Christmas 2002

There was a short knock on Mello and Matt\'s door. Matt looked up from his game and stared at Mello. Mello frowned and carefully screwed the lid back onto his ink before turning his chair around and sitting back down on it. It now faced the door more and so Mello arranged himself into a confident, intimidating pose. They heard Nathalie outside. "They aren\'t in here."



"Yes?" Mello called out.



There was a loaded silence outside the door. No-one knew whether to open it, call through or knock again. They heard Lamond call out, "Can we have a word, Mello?"



Mello frowned. Lamond unsettled him. He felt things around her that he hadn\'t quite analysed in himself. She confused him. Her hair was pretty. "What do you want?"



The door handle came down, but it was Nathalie who peeped inside. "Spot history test, what happened near Laventie, in France, on Christmas Day 1914?"



Mello blinked. "Probably lots of things. It was one of the front lines of World War One." A smile flickered on his face, as Nathalie looked shocked. She was just starting to smirk with superior knowledge, when Mello added. "But famously, the Royal Welch Fusiliers and der Panzergrenadier Battalion 371 stopped killing each other long enough to sing Christmas carols at each other. \'Good King Wenceslas\' was the favourite, I do believe." He noted that Matt had nodded slightly in agreement. Mello fixed his gaze, unblinkingly, onto Nathalie. "Then the Germans got out of their trenches and some of them took some beers into No Man\'s Land. The Welsh reciprocated by giving them plum pudding. Then they had an impromptu football match. It was all over half an hour later, when the British Artillery found out and started firing into the air. The soldiers\' truce was over and the officers\' war was back on."



Nathalie sighed and muttered, "Very good, Mello." She was already reaching behind her. Lamond obviously handed her the football, which Nathalie now threw at him. Mello caught it easily. "Salvo will be outside. He has Fenian. You can bring Matt." She closed the door and they heard both girls singing \'Good King Wenceslas\' as they retreated back down the corridor.



Mello stared at the door, then his gaze swivelled to take in Matt. The redhead was looking like a deer caught in headlights. He blazed hatred at the door, then fixed Mello with a dubious look. "I hate football."



"I know." Mello rose to drop the ball onto his bed and to fish his army boots out of the wardrobe. "She said that Salvo will be outside. She didn\'t say that he is outside. I think that this isn\'t his idea. They are challenging him the same as they\'ve just challenged me. It probably won\'t come to an actual game." He peered back sharply. "Even if it does, Salvo is injured and they are both scared of me. You keep to the wing and I\'ll take the centre. I can take them both. I\'m the best footballer in the House."



"I\'m not playing football!"



"Matty, please..." Mello began, then shook his head and straightened. "Forget it. I\'d only be covering for you anyway. I\'ll take them both on alone. I\'ll take them all on." He took a deep breath and picked up the football. "I can beat them." He could hear the uncertainty in his own voice. "I can beat them alone. I don\'t need anyone."



Matt sighed. "Grrrrr!" He spat, then wriggled off the bed, slamming down his Gameboy Advance. He didn\'t speak another word, as he pulled his socks and trainers on.



Mello smiled sweetly. "Thank you, Matty." He looked a whole lot cockier, when he opened the door and led them out. There was an awkward moment down in the reception area, when they encountered Near. He was playing with a remote controlled car and, suspiciously, was wearing his coat, scarf and shoes. "Where are you going?"



Near stopped his car, then scurried to pick it up. "Mello has the football."



"You\'re not playing!"



"No."



Mello frowned. "Was this your idea?"



"It will be interesting to see if Mello or Salvo\'s team win the Christmas Day Truce match."



Mello\'s eyes widened. "It was your idea!" He would have continued, but Salvo, Fenian, Linda, Chrissie and Mairoo appeared on the stairs. The African was already nursing a swollen jaw. He did not look happy about this situation. Around the corner came Nathalie, Lamond and Deontic. They were all wearing their coats too. "Heh." Mello glowered at Near, but smirked at both parties. He began singing \'Good King Wenceslas\', as he dropped the ball and dribbled it perfectly out of the door, picking it up only as he reached the outer steps. Jonny and Luigi were already out there, setting up goalposts out of cones borrowed from the shed. Mello drop-kicked the ball from the foot of the stairs and it sailed between two of the cones before hitting Luigi on the back of the legs. "You realise that the Germans won that match." Mello turned to the group assembling behind him. "The Celtic team lost 3-2."



