by Paula Wynne
Some waved their arms in the air. One woman even had her face raised to the sky with her eyes closed as if praying.
The campaigners were a mixed bunch of people. Mostly in their twenties and thirties, but Matt spotted a little old lady and a mother dragging along her young daughter. Some were poorly dressed, in old, baggy clothes and dreadlocks, while others were expensively suited.
Yet they all seemed to have one thing in common: Passion for their cause.
The coppers were crawling around the group of protestors, slowly surrounding them in a web of black uniforms with shining buttons.
An abrupt movement drew Matt’s eye. On the edge of the crowd, a copper dug his knee into a protestor's back and cuffed him. More of his colleagues muscled their way in to make arrests. They didn’t seem to care about causing injuries as they struggled to keep the protest under control.
While the police wrestled with the protestors in the road, trying to untie their ankles, the people at the back of the crowd were chanting and clapping.
As the bus tried to work its way forward, suddenly the swarm of protestors were around it, pounding their gloved hands against the sides. Their thumping became so loud it rocked the bus. This seemed to fuel the protesters, and they shouted louder and pushed harder.
From the corner of his eye, Matt saw the police surge into the crowd, raising their batons and clubbing people in their way.
The activists’ roar became deafening now. As well as the slogans they shouted, many waved placards in the air with all sorts of rude messages about nuclear warfare, painted skulls with death warnings, and even one saying that hidden Nazi war criminals were being used to manufacture British bombs.
Like the other students on the bus, Matt gaped out at the angry faces storming their vehicle. He was pretty sure they weren’t intending to target a college bus, it just happened to have got in the way of their protest. Still, it was pretty scary to be in the middle of it.
Despite a trickle of breeze squeezing into the small windows, the bus was ripe with smells as the afternoon sun warmed the interior. Someone’s lunchbox in their bag under the seat gave off an aroma of banana peel and spoiling sandwich. To top that, a cooked cabbage stink from the exhaust fumes wafted up from under the bus as it revved and rumbled to try to frighten off the mob.
But they didn’t seem bothered by the driver stepping on the gas. They carried on shouting and thumping the sides of the bus.
At the edge of the crowd, a TV crew had arrived with cameras with zoom lenses. A reporter started talking into the microphone but was jostled out of the way by a woman protestor whose face was painted with the British flag.
Suddenly Matt recognised a face. An undeniably handsome man, who stood a head above most of the crowd. Even from this distance, he could see the man was only a few years older than he was. His dark wavy hair, thickset nose and square jaw reminded him of Dad.
Oh, no. Not him. Not now, Matt groaned inwardly.
As if by sixth sense, the man turned and met his gaze.
14
Matt stared into the eyes of his cousin. It lasted only seconds as another loud whack resounded on the side of the bus. This time it was the coppers shouting to move the bus out of the protest.
The bus driver cursed under his breath as he manoeuvred the bulky vehicle past the demonstrators, through the pathway that the local coppers and the military police from the Atomic Weapons Research Establishment had now cleared.
Matt’s cousin, Allan, ran around the crowd, holding his camera in the air to get better pictures. Allan wasn’t much older than Matt, but he sure as hell made him jealous. Only a year after finishing his media studies degree he was already interning with a TV production company.
Matt turned and stared until he was out of sight.
Mum had said last night that Allan would be shooting a documentary in the area. When Matt had asked what it was about, she had shrugged and said, ‘Don’t know. He said it’s his big break. Something cryptic about hidden Nazi secrets from the Second World War, and he’s here tracking them down.’
Matt sighed. With his gammy leg and no lucrative career prospects, he could never compete with Allan. Even so, he had to get close to his cousin to find out what this was all about. It could add a more interesting angle to what was otherwise looking likely to be a pretty dull summer.
Clusters of spiky trees lined a razor-wire fence, hiding what went on behind the research establishment.
As soon as the bus was on its way again, arguing broke out. A once happy bus, glad that this was the last day of term, had now become infected with the protest against the nuclear testing at the old RAF base.
