and then the skin hardened.
And when I was bored of jobs I went for walks on the moors. Soon, I got to know the land. The rocks, hills, trees and rivers. I could walk for hours, just thinking about nothing and everything. I’ve never been on my own before, you know, not like walking to the shops on your own or something, but for hours at a time. I got used to it. I started to like it. Your thoughts kind of go where they want. You’re not thinking about what other people are saying or what you look like, just sort of – thinking. Weird, but good.
In the evenings, Gran and me would dance to some punk and play cards in front of the fire. We’d also talk about stuff – nothing important – stuff like school and who my friends were and what girls I liked and what enemies I had. Gran asked me about my drumming and I showed her how I drummed on my legs. She liked that. I taught her how to do some basic rhythms – she was pretty good. But I told her she was rubbish anyway – revenge for her comments on my statues.
And we’d talk about her and what she’d done when she was younger. I found out that once a year she took her sculptures to an art shop in a nearby town and sold them to a gallery. It didn’t earn her a lot of money, she said, but enough to live how she wanted.
And in the nights, I always went for my walks to try and touch the horse. I even named her – Stella. Stella is a drummer with one of my favourite bands – Warpaint. She plays the drums like nobody else and she has dangerous eyes – just like my wild horse.
Gran always left me a mouldy apple or two on my pillow and I always took it out to try and feed Stella. Sometimes she was there, sometimes not. But always, the next night I went, any apples I’d left at the base of the tree were gone. But I didn’t get to touch her. Whenever I got close, she would run fast. But I was getting closer. Each time it happened, I got another metre or so.
After two weeks, I could get close enough to smell her; a wild scent of grass and wind. Stella’s tail was black and her belly was a white-orange colour. Her eyes were a yellowy brown that made me think of Emma and her mane was as red as Gran’s clay. I just knew that if I could touch her I would be lucky.
To tell you the truth, I couldn’t believe it. I was enjoying myself. Being outside all the time and walking so much, I’d got a really good tan. I’d also hardened up my muscles quite a lot – I guess it was doing all the jobs for Gran. I spent a lot of time on the roof, hammering in nails to punk drums and just sort of looking around.
My favourite thing to look at was the little river. In the bright midday light, little dancing flashes bounced off the water. I remembered something from school – from Physics when we did a class on light. The teacher said the light we see outside has come all the way from the sun – millions of miles away. And the sun was just a star like billions of others. And all the light was made up of tiny bits called photons. When I saw something, I could only see it because the photons went into my eye. My eye and nobody else’s. So when I looked at the little flashes of sunlight on the water, what was actually happening was this: a photon left the sun and then travelled across space for years before it bounced on the water and then flew into my eye. That’s what I was seeing! Little pieces of the sun that lived only to go into my eye – into my mind! Problem is, the way they teach physics at school you hardly ever learn about the cool things like that. But if you think about it, it’s amazing. All these billions of star pieces flying into your eye – showing you shapes and colours.
Yeah, it was good. I liked the days and my night walks. The only bad day was when I lost Emma’s email address. All holiday, I had imagined emailing her when I got back to London and maybe asking her out for a coffee or something. But then one day, when I was on the roof, I pulled some nails out of my pocket to hammer into a tile. I had forgotten the paper was in there too, so it fell out and was carried away by the wind. I could only stand and watch it fly higher and higher. Until I lost sight of it.
I walked around for ages later, but I couldn’t find it. Gran noticed I was sad that evening and made us a special pizza to try and cheer me up. The food didn’t do it, but when she put on my favourite record and started doing her crazy dancing I soon started smiling.
And then, too soon, it was nearly time to go home.
Chapter 8
I told you at the beginning how I’d found freedom. And I had. Walking on the moors, sitting on the roof and dancing like it was the end of the world had changed me. I found that I liked my own company. But then something happened that last night that totally changed me.
I waited until one a.m. like normal. I was determined that this night I would touch Stella. I would get my luck. So I shoved the mouldy apples in my pocket and snuck out.
The moon was full – really bright – and the moors were quiet and still.
As I walked to the hill I passed a fox with her cubs playing around her. I’d seen her before and she knew me enough to not run away in fear. I hoped that tonight Stella would feel the same. But when I got to the top of the hill and looked down, she wasn’t there. I couldn’t believe it! My last night and nothing.
I walked over to the tree anyway and sat down. I took the apples out and put them on the grass. At least I could leave her a goodbye present. All around me the white moonlight made everything look silver and grey. And then I heard a noise. It was Stella and she was coming towards me. She hadn’t seen me yet – I was sat so still in the tree’s shadow. She got closer. And then again, her head jerked up. She’d seen me!
I sat totally still, like one of Gran’s statues. She came closer. I risked picking up an apple. I think Stella smelt it because her nostrils flared a bit. And then she took another step forward and another. Now she was so close if I reached out I could touch her nose. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to scare her away. I held the apple out on the flat of my palm. She came another step closer and then bent her neck and pushed her nose into my hand. Her nose was wet and warm. I could feel her lips and the blunt parts of her teeth as she bit into the apple. The apple crunched in her mouth. I’d done it! I’d touched Stella! Or maybe Stella had touched me.
