That cup of tea tasted extremely good right then.
Chapter Twenty-five
So I pretended to go to school. This meant actually leaving the house at the right time and walking around the corner where I waited by some garages, hoping nobody had seen me or would come and retrieve their car. I doubted if any were kept in these garages; probably all storing furniture or stolen goods. No-one disturbed me. I had to trust that Mum didn’t go into my room and poke about. I had closed the door firmly to make sure Frisky didn’t go in! Once it got to 8.45 I felt certain they’d both left and returned to the house. Seeing both cars gone I knew it would be safe. I opened the front door and closed it quickly behind me, hoping the neighbours weren’t watching, ready to report all to my parents.
At first I couldn’t find Guy and I panicked that he’d been found by my parents or Frisky. He was certainly not strong enough to have flown off. After a proper search I found Pica asleep under my bed, tucked into the far corner behind a stack of old comics. I decided to leave him, as sleep could only be the best thing. My movements and sounds hadn’t disturbed him. Even though I did think the worst initially, I could see him breathing and twitching as he slept.
Tiptoeing and being as quiet as I could, I stripped the bed linen and took off the duvet cover, gathered it into the smallest bundle I could manage, and carried it downstairs to the washing machine. How difficult could it be to operate?
I pushed the dirty laundry straight in through the round hole and stooped down to look at the dials and controls. What the hell is a ‘prewash’ and ‘rinse hold’? There were lots of numbers on a dial from 30 to 95 and then a choice of larger numbers: 700 to 1600. It meant nothing to me. Another button offered me the options of ‘Super Rinse’, ‘Heavy’, and ‘Skip’. I wondered where the ‘Punch Hard’ and ‘Head Butt’ switches were situated.
I had a brain wave and decided to look for labels. They’d help me sort out this dilemma. The duvet cover was a new one with dark colours and patterns. It was bound to have a label – but I couldn’t find one anywhere. The sheet said 40 degrees centigrade, but would that remove blood? Vaguely recalling that hotter washes shifted more dirt I went for the highest numbers on both and selected ‘Intense Wash’ for good measure.
Pressing ‘Start’ made it click and whir, then I heard water gushing into the machine. All seemed well.
Telly always showed crap programmes during the day; probably to deter kids from bunking off school. That was my theory.
After an hour, the washing machine was still rumbling round and round and I just had to hope this was normal. I had no idea if it was, to be honest. After another ten minutes or so of worrying it suddenly stopped and began beeping at me, loudly and persistently, as if shouting for me to come and sort something out. Perhaps it had broken down.
I tried to see if the dials or buttons were giving away any clues. Perhaps the contents were ready to hang up, although putting up the washing-line-whirligig-thingy outside wasn’t really an option with prying neighbours, so I considered using the hairdryer. I tried opening the washing machine’s front-loading door, but it wouldn’t budge. It seemed to be locked. I shook the whole thing quite hard and then kicked it, hurting my slippered toes in the process. Peering closely into the round window I could see the machine was still filled up to near the top with water – I could see it slopping around. How the hell did you get the water out? If I had opened the door it would have flooded the entire kitchen.
I then spotted a dial labelled ‘Spin Cycle’. I turned it randomly and then pressed lots of other buttons, angrily hitting them and grazing my knuckles as I did so. Miraculously, the machine suddenly came back to life and the unmistakeable sound of draining water made me feel elated. The level definitely went down and the faster motor of the spin dryer whizzed into action, and I felt a great sense of relief and a little pride that I had – albeit inadvertently – managed to work out how to wash my own sheets.
With a smug feeling settling upon me I went up to check on Guy.
A human leg stuck out from under my bed and, as I approached to see if he was comfortable there, I saw it move.
‘Luke? That you? Give me a hand.’ Guy’s hand reached out and I crouched down and pulled on it with both my hands. The whole bed moved with him. ‘My legs have gone to sleep. Pins and needles. I often get it after changing.’
I tugged with all my might and the top half of him emerged. I put my arms under his armpits and leaned backwards. After his legs appeared we toppled comically backwards, although Guy had a soft landing – me.
Seeing the state he was in I remembered what was required.
