Rebecca’s smile was joyous, as infectious as it was improper.
‘Good for you,’ said Deborah.
‘It’s only the second prayer he’s ever answered.’
‘And the first was?’
‘Conception.’
Deborah burst out laughing. Rebecca watched, perplexed.
‘Jesus, Becky, I’d say answering the second was the least he could do.’
Rebecca let the blasphemy slide but looked a little hurt at Deborah’s laughter even as it subsided. They both faced her Jesus in the stained-glass window.
‘What was it he said, at the end?’ asked Deborah.
‘“Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.”’
‘You think that applies to us all?’
‘I pray so.’
‘Me too.’
Deborah stood and fastened her jacket.
‘Leaving?’
‘Yes. I don’t belong here, don’t like what it does to people.’
‘But you lit candles for the children.’
‘And their teacher. Like I said, they’re just candles, not a moment of weakness.’
‘We all need somebody, you also said that.’
‘I need John.’ Deborah pulled her collar up. ‘It’s nice to see you, Becky, despite it all.’
She kissed Rebecca on the cheek.
‘You staying?’
‘Yes. I’ll wait for Shep. He’ll know.’
Rebecca listened to Deborah’s footsteps receding. She waited for the door to open and close before she sank to the kneeler and bowed her head to pray.
‘Thank you,’ she said, before she was overcome and her body was convulsed with sobbing.
Seven years earlier
Dog Evans had bark and bite. He was never called Dog to his face. From his window seat at the back of the room he would often growl like a hungry beast as though in two minds as to which back to pounce on, which neck to sink his teeth into. Heads would stay bent over work and nobody would turn around.
He was a known user of knives and a master of their concealment. When instructed to open his satchel, lift his desk lid or turn out his pockets, he was always unarmed. Moments later, the teacher satisfied, a blade would flash in his hand for the benefit of one of his classmates. He would watch this news spread amongst them and purr.
In Douglas’s early school years, at the start of his gradual estrangement, the mere glint of a knife had caused Calvin Struan to urinate himself in the playground. The following day, in terror of it happening again, he gave Douglas his chocolate bar. Douglas was unaware that a precedent had been set. He never visited the tuck shop again.
A cordon of space and silence grew around him. Nobody strayed too close or said anything too loud. They simply bowed their heads to escape.
Jonny Raffique was the only one with any steel. Douglas thought to challenge him. But Jonny had the voice of an outlaw and eyes that were wholly black, conferring upon him the possibility of unknown strength and untapped skills and therefore the potential for defeat. Douglas tried to ignore him.
It got so he couldn’t ignore Alice Corggie. Each signal she gave to Raffique was noticed by Douglas. He followed her, cornered her and touched her. He put his hand where he thought she wanted Jonny Raffique’s to be. He took it away when she opened her mouth to scream, placing it over her lips, sealing her until she was sucking against his palm, and he felt her tears and saw her fear.
Dr Corggie and his wife complained. The school board sent a representative to speak to Douglas and his mortified parents. The nature of the assault led to two weeks’ exclusion. When Father Finnegan came and lectured him about sin and the evils committed by the hand, Dog Evans refused to blink and the priest couldn’t match his stare. Teacher and parents alike thought it best to shroud the enforced absence with an unspecified illness, to protect Alice’s dignity. For two weeks, Dog Evans stared out of his window across the marsh to the school, thinking about Alice Corggie, masturbating relentlessly. Rebecca couldn’t bring herself to wash his bed linen. She dragged it from his bed by a corner and left it in a pile for Shep to pick up. She gave her son clean linen and told him to make his own bed. It was the last time she entered his room.
On the day of his return to school, Shep used the worsening conditions as a reason to stay in the village, confining himself to doing what business he could on the telephone or catching up with paperwork. Rebecca stayed in bed. Shep cooked breakfast. Douglas prowled around with his coat on, swinging his bag, impatient, growling, caged. Shep put sausage, bacon, tea and toast on the table.
‘Sit down and eat something.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
‘You need to eat something’
‘I don’t. I want to go.’
