One Moment

by Linda Green

  ‘We don’t want gay boys at Ickfield.’

  ‘I’m not gay,’ I say.

  ‘You either like sport, or you’re gay.’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Jacob. ‘So don’t deny it, Gay Lord.’

  Lots of the other kids laugh. I can feel my face flushing. I stand up. I don’t know what I am going to do, but I know I need to stand up. The others start calling out. I can’t make out everything they are saying but none of them are nice things. Miss Cahill comes back into the classroom. The kids instantly go silent, leaving me standing there.

  ‘Is everything OK, Finn?’ she asks.

  I nod and sit back down again.

  *

  They surround me the moment I get my ukulele from my locker. They must have been waiting for me. They must have planned it.

  ‘Where you off to, Gay Lord?’ says Harrison.

  ‘Music club,’ I say.

  ‘What is it you play?’

  I don’t want to answer but I think that if I don’t, he might make me get the ukulele out of its case, and I don’t want to do that.

  ‘Ukulele.’

  ‘What the fuck’s that?’

  ‘It’s like a little guitar,’ I say.

  ‘Show me.’

  ‘I haven’t got time,’ I reply. ‘I’ll be late for music club.’

  ‘I said, show me.’

  He steps closer to me. Jacob and Toby are standing at either side. There is no way I can escape. There are no other kids or teachers around because my locker is in a quiet area, away from the main corridor. I have no choice. Slowly, I unzip the case and get out my ukulele.

  The laughter starts straight away.

  ‘Look at that stupid smiley face,’ says Harrison. ‘That’s a little kid’s thing.’ He grabs it from my hand.

  ‘Give it back,’ I say.

  ‘What, and let people think boys at Ickfield are big babies? I don’t think so.’

  He drops it on the floor.

  ‘Oops, butter fingers,’ he says, smirking at me. He lifts up his knee and stands there on one leg with his other foot hovering over it.

  ‘No, please don’t,’ I say.

  ‘What’s the matter? Scared you’re going to cry if I break it?’

  ‘My mum got it for me—’ My voice breaks as I say it. Harrison brings his foot down heavily on the ukulele. It makes a horrible splitting, creaking sound and then it is silent. It is dead now. And the music has died with it..

  ‘Well, Mummy’s going to have to get you a new one, isn’t she?’ They all laugh and walk off together. The tears are pouring down my face. I kneel down on the floor and pick up my ukulele and cradle it in my arms, like it is a dead animal. Mum would cry too if she could see it. I know that.

  *

  ‘And this Harrison did it on purpose?’ asks Dad, when I show it to him later.

  ‘Yeah. He’s trying to make me leave the school.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Because I heard him say it this morning. He said he was starting a campaign to make me leave school because I’m the wrong sort of boy.’

  ‘What does he mean by that?’ asks Dad.

  I sigh. I hadn’t wanted to tell him, but I am so mad about the ukulele that I am going to, now.

  ‘He calls me Gay Lord. He says I must be gay because I don’t like sport.’

  ‘When did this start?’ Dad is asking a lot of questions suddenly. It’s like he hasn’t listened to anything I’ve been saying and he’s hearing about it for the first time.

  ‘On the first day of school.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I told you I hated it.’

  ‘Yeah, but not why.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have listened. You were too busy telling me I’d settle in and make friends.’

  Dad blows out and puts his head in his hands.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I just want you to be happy there.’

  ‘Well, I’m not. I hate it.’

  ‘I’ll call the head teacher tomorrow. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this.’

  ‘That’ll only make it worse,’ I say.

  ‘Well, what else can I do?’

  ‘Let me leave, like I want to.’

  ‘Finn, we’ve been through all this. It’s an excellent school. Let’s get this lad sorted out and maybe that’ll help calm things down a bit.’

  I shake my head and walk off, because I know it’s going to make it a whole lot worse.

  *

  Mrs Goodfellow’s office is at the far corner of the school, looking over the fields at the back. It’s like she wants to be head teacher, but she doesn’t really want to see or hear what’s going on.

