Pica

by Jeff Gardiner

  Then a sigh sounded directly in my ear. I felt the breath on my neck.

  I’d been caught. I froze petrified. My mind struggled between the instinct to get up, fight, and bolt, or to remain calm and turn around, slowly and with confident control. My earlier idea about cannibals came back to haunt me. Or what if it was some huge beast? I remained locked with my back now to whoever – or whatever – it was. Should I flick my head around, or not? I clenched my fists in readiness. I kept expecting to hear a noise or feel a hand clamp down on me. Eventually I summoned up the strength to count silently to three. On three I whipped my head around and brought my gun up to defend myself. No-one there…

  I’d spooked myself out for nothing, and I returned the Magnum to my jacket pocket.

  Berating myself with a hiss – half laugh, half sigh of relief, I shook my head and turned back to watch the rabbits.

  Shit!

  There – just a few inches in front of me – was Guy.

  I felt his hot breath. It smelt stale and its reek clung to the insides of my nostrils. But still I couldn’t move. His black hair fell in matted curls around his eyes and his teeth were yellow and jagged. To my horror he leaned in until his nose touched my cheek. And then he sniffed me. I swear it. He sniffed me! Like he was some kind of dog testing to see if I was friend or foe. His cold blue eyes scanned my entire face; covered the whole area only a few centimetres from my skin. And then he suddenly pulled his head away from me and scampered back to the middle of the glade now filled with rabbits.

  What the…?

  Bloody freak! He’s more of a nut-job than I first thought. Part of me screamed to leave right then, another part of me wanted to find out more about this weirdo. Was he some kind of pikey? I was annoyed that he’d clearly found this place first. I stayed where I was for a while, confused and intrigued.

  He didn’t give me a second look after the very close inspection. Instead I watched him with mounting curiosity. What the hell was he doing here? How had he got there without me hearing him?

  My fascination grew as Guy fell over playfully onto the grass. The rabbits swarmed over the clearing. He lay on his back and the rabbits came to him. They clambered on top of him, nuzzling his hands and face and hopping out the way happily when he shifted or rolled over. He played with them as if it were the most natural thing in the world. They appeared to respond to his every movement and sound. The rabbits crowded the space in their hundreds and yet all their movements were synchronised like liquid, flowing this way and that.

  I watched him interacting with the rabbits until I wondered why the hell I was still there. Why was I so intent on watching this freak frolicking about? Had I suddenly turned into some kind of wimp who loved fluffy bunnies? Or worse … watching boys roll around in the grass? Hell! What was happening to me?

  One part of me wanted to leap forward and punch this saddo really hard in the face. Maybe I could stomp on a few rabbits for good measure. Watch their guts and brains ooze out under my shoe, whose soles I could then wipe clean on Guy’s shirt. That would be an awesome virtual reality computer game: Rabbit Stomper – with sensor pads on your feet, squishing hundreds of bunny brains. I could make millions …

  Actually, there was something entirely interesting and mysterious about him. His incredibly strange behaviour was both intriguing and embarrassing at the same time. Certainly, if the others at school knew my parents were friends of his I’d never hear the end of it and might just as well commit suicide. It would surely be social suicide to actually hang out with him.

  Without really thinking it through I stepped out into the clearing, but as I did so, all the nearby rabbits skittered away. Instead I just found a place to stand, and waited.

  Guy jumped up with impressive agility and walked boldly towards me. His eyes darted around, as if checking different parts of me randomly before putting all the images together in his mind. I was grateful he didn’t sniff me again, but his lips definitely twitched into a smile.

  Then he put out a hand – more in greeting than in intimacy. I offered mine cautiously and they gripped each other. His skin felt surprisingly gnarled and hard. I pulled my hand away quickly and began to retreat. He didn’t react, he just watched me with a look of curiosity as I backed off.

  Deciding not to look back again, I shoulder barged my way through the thicket in a direct line. It wasn’t the same way I had entered, but I just wanted to find my way outside as quickly as possible. I burst through the final section of undergrowth, feeling something scratch my cheek as I found myself back on the grassy edge, surrounded by speeding cars.

