CHAPTER TWO (part 1)

It had been a long night. Darkness slowly crumbled away and the first breath of morning wafted in through an open sash. Waking in the unfolding light, a montage of images and thoughts, shifted in mindful confusion. Friday came to the fore, physical pain an unwelcome reminder. It was satisfying to know that I’d dealt Porter and Smith a salutary lesson, but spine chilling to dwell upon the consequences. I regret that I failed Roxanne, worried my mother wouldn’t approve, as for the rest, I didn’t give a damn.

Sunday was quiet. Breakfast turned into a bit of a marathon, Monday worries monopolising the conversation. Grandpa, still incandescent regarding the previous day’s revelations, said he wanted to attend my disciplinary meeting with the Head. He had questions that demanded answers and, though I appreciated his concerns, I needed to face this alone. Eventually, though Grandpa maintained it was against his better judgement, a compromise was agreed and no more was said.

Whilst washing up breakfast crockery, the phone rang. Grandpa responded with me in tow, drying my hands. It was Eloise. Disappointed, gesticulating a reluctance to answer, he made good an excuse, promising to pass on her ‘get well’ message. Most of the day was spent in each other’s company. I helped with chores as best I could, enjoying the opportunity to spend time with a man for whom I bore the deepest respect and affection.

Monday arrived before I knew it. Breakfast and obligatory ablutions over, once the horses were turned out, it was time to head off. Grandpa phoned the school's secretary, as we’d agreed, to arrange an afternoon appointment with the Head. In the car, sensing my anxiety, he kept me amused with anecdotal stories and a few well worn jokes. Pulling up in clear view of the main building, catching my eye, ’ Now Ben,’ he said with formal expression. ‘Remember what I told you. Don’t allow yourself to be intimidated. Always say what you know in your mind to be true and do only what you know in your heart to be right.’

From the main car park, it was a short journey into school. For once, I was relieved to be walking alone: Roxanne was safe, the rest I could deal with. In school, en route to the lockers, my disfigured appearance turned many a gawking head. Post fight analysis and boastful ‘ringside’ reports were sought and traded, in a medley of sensational gossip. Wagging tongues, finger pointing, whispering behind hands, was nothing new, but my mood was buoyed by those who dared to exchange a cordial, even sympathetic greeting.

A disorderly rabble filed into the hall for their daily diet of religion and morality. It was always a blessing to miss it, would do almost anything to ensure that I did, not that today’s alternative ranked as an enticing option.

A few minutes late, having registered my arrival at reception, I went to stand outside the Head’s office. I was familiar with the procedure, the outcome was predictable, only this time, my resolve was absolute. The door had a new brass plaque:
‘ Headmistress - Miss G. Baggs’.
Disaffected pupils, however, gave no reverence to such title. She may have claimed to be a devout believer in the Almighty, but the Gorgon Medusa had more virtue than she. We called her Scabby or Scab Bag, though Conky, on account of her extraordinary long nose, was not an uncommon term of ‘endearment.’ It may have seemed uncharitable to say she embraced femininity, much as Hitler promoted racial equality, but no-one was more deserving of such vociferous ridicule, than she.

Trying to portray a nonchalant persona, it served as welcome relief to spot Mr Dodds heading in my direction.
‘Sorry, Ben,’ he said, rushing his words. ‘Meant to catch you earlier, only been in a meeting and still trying to make sense of what’s going on. Did you know Selby Smith’s not at school?’ I shook my head. ‘Rumour has it, he’s not coming back. Look, I’m trying to get an eye witness for you. Can you name someone who saw the fight? Someone you can trust to tell your side of the story.’
‘Vince Stuart,’ I replied without hesitation. ‘I remember seeing him. He’d tell the truth, Sir.’
‘Great,’ he said, trying to sound encouraging. ‘I’ll find him.’
He called out to Max Granfield, who happened to be passing by, asking if he’d find Vince and send him to his office,‘pronto.’ The Head’s door slowly opened, leaking the tail end of a conversation between her and Piss Potts. Mr Dodds said he had to go and wished me luck, promising to catch up with me when he could.
Piss Potts, emerged to stand over me. I stood resolute, refused to make eye contact. He went off to assembly muttering under his breath. Moments later, I heard, ‘Come in.’ Iron willed and belligerent I obeyed, closing the door as instructed.
Seated at her desk, hand on a pile of papers, ‘I’ve read all the reports about Friday’s fight...,’ Scabby scolded, ‘and I have to say how shocked and appalled I am with your atrocious behaviour. You broke Selby Smith nose. He’s had eight stitches above an eye he almost lost. .....’ It was music to my ears. ‘I hope you are thoroughly ashamed and sorry for what you’ve done. ...’
She rattled on and on, but her breath was wasted on me. Lecture over, her eye caught mine, but gleaned not a glimmer of remorse. My resolute, silent refusal to accept responsibility for the fight or offer any form of apology, was not well received. Losing patience, she sent me to wait in reception.