  It is a funny name for a lady too, Goodfellow. Dad is standing next to me. Apparently, she’d said she wanted me to be at the meeting too so she could ‘reassure me’. I can’t think of anything she can say to reassure me, apart from telling me I can leave.

  ‘Remember what I said,’ says Dad. ‘We’ll keep it polite and we’re only here to talk about this incident. I don’t want you saying you hate the school.’

  I shrug. I wouldn’t tell her I hate it anyway. I don’t want to tell her anything. I just want to leave and never come back.

  Dad knocks the door. She calls out, ‘Enter,’ in a bright, high voice and we go in.

  Mrs Goodfellow stands up behind her desk and comes out to greet us. She is tall and thin and has her long hair piled on her head, which makes her look even taller. I think she must like being tall.

  ‘Hello Mr Carter,’ she says, shaking his hand, ‘delighted to see you again.’ I had forgotten that she would have met them when they came to look around. She must have met Mum too. I wonder what Mum thought of her.

  ‘And Finn, thank you for coming. I won’t keep you from your lessons for too long, but I wanted to offer you some reassurance. Please, do take a seat,’ she says to both of us.

  I look around as we sit down. The walls are covered in floral wallpaper and there are paintings of birds hanging on them. There are dainty ornaments of ballerinas on a shelf and a vase of flowers on her desk. It looks more like that posh tea-room Mum took me to in Ilkley once than a head teacher’s office.

  ‘Now,’ says Mrs Goodfellow, looking at me as she sits back down behind her desk. ‘I was so sorry to hear about the accident with your ukulele on Wednesday.’

  I look at Dad. If he isn’t going to say something, I will.

  ‘Er, Finn was quite clear that his instrument was broken deliberately.’

  Mrs Goodfellow smiles. ‘I understand that, but I have spoken to the young man involved and he has assured me that it was a highly unfortunate accident. When Finn dropped his ukulele, he was walking past, and in trying to jump out of the way, he overbalanced and stepped on it. He really is very sorry.’

  ‘No,’ I say. ‘That’s not what happened. He did it on purpose and he laughed as he did it and said mean things to me.’

  Mrs Goodfellow shakes her head. ‘I do understand that you’re very upset, Finn. Your father tells me the instrument was of sentimental value, but I can assure you that the young man in question would not lie about such a thing. His father is Chair of Governors here, so he comes from a highly reputable family.’

  ‘I hope you’re not suggesting that Finn’s lying,’ says Dad.

  ‘Not at all. But I do think he may have got confused about what happened, due to the emotional nature of the incident.’

  ‘No,’ says Dad. ‘He doesn’t get confused and I can assure you he also comes from a highly reputable family, although, of course, sadly, not one that is represented on your governing body.’

  For the first time since we entered, the smile disappears from Mrs Goodfellow’s face.

  ‘Mr Carter,’ she say, ‘I do not like what you
are insinuating. What we have here is two contrasting versions of events. I have spoken to all the young men involved and the two witnesses have confirmed that it was entirely accidental.’

  ‘They were laughing as he did it,’ I say, my voice cracking. ‘They’re his friends. Of course they’re going to lie for him.’

  ‘I can see you’re getting a little emotional, Finn,’ Mrs Goodfellow says. ‘And I do understand that you’ve had a difficult few months, but it is important that we all try to keep calm and resolve this situation. To that end, purely as a gesture of goodwill, Mr Cuthbertson, the father of the young man involved, has kindly offered to pay for a new ukulele to replace the one damaged in this accident.’

  Dad looks at me. I shake my head.

  ‘That won’t be necessary, thank you,’ Dad says. ‘I’ll be replacing it myself. I have to say that I’m very disappointed that Finn isn’t being believed and you aren’t taking appropriate action against the boy involved and his friends.’

  Dad is talking like a lawyer now. He’s quite good when he’s like this. Still not as good as Mum, though. She would have stormed out by now.