Ignoring it all, Matt touched his breast pocket to be sure the paper was still hidden there. He slipped it out and unfolded it. Then folded it in half. And in half again. And again until it was a tiny square. Clenching his jaw, he flicked the corner before unfolding it back out one more time.
Beside him, his brother Luke poked his elbow into Matt’s ribs and whispered, ‘Stop that!’
They were in the same year at school, his brother having been born eleven months after him, and just in time for the academic year cut-off.
As well as the small age advantage, Matt had always been the athletic one, fitter and faster than Luke, which he had clearly resented. Yet ever since that terrible day, Luke had taken over from him both physically, and even academically for a few years. It had been a struggle even to catch up a little, and he was still trying to find a way to redefine himself. Learning to fly would prove to him his own true value.
Ignoring Luke, Matt refolded the paper, as he had done so many times already. Its edges were soft and fragile, something once resilient that was now coming apart. He had known the information on the paper since careers day, but he still couldn’t help torturing himself with the words highlighted in illuminous yellow.
A row back, Ben, reeking of wet socks and sweaty clothes, slurped, gurgled and burped. The bully seemed to hate Matt, yet also to always be somewhere near him.
And sure enough, as Matt looked up at the sudden noise, there he was, standing in front of Matt. ‘That history prize should have been mine,’ he grunted. His belly protruded over his trousers. Through his bursting shirt buttons, a mass of black hair sprouted from the exposed pieces of chest. Using the end of his shirt, he wiped his face and then flapped it to cool his stomach, already shiny with sweat.
Josh, Ben’s crony, muttered, ‘He’s not worth the fight.’
But Ben was not to be diverted. ‘Who’s he fink he is? Teacher’s pet or somefink? I reckon one of the teachers fancies ‘im or summat.’
Matt just rolled his eyes and shook his head, purposefully to ensure his thick black hair fell into natural locks over his forehead. He had cultivated the dark, haunted look because it had seemed like a good way to distance himself from all the mockery and abuse he’d got since that day.
‘Hey, Butt Monkey,’ Ben whistled in his ear, ‘What’s that fing you hiding?’
Luke half rose, his face flushed. ‘Stop calling him that!’
Matt glanced sideways to see Ben’s face leering at him. He muttered to Luke, ‘Let me handle this.’
‘Yeah, Lukey-boy,’ Ben mimicked a squeaky woman’s voice, ‘don’t try and fight your bro’s battles. Just coz he’s a cripple, don’t mean you have to be his keeper.’
Staying calm, Matt ignored the remark, but Ben’s thuggery always drew a crowd, and the watchers guffawed with laughter. Quickly, he folded the paper and moved to tuck it back into his pocket, but Ben reached out first. He squeezed Matt’s hand, crushing his fingers.
Matt’s wrist, pulled at an awkward angle, started aching from Ben’s vicelike grip. A moment later, his hold on the folded paper slackened.
Grabbing it, Ben lurched upright, shouting, ‘Let’s see what Butt Monkey’s hiding!’
Matt reached up to grab it back, but Ben swivelled around to face his cronies in the back of the bus, holding the paper out of his reach. ‘Woohoo! I
t’s about the RAF.’
Josh thumped Ben’s shoulder and reached for it. ‘Let me see!’
‘No way!’ Ben swung his arms wide, bumping Matt as he reached to try to retrieve the paper again.
Matt stumbled as the bus swerved. He fell back into his seat, but immediately staggered to his feet.
Josh cried out, ‘C’mon, what does it say?’ He snatched the paper out of Ben’s hands.
Matt cringed.
Ben glared at Josh and grabbed it back. Glancing at it, he shouted, ‘Get this, lads: the cripple wants to be in the Royal Air Force!’
In the scuffle between Ben and Josh the paper had torn, and now part of it drifted to the floor.
Matt dived for the ripped fragment.
Behind him Ben jeered, ‘You can’t be in the RAF, cripple, they’d never have you!’
Ben’s cronies were now bellowing and hooting.
From Matt’s side, Luke begged, ‘Wallop them!’