‘I’ll run you a bath.’ I paced to the bathroom, where I turned both taps on full before squeezing lots of gloopy bubble bath under the running water. At three-quarters full I turned off the taps and called him. Preferring not to see him naked yet again I returned downstairs to see if the spin cycle had finished yet.
It hadn’t, but I did spot a ‘Pause’ button, which I pressed, and watched as the whole machine juddered, screamed, and wheezed to a halt. Once the barrel had stopped rotating I waited a few more seconds before trying the door, which opened easily and I triumphantly pulled out the clean linen.
Except something was wrong.
The duvet had been dark and colourful, but I was certain I had put the clean white sheets in with it – and yet nothing I pulled out looked in the least bit white. All the material slowly spilling from the washing machine was decidedly dark. Then the horror dawned on me – the colours had run. Never mix colours and whites. I recalled my mum saying this now – she always asked me for my whites or my colours but I’d never really considered it before.
‘No-o-o-o!’
The sheets were ruined – now streaked with black, grey, and dark red. I’d made them worse than before. What was I supposed to tell Mum and Dad? Should I lose the evidence and find some new sheets for my bed and hope nobody would see? As if Mum wouldn’t notice.
I sat for a while in a daze, trying not to panic. First, I had to come up with a story to explain why I was washing the sheets. I could just say that I wanted to be helpful; I am turning over a new leaf, after all, and I wanted to save Mum a job. It didn’t sound very plausible. It looked dubious that I only washed them and not the other things in the laundry basket. Then it occurred to me that I could say I felt really ill and had wet the bed, then due to being really embarrassed I had tried to clear up and got it wrong. Surely Mum and Dad would understand and even compliment me for doing the right thing. They always went on about how important it is to ‘do the right thing’. And now I had.
As long as they didn’t suspect me of harbouring a runaway and of lying to them – even though I was guilty of both … but that wasn’t the point.
By the time I had gone back upstairs Guy was standing in my bedroom wrapped in Mum’s fluffiest pink towel. I rifled through my drawers for some clothes, finding my oldest boxer shorts, a faded T-shirt, and some ripped jeans, all of which he caught gratefully.
‘When my mum and dad get home you have to hide.’
‘Sure,’ Guy said with a yawn. ‘I’m feeling much better, thanks. I might even go out for a bit later.’
I guessed he meant as Pica. It would have been a bit patronising of me to argue with him. He’s big enough to look after himself.
We chatted about magpies and birds for a while, until Guy announced he felt tired and immediately fell into a trance-like sleep. I suddenly remembered I had left the ruined sheets on the floor downstairs and wandered down again, vaguely considering my options. Best to just confess and give the bed-wetting explanation, however humiliating it sounded. I watched a few films until Mum returned just before tea, by which time I had learnt my lines by rote.
She nodded and tutted as I told her my story, smiling kindly.
‘Hmm. I’ll have to teach you how to do it properly, won’t I? Perhaps doing the washing could be one of your jobs you do for pocket money.’
This alarming sugge
stion wasn’t quite what I’d had in mind, but I couldn’t exactly argue.
When I said about being ill and wetting the bed, she nodded thoughtfully and said something a little odd.
‘I think I understand what you’re telling me. It’s perfectly normal, isn’t it, for boys your age? Don’t you worry about it. It’s natural and healthy.’ And she wandered off to the kitchen to start getting tea ready. I left her to it, slightly puzzled, and went to my bedroom. Guy sat on my bed, stretching his back and rolling his shoulders.
He got up and opened my window. Just as I heard Mum’s footsteps ascend the stairs, Guy transformed. The clothes fell to the floor and Pica got to the window sill, poked his head out into the cold air, and then disappeared.
A few moments later Mum tapped lightly on my door.
‘Could you remember to pull the plug out the bath and clean up after yourself next time?’
Guy must have left the water in and I imagine all that dirt would have left a grubby ring around the edge. Stupid me, forgetting to check. If I remained that careless then we’d be caught. I must think and be more cautious next time.
‘Sorry, Mum.’
‘OK. I’ll have to put the water on so I can have a good soak later. And why are those clothes lying all screwed up on the floor? Honestly!’
