Bitch Tits and his entourage stood in the back row, stern faced, arms folded grumbling loudly to one another. He was playfully kicking Tabby in the backside, Lizzie’s blood began to boil. Vic squirmed next to her as Mr Pallister waffled on. This was the last thing Vic needed, Lizzie knew. His return to the general population at school was always going to be hard; the inevitable staring in the corridors, and the gossiping most of all. In the few weeks it had taken for Vic to come back rumours had gestated, mutated and proliferated. The circumstances of the finding of Robe’s body, possible motives for his murder and the latest, Lizzie had learned, was conjecture on the incarceration and sectioning under the Mental Health Act of Vic. Unwise individuals had searched out Lizzie for confirmation on certain points and some had feigned friendship attempting to glean information from her. Most were politely fobbed off, however when she had recently been asked about the state of Robe’s body when it was discovered her patience had broken. A rumour had surfaced that Robe had been mutilated, that the side of his head had been viciously caved in, with his jaw pulled almost clean away from the rest of his head and the upper half pulverised leaving an eyeball hanging from the inside of his skull by thin grim tissue. Also she had been asked if it was true that his neck had been twisted round in an impossible one hundred and eighty degrees. Lizzie had warned those people that although she couldn’t honestly deny these rumours, given that it had been Vic who had been the unfortunate one to see the full extent of his brother’s injuries, she would personally inflict those same wounds on anyone confronting Vic on these current rumours doing the rounds.
‘I am certain you will all do your utmost in welcoming Victor back to the flock and see to it that every effort is extended to him to share his burden at this time.’ Mr Pallister continued. Vic squirmed again with the attention being directed his way. Lizzie gripped his hand tighter, but she could feel him shuddering now and she knew it was too late. Vic began to sob, he lowered his head making his dark greasy hair fall over his face but it couldn’t shield his outpouring to the rest of the school. He did his best to hold it back, to stifle any noise but when an unfortunately loud snort betrayed him Lizzie looked up to see a mixture of genuine empathy and cruel amusement among the students. Lizzie’s own face beamed red, not from embarrassment but rage.
‘The focus now, students, is to put this loss behind us,’ Pallister continued, too wrapped up in his own rhetoric to be aware of how all this was affecting anyone else. ‘Very soon many of you will walk out of Queen’s for the last time and venture forth to new challenges. Make the most of the time you have left, embrace this one last opportunity…’ Pallister’s words droned away from Lizzie’s focus. Vic clung to her, waiting for this hell to be over. She considered leading him out of the hall but this would only draw further attention. She took his one hand in her two and tried to be a crutch for him. She looked around again; Bitch Tits was making less and less effort to hide his disinterest in proceedings. Lizzie tried to ignore him but he was like an itch she had to scratch. He was chuckling with a boy next to him and Lizzie watched with incredulity as he started imitating someone being beaten to death. At least that’s how it appeared to Lizzie. He pretended to punch the boy he was with in slow motion then twisted his face in melodramatic pain, his hand raised to his face then dropping to represent an eyeball falling from its socket on a cartoon spring. She began to tremble herself. Vic’s hand flinched in hers alerting her to her fierce grip. She clenched her teeth but tried to relax. She returned her eyes to Pallister who was now preaching the virtues of endeavour and ambition. But that itch returned and she glanced back toward Bitch Tits who was outwardly laughing and still staging a mock assault.
Lizzie caught Bitch Tit’s eye. Her teeth squeaked together and she looked for the other teachers, disbelief coursing through her that they had done nothing to stop this but they were all focussed on Pallister and the dirge he was spewing. She looked back to find Bitch Tits returning her gaze from across the room. Their eyes locked and Bitch Tit’s grin confirmed his acknowledgement of Lizzie rage and his satisfaction in it. He winked and fired twin finger pistols at her.
Something within Lizzie snapped. She threw down Vic’s hand and began a march across the hall. Students quickly moved aside seeing her progress out of the corner of their eyes. Pallister continued his oratory but focus within the assembled crowd was quickly being redirected. The smile on Bitch Tit’s face dropped. He tried to disguise his fear with a look of indifference. His splayed legs and folded arms were a counterfeit act for the benefit of his crew and a defiant gesture for the oncoming Lizzie. Her pace quickened slightly as she approached him.
