Concentr8

by William Sutcliffe

  Like I say school was a joke. I’m not an idiot I seen other schools on telly – kids sitting in rows listening writing learning stuff for their exams. If I’d been somewhere like that everything would be different but people like me don’t get a chance – don’t even get taught to read and write proper – so after that what chance you got – what chance of getting work and earning what chance?

  More than anyone Blaze knew from day one it was all pointless – but it was as if he had a secret plan – as if he always knew he’d climb out of the chaos and find his own path. We all knew he would too and we wanted to go with him.

  But now it don’t look like that’s happening cause here we are in this warehouse and I mean it’s exciting but this ain’t a way out and it ain’t a way up. We always been trapped and now we trapped ourselves worse than ever and it’s like water going round and round getting closer and closer to the plughole faster and faster and that’s that. Ain’t no question where this is leading.

  People always talk about good and bad and I know we nick stuff and mess people up and we’re like a proper menace – but that ain’t half the story cause I know Blaze and he knows me and I swear to God as far as I’m concerned Blaze is a saint – he’s like my guardian angel he’s the only good person I ever known who’ll step up to pull me out of the shit. It’s like blood man that’s how it is. He’s the only one that’s ever looked out for me.

  I mean there’s Rose too. There’s always Rose. She was my foster mother after the council got on to my mum and took me away – I mean Rose looked after me proper good and fed me and everything but after that went wrong – I mean nobody ever told me why they just took me away – she was kind of old and maybe I flipped out one too many times I don’t know – but I never knew that could happen I never knew they’d take me away from Rose and I’d never see her again – nobody warned me or nothing – and after that you know I was just too angry man I couldn’t keep my shit together. After that I just kept on getting moved from place to place – nobody could take what I was like – maybe it’s my fault I don’t know but that’s how I ended up in the hostel. No kitchen nothing to eat crazy messed-up people everywhere – I mean there’s a posh lobby so it looks all clean and nice when people step inside – the suits the politicians them people – but the rooms man I swear it’s the pits you wouldn’t believe. So I’m just saying yeah there was Rose. She was good to me. She was good. But that didn’t last – the only one that’s lasted is Blaze – he’s always there for me and I’m always there for him.

  Can’t even tell if Blaze planned this or if it just happened. No difference anyway. Cause whatever it is I’m with him. He’s blood. And if Femi thinks he can turn me he don’t know nothing about nothing.

  Although some biological psychiatrists were puzzled by the fact that stimulants seemed paradoxically to calm hyperactive children, the belief in their effectiveness was such that, in some cases, stimulants were used as a diagnostic tool: if they calmed down an overactive, impulsive child, then the child likely had hyperactivity. More important for parents, however, was that stimulants were a quicker, easier and less expensive treatment modality than arranging for psychotherapy or analysing and attempting to change the social factors that might be contributing to such behaviour. Such drugs appeared to be veritable magic bullets . . . Stimulants did what psychotherapy could not do: they calmed children down within minutes.

  Matthew Smith, Hyperactive: The Controversial History of ADHD

  FEMI

  Anything man just anything! I says and I can hear the desperation in my voice cause I know time’s running out, I know the feds could run in here any second, and I got to get out before then to show I’m different – to show I ain’t into this.

  And Troy just sits there his face all blank almost like he’s bored, like he’s miles away. And I’m thinking what’s wrong with you man can’t you see we got to get out cause he ain’t stupid Troy, he knows what’s what. I mean I just need one person to go with me. I ain’t got the balls to do it on my own, and I don’t even know where to go – I mean out the front door? Just like that? How do I know they won’t gun me down? How do I know what they’ll do to me? I need one other person to make it seem like the right thing, and it has to be Troy – I mean who else? Matchstick no way, and Lee’s just a liability, and Karen she knows the score – she’s thinking about it – but I can’t trust her. She’ll say anything do anything to get what she wants, I ain’t going nowhere with her. It’s got to be Troy.