Matt shook his head and exhaled deeply to let out the pent-up frustration and embarrassment. He hadn’t been born a cripple, but Ben conveniently forgot the accident whenever there was a chance to tease him.
The bully howled with laughter. He drummed his hands on the bus seat. ‘Yeah, baby, gimme a drum roll!’
His audience all joined in, pounding their seats.
‘Listen, Butt Monkey, everyone knows what it sez in the girls’ bogs, about you lookin like Adam Ant. Well, I reckon that’s just someone takin pity on you, is all. Them pouty lips look like a baby’s, and all that black hair just looks like a wuss. And as for them eyebrows, well they look more like…like slugs!’
Matt cringed but managed to hold his temper. It was so moronic it shouldn’t have hurt at all, but somehow it still did.
‘And another fing, Butt Head,’ Ben rapped his knuckles on the crown of Matt’s head, ‘you’d never get the treasure!’
Josh frowned. ‘Uh? What treasure?’
‘The girl, stupid’ Ben fired at his sidekick. ‘That’s the treasure. Life is all about the treasure hunt. And no matter how pretty the girls fink his face is, when you’re just a crippled spazz you could never, ever be the chaser. So,’ Ben pretended to cry now, ‘he’s never going to win the treasure.’
Matt stared dead ahead, pretending he didn’t care about Ben or anything he said. Someone at the back pulled out a cassette player and over the thunder of the bus engine, the clutch of girls at the back roared along to “Like a Virgin”. Not a song that would have been Matt’s choice at this precise moment.
The bus passed the ornate entrance gates to Little Hollow Hall. Inside the grounds shiny coated horses were grazing on the lush grass. Just beyond the gates an old church leaned sideways, as if its age was bending its back.
At that moment, Matt’s heart skipped a beat and then became a burning ache in his chest as a small plane came into view.
It was that bastard again! Flying his beautiful old warplane.
One of the girls, Holly, stopped singing and shouted towards him, ‘Hey, Buttrick, isn’t that pilot one of them Balmaines?’
Matt didn’t bother answering. They didn’t mention his name in their house anymore.
‘Yeah,’ Ben’s attention was back on him now. He shook his fist at the small plane as it disappeared behind a woodland, ‘it’s Bomber Balmaine!’
With a churning stomach, Matt squirmed further down in his seat. He really, really didn’t want to think of that man, the one who meant Dad wasn’t around anymore. Not now, just when he had new plans for summer and was trying to figure out how to break the news to Mum.
There was a sudden commotion beside Matt as Luke squirmed while Ben held him in a head lock. ‘What do you know about him, Lukey-boy? That old Bomber used to be around your house a lot.’
Luke scrambled forward, trying to pull away, but Ben yanked him back. ‘What are you Butt Monkeys hiding?’ he scoffed, ‘Is Bomber diddling your mum?’
A red flash rocketed through Matt’s brain. He stood up, leaned over Ben and hissed through clenched teeth, ‘Nobody says anything against my Mum. Nobody!’
‘Ah, a mummy’s boy!’ Ben jeered. He pulled a face and squeezed his arm tighter around Luke’s neck.
‘Leave my brother alone, now.’
‘What you gonna do? Hit me?’ Ben’s normal grunt had turned into a mocking singsong, ‘Go on then, go on.’
‘I said leave him!’ Matt really wasn’t in the mood for this. Most of the time, he was able to keep his cool, but now Ben had pushed him too far.
‘Oooh, I’m so scared,’ Ben pretended to sob. Then, he pouted. ‘The wuss suddenly wants to be superman. Has the truth given you a little bit of spine, pretty boy?’
Matt’s hand snaked out and grabbed Ben’s fingers, twisting them backwards.
Ben yelled and let go of Luke. He shoved Luke towards Matt, ‘Have him then, the twat’s as bad as you. Both of you need to man up! But wait,’ he sneered, ‘I forgot, you can never be a man.’
In a swinging right hook, Matt’s fist arched through the air.
And slammed right into Ben’s sour smirk.
15
Matt spat on his finger and held it up against the tender skin around his eye. No sooner had his punch landed to deck Ben, than four or five of the bully’s cronies had piled in. Within minutes, the bus had become a heaving scramble of bodies oblivious to the yelled commands from the driver.