They had somehow acquired Century. He was hovering behind Near in an over-sized jumper but no coat. His lilting voice rose now. "No, they didn\'t! It wasn\'t even a proper match. It was a free-for-all and no-one kept score. It was German propaganda said that they won, when news leaked out afterwards!"



Mello scowled. "Century, you\'re eight years old, what do you know about history? Shut up."



"Besides," Salvo growled, "you\'re not German."



Mello didn\'t react, but he was surprised. He thought that everyone believed him Teutonic. He had carefully encouraged the rumour with precisely dropped hints, once he had realised that they thought that. He covered his silence on the matter by rushing to retrieve the ball from where it had bounced off Luigi, then stood to the side kneeing it into the air. He kept it up for thirty bounces before Fenian spat on the ground and turned as if he was going back inside. "Scared, Fenian?"



"Ok! Ok!" Lamond clapped her hands and stood in the middle of the makeshift pitch. "Salvo and Fenian versus Mello and Matt. Do you wish to have more people on each team?"



Mello shook his head. "No, we can take them." He stared at Lamond\'s figure and the naturally curly hair right down her back. Clothes hung so well on her. She had curves. She was beautiful with cheekbones like a model. Mello hated her. "Sudden death?"



Lamond shook her head. "Best of three. First team to score three goals wins. But the point of this match is that it\'s a truce. This is the battleground..."



Near frowned. "Lamond contradicts herself. It cannot be a battleground and a truce."



Jonny nodded towards the stairs. Several of the adults had come out to see what was going on. Mello continued with his kick ups. He was on form, though he was a spatial genius and so it was only to be expected. It was also scaring his opposition, who didn\'t have such perfect control. Mello smirked. Nathalie shouldn\'t have left him with the ball. Lamond had rolled her eyes. "So pedantic. Right! This is the battlefield. Whatever the outcome here is the result of the Christmas Day War. Anyone who continues to fight after this is breaking the truce that will last for the rest of the day. That will make them a loser. Understood?" She held out perfectly manicured long nails. "Mello, I need that ball."



Mello left-footed it across to her and Lamond stopped it with her knee. Salvo whispered to Fenian, who immediately stared appraisingly at Matt. The redhead was standing alone on the far side of the \'touchline\'. The several feet of space around him felt like it had an invisible thick wall in it. Mello sprinted across and leaned in to whisper. "Look at Salvo and Fenian and smile confidently." Mello waited until he\'d done so. "Right, now I\'m going to make sure that I have the ball. If, by some chance, you get it, just pass it to me and run at them. You are my diversion. Got it?"



Matt nodded. He neither looked worried or excited. He looked like he wasn\'t really there. Mello tried not to look worried either, but both Salvo and Fenian weren\'t bad at football, while Matt simply didn\'t play it. As far as Mello knew, Matt had never touched a football in his life. There was also the unsettling fact that Salvo was taller than either of them, though the counterbalance was that Fenian was shorter. Mello knew that where Salvo had reach, he could respond with speed. If Mello had to put money on the outcome, impartially, the other team might just have the edge. Losing though was unthinkable. The match might be based on a famous historical truce, but this was war.



Their peers, joined now by Ann, Roger, Patricia and Hollow, fanned out around the area of grass marked out as their pitch. The four players and Lamond were left alone to huddle around the centre. "Free for all, no offside rule, but also no fouls." Lamond explained with her rosebud lips underneath her perfect cheekbones. Mello stared at her and she flushed. "Anyone tackling too high will be sent off and their team-mate will have to finish it alone. Understood?" They all indicated that they did and so she produced a coin. "Heads or tails?"



"Heads!" Salvo called quickly.



Lamond threw and caught it, turning it against the back of her hand. She peered at it and showed them. "Tails."