When Dad got home I heard their conversation, which explained Mum’s weird comment, and which grossed me out completely.
‘I think poor Luke was the victim of adolescent fantasies last night,’ I heard her say.
‘Eh? You what?’ Dad was being his usual dim self. Subtlety didn’t work with him.
‘I caught him washing his sheets and duvet.’
‘Um, yeah. That’s good isn’t it? He’s become so much more helpful recently.’
Mum’s voice sounded a bit exasperated. ‘What I mean is, I think he was trying to hide something from us.’
‘Really? What would that be?’
‘Oh, for goodness sake, you were his age once. What’s the polite way of saying it? Teenage nocturnal emissions? Wet dreams?’
‘Oh, I see! I see what you’re getting at now. Right. Yes. That. Hmm.’
‘The same thing must have happened to you.’
I turned away from the door and fled upstairs. I couldn’t bear to hear any more.
Chapter Twenty-six
I didn’t see Guy for a few days, but I tried not to worry. Sure enough, he returned, full of life and looking in good shape. I remembered his knowledge of herbal medicine and I guessed he’d found the right plants to use to get his health back up to full strength.
School had contacted my parents to ask when I was going to return, which made for a very awkward discussion. I admitted to bunking.
‘But why, Luke?’ Mum asked with a pained expression in her eyes. She was that close to telling me how disappointed she was in me. ‘There’s usually a reason for this sort of thing. Please tell us.’
I remained silent. Dad just sat staring at me with a look of puzzlement fixed upon his face, the sort of look he has whenever he hears any hip-hop or rap.
Unfortunately, my mouth proved itself quicker than my brain.
‘I’m being bullied.’
‘Ah. We finally get to the truth.’ Mum seemed pleased as she looked at Dad.
Dad just gave me the full ‘disappointed’ look. All his dreams of proudly nurturing a tough, sporty son were shattered in that one moment. His silence became poignant, but I was trapped on a runaway train.
‘Have you told school?’
I nodded meekly. The last thing I wanted was for my parents to march me down to school. This was going horribly wrong.
‘Yes, they’re dealing with it. I don’t want to make a big issue of it. I can handle it.’
Dad suddenly shook himself out of his despondent trance. ‘That’s it, son. You need to stand up for yourself and deal with this your own way.’
‘Fighting back will just get him into trouble, though,’ Mum retorted.
‘It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, love. Experiences like these teach you how to survive. We all have to take a punch every now and then. School of hard knocks and all that kind of stuff, you know. Let Luke deal with it. We can’t always be there to protect him. He’s growing up.’ Dad stared beyond me.
On the one hand he was helping me out of a difficult situation – but on the other he was basically saying that a good beating might be good for me. Make a real man out of me. Cheers, Dad.
‘Well, Mr Saddler has asked me to take Luke in and have a meeting to get him back into the daily routine. Like a fresh start. We’re meeting him tomorrow morning at 8.30.’
‘I can’t,’ Dad said. ‘Too much on at the office. We’re snowed under.’
The next morning Mr Saddler beckoned Mum and me into his office at precisely 8.30 a.m. Just as the big digital display on the wall flicked onto 8.30, his door opened to reveal him filling the rectangular frame. I sat on the plastic chair while he and Mum had softer chairs, forming a triangle in front of his desk. Mr Saddler hugged his right knee, which he hooked over his left thigh.
‘Now, I think it’s important to start by saying that Luke is not in trouble as such. I don’t want you to feel this is some kind of sanction or disciplinary hearing. It isn’t.’ To my horror he leaned towards Mum and cupped a hand over her shoulder. She bristled slightly and gave a less than natural smile. This seemed to please Saddler, who moved back into his original position. ‘Now, I assume he has told you about his unique situation and indeed his courage of late?’
Mum’s eyebrows dented. ‘Yes, he’s told us everything.’
This clearly wasn’t true but I assumed Mum didn’t want to be caught out as a bad parent who didn’t listen to, or understood, her own child. So far so good.