‘It’s early, look at the snow, it’ll be cold.’
‘I won’t feel it.’
Douglas touched objects and examined things he was indifferent to, just to be moving.
‘You need money?’
‘No.’
‘Okay, go on then.’
Douglas went to the door.
‘Stay away from Alice Corggie,’ said Shep.
Shep was sure he caught an insolent leer, but Douglas was gone before he had the chance to repeat the warning.
Despite leaving early and skipping over his well-worn route across the marshland, safe and dry, Dog Evans wasn’t the first to arrive at school. He was surprised to see the older children all there, gathered around Jonny Raffique. He studied them as he stepped from the marsh and walked through the gate. Calvin Struan hid behind the Longfields and showed no sign of coming forward with his offering for protection. It was the first time this had happened since Dog had caused Calvin to soil himself. Alice Corggie stood at Raffique’s side.
He heard the sound and saw the light from Mr Corrigan’s car as it approached the school, wheels spinning in the slushy troughs of the lane. As he slid into his parking space, wet tyres bumping against a tree trunk set horizontal in the ground for this purpose, Dog Evans’ shadow raced across the playground and engulfed the children. The lights died. The car door opened. Mr Corrigan climbed out and slammed it shut.
‘Good morning, Douglas, good to have you back,’ he said with hollow enthusiasm. ‘I hope you’re recovered. Ready to work?’
Dog Evans ignored him.
Mr Corrigan noticed the other children as he passed Douglas and crossed the yard. He also noticed the fact that none of them smiled or said hello to the boy.
‘Quite a welcome, Douglas, you must have been missed.’ He pulled a face to the contrary for the benefit of the class. Calvin Struan snorted, forcing snot from his nose. The other children made a wild play over Calvin’s hanging bogey and the tension broke as they all jeered at him leaning forward so it didn’t swing onto his mackintosh while he fumbled for his handkerchief. Only Jonny Raffique and Alice Corggie kept their attention fixed on Dog Evans, watching for his response. He was glaring at Mr Corrigan’s back as the teacher skipped up the three steps to the door to the school. As he took his keys from his pocket, Mr Corrigan turned with a half-smirk still on his face. He saw Dog Evans. The smirk disappeared. His hands out in contrition, he took a step back down to the yard.
‘Come on now, Douglas, just a wee joke, trying to lighten things a bit for your first day back. We’re laughing with you, not at—’
He never finished his sentence. His mouth went useless and he covered his ears as Dog Evans split the morning with a scream that was all animal and wrath. Bulging eyes. Reddening skin that tightened and pulled every muscle in his neck into fibrous relief. It lasted many seconds. Although directed at the teacher, the scream had a devastating effect on the children. Most turned away, protecting their ears, some losing their footing as they tried to get out of range. The Longfields, immune to the squealing of stuck pigs, gaped in awe as th
ey took backwards steps. Jenny Cutter forced hair into her mouth in panic and scratched at her thigh. Jonny Raffique was unnerved yet held Alice Corggie as she pulled tight against him, her face buried in his shoulder. Kerr Munson dropped his pen. Calvin Struan urinated. Lucy Magnal gripped her wooden cross. Muchis choked on a cola chew. Maggie Voar tried to go to Mr Corrigan, who had slipped on the step and fallen, but was pulled back by Robbie and Cameron, wailing for her to stay. Some began to cry. When Dog Evans stopped, the sniffling filled the air.
He shifted his attention from the teacher as he sucked draughts of air through his mouth, wet with saliva. His chest heaved as he inspected each of his classmates while his breathing stabilised. The only movement was the avoidance of his stare, the chewing of a lip. Dog Evans swallowed as though hungry. Satisfied, he looked back to the teacher and said, ‘Ring the bell.’
Mr Corrigan stood up and brushed himself down. He addressed Dog Evans with as much control as he could muster.
‘You’re not coming back into my classroom.’
Dog Evans took slow, deliberate steps towards the shaking teacher, not once breaking eye contact.
‘I’m going into my room.’