Without the slightest adjustment in her stride she planted her left foot and launched her right foot into his groin. The curve of her upper foot cupped his testicles with precise and brutal contact. An audible thud filled the hall followed quickly by gasps. For years to come students, and some staff, would swear blind that despite his gargantuan stature the strike caused both feet to leave the ground. Bitch Tits folded like a house of cards.
Lizzie was unsure what to do next, she hadn’t thought this far. She hadn’t thought at all. She stood over the whimpering boy, watching with some satisfaction as he now tried to hide his pain from the rest of the school.
‘ELIZABETH DEAN.’ Pallister boomed. ‘MY OFFICE. NOW!’
The hall had fallen deathly silent except for the soft pitiful whimpers of the writhing, boy at Lizzie’s feet. Pallister was already marching out of the hall toward his office and the remaining teachers began directing students to their classes. One teacher bent to tend to Bitch Tits and Lizzie walked back across the hall to retrieve her bag the stunned Vic was holding. ‘You ok?’ he asked, almost too afraid to.
‘Good, thanks. You?’ replied Lizzie, as if nothing at all had just happened.
‘Better now the assembly’s over. You didn’t just do that to stop it did you?’
‘Nope, just a handy bonus. You don’t have to be here you know, if you’re not up to it I mean.’ Lizzie was aware she would be keeping Pallister waiting but considered it was unlikely he could get any angrier.
‘I’ll be ok Liz, thanks. Besides, I think all of a sudden I won’t be the one people will be talking about,’ Lizzie smiled.
‘I guess not. I’ll find you at lunch. Chin up,’ she gave him a short hug, slung her bag over her shoulder and made her way through onlooking students to Pallister’s office.
‘Enter,’ the headmaster called from behind the door as she knocked. She pushed open the door to find Pallister scribbling through paperwork on his desk. He peered over the top of his glasses at her.
‘Please sit Elizabeth,’ he said far too calmly. She dropped her bag at the foot of the chair facing his desk and sat. Pallister continued to write, his gaze fixed on the paper in front of him. She sat in silence for what felt like an age, so when he finally talked it startled her. ‘Elizabeth,’ he said with an exasperated tone, ‘this school; this prestigious school, is built on foundations of excellence, respect and character. All qualities you proved, with your barbaric and unprovoked assault on our head boy, are sadly beyond you.’ Lizzie bristled at the word “unprovoked” however Pallister saw her about to speak and showed her the palm of his hand to halt her in her tracks. ‘It is no secret that I was against your joining us at Queen’s Grove House, and but for an acute attack of trust and charity we would not be having this distasteful conversation. And let me say from the onset that if Blair Tompkins elects to involve the police in today’s events, they will have my full cooperation.’ Lizzie sat broiling in her chair and was about to retort when a knock at the door saved her from no doubt making the situation worse. ‘Enter,’ bellowed Pallister. The door opened a crack and Miss Abrahams sheepishly appeared half in half out, gripping the door as she would a shield.
‘The Tompkins boy headmaster,’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘We’ve summoned an ambulance for him,’ seeing the look on Lizzie’s face, she added. ‘Ju
st precautionary, he’s in a lot of pain, but I’m sure it’s nothing he’s already a lot-’
‘Thank you Miss Abrahams, you may keep me updated with his progress, if you please,’ Miss Abrahams nodded and gave Lizzie, what was surely meant to be, a reassuring smile as she left, but there was far more concern than Lizzie would have hoped for in that gesture.
‘Now where were we?’ Pallister composed his thoughts as the door closed over. ‘Ah yes, so you see Elizabeth your behaviour, not just today but throughout your time with us here at Queen’s has done nothing but vindicate my initial reservations about your inclusion here. Everything about you screams defiance.’