  And he sits there just staring into space like he’s almost forgotten we’re talking. Then eventually he turns and looks at me and looks away and says that ain’t going to happen. He can’t never look at you and speak at the same time. He’s always looking down or away or something. Shifty, scared, I don’t know what it is, but it’s like there’s something wrapped round him keeping him separate. He’s always in his own place.

  He don’t have to say more, I can see on his face nothing’ll change his mind. He’s small, Troy – ain’t nobody afraid of him – but there’s ice in his voice when he says it that makes me worry.

  Your choice I says, all calm like I don’t even care. He’s looking up at the sky and I’m watching his face to see what he’s thinking, but there ain’t no clues.

  Still casual I says don’t tell Blaze what I said.

  Troy picks up a stone – chucks it at the zigzag door. He knows.

  Just two words, but hearing them’s like a shank going into me. Suddenly I ain’t even got the breath to speak.

  Troy chucks another stone. It clitter-clatters between the folds of metal before hitting the concrete. He’s looking for the next stone, running a finger through the dirt, when he says he knows already. Don’t trust you no more.

  How can he know? I only just said it. It’s embarrassing, the voice on me. All high and squeaky.

  He knows.

  The more the schools have experience of docile, conformist children on medication, particularly in this performance league table obsessed and resource-stretched environment, the more schools are making their own diagnosis and suggesting medication to parents. It takes a very brave parent to follow their gut instinct, not to give their children psychiatric drugs and resist the growing tide of pressure. As for the children themselves, they are drowning in the discourse of disability and genetic inadequacy.

  Sami Timimi, Naughty Boys: Anti-Social Behaviour, ADHD and the Role of Culture

  THE JOURNALIST

  I sometimes use an alias when I’m going off-piste with my research: Judy Andrews. My theory is that it makes people subconsciously think of Mary Poppins without quite knowing why. When I’m Judy Andrews, people trust me; they tell me things they might not otherwise, and if they become suspicious I just hang up the phone and they can’t find me.

  I start with the school closest to the mayor’s office. If there’s going to be a scandal, that’s a good place to set it.

  ‘Hello, my name’s Judy Andrews. I’m calling from the mayor’s office. We’re collating some statistics on uptake procedures for the Concentr8 programme. Could I possibly have a word with the headmistress?’

  Within a minute I’m through, and she’s telling me everything. It all comes out. Like fishing, except instead of having to go out with a line, these fish jump out of the water, walk to your house, cook themselves, lie down on your plate and hand you some cutlery. She gives me the whole story – how she was told that ten per cent of pupils were eligible, and that it was expected to have a significantly beneficial effect on the behaviour of the pupils selected for the programme. Schools would be rated for their uptake ratios on future inspectors’ reports. The closer to the full ten per cent, the better.

  The head chose the children, following discussion with teachers about difficult pupils, and parents were invited to the psychological assessments, during which the assistance available from the benefits system for those with an ADHD diagnosis was explained, and the necessary forms for participation in the programme were signed
.

  ‘So it was your job to recommend people for the programme?’ I ask.

  ‘With the help of the teachers, yes.’

  ‘And of those you put forward, do you have any idea what proportion joined the programme?’

  ‘Oh, almost all of them.’

  ‘Almost all? More than ninety per cent?’

  ‘Oh, closer to ninety-five. A few felt the diagnosis was some kind of stigma, which seemed like a real shame to us, because the benefit of these drugs is really crystal clear in terms of making a certain kind of child more cooperative in the classroom environment, but I think most people saw that the child benefits from the drug, the school benefits from improved behaviour, society benefits from having less truancy, and the parent benefits from . . . well, the extra benefit.’

  ‘So the only people who turned it down were parents? The doctors agreed with your diagnosis in every case.’

  ‘I think so. I mean, we know our children very well.’

  ‘Well enough to diagnose mental illness?’

  ‘We’re not doctors, of course. I’d never dream to think I was diagnosing anything, I . . . er . . . where did you say you were calling from again?’