  Waiting for a gap in the traffic, I put my head down and ran across the two lanes, pumping my arms wildly. Nobody hooted at me this time. The bank looked really steep now, but I hauled myself up it by gripping clumps of weeds until I reached the flyover. Then it proved a simple matter of leaping over the barrier, crossing that road, and then jogging home without stopping.

  Chapter Four

  Maths again. I lose count how many times we have to suffer the torture of Maths lessons. It seems like we have to study it about seven times a day. I know that can’t be right, but it would explain why I wasn’t very good at the subject. Actually, I’m OK – I can do the sums – I just don’t understand what it’s for or why. Maths was invented to stop young people getting bored and causing trouble. I can’t see any other useful application for most of it. It’s hard to care what the value of x might be. When a teacher asks me I feel like shouting, ‘If you’re so bothered then work it out for yourself!’ I must admit though, I haven’t actually summoned up the courage to do it yet, but imagining myself doing it gets me through the hour-long lessons.

  This was at least my third maths lesson of the week and we gave a big cheer when we saw we would have a cover teacher instead of old Wrinkly Winkler. This cover teacher looked even older than Mr Winkler. She had obviously dyed red hair and way too much make-up for an old bag in at least her sixties. Connor turned round and gave me and Simon a smirk as she screamed for us all to be quiet. This was going to be fun.

  She tried her best, bless her, but she clearly wasn’t a Maths teacher, and she appeared to hate teenagers; which seemed odd for someone in her chosen profession. To be fair, she never stood a chance with us. Connor did his ‘I don’t understand the work’ routine, claiming to have special educational needs – which was untrue – and therefore wasn’t expected to get through the work as quickly as everyone else.

  Cheryl and her cronies point blank refused to work and sat with their arms folded instead.

  ‘But it’s well boring, miss. You can’t make me do it. You’re not allowed to touch me. What you gonna do about it? You come near me, I’ll sue you.’

  The poor old dear tried reasoning with them but Cheryl just got more and more stroppy and half the class went on strike. The cover teacher decided to ignore those not working and help the dozen or so keenos who were keeping their heads down and doing as they were told. Connor, Simon, and I chatted merrily without being bothered or told to keep quiet. As a class we were making quite a racket, and the old bag had mostly given up on us, returning to her desk and frequently checking her watch. I waited for the right moment to perform my party trick.

  Exactly halfway through the lesson I raised my hand, but she was trying to pretend we weren’t there and was staring absently out of the window. I stood up and waved my hands wildly as if on a clifftop, trying to attract the attention of strangers many miles away.

  ‘Yoo-hoo! Hello! Miss Cover Teacher! Are you alive?’

  She suddenly came to when we all laughed, and she scowled on seeing me waving manically and pulling such exaggerated faces.

  ‘Sit down, boy, and stop being so silly.’ She got up and came over to sort out the situation. I really think she was now just hoping it would end quickly. She obviously wanted to get through it without any major incident, but I was now ruining this hope.

  I remained standing. ‘But miss, I need to go to the toilet.’

/>   ‘You know as well as I do that’s against the school rules.’ She stood in front of me with her arms folded.

  ‘But I’ve got a medical condition with my bladder.’

  She paused for a few seconds to consider this option.

  ‘So you’ll have a medical pass then?’ She smiled triumphantly and raised her eyebrows as if waiting for my response.

  ‘I’ve lost it, miss. I swear. I think I left it at home today, but you can check with my tutor if you want.’

  Connor suddenly decided to join in.

  ‘It’s true, miss, he has. I can vouch for him. He always goes to the loo. He’s got this pass thingy …’

  ‘Excuse me, young man, but this has nothing to do with you.’

  She gave him an evil stare and Connor sucked his teeth loudly before turning back to his desk.

  ‘Miss, I’m desperate. I’ll be really quick.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But I really can’t control it.’

  ‘Which part of “no” are you struggling with, exactly? Is it the “n” or the “o”?’