‘Sir, I really think you’re being-’
‘Being what Elizabeth?’ Pallister cut in. ‘Unfair? Inaccurate? Just look at you,’ Pallister was now on his feet, his hand extended toward the still seated Lizzie, moving it up and down like some scanning device. ‘You flaunt our rules at every given opportunity, look at what you’re wearing for God’s sake; it is a slap in the face of this institution.’ Lizzie looked down, not quite remembering what she had put on that morning. The uniform was there, but black and red striped stockings and baseball shoes somewhat offset the regimented look. However she suspected it was her t-shirt to which he was mostly referring. Lizzie had to begrudgingly admit it had been a slightly misjudged choice on a day where she would bring so much attention on herself. The garment in question was a white shirt with the band “Dinosaur Jr” emblazoned at the top above a black and white picture of a young girl smoking, it had belonged to Janice but since been appropriated.
‘It’s just a t-shirt Mr Pallister. It’s not intended to offend.’
‘And yet it does. And yet you do. Whilst such petulant infractions do not concern me unduly Elizabeth, today your actions in assembly cannot, and will not, be swept so accommodatingly under the rug. Your so called friend Victor, has he not seen enough violence to fill two lifetimes? And there you are, just when you should be helping him through his hour of need, launching a cowardly attack in full view of him and the rest of the school. Have you no respect?
‘Respect?’ Lizzie spat, she got to her feet. ‘What you saw while you were busy enjoying the sound of your own voice was half a story Mr Pallister.’
‘SIT… Down Elizabeth,’ Pallister was about to lose it himself. ‘I will not be spoken to in such a manner.’ Lizzie sat, red faced, fists clenched. She wanted so badly to storm out, but she knew she was going to have to take this, that running off would do nothing to help her here. ‘So, Elizabeth, we have established my dislike for you and your distain and disrespect for me, and by association, this school. Fortunately for both of us, that is something we can remedy. You may have been wondering what it was I was writing when you came into my office Elizabeth? Allow me to explain. Although it may only be somewhat of an empty gesture given your stay with us here is about to come to a natural end once your exams are complete, it gives me great pleasure in presenting you with this.’ Pallister pushed an official looking form at Lizzie. ‘You may enter school grounds to sit whatever exams you have remaining, or, by prior appointment, to meet with faculty members if there are extenuating circumstances, but for all other intents and purposes Elizabeth Dean you are hereby expelled from Queen’s Grove House. Effective immediately.’
Eleven
‘Morning Lizzie, you’re up early. And gees you look like crap, no offence,’ said Janice handing her a mug of strong looking tea. Lizzie had barely slept. She had turned the conversation with Pallister over and over in her mind, fantasising about what she should have said at various parts but hadn’t. A pertinent point here and a go fuck yourself there would certainly have failed to change the course of events but it would have left Lizzie, at least, with some sense of satisfaction. In the early hours of the morning she had slipped in and out of dream torturing herself with replay after replay often bringing herself to tears of rage. She must have dropped off somewhere around four she guessed, but had woken again at the back of six from some nightmare she couldn’t recall.
‘Thanks Janice; love you too, said Lizzie slumping into a chair at the small kitchen table. ‘It’s just exams and stuff I guess, I’ll get an early night tonight to make up for it.’ The dilemma for Lizzie was whether or not to tell Janice about what had happened. Part of her was embarrassed to tell her aunt that she had been expelled, like it was some shameful crime, while another part was desperate to tell her, give her version of events and have someone vindicate her actions. Most of her though just didn’t want to talk about it at all.
‘Are you in today? Need a lift?’
‘Yeah, I am in today, but not first period,’ Lizzie said lowering her head onto her arm stretched out on the table in front of her. ‘And they’ve dropped the parent escort thing, we can head in ourselves from now on,’ she lied. Janice had started back at work, but only sporadically, determined to be there for Lizzie where and when she was needed. But she couldn’t now, in good conscience, keep her from getting back to work, especially since Lizzie knew fine well she would be missing it like hell.
‘You sure? I thought the school would have been in touch?’
‘There was an assembly yesterday to tell everyone.’ The best lies carry an element of truth, she thought. She looked up at her aunt from her makeshift pillow. ‘I have a letter somewhere to give you; bottom of my bag most likely. But listen I really appreciate everything over the past few weeks, you’ve been… Well you’ve been like mum. Thanks Janice.’ Lizzie’s throat locked up with sentiment.
‘Hey, my pleasure hon, really.’ Janice, recognising her fragile state, stroked her bird’s nest hair and quickly changed the subject. I guess it’s back to work for me then.’