Mr Corrigan backed up to the school door, unlocked it and pushed it open.
‘Now, before I let anybody else in.’
The children shrank away as Dog Evans turned his gaze on them, gathering beneath the lamp in the protective aura of Jonny Raffique. Dog Evans searched for a sign of weakness. Snowfall obscured Raffique and his dependants and a false peace descended. Dog Evans allowed himself to blink.
‘It’s my birthday tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Don’t forget.’
Mr Corrigan moved out of his way as Dog Evans climbed the steps and entered the school. From within the boy’s chest gurgled something akin to laughter, a further mockery.
Dog Evans could hear Mr Corrigan following him as he walked down the side of the classroom, opened the storeroom, went inside and slumped down into the corner. He closed the door to the sound of the teacher’s retreat.
A muffled dispute followed. The only voices he could make out were Alice Corrgie’s, strident and demanding, and the squeaky whining of those happy little bastards, the Voars.
Mr Corrigan re-entered the classroom alone, his footsteps irresolute, creeping almost. They stopped outside the storeroom. His breathing was heavy and it was obvious when he held it. The key was in and turned in an instant.
‘I’m sorry, Douglas,’ he said. ‘You scared the little ones. I’ll let you out for lunch.’
‘I won’t be hungry.’
‘You’ll need the toilet, at least.’
Dog Evans stood up and pulled his zip down.
‘I won’t.’
He knew the teacher could hear him pissing in the dark as the key shifted in the lock, but Mr Corrigan didn’t turn it.
‘Shit. Douglas, stop that, now.’
‘Can’t.’
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘Because you locked me in here.’
The room boomed as the teacher kicked the door.
‘Well you can fucking lie in it, you hear? I’ve had enough. You’ll get out when I say so.’
‘Finished.’
Mr Corrigan stormed away and could be heard ordering the rest of the class into the room. There was no conversation to speak of. Boots stomped through the class to the back where coats were taken off and hung up on hooks with names below and gym kits waiting in gym bags. Chairs scraped and desk lids clapped.
‘Sir,’ said Connor, ‘will he …’
‘No, it’s okay, Connor. He’s locked in, he can’t get out.’
‘Like a jail?’
‘No, not like a jail.’
‘Like a zoo,’ said Jonny Raffique, prompting sniggers that caused Dog Evans to stand and press his face against the ventilation holes drilled in the door. Dog Evans watched.
‘No, Jonny, not like a zoo either. And I don’t think that’s a nice way to talk about somebody, anybody.’
‘A dog, though?’
‘That’s enough.’
Jonny let it go.
‘Like an asylum,’ said Jack Todd, deadpan.
Mr Corrigan frowned at Jack. The class fell quiet, waiting for the teacher to respond, to challenge Jack or tell him off. He didn’t.
Mad Dog listened.
‘Okay, books out, everybody. We’ll start with arithmetic. If anybody needs a sharp pencil, put your hand up and Alice will bring you one.’
Alice Corggie looked over and quickly turned away.
‘Sir.’
‘Alice?’
Her raised arm directed the teacher and the rest of the class to the storeroom. Mr Corrigan sagged and leant on his desk, shielding his eyes with his right hand. His left formed a hard white fist around his fountain pen. Dog Evans could see his lips moving. He assumed the teacher was praying, like his mother did. He knew it wouldn’t do him or his charges any good. His mother’s prayers had never been answered; he’d heard them, he was still here. Mr Corrigan’s lips stopped moving. He raised his head and his eyes came out from behind his hand, making direct contact with Dog Evans. He stood. His chair fell backwards into the blackboard.
Kerr Munson checked his watch. It was seven minutes and thirty-seven seconds past nine when Mr Corrigan unlocked the storeroom door. Kerr noted this in his journal. Dog Evans had the circular impressions of the ventilation holes across the left side of his face where he had been pressed against the door watching Alice Corggie. He was erect, aching with what he wanted to do to her.
‘Go home.’
Dog Evans took his ache back across the marsh.