I hadn’t been seated two minutes, when young Timmy came by clutching a white carrier bag. The sight of him with his thick rimmed spectacles, mop of red hair, freckles, pipe cleaner legs below trousers too short to be long and too long to be short, aded a bit of lustre to the gloom.
‘Caw blimey, Ben, yeh’re in a bit ov a mess aint yeh?’ he said parking his bottom on the seat next to mine.
‘You should see the other two,’ I ‘bragged,’ watching as he uncovered the top of a decorative oak casket and tightened the lid. ‘Not going into assembly, then?’
He carefully returned the casket to the bag. ‘Wot and listen ta all that bullshit and bollocks? Nah. Dun’t fink so.’ Placing the bag at his feet, ‘’eard abowt yeh fight on Friday. Then everyone’s bin talkin’ abowt it. ‘spose yeh’re in the shit now?’ he said, looking concerned.
‘Yeah. You could say that.’
‘Dun’t let the bastards beat yeh, Ben. That’s wot me dad always says.’ I smiled appreciatively, as he added, ‘An’ remember, yeh caint win an argument wiv an idiot.’
‘True,’ I said, nodding. ‘Very true.’
He giggled, we both did, pulling up short as a teacher passed by. Sitting pensively, Timmy kicking his heel against a leg of the chair, I suddenly had the compulsion chuckle.
‘Wot’s so funny,’ he quizzed.
‘Nothing really. It’s just that you’ve reminded me of your little debacle with Scabby the morning you arrived. Remember walking into the hall during assembly and sitting at the end of a row?’
‘Yeah,’ he beamed. ‘Scabby told me ta stand up and give me name.’
‘And when you said Timmy Crapper, the hall erupted with hysterics. Scabby lost her cool and you played her like a pro. It was priceless.’
‘Do yeh remember how she looked when I said me mum says I’m from a long line of fine Crappers and that it were one ov me uncles who invented the bog roll?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, wincing with pain. ‘I remember how angry she looked when you tied her in knots rabbiting about your uncle Kenny. You had everyone falling about when you said he was a hundred and four and lived in the cupboard next to the marmalade.’
‘Did, din’t I,’ he chortled. ‘But she din’t find it funny did she?’
‘No. That’s because she’s had her sense of humour surgically removed.’
‘Good one,’ he chuckled, ‘Very true. I like making people laugh, Ben. See, I aint got yeh’re brains or good looks, so I ‘ave tu ‘ave summit else tu trade on.’
‘Yeah, but you have a real talent, Tim. You’re a natural comic and that’s something that can’t be taught. Mark my words, one day it’ll make you a fortune.’ Peeking into his carrier bag, ‘Would this be another long lost relative, by any chance?’
‘Yeah,’ he mused. ‘Bought a different one taday. Gunna take ‘im ta the show an’ tell, later.’ Whilst he sat thoughtful for a moment, my attention was drawn to Tenbellies skulking at the far end of the corridor. He was lousy at surveillance, but detected acting suspiciously, was never a good omen. A sudden nudge by an elbow and the warning, ‘Hey up, Ben. Conky’s cumin,’ refocused my attention.
‘Are you waiting to see the school doctor, boy?’ Scabby asked in a brusque manner, stopping to peer down at Timmy.
‘Me name’s Timmy,’ he reminded her, ‘An’ yep, that I am, Sir.’
‘Don’t call me sir,’ Scabby scolded. ‘I’m Miss Baggs, the Headmistress’.
‘Ah, so yeh are.’ He adjusted his glasses. ‘Damn good job I’m gettin’ me eyes tested?’
I looked away, coughing gently to disguise my amusement.
Scabby, lip curling with indignation, continued, ‘Anyone coming with you? I mean, is a parent attending the medical?’
‘Yep,’ he confirmed, twinkling with mischievous intent. ‘Uncle Chester.’
‘So where is Uncle Chester?’
‘ere,’ he said, lifting the carrier bag from the floor, as if she should have noticed. Unperturbed by Scabby’s scathing glance, he said, ’He must be abowt a hundred and forty...’ Then eying Scabby up and down, he added, ‘Titchy bit yunger than yeh, I guess.’ Scabby’s neck coloured up like a turkey’s. Brusquely instructing Timmy to follow her, she strode off. He dutifully obeyed, turning back to wink cheekily as I gave him the thumbs up. Trotting to catch up, ‘Last year we took ‘Uncle Chester to Blackpool...’ he continued and though it pained me to laugh, it was well worth it.

Assembly over, the hall doors swung open and a rowdy mob made their way to the four corners of the school. As tail enders disappeared Scabby’s secretary came to say that the Head would see me now.