"Heh." Mello grinned smugly and took the ball. Lamond jogged to the touchline, placed two fingers into her mouth and whistled loudly. Mello glanced to see where Matt was, but it was a feight. Mello was already moving forward, tunnelling between his opposition. Salvo tackled, so Mello shot. It hit a cone and knocked it over. Fenian raced after it. It was soon back in play. Mello dashed after the Irish boy, aiming as much for his shins as for the ball, but Fenian passed it neatly to Salvo. Mello turned on his heels and ran for it. Then he blinked in shock. Matt had just tackled Salvo and won the ball. It was arcing through the air in a perfect line, due to drop just ahead of Mello, halfway to the goal. Mello darted foward and left-footed it right between the cones. "Yes! Go Matty!" Mello trumpeted, running to land on Matt\'s back. Matt held him for two paces, then dropped him to the ground again. Amidst much patting each other\'s shoulders, they both smirked at Salvo and Fenian. "Ha!" Mello yelled, excitedly. "I forgot to mention that Matt\'s good at football too!"



His relieved taunting was premature. The game grew in intensity until both teams stood at 2-2. The next goal would be the clincher. For those with the knowledge to see, the pressure was telling in all four boys, though it emerged in different ways. There was a certain desperation in Mello\'s quick glances; Matt\'s indifference was even more pronounced; Fenian had taken to cursing under his breath, even when there was no immediate provocation; Salvo was gritting his teeth, his eyes wide. They were about to kick off again, when Roger raised his hand and walked carefully onto the pitch. "Gentlemen, gentlemen. Good game. Very good game. However, might I make a suggestion?" All eyes were upon him, none more keenly attentive than the four boys surrounding his position. "I understand from Mairoo that this game is in the spirit of the truce of Christmas Day 1914. Might I extend this view? It would be even more inkeeping with that event if you were to shake hands now and declare this game over. A draw is a wonderful conclusion, is it now?"



Absolutely no-one moved. For a moment, it seemed as though Fenian would. He moved just a little closer to Matt, but then turned his back. It was apparent that he was only fine-tuning his marking. Mello sniggered. Salvo shook his head. "Oh Roger." He stared at the old man with blank eyes. "You raised us better than that." They barely gave him time to leave the pitch before the game was on again. It was ferocious. Whoever scored now would be winning the game for their team. There was a lot more than football at stake, though none of the quartet would have been able to state precisely what the stakes were. Pride was the closest that they could have come, but that, in itself, was inadequate.



Then Fenian broke free, dribbling the ball out into space. Salvo blocked Mello and Fenian hesitated just a moment, looking up to see where the cones were. Matt was upon him and the tackle was dirty. Fenian hit the hard ground, clutching his ankle. Lamond whistled between her two fingers, as most of their onlookers cried, "Foul!" Their hands in the air. Ann snapped, "It Matters, that was very low." They were all in uproar, as Madeleine hurried into their midst to inspect the Irish boy\'s injury. It wasn\'t serious. Shock more than hurt had prompted the pained look on this face, but there was a chant now of \'send him off!\' There was no option, though Mello raged to stop it happening. Matt sloped off the pitch to lounge against the wall, his hands deep in his pockets.



"Free kick." Salvo smiled.



"No!" Mello spat. "No! She said free for all, no rules. You don\'t get a free kick for a foul. That\'s not in the rules. Lamond, tell him!"



Lamond sighed. "No free kick, Salvo. Much as I\'d like to give you one."



The ball was placed on the centre spot, as marked by a patch of kicked up turf. Salvo and Fenian, side by side, stared at Mello with faint smiles on their faces. The small, blond teenager eyed them with a look of grim determination. He was breathing heavily through his nose, so it sounded like snorting. He did not avert his attention for a second, even though everyone was cheering on Salvo and Fenian from the touchline, nor even when Hollow called, "Go Mello!" Though it was probably just to be perverse and to stand out from the crowd.



Lamond whistled and all three raced forward. Salvo, with his long legs, connected first, but Mello correctly read the way he would turn and so he was forced to pass to Fenian. Mello dashed forward and intercepted it. He was several feet from the goal, but Fenian was right beside him and Salvo was turning. Mello knew it was a risky move, but he stopped dead and shot with his right foot. That was his weaker foot and the world seemed to slip into slow motion. Then the ball passed between the cones and Mello sank to his knees. He\'d scored. They had won. 3-2. He\'d won.



Mello looked up at the hand being extended. It was Salvo\'s and, after just half a second\'s hesitation, Mello shook it. He rose on his own steam and sought out Fenian to shake his hand too. But the smile which played upon Mello\'s lips was not triumph or smugness. It was relief.