He charged up the path to the door in the opposite direction to Shep’s new tracks.
Inside, the fire was roaring and Rebecca was at the table drinking tea. She jumped up, startled and uneasy as he burst into the house.
‘Why are you here?’
As if the question referred to his very existence, Dog Evans swung his school satchel at his mother. The buckle slashed her eye. Rebecca spun backwards, knocking the breakfast things from the table as she fell. Blood seeped between her fingers as Dog Evans stood over her.
‘Because you wanted me. I am your dog, bitch.’
When Shep came back from the post office, he saw his son’s returning tracks and noticed the front door was open. Wiping his feet, he went inside. Things were out of place, beyond untidy. He listened, uneasy, for any glitch in the silence.
‘Rebecca. Rebecca.’
‘Shep.’
Seeing the blood on the floor at the same time as he heard the slip of the bathroom lock, Shep took the stairs two at a time.
‘Rebecca?’
She stood on the landing. The stains on the cotton towel ran from pink to crimson. It concealed half of her face. Blood was drying on the back of her hand, down her arm and on the front of her jumper.
‘Jesus, Becky.’
She fought his need to pull the towel away, but he insisted. He couldn’t hide his shock. Her skin was torn; a slash, ripping from the corner of her eye across the lid, that would need stitches.
‘Can you see?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Rebecca, what happened?’
‘He came home.’
Her free hand pointed to his bedroom. Shep kicked the door with all he had and followed it into the room, slapping and punching his son the moment he was within reach. The boy cowered and guarded his head from the initial onslaught before pushing back and asserting himself, hefting Shep away with surprising force.
‘Rebecca, Rebecca, Rebecca, Rebecca, Rebecca. Always her.’
Shep’s anger continued in another wave of fists. When it subsided, his chest heaved in rhythm with his panting. His son lowered his arms and stood to his full insolent height.
; ‘Finished?’
Shep knew he’d broken something between them.
‘Stop, Shep, please.’ Rebecca stood in the doorway. ‘Please, leave him, come away.’
‘Leave me. Go away. Typical.’
‘Look what you’ve done to your mother, what do you expect?’
‘Some mothering.’
Rebecca gasped. Shep heard her running down the stairs.
‘You’re in trouble,’ said Shep, a threatening finger inches from his son’s face. ‘Don’t go anywhere until I get back, and so help me God, you’d better pray she’s okay.’
He ran from the room in pursuit of Rebecca.
Dog Evans stood motionless, listening to the car sheering in the snow as the over-revved wheels spun until they hit gravel and Shep swerved away from the house.
Holding his curtain aside, he saw the car’s tail lights as they veered onto Main Street.
‘I don’t pray,’ he said, shifting his attention to the school and thoughts of Alice Corggie.
Blinded by the snow and the morning still black with night, Dog Evans picked his way across the marsh, hat pulled over his ears and a scarf-concealed face.
Avoiding the main gate, he skirted the school grounds until he knew he would be out of sight of the village. Turning on his small torch, he approached the rear wall where the friendship bench sat below Hamilton Walker’s window. Taking his hunting knife from his pocket, he slid it between the sash windows, slicing through the draught excluder before turning the blade around to use the spine to force the fastener open. The weights dropped in the pulley void as the bottom window slid up.
Pushing off the top of the bench took Dog Evans through the space in one swift movement, dragging snow from the sill over Hamilton Walker’s desk. Once inside, he shut the window against the outside and closed the fastener.
The teacher’s key was in the top drawer of his desk, a steel mortise on a green fob. Dog Evans took it, walked between the desks and unlocked the storeroom. He inserted the key into the lock on the inside. The wall clock above the coat rack on the back wall showed just after six when he opened the first Bunsen burner. There was a gentle sigh of gas. Walking the length of the workbench, he opened all twelve, six pairs. Corner to corner, he worked his way around the class, turning the four ceiling-mounted gas heaters fully on. Satisfied with the sibilant hiss of escaping gas, he sat in Alice Corggie’s seat.
The Wrong Child Page 17