by GJ Minett
He probably looks startled because she tells him it’s OK – the other two have gone on ahead. He says he knows and rubs furiously at his legs. She tells him he needs to rub dock leaves on them to make the stinging go away and looks around to see if she can find any. He says it’s fine – it doesn’t hurt that much.
It feels funny talking to her like this. It’s just like he thought – she’s very different when Carol’s not around. It’s like she has to pretend to be someone she isn’t when others are there but deep down she’s quite a nice girl really. He’s pleased he made such a good choice, even if she did say no.
She asks him where he got the flowers he offered her and he says he picked them himself. She asks why he wants to take her to the pictures, although she calls them the flicks which he thinks sounds a bit common. He’s embarrassed by the question because he doesn’t know how to frame the answer, to tell her he thinks she’s the prettiest girl in the school. So he looks at the ground and says he needs to get home – his dad will be back from work soon. She asks him again and he’s just about to summon up the courage to tell her when there’s a triumphant shout from further down the path and Carol and her boyfriend come running into view. And all of a sudden Julie’s grabbing him by the arm and jumping up and down, giggling about how she managed to catch him all on her own, and it’s as if some alien has invaded her body and driven the real Julie Kasprowicz out. He thinks he could probably get his arm free if he really tried but there doesn’t seem much point. It’s not as if he can outrun them when they’re this close, especially with the bags to carry.
Carol’s out of breath by the time she reaches him. She stands in front of him, doubled over for a few seconds. Then she straightens up and there’s this smile on her face which he doesn’t like at all. It just doesn’t look right on someone like her. He thinks he prefers her when she’s angry.
February 2008: Ellen
Jack arrived with the children as agreed at 4.30. Ellen met them in the car park and clambered into the back with Megan and Harry, who knew they were here because Nanny B was ill but had no idea how serious things were. She took each of them by the hand and explained the situation in as much detail as she thought they could digest in one go. She told them this was their chance to see Nanny B for one last time and say goodbye. It was entirely up to them – it didn’t matter if they preferred not to. Sometimes it was better to remember a person the way she used to be. She herself was going to stay with Nanny B until it was all over, which would probably be some time this evening. They would spend the night with their father just in case and could go there now if that was what they wanted but they were being given the choice because they were old enough to make up their own minds. She flashed a glance at Jack who smiled complicitly. Go, Team Harrison.
She sat back and waited to see how they would react. Before they arrived she’d prepared a mental checklist of things they might ask. Although not religious herself, she didn’t want to deny her children the consolation of some form of afterlife, however simplistic and formulaic it might be. She’d worked out in her mind some notion of Nanny B always being there with them, looking out for them, maybe pointing out a star in some distant galaxy and identifying it as Nanny B’s. It was something she wouldn’t mind believing for herself.
As it turned out, they said nothing. Harry ducked his head, burying it in her chest while Megan turned to face the window, dry-eyed and inscrutable. Ellen gave them a few moments, then squeezed their hands, tugging them into her own lap.
‘So . . . what’s it to be then?’ she asked. ‘You want to come in or not?’
Harry said he didn’t want Nanny B to be upset if he didn’t. Ellen explained she wouldn’t even know whether or not they were there, which was obviously what he’d been waiting to hear. He shook his head – he’d rather not see her.
‘How about you, Megan?’ she asked, giving her hand another tug as if trying to drag her back into the car. Megan started doodling on the window which had begun to mist up.
‘What about my fish project?’ she asked.
‘Your –?’
‘It’s in my bedroom at home. I need it for school tomorrow.’
‘OK,’ said Ellen cautiously. ‘Well, you’ll be calling in at home to pick up clothes and things for tomorrow so you’ll be able to collect it then, won’t you?’
‘You said you were going to have a look at it this weekend before I take it into school.’
