Chapter 6 · 7 minute read
A promise too good to keep
Joep finished his speech on Tuesday. He put it in a folder with a clear sheet at the front. The folder also held a drawing of the new football goal, a trophy, and a picture of a scoreboard.
‘Where did you get that?’ Vera asked.
‘A leaflet. Dad still had it.’
The scoreboard had big red numbers. In the picture it said 8–0. Vera hoped they weren’t supposed to use that score every time.
That afternoon the candidates could explain their plans to a small group of children. It was practice for Saturday. Safia put three chairs at the front of the classroom. Eef laid her notes on the middle one. Vera sat on the left. Joep stayed standing.
‘This is my football plan,’ he said.
He held the folder open. The red numbers shone behind the plastic.
‘A new goal. With a net that won’t break. And a scoreboard for playground matches. Then everyone will see who’s winning.’
‘What if nobody knows the score?’ a boy asked.
‘We’ll count.’
‘We do that now.’
Joep pointed at the numbers. ‘But really big.’
Somebody laughed. He smiled. This was the Joep Vera knew: tell everybody something enormous, then wait for them to join in.
‘And we can hold a match at the fair. The winner gets a trophy.’
‘The one on your poster?’ asked Eef.
‘Something like it.’
Joep closed the folder and put it on his chair. ‘That’s it.’
Safia asked how much the plan cost.
He looked at the folder. ‘The goal’s a hundred and twenty-nine. The scoreboard’s eighty-nine.’
‘And the trophy?’
‘I still need to look that up.’
Vera began adding. A hundred and twenty-nine plus eighty-nine was already more than a hundred and eighty. Without the trophy. Without the match. Without anything else Joep might add if he talked for long enough.
She thought of the roof she’d drawn. Of the question mark beside her cushions. On Friday she’d explained straight away that it might not work. Joep was standing here telling everyone his plan was ready.
‘For a hundred and eighty, I suppose you get a scoreboard without the numbers,’ she said.
The boy at the front burst out laughing. A girl behind him joined in. Joep looked at Vera.
She’d wanted him to see it didn’t add up. Now she could see his hand gripping the folder’s edge. His fingers were bending the plastic.
‘I didn’t say that,’ he said.
‘You can’t pay for all of it, anyway.’
‘I can still think of something.’
‘What? Half a goal?’
The laughter grew louder. Vera could feel it herself: the pleasant little thrill of a joke that worked. Because of that, she didn’t say quickly enough that she should have asked differently.
Safia pushed her chair back. ‘Today we’re looking at plans. Everybody has things to find out, including what won’t work. Joep, those first two prices make two hundred and eighteen euros. What would you most like to keep?’
Joep wasn’t looking at the other children any more.
‘The goal,’ he said.
‘Put that first, then. Perhaps you can look at the rest again later.’
He picked up his folder. While Eef took her turn, he sat quietly, watching a mark on the wall beside the board.
Eef wanted new spades, two little rakes and a wheelbarrow. Also a low border round the grass beside the sandpit, so sand didn’t keep spilling onto the path. She’d found prices and written questions for Bram. He hadn’t worked out the border’s cost yet. She mentioned that too.
Vera’s turn came next. She explained that the woodworking club would look for spare wood. Her granny had two blue cushions. Perhaps they could go under a lid. There wouldn’t be a roof.
‘Why not?’ asked the boy who wanted a goal most of all.
‘It costs too much.’
He glanced at Joep. Vera saw him. She didn’t want anybody to laugh now.
After the practice, Joep went straight outside. Vera caught up with him at the bicycle rack. He was undoing his lock. It clicked shut instead of open.
‘Your folder’s nice,’ Vera said.
Joep turned the key the other way.
‘We chose that together. With the strong plastic.’
‘Yes.’
Vera put her hands in her pockets. She hadn’t returned Bram’s pencil. She felt its short, blunt point against her thumb.
‘Perhaps you could have the net mended,’ she said. ‘Instead of getting a new goal.’
Joep pulled his bicycle from the rack. ‘I know that.’
‘I only meant—’
‘Yes. Half a goal. Very funny.’
He cycled off before she could answer. At the corner he had to brake for a mother with a pushchair. Vera watched him put his foot on the pavement. He often had to stop there. Today she wished he could just ride away, so she wouldn’t have to watch him for so long.
She went back to the classroom. Her poster lay on a desk. Through the open window she heard somebody repeat the joke about the scoreboard.
Safia was sorting a pile of exercise books. ‘Do you need anything?’ she asked.
Vera shook her head. She picked up her poster and rolled it up.
‘I thought his plan cost too much.’
‘It did.’
Safia stacked the last books.
Vera stayed where she was. ‘He didn’t like me saying so.’
‘What you said?’
Vera looked at her rolled poster. The tree had almost disappeared. Only the bench stuck out above the edge.
‘How I said it,’ she replied.
Safia nodded and picked up her coat. Vera didn’t ask for any more help. She knew what was missing from her own plan. Only it had nothing to do with wood or money.