‘Splendid. Then we’re all singing from the same hymn-sheet, as it were. Good.’ He gave a self-satisfied nod. ‘So, as Luke’s situation is a unique one, we’re willing to overlook the absences, but need some reassurance that he will be fully committed to his studies from now on, so that he can get back to meeting his target grades and realising his true potential.’
‘Yes, I’ll make sure he gets to school every day. My boss is willing to give me flexitime so that I can drive Luke to school each morning and watch him walk through the gates.’ Now it was Mum’s turn to look pleased with herself. This was news to me.
‘Marvellous.’ Saddler gazed admiringly at Mum with increasing intensity and it occurred to me that the old perv probably fancied her. The thought made me wince.
‘If only all parents could be as dedicated and as compassionate as you.’ Then he leaned forward to clasp her shoulder as before. Mum froze and didn’t smile this time. Saddler released her and sat back deeply on his chair with his hands on his knees. ‘I feel sure Luke will get through this difficult stage with your support –’
‘Yes, and my husband’s too,’ Mum added emphatically.
Saddler’s lips twitched somewhat before continuing.
‘So even though Luke is a bit different, I feel very certain that he can –’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Mum intervened.
‘Sorry?’ Saddler’s head moved forward in isolation, like that of a tortoise peeking out of its shell.
‘You said “different”. In what way is Luke different?’
‘Did I say that?’ Mr Saddler’s voice tensed into a panic. ‘I don’t think I did say that. Did I? What was it? Different? No, no. Luke’s not different at all. He’s the same as everyone else. We’re all the same. He’s not different in the least.’ The pace of his words increased. ‘Are you sure I said that? I’m positive I didn’t. No, no, no. He’s exactly the same as all our pupils. Not at all different. We’re all equal; alike; identical; one and the same.’
I was nervous that he’d let on about the whole ridiculous gay misunderstanding and I was just glad that Dad wasn’t here. Explaining it all to Mum would be difficult enough.
‘We treat all pupils the same at this school. No
prejudice or favouritism – ever.’ He was back-pedalling now and I was waiting for him to fall down his self-dug hole.
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Mum, sounding a bit annoyed and bored now. ‘Perhaps you were merely referring to the fact that he’s become something of a victim recently.’
‘That’s it! Yes. That’s it. Entirely. That’s exactly what I meant. I said it in sympathy of someone being victimised.’
‘So you admit you did say it then?’
‘What? No, I don’t think so. I just meant if I did say it, which I didn’t – then I would have said it – although I didn’t – for the reason that you just explained. That’s all. You can’t prove it otherwise.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Now then, if you don’t mind, I have other appointments to attend to.’
Mum shuffled on her chair. ‘So I have your word that Luke will be safe and properly cared for here?’
‘You have my word.’
She didn’t look overly impressed but stood up anyway. Saddler held out both hands towards her as if hoping for a hug but Mum moved in the opposite direction towards the door. ‘I’ll leave Luke in your safekeeping then. See you later, love,’ she added, touching my head affectionately. She left the door open and I listened to the sound of her heels striking the polished floor of the corridor.
Giving a little wave to her back, I stayed in my seat to await my orders from Mr Saddler. Perhaps being considered gay had its benefits. I felt certain, though, that it wouldn’t be the case once I got to the classroom.
‘Right then, young man. Follow me.’ He thrust his hands in to his trouser pockets and strode ahead of me, on the familiar path to my form room.
As I followed closely behind him he spoke without turning around.
‘You don’t feel we’ve treated you any differently, do you? At all?’ This was clearly concerning him. Not replying seemed to make him more anxious. ‘Because we won’t be seen to tolerate prejudice here. It doesn’t matter what your … um … inclinations … or … um … well, leanings are. You know? Your, um … orientation. It matters not in the least. Not one jot. And you won’t be treated any differently to anyone else. Because you’re exactly the same. As everyone else in this school. The same. Exactly. Full stop.’ We turned a corner and made for the white door labelled 13A – my tutor base. ‘Here we are, Luke. Remember what I said, and if you ever need to talk you can always speak to me, Mrs Fuller, or indeed the school counsellor and we’ll be behind you all the way.’ He suddenly spluttered and spoke rapidly again. ‘Well, you know what I mean, I’m sure. Good day.’
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