‘Yes, I did, didn’t I? Well, I’m sure Daddy will go through it with you. And maybe Miss Shelby will let you bring it home again for me to look at. If not, you’ve got an Open Evening coming up soon. I’ll get to see it then, won’t I? I’m sorry, love,’ she added lamely, wishing she’d taken the time to check her daughter’s work earlier. Surely she could have done it some time during the week instead of leaving it till the last minute. She wondered how it was life managed to sneak up and mug her – how did she manage to disappoint her daughter so often . . . and so easily?
‘What about Nanny B?’ she prompted once more. ‘Do you want to see her?’
‘No.’ The doodle spelt out Megan in a series of swoops and curls with a couple of kisses underneath. When she’d finished, she wiped it clear with one sweep of the hand, her focus still settled on something far beyond Ellen’s reach. She decided to leave her daughter to it for now.
She gave both children a goodbye hug and kiss and patted Jack’s shoulder to thank him for his support. It occurred to her that he hadn’t asked anything about her weekend and the mysterious Eudora. She’d have to have something ready to tell him before long. And then there were the children – she’d have to explain everything to them too. And she would, she told herself. Not now, obviously. They had enough to deal with for the time being – more than enough. But some time soon she’d sit them down and tell them what she’d discovered in the past few days, because they had a right to know. She definitely would.
Some day.
Soon.
November 1966: John Michael
He’s not frightened of her. Not really. She’s bigger than he is, stronger too probably, even though she’s only a girl. And he knows that if she decides she wants to punish him for running off, for ignoring her, for anything at all really, there’s not a lot he can do about it. But it’s not like there’s anything new about this – he’s been here before and been hit by bigger people than her. The Ward twins punch him so hard sometimes his arm goes numb. Stuart Biggs once hit him in the face with one of his plimsolls and his nose bled so much he had to spend the afternoon wearing someone else’s shirt from lost property and sit in the classroom with a wedge of cotton wool sticking out of his nostril. And he can remember when she was still alive, how she used to sit there next to him while he had his bath, stroking his hair and telling him he should never fear anything. Not in this life. Walk in the path of righteousness, Johnny, she used to say, and be sure He will always walk with you.
So no, he knows better than to be scared of the likes of Carol Bingham. But he is anxious because he’s known from the moment they entered the park that if they saw him they’d have to give chase. And now they’ve managed to catch him they’ll have to think of something to do with him and if he knew in advance what it was they had in mind, he could grit his teeth and get ready for it, because he knows from past experience that it won’t last long. If he just stands there and lets them get on with it, they’ll soon get bored. Half an hour from now, he tells himself, he’ll be lighting the fire in his front room and warming up the house for when his father gets home and that’ll be it for another day. Half an hour is nothing – he can do thirty minutes. It’s the uncertainty that’s making him anxious.
He’s not sure even Carol knows what to do with him. She’s standing in front of him and her boyfriend has moved round behind so he can’t see them both at the same time. He wonders if they’re going to play the old trick where one of them kneels down while the one in front pushes. If they do, he’ll go along with it and allow himself
to fall. Get it over with. Pretend they’ve fooled him. Let them have their fun and move on.
She’s calling him Romeo again, asking why he ran away from them. Doesn’t he like them any more? She’s talking in a silly voice as if she’s a little girl and she’s stroking his face with this strange, far-away look in her eyes. He flinches but knows better than to raise his hand to stop her.
He tells her he wasn’t running away. He’s in a hurry to get home – has to get the shopping back to his dad, who’s there waiting for him. He’s not, of course. He won’t be back from work till six, but they don’t know that and there’s no harm in planting the idea that someone might come looking for him if he doesn’t return home soon.
Carol seems unimpressed and wants to know how come, if he wasn’t running away, he was hiding in the bushes. What was he doing in there – having a piss? Or was he having a wank? And she’s really pleased with this, especially when Julie and her boyfriend start giggling as if it’s the funniest thing anyone’s said all week. He doesn’t know what a wank is and thinks he probably doesn’t want to, because piss is bad enough. It’s a word common people use and he can feel himself blushing, even though he tries not to.