  ‘That’s all I need for now. Thank you so much for your time.’

  I hang up. I call ten more schools. It’s the same story in every one. Troublesome kids picked out by teachers, put forward for the programme, almost all of them ending up on the drug that keeps them quiet, while parents are kept happy with the reward of disability benefit. And as Pyle told me, this wasn’t even a new policy, it was just the old policy, pushed harder, better funded, with a newer, cheaper drug.

  But doctors going into schools rather than children being referred to doctors made the whole enterprise feel different. Was this really a child mental health programme, or was it pre-emptive policing?

  Of course, there’s no answer to that question, certainly not an answer you’d ever get from a politician, but I now had enough material to ask the question. I had my scoop.

  The story was too good for the weekend supplement, and it couldn’t wait. This one would be for the next day’s front page.

  A 1970 story in the Washington Post, which revealed that up to 10 per cent of schoolchildren in Omaha, Nebraska were being prescribed behaviour-modifying drugs such as Ritalin, put a spotlight on such concerns and spurred Congressional hearings into the issue . . . It was claimed that African American students in Minneapolis were being especially singled out for drug treatment.

  Matthew Smith, Hyperactive: The Controversial History of ADHD

  KAREN

  It’s late when things kick off? I mean maybe it’s been brewing for a while and I didn’t notice, but anyway it’s after we all eaten. More Nando’s again courtesy of the feds. I can see Blaze is in the zone cause he goes quiet and far away, but don’t know what he’s planning cause you never do. He’s in the big chair just sitting there eating, but it’s like he can’t even hear any of us.

  Then he gets up, walks off, comes back with the massive spanner everyone was chucking around the night before. You can see the weight of it by the ripple in his forearms, the skin tight over his knuckles where he’s gripping.

  Let’s do one on one he says. Don’t even know what he means, but everyone except Lee and me looks away cause there’s suddenly a weird vibe.

  He’s staring down Femi.

  Femi he says. Let’s play.

  I’m eating says Femi, not even looking up.

  It’s OK I’ll wait says Blaze.

  So Femi finishes his chicken and there’s total silence except for the sound of his chewing. He’s eating slower and slower.

  I swear I get a bit horny just watching? Don’t judge me but it’s weird, that’s the effect. I can see Blaze’s chest going up and down, total focus in his eyes. Shiny arms under the sweat like polished wood. I don’t know what it is he’s going to do to Femi, but I swear there’s an electricity crackling off him strong and hot.

  Femi stands up and stares at Blaze. You can see he’s made a decision. It’s run or fight, and there ain’t nowhere to run, so he’s going to fight.

  Play? he says, sort of trying to sneer but it don’t really come out right.

  You go that side says Blaze. First hit wins. Winner stays on.

  Femi goes opposite Blaze. Tries to stare him down, but by the way he’s licking his lips you can see the effort and the fear.

  Ready? says Blaze.

  Femi crouches. Nods.

  Blaze chucks the spanner. Not straight, though, and Femi don’t even have to dodge. But the weight and force of it is lethal. Me and Lee and Troy and Matchstick we’re all just frozen – can’t hardly believe what’s happening in front of us.

  Femi gets the spanner and walks back. Aims. Blaze is loose and relaxed. Almost smiling.

  Femi chucks. Not half the power but a better aim. Blaze sways back like he got all the time he needs, and it flies past his face. Close but harmless.

  Same again. Second time Femi has to dodge. Spanner takes a chunk out of the wall behind him.

  It’s Blaze’s fourth or fifth throw before there’s contact. You can see him giving it everything and it’s faster than the ones before. Spanner’s going straight for Femi’s head and there’s a moment of panic on his face cause you can see him thinking dodge-or-parry, dodge-or-parry, but he don’t do neither and I swear for a moment I think he might actually die cause if that thing got you in the face you really would? Then his arm comes up and there’s this sick crunch when it hits him just under the elbow. It ain’t even human that noise, the sound of it almost makes you want to puke. He howls and falls to the floor holding his arm.