  ‘I think,’ says Mrs Goodfellow, ‘the best thing Finn can do now is to try to integrate a little more with his classmates. It has been noted by members of staff that his social skills need a little work.’

  Dad looks at her and shakes his head. He opens his mouth to say something, then shuts it again. Mrs Goodfellow stands up.

  ‘Well, thank you for taking the time to come and see me and discuss the matter,’ she says. She holds out her hand. Dad shakes it but he doesn’t return her smile.

  ‘I do hope that the boys involved will be closely monitored around Finn,’ Dad says. ‘Perhaps if he wasn’t being subjected to hurtful comments and having his property smashed by fellow pupils, he would be able to integrate a little better.’

  Dad turns and walks out. For the first time in my life, I feel proud of him.

  ‘I told you she wouldn’t listen,’ I say, as soon as we get outside.

  Dad’s eyes are dark. They go like that when he is angry.

  ‘I know. I’m sorry. If this was a court of law, she wouldn’t have got away with that. She’s clearly protecting him because of who his father is.’

  ‘It’s going to get worse now,’ I say.

  ‘If he says or does anything to you, you’re to tell a teacher straight away.’

  ‘They won’t believe me either.’

  ‘Then tell me when you get home. I believe you, OK?’

  ‘So why are you making me stay here?’ I ask.

  ‘Because all the other good schools are full now. There’s nowhere else you can go. We’ve just got to try to make the best of it.’

  I shake my head. ‘Mum wouldn’t make me stay,’ I reply. ‘Mum didn’t even want me to come here in the first place. She was right. You should have listened to her. Why did you never listen to her?’

  I turn round and run off in the direction of my classroom, ignoring Dad’s calls. When I go in and sit down, Harrison has a big, smug grin on his face.

  AFTER 14

  14

  Kaz

  Finn looks completely broken when I arrive. I step inside and give him a hug.

  ‘Hello, love. I’m so sorry about your ukulele.’

  He’d phoned me to tell me about it. Martin had said he could because Finn had explained that I’ve got an old phone and fat fingers, so am rubbish at texting.

  ‘I hate him,’ Finn says. ‘I never really hated the kids at my old school, but I hate Harrison.’

  ‘I know, pet. I hate him too and I’ve never even met little blighter. Has your dad done owt?’

  ‘He’s still mad at Mrs Goodfellow, like I am, but he says I still have to carry on going to the school.’

  ‘I see. Is he still mad at me, too?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Finn. ‘Why don’t you go and find out? He’s making tea.’

  I go through to the kitchen. I’m aware I should try to make peace with Martin. He’s taking a day off work to do Terry’s tribunal on Monday, which is pretty decent of him. The least I can do is apologise.

  Martin looks up from the chopping board.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ we both say at once.

  Martin smiles. ‘Well, that’s all sorted then,’ he says.

  ‘No, really. I didn’t mean to have a go at you,’ I say. ‘And I don’t think I’d be a better parent than you. Not judging by mess I’ve made with our Terry. It’s just I have a habit of opening my gob first and regretting it later.’

  ‘You had every right to have a go,’ says Martin.

  ‘Did I?’ I hadn’t been expecting this response.

  ‘Yeah. And I should have bloody listened to you. Sometimes, you don’t want to hear the truth though, do you? Not if you’ve fucked things up big time.’

  I sit down at the table.

  ‘Finn told me what happened at school.’

  ‘I know. That Harrison’s a nasty, lying little shit but it’s not him I’m angry at. It’s the head, for trying to cover it up because his dad is the Chair of Governors.’

  ‘Finn said she didn’t believe him.’

  ‘She believed him all right. She just doesn’t want to upset Harrison’s father. He’s got two other kids at the school, apparently. And his money is quite clearly more important than my bursary kid.’

  ‘What you going to do about it then?’

  Martin shrugs. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You can pull him out.’