She tells him he’s a dirty little boy – he’ll get warts. She grabs one of his hands as if to check for early signs of them, then shrieks and lets go when she realises it’s the damaged one. She gives a shudder which is so obviously fake, then grabs his sleeve and waves his hand in the air for the others to see. He doesn’t like this. He hates it when anyone draws attention to it but there’s not a lot he can do about it right now. The stage belongs to Carol.
She tells her boyfriend about poor Romeo’s loony mother and how she chopped his fingers off with a kitchen knife because she’d had too much to drink. It’s a lie – one of a thousand different versions whispered in every corner of the playground, each group trying to come up with something more sensational than the previous one. He wants to shout her down, tell her that’s not what happened. She wasn’t like that. She loved him and would never have done anything that would hurt him unless she’d had to. They weren’t there – they didn’t see the tears in her eyes as she held his wrist and slammed the car door, nor the way she hugged him afterwards and told him how proud she was of her little man, how he was saved now. But he says nothing.
Carol’s noticed the bags now and is nudging them with her foot. Peering inside, she takes the items out one by one, holding each one up in the air for the others to see and saying how nice of him it was to go all that way just to buy these things for her. He tries to explain that they’re for his father, as if that might in some way scare her off but she takes no notice.
She seems disappointed with most of what he’s bought. PG Tips? Nescafé? What sort of present is that? Doesn’t he know a girl likes to be spoilt? Where’s the chocolates? Where’s the Milk Tray? She’s happier when she reaches the chocolate biscuits, which she immediately opens, taking several for herself and offering the rest to the others. She even asks if he’d like one and he decides he might as well, now that he won’t be able to take the packet home with him. She seems amused by this, chuckling to herself as she delves deeper into the bag.
She’s so careful as she takes out the box of eggs that he’s pretty sure he can write these off as well. He knows it’s all part of the act. Sure enough, as she takes one of them from the box and holds it up between thumb and forefinger for her audience to admire, she pretends to juggle with it and, as she lunges after it with both hands, she lets the box containing the other five eggs fall to the floor. Then, as if in horror at what she’s done, she puts both hands to her cheeks and drops the remaining egg, which also smashes on impact. He makes a point of looking shocked because he knows this is what’s expected of him and besides, the bag’s nearly empty now. He figures they must be getting towards the end of the game. A few more hurtful comments for him to ignore, maybe a couple of punches on the arm and a quick tumble over the back of the stooping boyfriend and perhaps they’ll let him go.
First of all though, Carol wants to know how he’s going to explain all this to his dad. She hopes he’s not going to dob in his friends. Maybe it’s best if he says he lost the money, she suggests. How much did he spend on all that rubbish anyway? When he tells her, she snorts and says he’d have been better off taking Julie out somewhere. Oh, forgot . . . Julie said no, didn’t she? She laughs again and tells her boyfriend that this is the first-year kid who asked Julie to go to the flicks with him. Dirty little sod. Bet he only wants to shag her. He’s horrified at this because shagging’s something he definitely knows a bit about. The others talk about it all the time in the playground and he finds himself listening in out of curiosity, even though he suspects he shouldn’t. He’s seen dogs doing it before now and Stuart Biggs claims he once sneaked up on his older brother and watched him and his girlfriend in the bushes down the rec. The idea that he might want to do that to anyone, let alone someone as pretty as Julie, is just too much for him. He risks a look at her and is pleased to see she looks shocked as well, although he’s less impressed when she announces in a sniffy voice that she’d rather shag a tramp than him. Again, the word doesn’t sound right coming from her lips.