And then she just stood there and made a whinnying noise. I stood up but she didn’t run. In fact she pushed at me with her nose. I picked up the other apple – she ate it hungrily – her yellow-brown eyes looking at me. I ran my hand down her side. Her hair was rough. She butted her big head into me, nearly knocking me over. It was like she wanted something. I held out both my empty hands ‘No more apples’ I said. ‘Not tonight.’
And Stella made that noise again – like a mixture of a snort and a whinny.
And then, I don’t know how, but I was on her back. I must have jumped or pulled myself on. I don’t know what I was thinking, or maybe I wasn’t thinking at all. It was like someone else was moving my arms and legs. And she was walking away from the tree. She didn’t freak out and try and kick me off. In fact, I think I was much more freaked out than she was. I’ve never been on a horse or even a donkey at the beach. And now, here I was, riding a wild animal on the moors. She started to walk faster as though trying to give me time to get used to it. I held on to her mane and gripped her body with my ankles and legs. And then she was running. I was bumping up and down like crazy but I found if I relaxed it was easier. The ground was speeding by underneath her feet.
She came to a little river and didn’t even slow down. She jumped through the air and landed with a bump on the other side. I wasn’t ready for it. I felt myself fly forward. I somersaulted over her head. Everything went upside down and then I hit the ground. Thump!
I don’t know how long I lay there. Maybe a minute. Maybe three. I remember thinking that I had no idea where I was. Stella had taken me much further into the moor than I had been. I wasn’t sure I knew how to get back to Gran’s place. I kept my eyes closed until a wet horse’s nose pushed into my hair. Stella hadn’t left me. She’d come back for me and she wanted me to ride her again!
I got up. She pushed me with her nose. And with a jump, I was back on. We rode further. Past trees and streams. The moon bright around me. It was like a dream. The night everywhere and the steady strong rhythm of Stella’s hooves hitting the ground.
And then I heard it. The sound of drums! For a moment I thought that we had gone in a circle and I was back at Gran’s place and she’d put on some punk to welcome me back – but we weren’t. From out of the darkness came one, two, three and then many wild horses. Their feet pounding the earth ... the fastest and most exciting drums of all. We were running together. All around me was the sound of the wild horses breathing, of the wild horses running. And I was part of them. I felt then that I was half horse and half me. The speed and the wind in my hair. The smells, the drums, the movement. It was music and it filled me up.
As we ran over a hill I saw the sea. We were running straight towards it. Where were we? I knew the sea was about twenty kilometres from Gran’s place – but even though I knew I was lost and even though it looked like I was about to be thrown into the waves, I didn’t care. As we got close to the sea all of the wild horses turned in one movement – like a shoal of fish – fluid and graceful – and we were running alongside the water’s edge. Stella’s feet were in the water and I got splashed again and again – the salt water stinging my eyes.
The sound of the waves smashing on the rocks and the sounds of the wild horses’ hooves became like one song. It was like the whole of the night was playing me music – powerful drums and complex rhythms. I was separate from it but I was part of it. And then we turned inland again and one after the other, horses peeled away into the night. And soon it was just me and Stella running together.
And then, it was over. I recognized the tree where I left the apples and Stella stopped. Panting. I climbed down. I reached out a hand to pat her – to try and say thank you, but she bared her teeth and looked like she was going bite me. Why she would try and bite me when we’d just ridden so far together I don’t know. But she was wild and wild animals have their own rules. She ran off.
***
At home, I lay in bed. My heart was still pounding. I closed my eyes to sleep, but all I could see were the horses around me. Jacky boy came in and lay on my chest. He fell asleep and his soft snores calmed me down. And when I did sleep, I ran with the horses all night.
Chapter 9
The first thing I thought when I woke up was that it had all just been a weird dream. But when I tried to move I realized it wasn’t. I hurt everywhere. My legs were sore, my arms felt like someone had pulled them off and my back hurt from when Stella had jumped over the river and I had fallen. But I couldn’t stop smiling. I hadn’t just touched her, I had ridden with her herd. Surely that meant I was going to be the luckiest boy alive.
I was still smiling when I found Gran in her studio.
‘Hello?’ she said, looking at me. ‘You look different this morning. Happy to be going home?’
My smile fell a bit. I’d forgotten. ‘No, no, I really love it here. You know that.’
‘Ok, so it’s not going home. What is it then I wonder?’
I decided to tell her. ‘Gran, last night the most amazing thing happened. I’ve been going out to try and see the wild horses, but last night I …’
‘Shhh!’ she said. She looked angry.
‘What? What’s wrong?’
‘There are some things you don’t talk about. It spoils luck.’