‘You make it sound like a chore; you’re fooling no-one Janice.’ Lizzie shot her a wink over her cup of tea. Janice headed back upstairs leaving Lizzie to figure out what she was going to do today. She couldn’t really stay in the house as Janice had a habit of coming home at random times if she decided to work from home. Since Lizzie didn’t want to lie to her any more than she absolutely had to she would have to make herself scarce.
She would head into Oxford, she decided. Take her books with her and get some work done. Of course Janice would be heading in too and so Lizzie would have to take a later train, maybe even two trains after the one Janice was aiming to take just in case, by some dose of bad luck, Janice missed hers and discovered Lizzie on the platform. After the last few weeks Lizzie had been having it wouldn’t surprise her.
Lizzie arrived at the train station and instantly pulled up the hood of her jacket. She rarely wore a jacket but it was cold and damp and at least the hood gave her some cover. She scanned across the chaotic line of people searching out the possibility of a seriously late Janice but found no trace of her. The train arrived pleasantly on time and was it was equally pleasant to find it congestion free. This was the benefit of travelling out-with peak times of course. The train Lizzie caught was the long route train, although it only took an extra ten minutes more than the direct line and had the added advantage of not always having a conductor on board. Lizzie had benefitted from a few free journeys by taking the slow train. The general rule was that if nobody had checked your ticket by the time the train called at Tackley, you were home and dry, and few quid better off.
The warm carriage and the repeat pattern of the train’s noise had Lizzie looking out of the window at some blurry middle distance as her eyes and mind relaxed. She folded her arms over her chest and tried, and failed, to resist sleep.
She woke with a start, unsure of just how long she had been out, and fearful she had missed her stop, before remembering Oxford was the end of the line and they were still moving. She stretched and moved her cold hands to her face in an attempt to free herself from her drowsy state. The half-filled carriage was made up of people sitting on their own, reading books or with heads lolled listening to headphones. Lizzie clocked a ticket inspector making his way into her carriage, his eyes fixed on his machine
slung round his neck. She decided to increase her chance of a free ride by getting up and moving to the next carriage and taking a seat at the farthest end.
Lizzie emerged from the station into a grey but relatively dry late morning. She drew her headphones from her bag and clicked on her CD player sliding it into her jacket pocket. She made her way across the road at the bottom of the station’s steps, drawing her jacket close to her. She was glad she decided to wear it, today was colder than it had been for a while. She had forgotten exactly what CD had been in her machine but was happy to recall, as the first song started, that it was a mix Mags had put together for her. A selection of bands she thought Lizzie would like and may not have heard of. She was right on both counts and as the band L7 buzz-sawed through their song “Pretend we’re dead” she reminded herself to take the time soon to explore each band in the mix more thoroughly.
Lizzie walked slowly, watching people pass with preoccupation, wrapped up in their concerns and errands. She made her way into the city centre where the pedestrianised system forced a sense of reduced urgency. Lizzie considered going to a coffee shop rather than her bench, given how cold it was, but decided against it, if she was going to get some study done she wanted to be somewhere familiar. She did stop at a café, but only long enough to spend the money she saved from her free train journey on a sandwich and a large tea. The normally busy central areas were far quieter today than her previous visit, the temperature and that time of day between rush hour and lunch conspiring to make a busy city seem less so.
She found Jesus College as markedly quieter as the rest of the City. One or two students made their way from one place to another, but all in all she had the courtyard and bench to herself. There were no students stretched out on the grass today, just the occasional pigeon. She took her place on her bench and unpacked her books and her sandwich. Lizzie’s next exam was maths, and such was her dislike for the subject she had been putting off her preparations until as late as possible, however that point had already come and gone. It was incredible, Lizzie found, just what could become suddenly interesting when you had maths work to do. TV shows, Janice’s gossip magazines or a slightly discoloured spot on a blank wall would become mesmerising when the alternative was equations. However, procrastination was no longer a luxury she could afford, urgency was beginning to creep in and that itch of guilt was becoming difficult to ignore. She washed down the sandwich with the tea, now at a temperature that wouldn’t result in skin grafts, and separated her books only to find her productive plans halted with the discovery of an interloper lurking in her bag.
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