It’s a shame they’ve stumbled onto this topic because just as he was hoping Carol might be running out of steam, this seems to give her a new burst of energy. She steps back and looks him up and down, then announces that maybe Julie’s missing something here. He may be just a first year but maybe Romeo’s very advanced for his age. How does Julie know he’s not hung like a donkey? He doesn’t have time to dwell on this strange image because he’s concentrating so hard on her every movement, wondering exactly when she’s going to plant both hands in his chest and push. She looks around to make sure no one else is entering the woods, then grins over his shoulder at her boyfriend and he’s sure this must be it. She’s standing very close now, so close he can smell the bubble gum she’s been chewing and popping every so often. How about it, Romeo? she asks, leaning in and whispering in his ear. You got something in there that would interest our Julie?
And before he’s had time to make sense of what’s happening, he can feel her hand sliding down the front of his trousers and it dawns on him for the first time that she’s trying to touch his JT, which is so disgusting he can’t help himself. He tries to jump back and get away from her but the boyfriend has got hold of his arms now and he can’t move. He has nowhere to go.
What you got then? she’s whispering, and she brings her face directly in front of his so that they’re nose to nose. He’s not sure what terrifies him more, her roving hand which is now struggling with his belt or the idea which has seized him that she’s going to kiss him on the mouth any minute. It’s disgusting either way and he squirms away from her, struggling to break free, even though he knows that’s the worst thing he can do, but he can’t just stand there and let her do this. He opens his mouth to yell and is cut off in mid-scream by a huge hand which is clamped across his mouth. It smells of petrol and it’s pressing so hard against his nose he’s finding it difficult to catch his breath. Carol’s boyfriend is using his other hand to lock both his arms behind his back, making it impossible for him to break free.
And next thing he knows there’s a rush of cold air and Carol’s tugging frantically at his trousers and underpants, trying to drag them over his shoes which are caught inside the material. She staggers backwards as one of the trouser legs comes free, then suddenly she’s waving them above her head like a captured flag and pointing at him, laughing so much the words come out in fits and starts between gasps. Oh my God, she’s yelling. Anyone got a magnifying glass? And he’s crimson now because this is just the worst thing . . . absolutely the worst. Carol Bingham will burn in hell for this. He knows this for sure. She will burn in hell.
And she leans in close again and whispers Is that the best you can do, Romeo? You think Julie’s gonna be impressed by that? She takes it in her thumb and finger and pulls, as if trying
to stretch it. Then she lets go and starts wiggling her little finger in his face, chanting ‘half inch, half inch’ in a high, squeaky voice, which is the cue for Julie and the boyfriend to do the same, and he thinks that of all the things they’ve said and done this afternoon, this must be the unkindest and most hurtful of them all. It’s not his fault he doesn’t have all his fingers.
The boyfriend is so busy laughing that he loosens his grip for a moment and he’s able to break free. He tries to grab his clothes but Carol’s too quick for him and she’s off down the path before he can get near her. He wants to run after her but feels ridiculous standing there with his lower half open for everyone to stare at, so instinctively he charges back through the weeds and nettles, taking no notice of the countless stings he picks up on the way, until he’s regained the relative safety of his earlier hiding place. He knows they won’t follow him in here.
Carol stands there on the path, holding up his trousers and underpants and asking if he’s forgotten something. Don’t you want them then, Romeo? She waits for some sort of response, then seems to decide she’s had enough of that particular game. She drops the clothes to the ground and starts to walk away, stamping on the egg carton as if to sign off on the afternoon’s entertainment. Then, just as he’s daring to hope that it’s all over, she stoops at the last moment and picks up the trousers again before launching them into the trees, high above her head. She tries the same with his underpants which for some reason refuse to catch on the branches until she’s finally successful at the third attempt. Then she calls out something he doesn’t quite hear and sets off down the path, heading back towards the park, having apparently forgotten all about him already.
He waits till he’s sure they’ve gone. Then he gives it another ten minutes just to be absolutely certain no one else is coming before he emerges from his hiding place and beats his way back to the path. This time he uses a large stick to carve a way through but his bare legs are already hurting so much it hardly seems worth the effort. He decides he’ll have to find some dock leaves the moment he’s rescued his clothes.