‘Yeah, whatever, but Gran, last night I …’
‘I said shut up! What’s wrong with you? Are you deaf? Do you want to ruin any good luck you might have?’
I guess I looked annoyed because she laughed.
‘Anyway, I like a mystery and you smiling so widely is a mystery. Let’s just leave it like that shall we?’
I nodded.
Gran seemed satisfied. ‘Now, you’ve got three hours before your train. Look, I’ve made you a packed lunch.’
She picked up a plastic bag. Inside were some sandwiches, a bar of chocolate and an apple. Gran tutted to herself and pulled out the apple. She threw it into a corner. ‘I forgot, your mum told me you don’t like apples.’
I looked at her. ‘But you’ve left an apple on my pillow every night! If you knew I didn’t like apples then why would you …?’
Gran winked at me. ‘I suppose we all have our mysteries.’
And then I understood. The apples weren’t for me. Gran knew. She’d always known.
‘Now, before you go up on the roof and finish your work, there’s something I want to show you. One of my mysteries if you like.’
She walked over to the corner in her studio with the huge pile of clothes and started pulling them away. Pants, shirts and skirts flew around her. Underneath was a sculpture – but this wasn’t like her other ones. It was much bigger. It was a sculpture of a group of five or six horses running. And sat on the horse in the middle – the horse with the blackest tail and reddest mane – was a purple-haired old woman with her mouth open – shouting with joy. She was holding both her arms in the air like she was on a roller coaster.
I looked. I looked again. ‘How did you … what …’ I started, but I didn’t know what to say.
Gran winked at me again and started piling the clothes back onto the statue. She didn’t say anything.
Then she walked over to me, put her hands on my shoulders and said, ‘Remember, some things we shouldn’t talk about.’
I nodded.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘let’s have a look at your final sculpture.’ She picked up the last thing I’d been working on. It was actually a sculpture of Jack. It didn’t look so bad. I was quite proud of it.
‘Hmmm,’ said Gran and squinted her eyes. ‘Hmmmm.’
‘What?’ I said. ‘What does hmmmm mean?
‘Well,’ she said slowly, turning the little clay cat over in her hands.
‘Yes?’ I said.
‘Well, it’s rubbish isn’t it? If I were you I’d stick to drumming.’ She dropped the little clay cat onto the table. I didn’t bother picking it up.
She walked out of the studio. I followed her. She stood outside and pointed to the roof.
‘Now come on. No more talking. Three hours left and lots of work to do. I’ll call you down when it’s time to go.’
***
And that’s what I did. I sat for the last time on the roof and banged nails in time to punk drums. And when Gran called me down that last tile had been put into place.
‘Finished!’ I said proudly.
‘For now,’ Gran said. ‘There will be lots to do when you come again.’
‘So you want me to come again? I knew you liked having me here!’
‘Think what you want Jason,’ Gran shrugged. ‘I just need someone around to fix things. And you’ll do.’
***
I said goodbye to Jack. He ignored me and kept on licking his stomach. I tried stroking him and he growled at me like a dog. I packed up my little bag and had one last look around the chaos that was Gran’s house. It felt like home.
On the way to the station Gran just looked ahead and whistled through her two teeth. I was quiet, trying to work out how many weeks it was until I could come back. My autumn holidays were ten weeks away. I was sure my parents would let me come again. I mean, how could they say no? It was their idea in the first place.
Gran stopped outside the station. ‘Out you get,’ she said.
‘What? Aren’t you going to come on the platform and say goodbye properly?’
‘No,’ Gran said, looking straight ahead. ‘I don’t do goodbyes.’ She continued whistling. I leant over to kiss her on the cheek. As I did, I noticed my little clay cat sticking out of her pocket. I smiled but I didn’t say anything. I kissed her on the cheek. It tasted salty.
She coughed and said in a small voice, ‘Now, don’t get all sloppy on me Jason. You’re fourteen, remember?’
‘Anyway,’ I said to try and cheer her up. ‘I’ll see you in ten weeks for my next holidays.’
Gran turned and looked at me with hard eyes. ‘Oh will you? Let’s see if I invite you first shall we?’ And then she winked and drove off. I say drove – but, well you get the idea.
***
On the train, I leant my head against the window and watched Exmoor fly by. The ground went by quicker than it had when I had ridden with Stella, but it felt slower. Stella! I had touched a wild horse from an ancient tribe. And next time I came I would find her again.
The trees and fields that had looked so boring when I had arrived now looked like old friends I was going to miss. I drummed on my legs in time to the train noises. Pat-tat-tat-tat-pa-tat-tat-tat. Tat Tat!
‘Hey,’ a voice said behind me. Someone had come into my carriage. ‘Done any drumming lately?’
I turned. It was Emma. She was smiling at me. Maybe the stories of luck were true!
I tried to look cool and then gave up and smiled at her.
‘Actually, I really have,’ I said. ‘So many drums you wouldn’t believe. Sit down and I’ll tell you all about it.’