  It was a classic stand-off. Who’d buckle first? I brought out my trump card.

  ‘Please, miss, I need you to believe me. The doctor diagnosed me as having prostatitis with suspected interstitial cystitis. It’s also known as BPS – Bladder Pain Syndrome. I have to take tablets twice a day, a combination of amitriptyline and antihistamine – which helps rebuild the wall of the bladder.’

  It always worked. It deserved to after spending so many hours on various websites finding information about it.

  The cover teacher’s face puckered up for a moment as she stared through slitted eyes.

  ‘Be as fast as you can. I’m timing you. If you take longer than three minutes I’ll keep you behind. And I suggest you don’t leave your medical pass behind again. I might not feel so kind next time.’

  She swept round and marched back to her desk. As she did so I jogged out of the class, high-fiving Connor, Simon, and then Pete who sat at the front by the door.

  I went to the back of the school and hung around for a while out of sight of any classrooms and waited ten minutes, texting Connor and Simon. By the time I returned, nobody in the class was doing any work. The poor old dear had completely given up and was reading her book at the desk while practically everyone else was furtively throwing around a tennis ball. The game was to chuck it a little further and harder each time without her looking up. Those not involved in the game either chatted or checked their phones.

  It was while the tennis ball game was in full swing that Simon brought up the subject of Guy.

  ‘That new kid – you know, the well skanky one – I had to sit next to him in ICT, yeah. Man, he stinks. He is rank. Have you seen his clothes? He kept getting closer to me and touching me. I had to push his chair away like this – and keep one hand over my nose so I didn’t have to breathe in his stink, you know? What a loser.’

  Connor pulled a face. ‘Yeah, if that saddo comes anywhere near me again I’ll smash his face in. He needs to understand respect. You know what I mean? Don’t you think?’ He turned to me directly.

  ‘Yeah!’ I nodded with a frown. ‘What a sad loser he is, man. He needs to get a life. He’s always crying like a baby.’

  ‘He probably wets his bed, too,’ Simon chortled.

  ‘Yeah, I heard he wet himself in a lesson,’ I heard myself say. Why the hell did I do that? I’d just told a big fat lie merely to look cool and in-the-know with my mates. It was too late to turn back now.

  ‘Really? What happened?’ Now half the class were listening in on our conversation.

  ‘Um, yeah, definitely. I can’t remember what lesson it was now. But the teacher asked him a question and he literally wet himself.’

  ‘Eurgghh!’

  I began enjoying the limelight.

  ‘He was just standing there in the middle of the class with pee running down his leg and he was wading in this massive puddle.’

  Three or four girls were shrieking now. ‘Oh gross!’

  ‘Talk about taking the piss,’ Simon quipped. ‘You don’t need to take it out of him because it’s already on the floor.’

  Luckily, nobody seemed too bothered about the details; like when it had happened, why nobody else had spoken about it, and why no-one in the room had been present at the incident or even knew anyone who had been. The story was too good to disbelieve and was exactly what everyone wanted to hear – so it must be true. In fact whether it was true or not seemed irrelevant. I enjoyed the attention, and being considered an expert on the matter.

  Only Cheryl responded differently.

  ‘The little love. I think he’s sweet.’

  Suddenly all the girls changed their minds and started saying how he needed a hug and was ‘really sweet … ah, bless.’

  This reaction upset Connor. ‘That little freak is even taking away our bitches now.’

  ‘We is not bitches!’ Cheryl screeched. ‘We’s ladies.’

  This caused a great deal of hilarity. The cover teacher looked up gingerly, shook her head, and returned to the safety of her book.

  With only a few minutes left to go of the lesson, Connor got up, called for the tennis ball which he caught in one hand, stood exactly in the middle of the classroom and threw the ball really hard at the wall about a metre above the cover teacher’s head. It hit the wall with a loud crack and flew back into his hands.

  The cover teacher looked up slightly confused, checked her watch, smiled, packed up her things, and walked out without another word.