  Blaze is the first to go over. He don’t rush, but the rest of us it’s almost like we’re glued to the floor or something.

  You OK?

  Femi only swears but I suppose that means he’s OK. If he weren’t moving or speaking, that would be worse.

  Winner stays on says Blaze, looking at the other guys.

  Nobody says nothing.

  No expression on his face, Blaze turns away and walks up to the office, not fast, not slow, not even looking back.

  At the top he drops the spanner off the balcony. The sound when it lands – steel on concrete – it’s like a bullet going off. Creeps me out, so I don’t know what it does to Femi.

  I feel weird now? Don’t want to go up there with him? All the boys are too chickenshit to go and help Femi so it’s me that does it. I go under his good side and lift him to the big chair. Sit him down and get water. Don’t even care if Blaze sees I really don’t.

  The injury ain’t as bad as it sounded. I mean he can still bend his arm. The fingers still move. Not even much of a bruise yet, but it’ll come. He’s going to have a purple elbow tomorrow.

  It’s ages before any of the others says anything, and it’s Lee.

  That was out of order he says, real quiet. Out of order.

  Troy don’t say nothing.

  You OK? says Matchstick.

  Femi don’t answer.

  I don’t go up. Just go for a wash in the bogs then bed down on the cardboard next to Femi. But I lay out a new spot for myself off to the side – don’t want to be too close.

  Troy takes some food in to the guy and I count off how long he’s in there, but it ain’t too long. He’s looking at me when he comes out. He knows I’m watching him.

  Ain’t comfy on the floor, though – it’s well hard – so eventually I go up to the office where Blaze is. He’s asleep when I go in but just the sound of the door wakes him. I’m cold to him like totally opposite from normal – cause he got to know he gone too far with Femi – and I got my own thoughts my own opinions, and that ain’t right what he did. But I can’t last out for long, I just can’t. You don’t need the details, but I swear what happens next is something else – wild as it gets.

  DAY FOUR

  To University of Iowa child psychiatrist Mark Stewart, children relying on Ritalin would have difficulty determin
ing what their ‘undrugged personality’ was, as would their parents.

  Matthew Smith, Hyperactive: The Controversial History of ADHD

  TROY

  I been following what they’re saying about us on my phone. Papers telly radio they’re all mad for the hostage thing. Turns out the guy we got really is a bit of a nobody like he says but that don’t seem to make no difference to how much everyone loves the story. Basically we’re famous proper famous apart from the fact that nobody knows who we are. Anonymously famous – which sounds impossible like it don’t mean anything but it does. It’s what I am now and I tell you it ain’t bad.

  But this morning the buzz is different. Same thing repeated everywhere starting from one reporter who’s done some story on Concentr8 – and what they’re saying is a headfuck. Not just cause it’s like proper news – well long on and on takes me ages to read the whole thing – figure out all the words – but when I make sense of it and it all comes together it’s mental. Everyone knows things kicked off because they stopped giving out Concentr8 – but now it turns out they shouldn’t have been dishing it out to us in the first place.

  Everyone has always talked about it as medicine for a proper illness but now it looks like they were giving it out to whoever. Just anyone they wanted to keep quiet basically – people like me and Blaze and all of us in here. And when you read this shit you can’t help thinking that with everything going mad on the streets we was right to be angry – but we was angry about the wrong thing.

  Me I been on it since I was about eight I reckon. Ages ago. It wasn’t Concentr8 back then it was something else. Me and Blaze was put on it at the same time. They was just hassling us at school constantly and things were bad at home – Mum a different person every time you walk in the flat – just never knew who it would be waiting for you – then next thing I know I’m in the office of some doctor a right posh dick nagging me with a bunch of bullshit questions. Half the time he just talks over me to my mum on and on about my ‘behaviour’ and nobody asks about her behaviour nobody – cause I got stories I could tell – mad stories that’d do your head in but nobody’s interested in that.