  ‘Come on, Kaz. I’ve had all this with Finn. We’ve got to be sensible about this.’

  ‘Sensible’s overrated,’ I say.

  Martin manages a smile.

  ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘Hannah always used to say that.’

  ‘Maybe she had a point.’

  ‘She always had a point but it was usually different from mine.’

  ‘Aye, well, they say opposites attract.’

  Martin shakes his head.

  ‘It wasn’t like that. Not at first, when we met at uni. We had a lot in common then.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Life, growing up, parenthood. Hannah just remained the same idealistic, wonderful but entirely impractical person she was as a student. So, I figured one of us had to be a bit more responsible. Which is why I became the boring person who did the nine-to-five, paid the mortgage and reminded Finn about his homework.’

  ‘I could have done with someone like that.’

  ‘I don’t think Hannah saw it the same way, though. She thought I’d sold out, lost all my idealism. She said I took issue with everything she said and did.’

  ‘And was she right?’

  ‘Probably. We both had very different upbringings. Sometimes that only comes out when you have a kid of your own. She was adopted. Her parents were older and were very laid-back hippy types. My parents were uptight, so I was always wanting to play it safe, do the conventional thing. I think it was my way of making sure I didn’t screw up as a dad. Didn’t exactly work out.’

  He turns away from me for a moment. Maybe I did judge him too harshly at first. At the end of the day, we’re all trying to do our best. We just have different ways of going about it.

  ‘You’ve got a chance to do things differently now.’

  ‘Have I? I can’t see how, to be honest. I know Hannah was right. This isn’t the school for him, but I don’t see what I can do about it now. Even if I did pull him out, who’s to say the same thing wouldn’t happen in the next one we tried? I can’t keep pulling him out of schools forever.’

  ‘Well, there might be summat out there he’d like. You need to find a school that’s right for him.’

  ‘Yeah, and that’s easier said than done,’ says Martin. He walks over to the oven and checks the dinner.<
br />
  ‘Be ready in five minutes.’

  ‘Right,’ I say, seeing that I’m not going to get any further with him. ‘I’ll go and get Finn.’

  *

  I fetch Terry home on Sunday evening. I’ve made us a nice fish pie for tea, to celebrate his first overnight. He comes straight in and sits down on the sofa with his feet up.

  ‘Make yoursen at home then,’ I say with a smile.

  ‘I’ll be home soon,’ he says.

  ‘Let’s not get our hopes up too much.’

  ‘No, Doctor Khalil said. Reckons I can do two nights next weekend and he’ll see about letting me come home week after.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. Said he were going to talk to you when I go back tomorrow.’

  ‘Better hope I say yes, then,’ I reply.

  ‘Cheeky bugger,’ he says with a smile.

  He sits for a moment, looking around him, as if familiarising himself with the place again.

  ‘It’s all right here.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘It is.’

  ‘Better than other place.’

  ‘Aye.’

  He starts fiddling with his buttons.

  ‘Are you fretting about tomorrow?’

  ‘A bit. Feels like I’m on trial. I’ll have to tell them about that wee girl. God knows what they’ll think of me.’

  ‘It’s them who are on trial, Terry. They’re ones who messed it up. You should never have been found fit for work. It’s their fault that happened. Doctor Khalil has told them that in his statement. Martin reckons you’ve got a good case.’

  Terry nods. ‘I’m just worried about losing. I can’t go through all that again, Kaz. If I have to work, I’ll end up straight back inside and who knows how long it’ll take me to get out next time.’

  ‘I know. We’ll do our best, eh? I can’t make any promises, not after last time.’

  ‘OK. Fancy a bit of Mr & Mrs? Can’t beat a beat of Derek Batey to take your mind off stuff.’

  ‘Go on, then,’ I say.

  ‘I’ll be all right if they ask questions like that tomorrow. So I can choose my answers from sometimes, always, never or occasionally.’

  *

  Martin arrives promptly at nine the next morning.

  ‘Did Finn get off OK?’ I ask.