  My story about Guy spread through the school like a stink-bomb. I heard it from at least four other people and it had even developed a few extra details. In one version he’d done a poo on the floor, which didn’t make any sense, but the chance to laugh at someone other than yourself was too much for us all to resist.

  Chapter Five

  I always walked faster going home than I did to school. That afternoon I found Mum weeding the front garden flowerbeds as part of her ‘big tidy up’. Once a year she ‘blitzed’ the house and garden, generating about ten full-to-the-brim black bin bags, which I always had to help empty at the local recycling centre.

  ‘Hi, Luke,’ Mum called as I pushed open the gate. ‘There’s a spare pair of gardening gloves here for you.’

  ‘Oh, um, sorry … I’ve got lots of homework to do,’ I improvised, hoping to scurry past and up to my room.

  ‘I’ve done most of the front and back and just have the house to complete now.’ She stood up and took off her gloves as she faced me. It would have been rude to just walk away. ‘How was school?’

  ‘Yeah – the usual.’

  ‘I keep meaning to ask how Guy is getting on.’

  ‘Great, yeah. He’s doing great.’

  ‘Hope you’re helping him settle in properly. He needs a friend right now. Poor thing with his mum so ill.’

  ‘He seems fine. He’s making friends and stuff.’ I tried to sound casual.

  ‘Oh, good. We must get them round again soon.’

  ‘Great,’ I said with a fixed neutral expression. ‘Hey, you look like you need a cup of tea. Shall I put the kettle on?’

  ‘Er … yes. Wow. Thank you. Sounds wonderful.’

  ‘You look like you deserve one after all this hard work.’

  ‘Thank you, Luke. That’s incredibly kind of you.’

  I tried to ignore the faces of confusion and suspicion she pulled as she watched me enter the house to begin my good deed. OK, so I don’t usually volunteer to make drinks … that often … or at all, actually.

  Frisky met me in the kitchen, yowling for food. I put some cat biscuits into his bowl.

  Then Mum decided to follow me into the kitchen and at first I thought she might be checking that I really was going to boil the kettle. Instead she insisted on asking me questions while I got the tea bags and mugs out.

  ‘So you think he’ll be OK then?’

  ‘Who?’ I asked, genuinely confused.r />
  ‘Guy.’

  She wasn’t going to let it go. Did she know more than she was letting on? Perhaps his foster parents had already spoken to her and dobbed me in as being useless. I was a complete disappointment to my parents, anyway – and here was yet another reason to confirm their greatest fears.

  ‘Sure. It’s always tough starting somewhere new, but he’ll be fine.’

  ‘And you promise to look out for him? Help him out?’

  ‘Yeah. ’Course.’

  To my horror she pulled me in for a hug.

  ‘Thanks, darling. I knew I could rely on you. He’s got special needs, you understand, and must be treated with care. His mother is very ill. You see, he doesn’t find it easy going to school. He’s what’s known as “school-phobic”. I know some children can be quite mean to lads like him, but I hope you’ll be different. He needs a friend, and people to be kind to him.’

  What the hell was I supposed to do now? Talk about a guilt trip.

  My mum always had these little pet projects; people she liked to help out. It was clear that Guy and his foster parents were her latest ‘project’ and she was relying on me. Great.

  I stayed silent and let her squeeze me tightly and sway with me from side to side. She then held me at arm’s length and smiled at me, waiting for me to do the same.

  As soon as I could I escaped her clutches and continued with the tea-making.

  ‘Oh, you’ll never guess what I found today,’ Mum said, sitting down at the breakfast bar. ‘A dead magpie. Grief, it was disgusting. Must have been killed by a fox or something. It was stiff and yucky. Eugh! Just thinking about it now makes my skin crawl.’

  ‘Gross,’ I said, adding the milk. ‘In the front garden?’ My eyes blinked innocently as I tried not to react in a manner that would give me away.

  ‘No – the back. I think I uncovered an ants’ nest too. I’ll have to get your dad on to that or else they’ll get into the house like they did last year.’