His jaw ached, his eye had already swollen, and his tongue was bruised where he’d bitten it when Ben jumped back in to take his revenge.
Luckily, the bus driver had pulled over to come and stop the fight. Of course, it was his bad luck that the first thing the man had seen in his mirror was Matt’s punch. So he’d been blamed, and the brothers had been tossed off, long before their stop.
Now, he trudged along the country lane towards their house, tucked between the wheat fields.
They lived in a rural cul-de-sac of seven mostly semi-detached houses, with theirs being the only double storey detached. He’d never asked how Mum could afford the house on her own, but then maybe that had something to do with Dad. He would never dare broach that subject with Mum.
It was a pretty remote area. Not in a village like the other teens his age lived in. Their house was on the edge of the woodland which hid the airfield. A rutted tar track led from the road down to the few houses, and theirs was the last, almost hidden in the woods which started around the house and grew dense immediately beyond it.
The woodlands where the accident had happened.
In front, Luke blabbered on, going over all the details of who had done what in the fight. Like Matt really wanted to know.
Luke stopped abruptly and turned to Matt. ‘What’re you gonna do now?’
He shrugged, still feeling disillusioned. Just then, a thought came to him and he blurted it out: ‘I’m going to Aunt Janey,’ he spoke with decisive clarity as if he had known that all along, but the idea had never before occurred to him.
‘Why?’
‘She lives a field away from the RAF Brize Norton.’
‘So what?’
Matt worked through the idea as he spoke, ‘I can get to know the pilots. I have a good brain, and all the qualifications needed to join the RAF. I’m going to find out how I can pass the physical tests.’
‘Why don’t you come and work with me at the airfield?’
‘Hah,’ scoffed Matt. ‘I’m going to get a proper job at a proper airfield. Not a volunteer thing for the summer Air Festival.’
‘That’s not going to help, you know,’ Luke muttered, avoiding eye contact.
‘I’ll clean the pilots’ cars, hell, I’ll even wash their muddy boots if I have to. That way I can find out who’s the big brass and then I can sidle my way into his favours. When I have his attention, I’ll ask him why a guy with all his wits can’t be a pilot…just because of a stupid, lame foot.’
Right now, he didn’t have the belief that his new plan would work, but he had to find a way to fix thi
s. He had dreamt of flying all his life. That accident had already stopped enough, it wasn’t going to stop him now.
He had to show them he had mettle. More than some of their pilots. Like…like…but he couldn’t even say that bastard’s name in his head. It hurt too much. Sadness squeezed his stomach like a shackle, but he was used to it now, expert at suppressing the mostly negative emotions since the accident.
As a small boy he had dreamt of flying for the RAF. Even now, he had thought there would be some way he could still fly. From what he had read and a few wonderful glimpses at air shows he knew he could work the controls of a fighter jet, so it wasn’t as if he was incapable. He simply had to show the RAF it was brains, not brawn that made a pilot. He had taken all the subjects needed for his dream job, passed his maths and English with flying colours, all for this one goal.
It had been his mission, a goal that he had worked so hard towards. But he hadn’t known about the RAF basic physical fitness test. The letter had explained it, and made clear how it totally messed up all his plans.
When he’d first found out, he’d spent the afternoon throwing things around his bedroom, roaring at Mum and Luke, and even refusing to walk Buster, their elderly neighbour Bill’s dog. He and Luke normally took turns at that chore, but it was one Matt liked because he could go past the airfield and spy on the pilots.
‘Don’t tell Mum about me working,’ Luke muttered, jerking Matt back into the present.
Matt glared at his brother. ‘I should, you know, because we made it a family rule not to go near him.’
‘Come on, Matt, that was a long time ago. Please, we’ll share the job.’
‘No way, you won’t see me working there! I wouldn’t work there even if you paid me.’
Luke insisted, ‘Maybe Bomber can teach you to fly.’
‘I’m not going near that man!’ Matt exhaled hard. ‘And I think you’re a traitor for working there.’