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brilliant, but not a disaster yet, either.
    Oh, I forgot, it
did
end in disaster. Because Trixie finally discovered us then (she’d probably been having a nap), and came pelting out and chased us all off the pitch, except for Carl, whom she ignored. The Moan fell down, and Trixie started snapping all around him. She’d never actually caught anyone before, and she was very excited. She looked like a wolf suddenly shrunk down to miniature size.
    â€˜Play dead,’ shouted Jamie.

    â€˜No, that’s for when you get attacked by bears,’ said Noah. ‘Get up and run for it!’
    â€˜No, play dead. They don’t eat dead things.’
    â€˜Don’t be stupid,’ I said. ‘They eat dog food, and that’s dead.’
    But then Trixie got bored with attacking The Moan and, after a final growl and a quick woof, she went back home. It was probably the best day of her little doggy life.

Chapter Twelve
THE STASH GETS SPLIT
    â€˜You look very excited,’ said Mum.
    It was eight o’clock on Saturday morning. I was pacing up and down in the hallway, carrying my football. Normally at that time I’d be watching TV. Saturday mornings were one of the few times I could watch TV without being hassled by Mum about it.
    â€˜Do I?’
    I probably wouldn’t have used the word excited. I might have said nervous, or maybe scared to death. I was carrying the football because part of me thought that if I couldjust touch it for long enough, then I might get slightly better at the game. Another part of me knew that was stupid.
    â€˜Is something happening today?’
    We’d discussed telling our parents about the Big Match. Noah was in favour of it. He said that they would come to support us, and that would mean we wouldn’t get kicked around too much by the Dockery Gang, and we probably wouldn’t get bashed or squished or pushed around after the game at all. Those were definitely good things – I mean, not getting kicked, etc.
    But there was one big thing on the other side of the balance. If our parents came, then Dockery would say that we had to get our mummies and daddies to come and look after us, poor ickle wickle babies deedums deedums.
    I’d rather get thumped than have to listen to that, and Jamie and The Moan agreed with me. So we outvoted Noah.
    â€˜Nah, nothing, Mum,’ I said, back in our hallway. ‘We’ll probably kick a ball around later on.’
    That was true, sort of. I didn’t like telling lies to Mum, which meant I spent a lot of time trying to put things the right way.
    About half an hour later Noah came round. Sometimes we didn’t need to ask to know what the other one was thinking. I could tell from his face that he was as worried as me. We had some toast together in the kitchen. Noah’s parents were quite nice but they sometimes forgot to give him meals, so he often ate at our house.
    After the toast we went and collected Jamie and The Moan and went to the den. Just then it seemed like the best den in the world, safe and dry and brilliant in every way. It made us all sad.
    â€˜This might be the last time we ever get to hang out in here,’ said Jamie.
    Usually I’d have made a speech about how things weren’t so bad, but I didn’thave it in me today. I think me not saying anything was a bit of a shock to the Gang. Maybe that’s why Noah said what he said next, which was even more shocking.
    â€˜We should eat our stash,’ he said.
    â€˜Our stash’ meant our stash of sweets, kept in a black shoe box. We’d collected them over a few months. They were supposed to be for emergencies, like if there was a war or something. Eating our stash was very symbolic, which is when one thing stands for another thing and it means more than you think at first.
    The big box of sweets, hidden in a hole in the floor covered over with a piece of carpet, was sort of the soul of the Gang. As long as it was still